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 thewild-wood came, Where a small wind 'mid sun-kissed branches played, Anddeep'ning shadows a soft twilight made; Where, save for leafy stirrings,all was still, Lulled by the murmur of a bubbling rill That flowedo'ershadowed by a mighty oak, Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightningstroke. 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 thispleasant 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 goodbooty? Yonder come ten noble coursers laden with ten goodly armours thesame won a-jousting to-day by this right wondrous Fool, my good gossip--"
"Thy gossip, forsooth!" snorted Sir Pertinax. "But tell me, presumptuousfellow, how shall these ten steeds come a-galloping hither!"
"Marry, on this wise, Sir Simple Innocence--these steeds do gallop forsufficient reason, namely--they are to gallop bidden being ridden,bestridden and chidden by whip and spur applied by certain trusty men o' mycompany, which men go habited, decked, dressed, clad, guised and disguisedas 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 theefor an unhanged, thieving rogue--"
"E'en as thyself," nodded Robin, "thou that flaunted thy unlovely carcassin stolen armour."
"Ha!" roared Sir Pertinax, clapping hand on sword. "A pest--a murrain! Thisto me, thou dog's-meat? Malediction! Now will I crack thy numbskull for apestilent malapert--"
"Nay, Sir Grim-and-gory," laughed Robin, "rather will I now use thee asthou 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 treeand thrusting long arm within the jagged fissure that gaped therein drewforth a hunting-horn and winded it loud and shrill. And presently was astir, a rustle amid the surrounding brushwood and all about them wereoutlaws, wild men and fierce of aspect, and each and every grasped long-bowwith 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 hisgrasp and Lobkyn Lollo, tossing the great blade aloft and, catching itvery 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 singfor 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 clenchedmighty 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 mustthou sing for thine. Song for song, 't is but just! Sing, Pertinax!"
"Nay," groaned the proud knight, "I had rather drink water and chew grasslike 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 thanhog-song which is grunt. Howbeit sing thou must!"
Hereupon Sir Pertinax gnashed his teeth and glaring balefully on Robinlifted 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 unlovelyas thy look and thy song as ill as thy voice, so do we forgive thee therest. Ha' done thy bellowing and begone--"
"Ha--not so!" quoth Sir Pertinax. "For troth I do sing better thanmethought possible, and my rhyming is none so ill! So will I rhyme thyevery knavish part and sing song till song and rhyme be ended. Have at theeagain, 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 everyroguish part in rhyme, but my rhymes halt by reason o' thee, rogue."
"Forsooth!" laughed Robin. "Thus stickest thou, for thy part, at my everypart, the which is well since I am man of parts. Thus then rhyme thourhymes upon thyself therefore; thus, thyself rhyming rhymes of thee, thoushalt thyself, rhyming of thyself, thyself pleasure thereby, thou thusrhyming of thee, and thee, thou. Thus thy thee and thou shall be wellaccorded. 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, nothingheeding, even when came the ten steeds with the ten suits of armour.
Now these ten horses bare eleven riders, tall, lusty fellows all, save oneshrouded in hood and cloak and whom Jocelyn viewed with quick, keen eyes.And thus he presently whispered Robin who, laughing slyly, made signal tohis followers, whereupon, by ones and twos they stole silently away untilthere none remained save only Sir Pertinax who, wrestling with his muse,stared aloft under knitted brows, all unknowing, and presently brake outsinging 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 prettymockery. Hereat Sir Pertinax started so violently that his mail clashed andhe stared about him eager-eyed but, finding himself quite alone, sighed andfell 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 hervoice!
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 beloved 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 ma
id might heed.
"Ha, think ye so in verity, sweet voice!" cried Sir Pertinax, and springinglightly to earth, strode forward on eager feet. And lo! from behind acertain tree stepped one who, letting fall shrouding cloak and hood, stoodthere a maid, dark-haired and darkly bright of eye, very shapely and fairto see in her simple tire. And beholding her thus, the tender curve ofscarlet lips, the flutter of slender hands, the languorous bewitchment ofher 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, andwherefore?"
"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 sorrywooer!"
"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! Andhast 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, smallhands. Thy hair. All of thee!"
"O," she murmured a little breathlessly, "if thou dost so love me--woome--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 theewith pity kin to love--"
"Love?" he whispered. "Ah, Melissa, couldst e'en learn to love one sounlovely, 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 loveone so unworthy as Pertinax!"
Now hearkening to his harsh voice grown soft and tremulous, beholding thetruth in his honest eyes, Melissa smiled, wondrous tender, and reaching outtook hold upon his two hands.
"Kneel!" she commanded. "Kneel here upon the grass as I do kneel. Now, layby 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 dolove thee heart and soul, thee only do I love and thee only will I love nowand for ever. So aid me, Love, amen!'" Then, closing his eyes, Sir Pertinaxbowed reverent head, and, humbly folding his hands, spake as she bade him.Thereafter opening his eyes, he saw her watching him through gatheringtears, 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 andsimple of heart! O, may I prove worthy thy love--"
"Worthy? Of my love?" he stammered. "But O Melissa, I am but he thou didstname 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 praythat I prove worthy."
"Worthy? Thou? O my sweet maid--thou that art kin to the holy angels, thouso high and far removed 'bove me that I do tremble and--fear to touchthee--".
"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 beseechthee." Then Sir Pertinax, beholding the tender passion of her eyes, forgothis fear in glad wonderment and, reaching out hands that trembled for alltheir strength, drew her to his close embracement.
And thus, kneeling together upon the sun-dappled sward, they forgot allthings in this joyous world save only their love and the glory of it. Andwhen 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 borewithin my bosom?"
"Aye," he answered, "and sure 'tis charm of potent magic whose spellbrought us out of the dungeon at Canalise--the which is great matter forwonder! 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 anapproaching clamour, voices, laughter and the ring of mail.
"Come away!" whispered Melissa, upspringing to her feet. "Come, let thouand Love and I hide until these disturbers be gone and the sweet world holdbut us three again."
Now, as they stood, hand in hand, deep hidden 'mid the green, they beheldsix merry woodland rogues who led an ambling ass whereon rode a friarportly and perspiring albeit he had a jovial eye. And as he rode he spakehis captors thus in voice full-toned and deep:
"Have a care, gentle rogues and brethren, hurry not this ambulant animalunduly, poor, much-enduring beast. Behold the pensive pendulation of theseauriculars so forlornly a-dangle! Here is ass that doth out-patience allasses, both four and two-legged. Here is meek ass of leisured soul lovingnot haste--a very pensive perambulator. So hurry not the ass, my brothers,for these several and distinct reasons or arguments. Firstly, dearlybeloved, because I love haste no more than the ass; secondly, brethren, 'tis property of Holy Church which is above all argument; and, thirdly, 'tis bestridden by one Friar John, my very self, and I am forsooth weightyargument. Fourthly, beloved, 'tis an ass that--ha! O sweet vision for eyeshuman 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 verytruth, most loved daughter, or wraith conjured of thy magic and myperfervid imaginations--speak!"
"'T is I myself, Reverend Father!" laughed Melissa. "O my dear, good FriarJohn, methink
s the kind Saints have brought thee to my need."
"Saints, quotha!" exclaimed the Friar, rolling merry eye towards hisseveral captors. "Call ye these--Saints? Long have I sought thee, thounaughty maid, and to-day in my quest these brawny 'saints' beset me withbow and quarterstaff and me constrained hither--but my blessing on themsince 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 lipto lip, I thy ghostly father have rare good news for thee--"
"Nay, Friar John, I will guess thy tidings: Sir Agramore of Biename liethsorry 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 fearof him hereafter. And now have I right wondrous news for thee, news thatnone may guess. List, dear Friar John, thou the wisest and best loved ofall my guardians ten; to-day ye are absolved henceforth all care of yourwilful ward since to-day she passeth from the guardianship of ye ten to thekeeping of one. Come forth, Pertinax, thou only one beloved of me for noreason but that thou art thou and I am I--as is ever the sweet, mad way ofTrue-love--come forth, my dear-loved, poor soldier!" Out from the treesstrode Pertinax but, beholding his face, Friar John scowled and, viewinghis rich surcoat and goodly armour, fell to perspiring wonder and amaze.
"Now by the sweet Saint Amphibalus!" quoth he. "Surely these be the arms ofSir Agramore, dread Lord of Biename?"
"Most true, dear Friar John," answered Melissa, "and by this same token SirAgramore 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 doknow this same fellow for fellow of none account, and no fit mate for thee,noble daughter, love or no. A fierce, brawling, tatterdemalion this, thaterstwhile tramped in company with long-legged ribald--a froward jestingfellow. Wherefore this fellow, though fellow serviceable, no fellow is forthee 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 arogue."
"'Rogue,' in thy teeth, Churchman!" growled Sir Pertinax.
"Secondly," continued Friar John, nothing abashed, "because thisrogue-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 makepestilent the air yet a little until thou chokest of an epithet. Meantimeperform now one gracious act in thy so graceless life and wed me with thisforest maiden."
"Forest maiden, forsooth!" cried Friar John. "O Saints! O Martyrs! Forestmaid, 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 andpeerless, yet, and she stoop to wed me, then will I make her lady proud anddame of divers goodly manors and castles, of village and hamlet, pit andgallows, sac and soc, with powers the high, the middle and the low andwith ten-score lances in her train. For though in humble guise I went, nonameless 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 gapingoutlaws, 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 willI be for thy sweet sake since life were nought without thee, O maid I do solove--how say'st thou?"
"I say to thee, Pertinax, that thy so great love hath loosed thy tongue atlast, Love hath touched thy lips with eloquence beyond all artifice sincenow, methinks, it is thy very soul doth speak me. And who shall resist suchwooing? Surely not I that do--love thee beyond telling. So take me, mylord, thy right hand in mine, the talisman in thy left--so! Now, myPertinax, speak thy heart's wish."
"Friar," quoth Sir Pertinax, holding aloft the Crystal Heart, "as her loveis mine and mine hers, wed and unite us in our love--by the magic of thisjewel I do command thee!"
Here, beholding the talisman, Friar John gasped and stared round-eyed andincredulous.
"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, loutedfull low.
"Sir Knight of Shene," quoth he, "by reason of this jewel potential thoudost bear, now must I perforce obey thy behest and wed thee unto thisour 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 thebetter, 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 thouduchess or witch-maid o' the wood, I do love thee heart and soul, body andmind, now and for ever, Melissa."
Then Friar John, beholding the radiant joy of their faces, reached forthhis hands in blessing.
"Kneel ye, my children!" he sighed. "For here methinks is true-love suchas brighteneth this world all too seldom. So here, within the forest, thewhich is surely God's cathedral, this your love shall be sanctified untoyou and the world be the better therefor! Kneel ye, my children!"
And thus, kneeling upon the flower-sprent turf hand in hand and with headsreverently bowed, they were wed, while the six outlaws stared in silent aweand the meek ass cropped the grass busily.
"O Pertinax," sighed the Duchess as they rose, "so greatly happy am I thatI will others shall be happy likewise; let us make this indeed a day ofgladness. 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 andlong and joyous. And presently came the outlaws, thronging in from alldirections, until the sunny glade was full of their wild company, whilein the green beyond pike-head twinkled and sword-blades glittered; andforemost was Robin with Lobkyn Lollo beside him.
"Robin," said the Duchess, beckoning him near with white, imperiousfinger, "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 especialto two women that sought thy protection of late."
"Why, verily, lady, I mind them well," nodded Robin, "and one was a maidpassing fair and one an ancient dame exceeding wise. To aid such is ever aman'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 theDuchess Benedicta."
"And yet, Robin, knowing this and having me in thy power didst suffer me togo without let or hindrance or single penny of ransom?"
"Spoke like a very knight!" exclaimed the Duchess. "How think'st thou, mylord?"
"Par Dex!" quoth Sir Pertinax. "Aye, by Our Lady of Shene Chapel within theWood I swear it--thou 'rt a man, Robin! So now do I sue pardon of thee formy song o' rogues since no rogue art thou. And thou didst aid and shieldher--this my wife that is the very eyes of me! So, by my troth, my goodfriend art thou henceforth, Rob o' the Green!"
"Nay, my lord," answered Robin slyly, "for I am but Robin, and outlaw, andthou 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 tookthe weapon and motioning Robin to his knees, set the blade across hisshoulder. "Robin a' Green," said she, "since thou art knightly of word anddeed, knight shalt thou be in very truth. Sir Robin a' Forest I make theeand warden over this our forest country. Rise up, Sir Robert." Then upsprang Robin, bright-eyed and flushed of cheek.
"Dear my lady," cried he, "since knight hast made me, thy knight will I behenceforth in life or in death--" But here his voice was lost in thejoyous acclamations of his followers who shouted amain until the Duchessquelled 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 joyhath found me, for this is my wedding-morn. And as I am happy I would seeye happy also. Therefore upon this glad day do we make proclamation, myLord Duke and I--this day we lift from you each and every, the ban ofoutlawry--free men are ye to go and come as ye list--free men one and alland good citizens henceforth I pray!" Now here was silence awhile, then ahoarse murmur, swelling to a jubilant shout until the sunny woodland rangwith the joy of it, near and far.
"And now, Sir Robert," laughed the Duchess, "pray you where is this nobleFool, this gentle Motley, this most rare singer of songs and breaker oflances? Bid him to us."
"Ha--the Fool!" exclaimed Sir Pertinax, starting.
"My lady," answered Robin, "true, he was here, but when I sought him, awhile since, there was Sir Palamon's armour he had worn, but himself gone--"
"Gone--gone say'st thou?" cried Sir Pertinax, glancing about. "Then needsmust I go seek him--"
"And wherefore, my lord?" cried the Duchess.
"'T is my--my duty, Melissa!" stammered Sir Pertinax. "He is my--my friendand--sworn brother-in-arms!"
"And am I not thy wife, Pertinax?"
"Aye, most dearly loved, and I, thy husband--and yet--needs must I seekthis 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. Myduty calleth--"
"And what of thy duty to me?"
Now as Sir Pertinax wrung his hands in an agony of indecision, rose awhisper of sweet sound, the murmur of softly-plucked lute-strings, and intothe glade, cock's-comb aflaunt and ass's ears a-dangle Duke Jocelyn strodeand 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 palfreyrichly caparisoned.
"Right noble lady," said he, "behold here a goodly, fair jennet to thygracious 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 suchthings 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 marchhence 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 andduchess so attended. How the townsfolk shall throng and stare to see ourwild following, and my worthy guardians gape and pluck their beards forvery amaze! How think you, good Friar John?"
"Why, verily, daughter, I, that am chiefest of thy wardens ten, do think itwise measure; as for thy other guardians let them pluck and gape until theychoke.
"In especial Greg'ry Bax, Who both beard and wisdom lacks.
I say 'tis wise, good measure, for these that were outlaws be sturdyfellows with many friends in town and village, so shall this thy day ofunion be for them re-union, and they joy with thee."
Now being mounted the Duchess rode where stood Jocelyn, and looked down onhim merry-eyed.
"Sir Fool," said she, "who thou art I know not, but I have hunted inBrocelaunde ere now, and I have eyes. And as thou 'rt friend to my dearlord, friend art thou of mine, so do we give thee joyous welcome to ourduchy. And, being thy friend, I pray thou may'st find that wonder ofwonders the which hideth but to be found, and once found, shall make wiseFool wiser."
"Sweet friend and lady," answered Jocelyn, "surely man so unlovely as I maynot know this wonder for his very own until it first seek him. Is 't notso? Let now thy woman's heart counsel me."
"How, Sir Wise Folly, have I not heard thee preach boldness in love erenow?"
"Aye--for others!" sighed Jocelyn. "But for myself--I fear--behold thismotley! 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 possessa magic whereby all loved things become fair and beauteous. So takecourage, noble Motley, and may thy desires be crowned--even as our own."
"Gramercy, thou sweet and gentle lady. Happiness companion thee alway andLove sing ever within thee. Now for ye twain is love's springtime, a seasonof sweet promise, may each promise find fulfilment and so farewell."
"Why then, Sir Fool, an thou wilt tarry here in the good greenwood awhile, may Love guide thee. Now here is my counsel: Follow where thy heartcommandeth 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 itbeginneth and endeth with jolly chorus well beknown to all. Ho, pikesto van and rear! Bows to the flanks--fall in! Now trusty friends o' thegreenwood, free-men all, henceforth--now march we back to hearth and homeand love, so sing ye--sing!"
Hereupon from the ragged, close-ordered ranks burst a shout that swelledto 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 thesunset glory from bright headpiece and sword-blade, while Jocelyn stoodwatching wistful-eyed until they were lost amid the green, until all soundsof their going grew to a hush mingling with the whisper o
f leaves andmurmurous gurgle of the brook; and ever the shadows deepened about him, apurple solitude of misty trees and tangled thickets, depth on depth, fadingto a glimmering mystery.
Suddenly amid these glooming shadows a shadow moved, and forth into thedarkling glade, mighty club on mighty shoulder, stepped Lobkyn Lollo theDwarf, 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 andwistful 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 thetest--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-stealingfrom the shadows crept strange and dismal sound, a thin wail that sank toawful 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, heespied a dim, huddled form thereby and, creeping nearer, stared in wonderto behold Mopsa, the old witch, striving might and main to wind the greathunting-horn.
"What, good Witch!" quoth he, "here methinks is that beyond all thy spellsto achieve."
"O Fool," she panted, "kind Fool, sound me this horn, for I'm old and scanto' breath. Wind it shrill and loud, good Motley, the rallying-note, forthere is ill work afoot this night. Sound me shrewd blast, therefore."
"Nay, 't were labour in vain, Witch; there be no outlaws hereabout, freemen are they henceforth and gone, each and every."
"Out alas--alas!" cried the old woman, wringing her hands. "Then woe is mefor 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 diversof his men shall bear her away where he lieth raging for her in his blackcastle of Ells--"
"Now by heaven's light!" swore Jocelyn, his eyes fierce and keen, "thisnight 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 bewicked 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 uphis quarter-staff. "But haste ye, for I would be hence ere the moon gethigh. Come!"
So Duke Jocelyn strode away with Lobkyn Lollo at his heels; now as theywent, 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 castinga cloak about her loveliness came and leaned forth into the warm, stillglamour of the night, and saw where stood Jocelyn tall and shapely in themoonlight, but with hateful cock's-comb a-flaunt and ass's ears grotesquelya-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 thrustback his cock's-comb and so stood gazing up at her wide-eyed.
But she, beholding thus his scarred face, shivered again, shrinking alittle, 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 putoff also for thy sake an it might be, but since this I may not do, closethou 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'slove. I that am one with face thus hatefully scarred do seek
thee in thybeauty 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 sincethou hast ne'er beheld him--to thy knowing."
"Nay, then--what of this?" she questioned, drawing the jewelled picturefrom 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 ofthy beauty, speaking thee no word of love, whiles here stand I, a sorryFool 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 sorrything 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 thesame I saw 'mid gloom of dungeon sing brave song in thy chains! Thou art hethat overthrew so many in the lists! O Joconde, my world is upside down byreason of thee."
"And thou, Yolande, didst stoop to me within my dungeon! And thou didstpray for me, Yolande, and now--now within this sweet night thou dost leandown to me through the glory of thy hair--to me in my very lowliness! Andso it is I love thee, Yolande, love thee as none shall ever love thee, forman am I with heart to worship thee, tongue to woo thee, eyes to behold thybeauties, and arms to clasp thee. So am I richer than yon painted duke thatneeds 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, seeLove 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 toheaven--thus!" So saying, Jocelyn began to climb by gnarled ivy and carvenbuttress. And ever as he mounted she watched him through the silken curtainof her hair, wide of eye and with hands tight-clasped.
"Ah, Joconde!" she whispered, "'t is madness--madness! Ah, Joconde!" Butswift he came and swung himself upon the balcony beside her and reached outhis arms in mute supplication, viewing her wistfully but with scarred facetransfigured by smile ineffably tender, and when he spoke his voice washushed and reverent.
"I am here, Yolande, because methought to read within thy look the wonderof all wonders. But, O my lady, because I am but what I am, fain would Ihear 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 isit that my ass's ears do shame thee, my cock's-comb and garments pied shamethe worship of this foolish heart, and I, a Fool, worshipping thee, shamethee by such worship? Then--on, cock's-comb! Ring out, silly bells! Fool'slove 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 fumblewith 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--andnow shall frog bark like dog--"
"And what meaneth this?"
"That thou, proud lady, must this night choose betwixt knightly rogue andmotley 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 ofheavy feet that, breaking rudely upon the gentle-brooding night, drove thecolour 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 spakethey 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 ofthe Bloody Hand.
"My Lord Gui's followers! Alas, Joconde, these mean thee ill--here is deathfor thee!" Now as she spake, Jocelyn thrilled to the touch of her hand uponhis arm, a hand that trembled and stole to clasp his. "Alas, Joconde, theyhave tracked thee hither to slay thee--"
"And were this so, wouldst fly with me, Yolande? Wouldst trust thy beautiesto a Fool's keeping?"
"Nay, nay, this were madness, Joconde; rather will I hide thee--aye, wherenone 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 bodyabhorreth Fool's embrace--I am answered. Nay, 't is enough, trouble not forwords--ha, methinks it is too late, the wolves be hard upon us--hark ye totheir baying!"
And now was sudden uproar, a raving clamour of fierce shouts, and athundering 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 thoulive a while--for thou art mine--mine to-night, Yolande--come!" Andhe clasped her in fierce arms. "Nay, strive not lest I kiss thee tosubmission, for thou art mine, though it be for one brief hour and deaththe next!" So, as she struggled for the dagger, he kissed her on mouth andeyes and hair until she lay all unresisting in his embrace; while ever andanon 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 myheart, 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 diverspassage-ways until, thrusting open a narrow door, he found himself withinthe garden and, keeping ever amid the darkest shadows, hasted on to thepostern hard by the lily-pool.
And now Yolande felt herself swung to lofty saddle, heard Jocelyn's warningshout drowned in a roar of voices and loud-trampling hoofs as the greathorse reared, heard a fierce laugh and, looking up, saw the face above hergrim and keen-eyed beneath its foolish cock's-comb as his vicious steelflashed 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 andtwo-edged--make way, knaves--make way for Folly--"
The snorting charger, wheeled by strong hand, broke free, whereon rose anuproar of shouts and cries that sank to a meaningless babble swept backwardon the rush of wind. Away, away they sped, through moonlight and shadow,with fast-beating hoofs that rang on paved walk, that thudded on softgrass, that trampled the tender flowers; and Yolande, swaying to the mightyarm that clasped her, saw the fierce, scarred face bent above her with eyesthat 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 reedsand whispering sedge, past crouching bush and stately tree, and so at lastthey reached the woods. By shadowy brake and t
hicket, through pools ofradiant moonlight, through leafy, whispering glooms they held their way,across broad glade and clearing, on and on until all noise of pursuit waslost and nought was to hear save the sounds of their going.
Thus rode they, and with never a word betwixt them, deep and deeper intothe wild until the moon was down and darkness shut them in; whereforeJocelyn 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; thedrowsy 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-sweetgoddess, 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 thouin very woeful case. As for me, a lost fool is no matter, wherefore Foolfor himself grieveth no whit. But for thee--alas! Thou art a proud lady ofhigh degree, very nice of thy dainty person, soft and delicate of body, soshall the greensward prove for thee uneasy couch, I judge, and thou sleepill--
She: Sleep? No thought have I of sleep! Ride on, therefore. Why tarry wehere?
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 thatbubbleth. 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 witha Fool. So is Fool care-full Fool since Fool hath care of thee. Suffer menow to aid thee down since here will we wait the day. Come, my arm aboutthee 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 bankand 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 bequagmires and perilous ways--wherefore here must we bide till dawn. Sufferme to--
SHE (_breathlessly and shrinking from his touch_): But I fear notquagmires--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 perilstwo-legged--e'en as I. But I, though two-legged, am but very fool offools and nothing perilous in blazing day or blackest night. So stintthy 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 andtethered him beside a dun stream that rippled beneath shadowy willows; andso 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 hecould 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 asword-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. "Nowwere 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 merrysong 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 withlength of days--"
"And thou'rt a very Fool!" she cried angrily. "A fond Fool presumptuous inthy 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, fearfulmaid, thou art sick with fear of me! So take now my dagger! Thus Fooloffenceless shall lie defenceless at thy mercy and, so lying, sleep untiljoyous day shall banish thy so virginal fears!" Which saying, he tossed offbelt and dagger and setting them beside her, rolled his weather-worn cloakabout him, stretched himself beneath the dim willows and straightwayfell a-snoring. And after some while she questioned him in voice low andtroubled:
"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 hisgirdle, speaking quick and passionate:
"Take back thy dagger lest I be tempted to smite it to the cruel, mockingheart of thee!" Then turned she stately back and left him, but, being hidfrom view, cast herself down full length upon the sward, her pride andstateliness forgotten quite. Now Jocelyn, propped on uneasy elbow, peeredamid the gloom for sight of her and hearkened eagerly for sound of her; butfinding this vain, arose and, creeping stealthily, presently espied herwhere she lay, face hidden in the dewy grass. Thus stood he chin in handdisquieted 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 earcaught a sound faint though very pitiful. "Ah, dost thou weep?" he cried.Yolande sobbed again, whereupon down fell he beside her on his knees, "Dearlady, why grievest thou?"
"O Joconde," she sighed, "I am indeed solitary--and fearful! And thou--thoudost 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 sleepsecure--"
"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 brackenfor thy bed."
"Then will I aid thee." So she arose forthwith and, amid the fragrantgloom, they laboured together side by side; and oft in the gloom her handtouched his, and oft upon his cheek and brow and lip was the silken touchof 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 cloakabout thee."
"But how of thyself, Joconde?"
"I am a Fool well seasoned of wind and rain, heat and cold, lady, and 'tisnight 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 thefern, deep-sighing, and he, broad back against the tree, sighed ofteneryet.
"Art there, Joconde?" she questioned softly.
"Here, lady."
"'Tis very dark," sighed she, "and yet, methinks, 'tis sweet to lie thusin the greenwood so hushed and still and the stars to watch like eyes ofangels."
"Why, 'tis night of summer, lady, a night soft and languorous and fragrantof sleeping flowers. But how of grim winter, how of rain and wind andlashing 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, asighing 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 herferny couch, sighed also; thereafter fell they silent awhile hearkening tothe leafy stirrings all about them in the dark, and the slumberous murmurof the stream that, ever and anon, brake into faint gurglings like a voicethat 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 forthyself.
HE: Why so I do, lady, and therewith grieve for myself and thyself, myselfbeing Fool and thyself a dame of high degree, thus, betwixt whiles, I dofear 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 andlook 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'sears 'bove visage scarred--how then? On Ida's mount he had been sighingforlorn and lonely yet, methinks. For maids' hearts are ever governed bytheir 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 womanherself but seldom.
Now here was silence again wherein Yolande, smiling, viewed him a dim shapein the gloom, and he leaned back to watch a star that twinkled through theleafy 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, thoughyouthful, 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 andamongst 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 farbeyond poor, common flesh and blood? 'Tis so the painter has limned hisface, '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 hiswife--
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 maywed the Duke, loving not the man--"
SHE: And so he sent a Fool as his ambassador! And so do I scorn thisgod-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 forthyself which was ill in thee. But thou didst throw the terrible Red Guiinto my lily-pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure chains and aprison undaunted which was noble in thee. Thou didst this night at peril ofthy life save me from shame, but thou didst bear me urgently here into thewild, and in the wild here lie I beside thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy andsafe beneath thy cloak--and so--'tis very well--
HE: Safe, Yolande? Hath thy heart told thee this at last? But thou didstfear me--
SHE: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in cruel arms and spake me wordsof love passionate and fierce and--and--
HE: Kissed thee, Yolande!
SHE: Many times--O cruel! And bore me hither and lost me in these darksolitudes! 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 forthee 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 sleepsecure 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 couchsighed and presently fell to slumber.
Now, sitting thus beside her as she slept, Jocelyn heard the stream ripplein the shadows like one that laughed soft but very joyously and, as hegazed up at the solitary star with eyes enraptured, this elfin laughterfound 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 thatwaxed ever brighter. And presently amid this growing brightness was softstir and twitter, sleepy chirpings changed to notes of wistful sweetness, aplaintive calling that was answered from afar.
Thus the birds awaking sounded pretty warnings summoning each to each forthat the day-spring was at hand, while ever the brightness changed toradiance and radiance to an orient glory and up flamed the sun in majestyand it was day. And now, from brake and thicket, from dewy mysteriesof green boskage burst forth the sweet, glad chorus of bird-song, fullthroated, passionate of joy.
And Jocelyn, sitting broad back against a tree, felt his soul upliftedthereby what time his eyes missed nothing of the beauties about him: therugged boles of mighty trees bedappled with sunny splendour, theglittering dew that gemmed leaf and twig and fronded bracken, and theshapely loveliness of her who slumbered couched beneath his worn cloak,the gentle rise and fall of rounded bosom and the tress of hair that afugitive 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 wakedshe 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 hastout-watched dark night and art a-weary, so shalt sleep awhile--"
"Nay," he answered, "a plunge in the stream yonder and I shall be blithefor the road--an we find o
ne. And I do fear me thou'rt hungry, Yolande, andI have nought to give thee--"
"And what of thyself, man? Verily, I read hunger in thy look and wearinessalso, so, an thou may'st not eat, sleep thou shalt awhile here--in myplace."
"Nay, Yolande, indeed--"
"Yea, but thou must indeed whiles I watch over thee. 'Tis a sweet bed--comethy ways."
"And what wilt thou do?" he questioned.
"Much!" she answered, viewing her rumpled, gown with rueful eyes. "As thousayest, 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 mustand shalt."
So Duke Jocelyn stretched himself obediently upon the bed of fern andsuffered her to cover him with the cloak; but as she stooped above himthus, 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 radiantbeauty, but hearing her beside him, was content, and thus presently fell tohappy sleeping.
When he awoke the sun was high and he lay awhile basking in this gratefulradiance and joying in the pervading quiet; but little by little, growinguneasy by reason of this stillness, he started up to glance about him andknew 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 distraughthe turned to seek her, her name upon his lips, then, checking voice andmovement, stood rigid, smitten by hateful doubt. For now it seemed to himthat her gentle looks and words had been but sweet deceits to blind him toher purpose and now, so soon as she had lulled him to sleep, she had stolenaway, leaving him for the poor, piteous fool he was. And now his despairwas 'whelmed in sudden anger, and anger, little by little, changed togrief. 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 asin a pit of gloom, knew a great bitterness.
Slowly, slowly, borne upon the gentle wind came a fragrance strange andunexpected, a savour delectable of cooking meat that made him know himselfa man vastly hungry despite his grievous woe. But, lying within the blackgulf 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 thewords:
"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. DukeJocelyn lifted woeful head and saw her standing tall and shapely amidthe leaves, fresh and sweet as the morn itself, with laughter within herdream-soft eyes and laughter on her vivid lips and the sun bright in thebraided tresses of her hair wherein she had set wild flowers like jewels.
"Yolande!" he murmured, coming to his knees "Yolande--how glorious thouart!"
"Nay," she laughed, yet flushing to the worship of his eyes, "and my habitwoefully torn of wicked bramble-thorns, and my hair ill-braided and alluncombed and--"
"Ah, Yolande, I thought thee fled and I left to loneliness, and my pain wasvery 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 thisways." And she reached him her hand. So she brought him to a little dellwhere burned a fire of sticks beneath a pot whence stole right savouryodour.
"O most wonderful!" quoth he. "Whence came these goodly viands?"
"Where but from the wallet behind thy horse's saddle, Joconde?" Then downsat they forthwith side by side and ate heartily and were very blithetogether; and oft-times their looks would meet and they would fall silentawhile. At last, the meal ended, Jocelyn, turning from Yolande's beauty tothe beauty of the world around, spake soft-voiced:
"Yolande, were mine a selfish love, here, lost within these greensolitudes, would I keep thee for mine own--to serve and worship thee untomy 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, tothy kindred."
"But I have no kindred, alas!" sighed she, stooping to caress adaisy-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 andsaddle thy horse, mayhap I shall know this anon. Go thou and saddle thehorse." So Jocelyn arose and having saddled and bridled the horse, back hecometh to find Yolande on her knees beside the stream, and she, hearinghis step, bowed her head, hiding her face from him; now on the swardbeside 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, becomforted; '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 faceof 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 mirroredimage looked back at him; now as he stooped so stooped she, and in thiswatery 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 mythought thou art man greater, nobler than any proud lord or mighty dukesoever. And thou hast loved and wooed as never man wooed, methinks. Andthou art so brave and strong and so very gentle and--thus it is--I do lovethee."
"But my--my motley habit, my--"
"Thy cap of Folly, Joconde, these garments pied thou hast dignified by thyvery 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 wakedwithin my heart that which shall never die--long time my heart hath criedfor 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 marvelbeyond my understanding and belief."
"Why, Joconde, ah, why?"
"See!" he cried, flinging back his head. "Look now upon this blemishedface--here where the cruel sun may shew thee all my ugliness, everyscar--behold! How may one so beautiful as thou learn love for one so lowlyand with face thus hatefully marred? I have watched thee shrink from me erenow! I mind how, beside the lily-pool within thy garden, thou didst view mewith eyes of horror! I do mind thy very words--the first that e'er I heardthee utter:
'What thing art thou that 'neath thy hood doth show A visage that mightshame 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'erthey wounded thee. For I do love thee with love as deep, as true as isthine own! Wilt not believe me?"
"Oh, that I might indeed!" he groaned. "But--thou'rt alone, far from thyhome and friends, thy wonted pride and state forgotten all--mayhap thoudost pity me or mayhap 'tis thy gratitude in guise of love doth speak methus? 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 tolash me!" and catching his hand she kissed it and cherished it 'gainsttear-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 lovehath touched my eyes and I do see thee at last as thou truly art, a mangreat 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 andbefore all men, no matter how, so I might but banish thy cruel doubts forever. But now, for thy dear, scarred face--"
Her soft, round arms were about his neck; and drawing him to her lips shekissed him, his scarred brow and cheek, his eyes, his lips grown dumb withwondering joy. Thus, lip to lip and with arms entwined, knelt they besidethat slow-moving stream that whispered softly beneath the bank and gurgledroguish laughter in the shallows.
A dog barked faintly in the distance, a frog croaked hoarsely from theneighbouring sedge, but lost in the wonder of their love, they heeded onlythe 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 ondagger-hilt, to behold a man with shock of red hair, a man squat and burlywho, 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 SaintNick, 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 thoualong wi' me."
"With thee, Tanner? And wherefore?"
"Why, I know not wherefore, Fool, but must along. Here's me and Lob andthe potent hag that is Mopsa the Witch, lain a-watching and a-watching yea-billing--nay, scowl not, friend Fool, on tanner trusty, tried andtrue. For hark now, here's great stir, clamour and to-do within thisforest-country for thee, Fool, the which is strange, seeing thou art but amotley fool. Howbeit there be many great lords and knights from beyond theSouthern 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 Duchessyearning for thee, here's Robin that is Sir Robert a-clamouring for theeand all his goodly foresters, as myself, a-seeking thee."
"But't is I found thee, Sir Long-legged Fool, I--I!" croaked a voice, andold 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 toweave spells and enchantments, aha--oho! Spells that shall prove the falsefrom 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 andshow thee great joy or bitter sorrow--oho! Thou, proud lady, hast stoopedto love a motley mountebank--nay, flash not thy bright eyes nor tosshaughty head at an old woman--but here is solitude with none to mockthy lowly choice or cry thee shame to love a motley Fool, aha! And thouwould'st fain prove thy love True-love, says thou? Why, so thoushalt--beyond all doubting now and for ever, aha--oho! Truest of true orfalsest 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 prettybantling, sweet poppet--come and--away!" o spake old Mopsa the Witch, andvanished into the green with Lobkyn, who turned to flourish his club incheery salutation ere he plunged into the underbrush. Then Jocelyn smileddown on Yolande to find her pale and trembling, so would he have claspedher to his heart, but a hand grasped him and, turning, he beheld the Tannerat his elbow.
"Friend Fool," quoth he, "needs must I take thee to Robin that Sir Robertis, 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 mydagger bite thee." Back leapt Will into the stream whence he had come, andthere standing, clapped bugle to lip and winded it lustily, whereupon camedivers 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 gowith them, beloved!" At the whispered word Jocelyn loosed the daggerand, clasping her instead, kissed her full-lipped. Then turned he to hiscaptors.
"I'm with thee, Will, thou--tanner!" quoth he. "And now bring hither thehorse for my lady's going."
"Nay," answered Will, scratching red head, "Rob--Sir Robert spake nothingof horse for thee, or lady."
"Nor will I ride, Joconde," she murmured happily, "rather will I trudgebeside thee, my hand in thine--thus!"
So, hand in hand, they went close-guarded by their captors yet heeding themnot at all, having eyes but for each other. And oft her cheek flushed rosybeneath his look, and oft he thrilled to the warm, close pressure of herfingers; 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 readyhand, while for him swamps and brooks were a joy since he might bear herin his arms. Thus tramped they by shady dingle and sunny glade, throughmarshy hollows and over laughing rills, until the men began to muttertheir discontent, in especial a swart, hairy wight, and Will, glancing upat 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 comefar 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 agreat, green hollow, shady with trees beneath whose shade were huts ofwattle cunningly wrought, a brook that flowed sparkling, and beyond caveshollowed in the steepy bank.
"How now, Tanner Will," questioned Jocelyn, "hast brought us to theoutlaw'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 Tannerpointed where one came running, a man long of leg, long of arm and verybright of eye, a goodly man clad in hood and jerkin of neat's leather asaforetime, only now his bugle swung from baldrick of gold and silver and inhis hood was brooched a long scarlet feather.
"What brother!" cried he joyously. "By saint Nicholas,'tis sweet to seethee 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 Iknow not save that it is by my lady Benedicta's strict command and her Imust obey." And now, turning to Yolande, he bared his head, louting fulllow. "Lady," quoth he, "by thy rare and
so great beauty I do know thee forYolande the Fair, so do we of the wild give thee humble greeting. Heremay'st thou rest awhile ere we bring thee to Canalise."
"But, messire," answered Yolande, clasping Jocelyn's hand, "no mind have Ito go to Canalise."
"Then alack for me, fair lady, for needs must I carry thee there within thehour along of my motley brother. Meanwhile here within yon bower thoushalt find cushions to thy repose, and all things to thy comfort andrefreshment."
"O Sir Robert! O for a comb!" she sighed.
"Expectant it waiteth thee, lady, together with water cool, sweet-perfumedessences, unguents and other nice, lady-like toys. Moreover, there bemirrors 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 setout with divers comfortable things both eatable and drinkable.
Quoth Jocelyn, hunger and thirst appeased: "And now good Robin, what dothese envoys from Brocelaunde? Why am I thy prisoner and wherefore must Ito Canalise?"
"Ha!" saith Robin, cocking merry eye, "and thy name is Joconde, the whichis 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 Songo' 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, hiscurses! 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, thatwas poor outlaw, knight-at-arms and lord warden, and thou--a motley Foolstill--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 sobeing have learned me policy, and my policy is, when unable to give answerdirect to question direct, to question myself direct thus directingquestion to questions other or to talk of matters of interest universal, sodo 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 vastyamaze, 'my very noble and right potent Sir Robert,' says you, 'if thouart 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 myhabit is to go habited as suiteth my habit, suiting habit o' body to habito' 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 thebetter 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 nofurther, which is well, for 'comely' is an ill word to rhyme with. Howbeithere 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 andpikemen ranked very orderly about a fair horse-litter. But Yolande comingradiant 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 passingbeneath grim portcullis and through frowning gateway, with ring and tramp,crossed the wide market square a-throng with jostling townsfolk, wholaughed and pointed, cheered and hooted, staring amain at Jocelyn in histhreadbare 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, brightwith the glitter of steel, where men-at-arms stood mustered. Here Robinhalted his company, whereon rose the silvery note of a clarion, and forthpaced the dignified Chief Herald, who spake him full-toned and sonorous:
"In the name of our potent Duke Pertinax and his gracious lady Benedicta, Igreet thee well, Sir Robert-a-Forest. Now whom bring ye here? Pronounce!"
"Dan Merriment, Sir Gravity," answered Robin, "a Fool valiant and wise, amaker of songs, of quips and quiddities many and jocund, Joconde hight. SirWisdom, Folly behold, himself here _in propria persona_."
The Chief Herald gestured haughtily with his wand whereupon forth stepped afile 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 heartfail thee."
"Ah, Joconde, I fear for thee--whither would they lead thee? Nay, sweetheaven, 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 pikemenclosed in, and Jocelyn was hustled away; so stood she trembling, handsclasped and eyes wide and fearful, until tall motley figure and flauntingcock's-comb were lost to her sight and the jingle of his bells had diedaway; then, finding herself alone and all men's eyes upon her, she liftedbowed head and stood white-cheeked and proudly patient, waiting for whatmight betide.
And presently was distant stir that, growing nearer, swelled to the ringand clash of armour and the trampling of many hoofs; and presently throughthe great gateway rode many knights sumptuously caparisoned, their shieldsbrave with gilded 'scutcheons, pennon and bannerole a-flutter above noddingplumes, and over all the Red Raven banner of Brocelaunde. So rode theytwo-and-two until the great courtyard blazed with flashing steel andbroidered surcoats. And now a trumpet blared, and forth before thisglorious array a pursuivant rode and halted to behold Pertinax, who steppedforth 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 mightyLord Duke of Brocelaunde greeteth you in all love and amity, and hitherrideth to claim a fair lady to wife. Behold our Lord Duke Jocelyn!"
Loud and long the trumpets blew as into the courtyard rode a singlehorseman; tall was he and bedight in plain black armour and white surcoatwhereon the Red Raven glowed; but his face was hid in vizored helm. Sorode he through his glorious array of knights, checking his fiery steed togentle gait with practised hand, while thus spake the pursuivant:
"Behold here Jocelyn, Duke of Brocelaunde, to claim this day in marriagethe Lady Yolande according to her word."
"Stay, my lords!" cried a sweet, clear voice, and forth before them allstood Yolande herself, pale-cheeked but stately of bearing and very brightof eye.
"Be it known to all here that I, Yolande, have given neither pledge nortroth unto Duke Jocelyn--"
Now here was silence sudden and profound that none dared break saving onlythe 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 Jocelynsince I have this day pledged myself unto Duke Jocelyn's jester--"
"Jester, lady, jester? Venus aid us--Cupid shield us! A jester, a Fool, amotley mountebank, a--"
"Aye!" cried Yolande. "All this is he, my lords. Very humble and lowly--yetdo I love him! Oh, 'tis joy--'tis joy to thus confess my love--his cap andbells and motley livery are fairer to me than velvet mantle or knightlyarmour; he is but humble jester, a Fool fo
r men's scorn or laughter, yet ishe a man, so do I love him and so am I his--unto the end. My lords, I haveno more to say save this--give me my jester--this man I love--and suffer usto go forth hand in hand together, even as we came."
The Duchess Benedicta uttered a soft, glad cry, and seizing her husband'sarm, shook it for very joy. But now, as Yolande fronted them all, pale andproudly defiant, was the ring of a mailed foot, and turning, she shranktrembling to see Duke Jocelyn hasting toward her, his black armourglinting, his embroidered surcoat fluttering, his long arms outstretchedto her; thus quick-striding he came but, even as she put out shaking handsto stay him, he fell upon his knee before her.
"Most brave and noble lady--beloved Yolande," he cried, and lifted hisvizor. Now beholding the scarred face of him, the tender, smiling lips, theadoration in his grey eyes, she trembled amain and, swaying to him, restedher 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. Thedream is past and we do wake at last, for thy motley Fool, thy Duke andlover am I, yet lover most of all. And thou who in thy divine mercy stoopedto love the Fool, by that same love shalt thou lift Duke Jocelyn up to theeand heaven at last. And Oh, methinks the memory of thy so great and noblelove shall be a memory fragrant everlastingly."
So speaking, Duke Jocelyn rose, and with her hand fast in his, looked fromher loveliness round about him, blithe of eye.
"My lords," cried he, "behold my well-beloved, brave-hearted lady. Noblesof Brocelaunde, salute your Duchess Yolande."
Hereupon was shout on shout of joyous acclaim, lost all at once in thesweet, glad clamour of bells pealing near and far; so, hand in hand, whilethe air thrilled with this merry riot, they crossed the wide courtyard, andshe flushed 'neath the worship of his look and he thrilled to the close,warm pressure of her fingers--thus walked they betwixt the ranks ofmen-at-arms and glittering chivalry, yet saw them not.
But now Yolande was aware of Benedicta's arms about her and Benedicta'svoice in her ear.
"Dear my Yolande, so True-love hath found thee at last since thou wertbrave 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, mychildren, 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 cunningcontrivement hath Mopsa the old Witch proved the true from the false, thegold 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 otherto love's fulfilment--hark where the bells do summon ye."
And thus, as evening fell, they were wed within the great Minster ofCanalise, and thereafter came they to the banqueting-hall with retinue ofknights and nobles. Last of all strode Robin with his foresters, and asthey 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
The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Page 13
