I took a part, though an undistinguished one; because it was expected of me. A knight from Negripont, a Venetian who had taken up the sport in middle life, was looking for an opponent of about his own calibre. We ran two courses, and the result was a draw. In the first encounter both lances were broken but we kept our saddles. In the second I went backwards over my horse's tail, and so did he. There should have been a third course to decide but he cried off, claiming that his saddle was damaged past mending; so I suppose the draw was slightly in my favour, though no one suggested I had won his horse and arms.
Sir Geoffrey had chosen madam Jeanne to present the prize as Queen of Beauty. The lady Isabel behaved very well, taking the part of chief attendant on the Queen, and advising her on points of blazonry and etiquette when the poor girl was unable to identify the combatants under their great helms. Of course there was a lot of ill-natured gossip. There was no need for Sir Geoffrey to make the lady Isabel Queen of Beauty; it can be rather dull when the host does the obvious in this way. It is better to pick out some unknown young lady, and so launch her on society. But if you do not choose your own wife it is foolish to choose her rival.
The principal jousters were trying too hard, which spoils the fun of any tournament. Obviously Sir Geoffrey had planned the whole affair on the assumption that little Jeanne would crown him; but Sir Ancelin was determined to bear off the prize, because he could not endure to be second in anything; and Sir John de Catabas suddenly decided that this was a good opportunity to dazzle his young wife with his veteran prowess. Young Guy de St. Omer, a friend of the lady Isabel who had volunteered to make the fourth in the first-class Round Table, received harder knocks than he had expected.
Each of these four must encounter the three others. So poor St. Omer was unhorsed, abruptly, three times in succession. He had never expected to come out higher than fourth; but afterwards he complained that jousting at Carytena was less courteous and more dangerous than most battles. Sir Geoffrey was adjudged the victor over Sir Ancelin, for though both kept their saddles Sir Ancelin's horse sat down on his tail when the shock hit him. But Sir Ancelin gained the advantage over Sir John de Catabas, who lost his stirrups and shifted in the saddle though he did not part company with his horse.
Thus everything depended on the last encounter, between Sir Geoffrey and Sir John. If Sir Geoffrey won he would gain the prize, if he were beaten the three of them would be level with two victories and one defeat for each. They rode at one another very fiercely, but I was one of the many who watched Jeanne's face instead of this collision between famous champions.
I am sorry to say that she displayed no emotion except boundless pleasure. She was little more than a child, and the knowledge that her husband was disputing with such a great lord for a crown she would bestow flattered her vanity without touching her heart. If they had killed one another before her eyes I think she would have clapped her hands and crowed with delight. I whispered to Melisande beside me: "It's all right. She doesn't care a pin for either of them."
"But supposing they both care for her?" my wife whispered back. "That's where the trouble lies. Nobody minds if a lady breaks her heart with hopeless love. It was Lancelot who brought ruin to the Round Table, not Guinevere."
There was an amazing crash, and I looked down at the lists. Both horses were back on their haunches, shocked to a standstill; both knights kept their saddles. Sir John's broken lance-head was embedded in Sir Geoffrey's shield; it was blunt, of course, but if it had been a candle the force of the thrust would have driven it into the painted leather. Sir Geoffrey's lance was unbroken, and his opponent's shield gleamed unscarred. Instead Sir John looked oddly smaller. I had to peer again before I saw that the whole of the white swan's head and neck which was his crest had been carried away, wreath, mantling, and all. A shining furrow glinted across the bare flat top of his helm.
As Sir Geoffrey pulled his horse round to salute the Queen of Beauty a roar of cheering greeted this feat of arms. The stroke at the helm is rarely attempted; partly because if it goes wrong you may break the neck of a good knight, which no one wants to do in a friendly joust; partly because it is almost impossible to achieve, since your opponent's lance will strike your shield and unsettle your aim before your lance reaches his helm. But Sir Geoffrey had aimed so true, even as the other lance hit him, that he had removed the whole crest without giving Sir John so much as a headache.
Little Jeanne simpered rather unattractively as she leaned down from the tribunal to place the crown, a wreath of beaten silver, on Sir Geoffrey's helm. We all felt sorry for Sir John, overcome by a better knight under his wife's eyes. Sir Geoffrey made the situation even more embarrassing by announcing that he would not take the prize he had given for his own tournament; it should go to the next most worthy knight, his old friend and loyal vassal Sir John de Catabas.
"Aren't men fools?" Melisande whispered. "If he wasn't going to take the prize why the devil did he ride in the joust?"
"Never mind," I whispered back. "He has been gracious in public, and he must be feeling very pleased with his own chivalry. Perhaps that will make him more sympathetic to the unfortunate Sir John."
Everyone was very sympathetic to the unfortunate Sir John, and at supper in the draughty pavilion the ladies cooed over him. That did not make matters any better, but you might argue that so far nothing had gone wrong. It was obvious that Sir Geoffrey liked the company of little Jeanne more than the company of any other lady, his wife included; but expert opinion agreed, and in Carytena opinion was very expert, that so far no adultery had been committed. This was a genuine chivalrous romance, such as the old poets used to sing of: a gallant knight and a fair lady sighing for hopeless love of one another, and doing nothing practical about it.
During the worst of the winter there could be no hunting or hawking, and we were more or less confined to the castle unless there were Esclavons to be chased through the snow. For the first time for some years the lady Isabel stayed at home and tried to make life cheerful for her lord. Some of her young friends and relations from Satines visited her, and it was really a gay and amusing season. But we all felt self-conscious in our amusements. At any moment half the company were peering into corners to make sure that Sir Geoffrey and madam Jeanne had not slipped away quietly together.
In a way this was the done thing. When I was a young page at Ludlow half the knights were sighing with hopeless love for half the ladies. We marry strangers, for money or for land. (I am an exception, and my marriage has been happy and successful, but that does not prove anything.) Yet unmarried knights, with strange brides waiting for them in some distant castle, are constantly in the company of young ladies also waiting for absent husbands. Courteous love is as good a way of getting through the winter as any other pastime; and its great advantage is that if properly conducted it does not lead anywhere. The knight sighs and composes verses; the lady sighs and embroiders favours. Presently they marry someone else and grow old, forgetting the fancies of their youth. What else is there to do in foul weather or after sunset? You can't always be playing backgammon.
But it isn't every day that the famous lord of a great fee, with his wife beside him, falls in love with the bride of an elderly husband who is also his vassal. Sir Geoffrey saw Jeanne for long hours every evening, normally in the presence of her husband; but she was not in any real sense his equal, except on the theory that all those of gentle birth are equal. Another lord in that position might have used his authority to send away the husband on some mission, or even offered him money or land to shut his eyes. I don't suppose such a base idea entered Sir Geoffrey's head; it was not the way he did things. All the same he made it quite clear that what he wanted to do, while winter kept him indoors, was to talk with madam Jeanne and with no one else. For hours he would sit opposite her in a window, and what they found to say to one another for so long I can't imagine.
The lady Isabel tried to do something about it. First she made a third in these long intimate discussion
s; and when she found that did not work she brought in a fourth. With rather heavyhanded cunning she made up to Sir John, who was puzzled but gratified. The odd quartette were always together, two Bruyeres and two Catabases; but linked to the wrong partners.
My lord's sense of mischief led him to compose a new dance, for four dancers only. It had a catchy tune, and the minstrels liked it. On Christmas night the two Bruyeres and the two Catabases danced it before all the company. The dance was named Lord Geoffrey's Fancy.
During our captivity among the Grifons I had been very close to Sir Geoffrey. Back in Carytena that intimacy did not continue, for landholding vassals must come before a mere household knight. Perhaps I felt slightly mortified, but Melisande was sensible enough to keep me from showing it. All the same, I owed a debt of gratitude to my lord, who had taken trouble to ease a captivity which was more than I could endure. After a certain amount of wrestling with my conscience I determined to risk his displeasure by tackling him about his private life.
It was difficult to catch him alone, without either little Jeanne or the lady Isabel at his side. My chance came during the twelve days of Christmas, when I took a night's duty in the guardroom. In normal times the sergeants of that well-run castle could be trusted to furnish a sober, alert, fully-dressed guard without supervision from a household knight. But at Christmas there is so much drink flowing that someone in authority must hang round the guardroom just to keep an eye on things. The Esclavons know our calendar, and like to put on a raid when they think we shall be drunk and incapable.
Late at night I was sitting over a brazier in a corner, so that by the fire the sergeants might throw dice without the constraint of a knight overhearing their oaths, when my lord put his head in the door.
"Everybody happy?" he asked. "Plenty of wine, plenty of cakes, plenty of wood for the fire? Now then, Nicolas, if you dice away your Christmas livery you must go naked all next year. Oh, there you are, cousin William. Come up to the watch-tower and look at a light to the northwards. The Esclavons may be keeping their own Christmas, or it may be a burning rick."
In inky dark we stood alone on the tower, agreeing that the distant spark of light did not come from burning thatch.
"It's like old times, cousin William, you and me alone together. Escorta is better than Constantinople, isn't it?"
"Yes, my lord," I said respectfully but firmly. "All the same, I sometimes worry about the future of your house."
"You too, cousin William?" he answered in an easy voice, though I could not see the expression on his face. "What nasty minds you have in my castle of Carytena. Do you suppose madam Jeanne is my leman? I assure you, on my honour as a knight, that she is not. Does that satisfy you?"
"It is very good news, my lord, though I am shocked to hear you suppose that your bare word might be doubted. But if madam Jeanne is not your leman, what is she? Something more than the lady of a respected vassal, that is evident to all the world."
"She is my friend. I like talking to her. That she's pretty is of course an added attraction, but not the chief attraction. She is a lady bred in Constantinople, next to Paris the greatest centre of civilisation and courtesy. But the best thing about her is that she's young. I am midway between thirty and forty, with a crushing defeat and two years of imprisonment behind me. My youth is slipping away. Who knows, the next time I ride into battle I may actually feel cautious? Soon it will come to you, too, cousin William, and you will know what I feel now. When I talk with little Jeanne I am young and gay again. That's worth a little harmless gossip."
"If you say so, my lord, but the gossip isn't harmless. It harms Sir John de Catabas, for example. He is a gallant knight and a most faithful defender of the barony of Escorta; yet you make him look foolish before a great company of his equals. If he wasn't such a loyal vassal he would leave your service. Even though you have not done anything for which your confessor can blame you, what you do is unfair to Sir John, and to the lady Isabel, and for that matter to madam Jeanne, Forgive my frankness, but we are alone and it is time someone told you these things."
"Frank advice is a kinsman's duty, cousin William. You do right to say what you think. All the same, put yourself in my place for a minute, and consider whether I am greatly to blame. The lady Isabel can never be my companion; her heart remains in Satines. When I put the ring on her finger she didn't marry Bruyere of Escorta, she married a neighbour who would make it easy for her to visit her true home. I do her no wrong when I seek the company of another lady. Little Jeanne knows what I want of her and what I don't want. She understands me, and she accepts the position. I do her no wrong. As to Sir John, any wrong that comes to him stems from his own actions. He did wrong when he married a helpless young girl, without affection on either side, merely to tickle his conscience with a pleasant glow of well-doing. Perhaps he looks foolish. I can't help that. He looks foolish as the elderly husband of a pretty young wife who doesn't love him, not as a cuckold. He isn't a cuckold, as I told you. That's the position, and you must accept it. What I do isn't wrong, and I like doing it Therefore I shall go on doing it, whatever well-meaning asses may advise me for my own good."
"This well-meaning ass is silenced, my lord," I answered.
Laughing, he slapped me on the shoulder. "Frankness between kinsmen, as I said, cousin William. You were right to offer your advice. But there's nothing to worry about. I shan't steal the wife of my vassal. I am a knight. I know the rules and I shall keep them. All the same, there's no denying that the grass over the fence often looks greener." He laughed again, moving to the head of the stairs.
"Come on, that's enough preaching, even for the Christmas holidays. Let's go down to that guardroom before the Esclavons steal the swords off my sergeants as they doze on the floor."
My lord had not bound me to silence. I was discreet, naturally. But I have no secrets from my wife; that would be impossible, even if I wajated to.
"I'm worried," said Melisande when I had told her. "Sir Geoffrey is a very good knight, and he knows the rules, as he said to you. But the best knight in all Romanie may be so chivalrous that rules do not bind him as they bind ordinary men. Suppose it amuses him to see Jeanne as a lady in distress, and himself as her rescuer? Chivalry has nothing to do with chastity. I would be happier if he had talked about the Ten Commandments, rather than the obligations of knighthood. He will never do anything that he himself considers dishonourable, but he isn't interested in the good opinion of his neighbours. William, what would you do if Sir Geoffrey should disgrace his knighthood?"
"He holds my fealty, he got me out of a Grifon prison. I have eaten his bread since I came to Romanie. If he were to deny his baptism and join the infidels perhaps I might leave him- Short of that, my dear, I shall stick to him."
"Then we must just hope for a change, for things can't go on as they are. Lancelot was loyal to King Arthur for years, but in the end he was caught in Queen Guinevere's chamber. Perhaps Sir John will take his wife on a good long pilgrimage; St. Patrick's Purgatory in Ireland would about do. Perhaps the Duke will persuade Sir Geoffrey to stay with him in Satines or Estives. Perhaps Jeanne will catch some sickness that will spoil her pretty face. Perhaps she will fall in love with some boy of her own age; she doesn't really love Sir Geoffrey, she's just flattered by his devotion. That would be the best solution, though it's almost too much to hope for. Failing that, Sir Geoffrey is headed for trouble; and my dear loyal husband is determined to jump into the trouble with both feet if his lord leads the way."
Melisande was never one to allow herself to be carried along by the tide of events; if things were going wrong she would try to alter them, after the fashion of a lady reared among the intrigues of Grifon Romanie. Perhaps it was at her suggestion that several ladies and knights began to talk about the spiritual benefits of pilgrimage, and the pleasure to be got from visiting crowded and popular shrines; they talked of these things especially in the hearing of madame Jeanne de Catabas.
Little Jeanne had never before
considered going on pilgrimage. She had been reared in Constantinople, whose citizens think no shrine can be holier than their own lofty cathedral, save perhaps the Holy Sepulchre. And though it is possible to visit the Holy Sepulchre, if you don't mind cringing before infidel guards, in those days no one of gentle birth would do it. We still nourished the dream that one day we would fight our way into it.
So when Jeanne talks of pilgrimage she meant a pilgrimage westward. There are the tombs of the Apostles in Rome, and every Frank born in Romanie is anxious to see Italy; I even heard her mention wistfully the Sainte Chapelle which the holy King Louis was building in Paris. It houses Our Lord's Crown of Thorns, and is conveniently situated among the best dressmakers and goldsmiths in the world. She pointed out to her husband that a pilgrimage to Rome, and perhaps on to Paris if they could afford it, would bring her soul great spiritual enrichment.
We all entered into the spirit of the intrigue, backing her up in casual conversation. We pointed out that it was a good time to visit Rome, for King Manfred had chased out the Pope and a Ghibelline garrison held the holy city. To visit Rome while it was under papal control might be awkward, since although we were Crusaders we were also under the ban as Ghibelline partisans.
Sir John answered firmly that a pilgrimage was out of the question. It would cost more than he could afford; and anyway this was no time for a knight to leave Lamorie, while the Grifons threatened invasion from their castles in the south. These reasons were valid so far as they went; but I believe he had a stronger reason, which he would not openly avow.
He had taken it into his head that to remove his wife from Carytena would be to doubt the honour of Sir Geoffrey, his lord. A good knight should not doubt his lord.
So all four of them remained in Carytena, Sir Geoffrey, the lady Isabel, madam Jeanne, and Sir John; each of them increasing the burden on honour and chivalry, like masons who build a church tower higher and higher, to see how far they can go before it falls down.
Lord Geoffrey's Fancy Page 19
