CHAPTER I
ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE
WITHOUT blazed autumn sunshine, strong as summer sunshine in northernlands. Within the cathedral dusk ruled, rich and mysterious. Thesanctuary light burned, a star. The candles were yet smoking, theincense yet clung, thick and pungent. Vanishing through the sacristydoor went the last flutter of acolyte or chorister. The throng thatworshipped dwindled to a few lingering shapes. The rest disappeared bythe huge portal, marvellously sculptured. It had been a great throng,for Bishop Ugo had preached. Now the cathedral was almost empty, andmore rich, more mysterious because of that. The saints in their nichescould be seen the better, and the gold dust from the windows came inunbroken shafts to the pavement. There they splintered and light layin fragments. One of these patches made a strange glory for the headof Boniface of Beaucaire who was doing penance, stretched out on thepavement like a cross. Lost in the shadows of nave, aisles, and chapelswere other penitents, on their knees, muttering prayers. Hugues fromup the river lay on his face, half in light, half in shadow, beforethe shrine of Saint Martial. Hugues’s penance had been heavy, for hewas a captain of Free Lances and had beset and robbed a travellingmonk. But in Hugues’s cavern that night the monk turned preacher andwrought so mightily that he brought Hugues—who was a simple, emotionalsoul—to his knees, and the next day, when they parted, sent him herefor penance. He lay bare to the waist, and his back was bloody from thescourging he had received before the church doors.
The church was a marvel. It had been building for long, long while,and it was not yet finished. It was begun by a grateful population, atthe instigation of the then bishop, in the year 1035. All Christendomhad set the year 1000 for the Second Coming and the Judgement Day, andas the time approached had waited in deep gloom and with a palsiedwill for those august arrivals. When the year passed, with miseriesenough, but with no rolling back of the firmament like a scroll, itwas concluded that what had been meant was the thousandth from theCrucifixion. 1033 was now set for the Final Event, and the neglectof each day, the torpor and terror of the mind, continued. But 1033passed, marked by nothing more dreadful than famine and commonwretchedness. Christendom woke from that particular trance, sighedwith relief, and began to grow—to grow with vigour and rapidity, withluxuriance and flourishes.
In 1035, then, the cathedral had been begun, and to-morrow morning,here in the last quarter of the twelfth century, the stone masons wouldgo clinking, clinking up yonder, atop of the first of the two towers.No man really knew when it would be finished. But for a century nave,aisles, choir, and chapels had been completed. Under the wonderful roofthree generations of the people of Roche-de-Frêne had bowed themselveswhen the bell rang and the Host was elevated. The cathedral had thehallowing of time. It was an Inheritance as was the Faith that bredit. The atmosphere of this place was the atmosphere of emotion, andstrong as were the pillars, they were no stronger than was the Habitwhich brought the feet this way and bowed the heads; and clinging andpermeating as was the incense, it was no more so than the sentimentthat stretched yonder Boniface of Beaucaire and here Hugues the FreeLance. Boniface of Beaucaire would cheat again and Hugues the FreeLance rob and slay, but here they were, no hypocrites, and cleaner inthis moment than they had been.
There were two pillars, one twisted, one straight, that had beenbrought from Palestine by Gaucelm the Crusader, father of Gaucelm theFortunate, the present Prince, and set on either side the shrine of OurLady of Roche-de-Frêne. A shaft of light from the great window struckacross the two, broke, and made the pavement sunny.
Just here knelt a youth, in a squire’s dress of green and brown. Hehad no penance to perform. He was kneeling because he was in a kneelingmood. The light showed a well-made, supple figure, with powerfulshoulders. The head and throat were good, the face rather long, withstrong features, the colouring blonde inclining to brown, the eyes greywith blue glints. They were directed now to the image of the Virgin,above him in her niche, the other side of the gold light. She stood,incredibly slender, and taller than human, rose-cheeked, dressed inazure samite sewn with gems, with a crown, and in her two hands acrimson heart pierced by an iron arrow. A lamp burned before her, andthere were flowers around.
The youth knelt with a fixed gaze, asking for inspiration.... TheVirgin of Roche-de-Frêne seemed to move, to dilate, to breathe, tosmile! The young man sank his head, stretched forth his arms. “O OurLady, smile on me! O Our Lady, give me to-day a sign!”
The cathedral grew a place of mystery, of high, transcendent passion.The lamp appeared to brighten, the heart in the two hands to glow.
“Is it a sign that I am to serve Her in Holy Church?” thought Garinde Castel-Noir, “or, may-hap, that I am to serve Her with lance andshield? Is it a sign, or am I mistaken? If it were a sign, would I askif I were mistaken?” He sighed. “O High God, give me a sign!”
He had to decide no less a thing than his career. Until a little whileago he had thought that matter settled. He was esquire to a poor lord,a fierce and a stupid lord, and he had no hope but to remain esquirefor years perhaps to come. But, come soon or come late, one day hislord would make him knight. That done, and his saint favouring, hemight somehow achieve honour. Three months ago his lot had seemed asfixed as that of a fir tree growing below his lord Raimbaut’s blackkeep. Then into the matter had stepped the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius,that was kinsman of Garin and of his brother, Foulque the Cripple, whobided at Castel-Noir.
With simplicity, the squire explained it to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne:“He is our near kinsman, and he knows how poor are Foulque and I, andhe knows, too, Lord Raimbaut, and the little we may expect. And nowhe says that if I will give up hope of chivalry and take the tonsure,he will be my good patron. And if I work well with head and pen andprove myself able, he will charge himself that I advance and win greatpromotion. If I serve him well, so will he serve me well. O Our Lady,”ended Garin, “he is a great man as you know, and close friend to BishopUgo. Moreover, he and Foulque have made application to my lord Raimbautand won him to consent. And Foulque urges me toward Holy Church. But OBlessed Lady,” cried Garin, and stretched forth his arms, “do I wish togo? I know not—I know not!”
The Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne, crowned and dazzling, stood in bluesamite with her heart and arrow, but said no word and gave no sign....Raimbaut and his knighthood—the Abbot and Holy Church—and Foulquewith his song, “Choose the Abbot! Work hard and be supple and furtherthe ends of Holy Church, twining your own ends with that golden cord.No telling to what height you may rise! Great wealth and power fall tothem who serve her to her profit and liking. You crave learning. Onwhich road, I put it to you, will you gather most of that?” So Foulque.And Bishop Ugo had preached, this morn, of the glory and power of HolyChurch and of the crowns laid up for them who served her.
The squire sighed deeply. He must make decision. The Abbot would notalways keep that look of invitation. He had other young and needykinsmen. Worldly considerations enough flitted through Garin’s head,but they found something there beside themselves. “In deep truth, whichis mine? To endure until I may ride as knight and find or make somedoor in a high, thick wall? To take the tonsure—to study, work andplan—to become, maybe, canon, and after long time, larger things?...Which is mine? This—or that—or either? O Blessed Lady, I would choosefrom within!”
The tall, jewelled Queen of Heaven looked serenely down upon him. Shehad ceased to breathe. The sign seemed not to be coming. He had beforehim a long ride, and he must go, with or without the token. He kepthis position yet another minute, then, with a deep sigh, relinquishedthe quest. Rising, he stepped backward from the presence of the Virginof Roche-de-Frêne, out of the line of the Saracen pillars. As he went,the climbing shaft of amber light caught his eye and forthwith Jacob’sladder came into his head, and he began to send slim angels up and downit. He had a potent fancy.
Leaving the church, he passed Boniface of Beaucaire and Hugues theFree Lance. His step made a ringing on the pavement beside their proneheads. He felt for them
no contempt. They were making, more or less,an honourable amende. Everybody in their lives had done or would dopenance, and after life came purgatory. He passed them as he might passany other quite usual phenomenon, and so quitted the cathedral.
Outside was Roche-de-Frêne, grey, close-built, massed upon the longhill-top, sending spurs of houses down the hillsides between olive andcypress, almond and plane and pine—Roche-de-Frêne, so well-walled,Roche-de-Frêne beat upon, laved, drowned by the southern sun.
Crown of its wide-browed craggy hill rose another hill; crown of this,a grey dream in the fiery day, sprang the castle of its prince, ofthat Gaucelm the Fortunate whose father had brought the pillars. Thecathedral had its lesser rise of earth and faced the castle, and besidethe cathedral was the bishop’s palace, and between the church and thecastle, up and down and over the hillsides, spread the town. The skywas as blue as the robe of the Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne. The southernhorizon showed a gleam of the Mediterranean, and north and west hadpurple mountains. In the narrow streets between the high houses, and inevery little opening and chance square the people of Roche-de-Frêne,men, women and children, talked, laughed, and gestured. It was a feastday, holiday, merry in the sun. Wine was being drunk, jongleurs weretelling tales and playing the mountebank.
Garin sought his inn and his horse. He was in Roche-de-Frêne uponRaimbaut’s business, but that over, he had leave to ride to Castel-Noirand spend three days with his brother. The merry-making in the towntempted, but the way was long and he must go. A chain of five girlscrossed his path, brown, laughing, making dancing steps, their robeskilted high, red and yellow flowers in their hair. “What a beautifulyoung man!” said their eyes. “Stay—stay!” Garin wanted to stay—buthe was not without judgement and he went. At the inn he had a sparedinner, the only kind for which he could pay. A bit of meat, a piece ofbread, a bunch of grapes, a cup of wine—then his horse at the door.
Half a dozen men-at-arms from the castle passed this way. They stopped.“That’s a good steed!”
Garin mounted. “None better,” he said briefly.
The grizzled chief of the six laid an approving touch upon the silkenflank. “Where did you get him?”
Garin took the reins. “At home.”
“Good page, where is that?”
“I am not page, I am esquire,” said Garin.
“Good esquire, where is that?”
“‘That’ is Castel-Noir.”
“A little black tower in a big black wood? I know the place,” said thegrizzled one. “Your lord is Raimbaut of the Six Fingers.”
“Just.”
“Whose lord is the Count of Montmaure, whose lord is our PrinceGaucelm, whose lord is the King at Paris, whose lord is the Pope inRome, whose lord is God on His Throne.—Do you wish to sell your horse?”
“I do not.”
“I have taken a fancy to him,” said the man-at-arms. “But there! theland is at peace. Go your ways—go your ways! Are you for the joustingin the castle lists?”
“No. I would see it, but I have not time.”
“You would see a pretty sight,” quoth the man-at-arms. “There isPrince Gaucelm’s second princess, to wit Madame Alazais that is themost beautiful woman in the world, and sitting beside her the prince’sdaughter, our princess Audiart, that is not so beautiful.”
“They say,” spoke Garin, “that she is not beautiful at all.”
“That same ‘They say’ is a shifty knave.—Better go, and I will go withyou,” said the man-at-arms, “for truly I have not been lately to thelists.”
But Garin adhered to it that he could not. He made Paladin to curvet,bound and caracole, then with a backward laugh and wave of his handwent his way—but caused his way to lead him past the castle ofRoche-de-Frêne.
So riding by, he looked up wistfully to barbican and walls and towers.The place was vast, a great example of what a castle might be. Enoughfolk for a town housed within it. At one point tree tops, peering overthe walls, spoke of an included garden. Above the donjon just stirredin the autumn air the great blue banner of Gaucelm the Fortunate.The mighty gates were open, the drawbridge down, the water in themoat smiled as if it had neither memory nor premonition of dead menin its arms. People were crossing, gay of dress. The sunny noon, theholiday time, softened all the hugeness, kept one from seeing what afrown Roche-de-Frêne might wear. Garin heard trumpets. The esquire ofRaimbaut the Six-fingered, the brother of Foulque the Cripple, theyouth from the small black tower in the black wood, gazed and listenedwith parted lips. Raimbaut held from Montmaure, but for Raimbaut’s fiefand other fiefs adjacent, Montmaure who held mainly from the House ofAquitaine, owed Roche-de-Frêne fealty. Being feudal lord of his lord,Gaucelm the Fortunate was lord of Foulque the Cripple and Garin theSquire. The latter wondered if ever he would enter there where thetrumpets were blowing.
The great pile passed, the town itself passed, he found himselfupon a downward sweeping road and so, by zig-zags, left the hill ofRoche-de-Frêne and coming to the plain rode west by north between shornfields and vineyards. The way was fair but lonely, for the countryfolk were gone to the town for this day of the patron saint and werenot yet returning. Before him lay woods—for much of the country waswooded then—and craggy hills, and in the distance purple mountains.He had some leagues to ride. Now and again he might see, to this handor to that, a castle upon a height, below it a huddled brown hamlet.Late in the afternoon there would lie to his right the Convent of OurLady in Egypt. But his road was not one of the great travelled ways. Ittraversed a sparsely populated region, and it was going, presently, tobe lonely enough.
Garin rode with sunken head, trying to settle matters before he shouldsee Foulque. If Raimbaut had been a liberal, noble, joyous lord! But hewas none such. It was little that page or esquire could learn in hisgloomy castle, and little chance might have knight of his. A gloomycastle, and a lord of little worth, and a lady old and shrewish....Every man must have a lord—or so was Garin’s world arranged. But ifonly every man could choose one to his liking—
The road bent. Rounding a craggy corner, Paladin and he well-nigh trodupon a sleeping man, propped at the road edge against a grey boulder.Paladin curvetted aside, Garin swore by his favourite saint, the manawoke and stretched his arms. He was young,—five or six years older,perhaps, than Garin. His dress, when it came to hue and cut, showedextravagant and gay, but the stuffs of which it was composed were farfrom costly. Here showed a rent, rather neatly darned, and here a soilrubbed away as thoroughly as might be. He was dark and thin, withlong, narrow eyes that gave him an Eastern look. Beside him, slungfrom his neck by a ribbon, lay a lute, and he smiled with professionalbrilliancy.
The Fortunes of Garin Page 2
