The Fortunes of Garin

by Mary Johnston

  CHAPTER X

  GARIN TAKES THE CROSS

  THE bells of a neighbouring religious house were ringing with a mellowsound. People passed this way and that before the church porch. Thedoors were opened, and one and another entered the building. Garin paidthem no attention; he sat sunk in thought. What now? What next?

  He was twenty years old—strong, of a sound body, not without educationin matters that the time thought needful. He could do what anotheresquire of gentle blood could do. Moreover, he felt in himself furtherpowers. He was not crassly confident; he turned toward those brightshoots and buds an inner regard half shy and wistful. He was capableof longing and melancholy.... Danger from Savaric of Montmaure andhis son Jaufre he held to be fairly passed. Accident might renew it,to-day, to-morrow, or ten years hence, but accident only took itschance with other chances. He was out of Savaric’s grasp, being outof his territory and into that of Toulouse, with intention to wanderyet farther afield. Extradition and detectives had their rough-hewnequivalents in Garin’s day. But he was assured that there was nospy upon his track, and he did not brood over the possibility of asummons to Toulouse to deliver him or be warred against. He had hisshare of common sense. He was an offender too obscure and slightfor such weightiness of persecution. Did they find him, they wouldwring his neck, but they would not dislocate their usual life tofind him. He thought that, with common precaution, he was at presentsafe enough from Montmaure. He could not go back to Raimbaut or toCastel-Noir—perhaps not for many years ... though if he becamea famous knight he might ride back, his esquires behind him, andchallenge that false knight, Jaufre de Montmaure! To become thatknight—that was his problem, or rather, one great problem. He mustchange his name, he must seek a lord, he must win back, first, tosquirehood. On the road yesterday, one had asked him his name. He hadreplied with the first thing that came into his head. “Garin Rogier,”he had said. He thought now that this would still answer. For hiscountry, he proposed to say that he was of Limousin.

  It might take years to become a knight. His own merit would have to dowith that, but Fortune, also, would have to do with it. He knew notif Fortune would be kind to him, or the reverse. He sat bent forward,his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes upon the sunshine-gildedstones. Find knighthood—And how should he find his lady?

  He took into his hand a corner of his mantle. The stuff was simple,far from costly, but the colour was that blue, deep but not harsh,dark but silvery too, which had been worn by that form in the stonechair beneath the cedar tree, by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt. Hehad bought it because it was of that hue. Now the sunshine at his feetseemed of the very tissue of that day. He sat in a dream, his mindnow a floating mist of colour and fragrance, now an aching vision ofa woman’s form whose face he could not see. He drew and coloured theface, now this way and now that, but never to his satisfaction....Would ever he meet her face to face? He knew not. Where did she live?He knew not. East, west, north, south—beyond the mountains or acrossthe sea? He knew not. It would be in some court. There were manycourts. His strong fancy was that she had come from far away. He knewnot if in this world he would again enter her presence.

  An exaltation came upon Garin. And if he did not, still could he upholdto the stars that dreamy passion! Still could he serve, worship,sing! The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Music seemed to possess him and aloveliness of words, and of rich and lofty images. The Fair Goal—theFair Goal! Garin stretched forth his arms. “O Love, my wingèd Lord! Letme never swerve from the love of that lady!”

  From the church behind him came a drift of music and chanting. A woman,mounting the steps, caught his words and paused to look at him. Shewas between youth and age, with a pale, ecstatic face. “Now all theviolets bloom,” she said, “and the leaves shiver on the trees as theflowers come up between them! But earthly spring, fair brother, is buta fourth part of Time, and in Eternity a grain, a wind-blown petal!Choose thou Religion and find her the true love!”

  She passed into the church. Garin, rising from the steps, looked abouthim. While he sat there the space around had become peopled. Many folkwere entering the doors. As he looked, there turned a corner eight orten men walking in procession, behind and about them a throng. Allmounted the steps, pressing toward the entrance. The most had palefaces of enthusiasm. Of the crowd some were weeping, some utteringexclamations of praise and ecstasy. Garin touched a bystander on thesleeve. “What takes place?”

  “Do you not see the crosses?”

  “I could not for the crowd,” said Garin. “I can now. They are going tothe land over sea?”

  “Three ships with their companies sail from the nearest port. All thechurches are singing mass and sewing crosses on those who will takethem.”

  “But there is no great and general going preached to-day,” said Garin.“There has not been since Saint Bernard’s time.”

  “They say it will soon be preached again,” answered his informant.“Holy church must find a way to set off heresy that is creepingin!—These are ships sailing with help for King Baldwin of Jerusalem.The Pope has granted a great Indulgence, and many from these parts aregoing that they may wipe out their sins.”

  The informant moved toward the doors. Garin thought of entering andhearing mass and seeing the crosses sewed on. But then he thought thatit would be wiser to keep his road. He waited until most of the peoplehad gone into the church, then found his way to the westward-givingtown gate and passed out into the country. In Foulque’s purse he hadstill enough to purchase—not another Paladin, as he recognized witha sigh, but yet some horse not wholly unworthy. But this town, he hadbeen told, had no good horse-market. Such and such a place, some milesaway, was better. So he walked in his russet and blue and suited so therusset, sunshiny country and the profound blue arch of the sky.

  Upon a lonely stretch of the road he came to a wayside cross, with agaunt figure carved upon it. A gaunt figure, too, sat beside the cross,but rose as he approached and tinkled a small bell that it carried. Ashe lifted his mantle and went by with averted face so that he mightnot breathe the air that flowed between, it croaked out a demand foralms. It came so foully across Garin’s dream that he shook his headand hurried by. But when an eighth of a mile was between him and theleper he stood still, his eyes upon the ground. At last, drawing outFoulque’s purse, he took from it a coin and going back dropped it intothe leper’s cup. “In Love’s name!” he said.

  The leper widened his lips. “What is Love’s name?” he asked. “If I hadits name, I might make it do something!”

  Garin left him by the wayside cross, a terrible, unhelped person. Hedarkened his mood for him, or the stress and strain and elevation ofthe past week, flagging, left him suddenly in some dead backwater orblack pool of being. He walked on, putting the miles behind him, butwith no springing step and with a blank gaze. Light and colour seemedto withdraw from the day and the landscape. The cross-taking in thetown behind him and the leper by the roadside conjoined with manyanother fact, attitude, and tendency of his world. It could show itselfa gusty world of passion and energy, and also a world of asceticisms,humilities and glooms, of winter days struggling with spring days, ofan inward fall toward lessening and annihilation. Here was an hourimpetuous and crescive, and here was its successor passive, resignedand fading, and one man or woman might experience both. Garin had beenaloft; now he walked in a vale indeed, and could have laid himself uponits ashy soil and wept.

  Out of that mood he passed into one less drear. But he was still sad,and the whole huge world came into correspondence. Lepers and outcastpersons, prisoners, and slaves, the poor and hopeless, the loversparted, the condemned for sin—Garin plodded on, his eyes upon theearth.

  A sound of distant bells aroused him. He lifted his head and lookedto see whence it came. At the base of an olive-planted hill appeareda monastery, not large, but a simple-seeming, antique place. It had achurch, small too, with a bell-tower. The country hereabouts was richwith woods and streams and purple crags, in the distance a curtainof great
mountains. Before him, two miles or so away, Garin saw acastle crowning a cliff rising from a narrow valley. It, neither, waslarge—though larger than Raimbaut’s castle.... The bells were ringingsweetly, the light bathed the little vale and washed the crag and thecastle walls. Garin’s sadness fell, in part, from him. What stayed onlygave depth and charm to all that in that moment met his senses. In himphantasy turned quickly, acted quickly. “I like all this,” it said ineffect. “And I tell myself that in the baron who dwells in that castleI shall find a lord who will knight me!”

  He resolved to go to the castle. He walked quickly now, with adetermined, light step. A spur of the road led off to the church wherethe bells were yet ringing. Between the town he had quitted and thisspot he had met few people upon the way. Nor were there any here, wherethe two roads joined. It lay a wide, clean, sunny space. But as hecontinued upon the highway the emptiness of the world began to change.Folk appeared, singly or in groups, and all were going toward theringing bells. Passing an old man, he asked, “What is the mass for?”and was answered, “They are going over sea.”

  A young man, an artisan with a bag of tools in his hand, approached.Garin stopped him. “What lord lives in yonder castle?”

  “Sir Eudes de Panemonde,” said the artisan. “He has taken the cross andis going to the land over sea.”

  Garin stood still, staring at him, then drew his breath, and with ajerk of the head went on by. “The land over sea!” said Garin. “The landover sea!”

  There was a calvary built by the roadside. Men and women knelt beforeit, then rising, hurried on toward the church. Close by, on a greatstone, sat a cowled monk, stationed there, it would seem, to giveinformation or counsel. Garin, coming up, gave and received salutation.

  “Are you for the cross, fair son?” demanded the monk. “You would givea lusty blow to the infidel! Take it, and win pardon for even the sinsyou dream of!”

  “Why, brother,” asked Garin, “does Sir Eudes de Panemonde go?”

  “Long years ago,” answered the monk, “when he was a young man, SirEudes committed a great sin. He has done penance, as this monasteryknows, that receives his gifts! But now he would further cleanse hissoul.”

  “He is not then young nor of middle-age?”

  “He is threescore,” said the monk.

  Another claimed his attention. Garin moved away, kept on upon theroad. None now was going his way, all were coming from the directionof the castle. There must be a little bourg beyond, hidden by somearm of earth, purple-sleeved. He thought that he saw in the distance,descending a hill, a procession. Under a lime tree by the road sat anold cripple decently clad, and with a grandson and granddaughter tocare for him. Garin again stayed his steps. “What manner of knight,father, is Sir Eudes de Panemonde?”

  The light being strong, the cripple looked from under his hand at thequestioner. “Such a knight,” he said, in an old man-at-arms voice, “asa blue-and-tawny young sir-on-foot might be happy to hold stirrup for!”

  “I mean,” said Garin, “is he noble of heart?”

  But the old man was straining his eyes castle-ward. The grandson spoke.“He is a good lord—Sir Eudes! Sir Aimar may be a better yet.”

  The procession was seen more plainly. “They are coming, grandfather!”cried the girl. “Sir Eudes and Sir Aimar will be in front, and the menthey take with them. Then the people from the castle and Panemondefollowing—”

  “Yea, yea!” said the old cripple. “I have seen before to-day folk goover seas to save the Holy Sepulchre and spare themselves hell pains!They mean to come back—they mean to come back. But a-many never come,and we hear no tales of what they did.”

  The grandson took the word. “Jean the Smith says that from the castleSir Eudes walks barefoot and in his shirt to the church. That’sbecause of his old sin! Then, when all that go have heard mass andhave communed, he will dress and arm himself within the monastery, allneedful things having been sent there, and his horse as well. Then allthat go will journey on to the port.”

  Garin spoke to the girl. “Who is Sir Aimar?”

  “He is Sir Eudes’s son.” She turned upon him a lighted face. “He is abrave and beautiful knight!”

  “Is he going to the land over sea?”

  “Yes.”

  A hundred and more people were coming toward the lime tree, the calvarybeyond it, the church and monastery beyond the calvary. Dust rose fromthe road and that and the distance obscured detail. There seemed to behorsemen, but many on foot. All the people strung along the road nowturned their heads that way. There ran a murmur of voices. But Garinstood in silence beneath the lime tree, from which were falling paleyellow leaves. He stood in a waking dream. Instead of Languedoc he sawPalestine—a Palestine of the imagination. He had listened to palmers’tales, to descriptions given by preaching monks. Once a knight-templarhad stayed two days with Raimbaut the Six-fingered, and the castle hadhearkened, open-mouthed. So Garin had material. He saw a strange, fairland, and the Christian kingdoms and counties planted there; saw themas they were not or rarely were, or only might be; saw them dipped inglamour, saw them as a poet would, as that Prince Rudel did who tookship and went to find the Lady of Tripoli—and went to find the Lady ofTripoli....

  The procession from the castle and the village beyond coming nearer,its component parts might clearly be discerned. In front walked twofigures, and now it could be seen that they were both in white.

  “Ah, ah!” cried the girl beside the old man; and there were tears inher voice. “Sir Aimar that did not do the sin, goes like Sir Eudes—”

  The cripple would be lifted to his feet and held so. Grandson anddaughter put hands beneath his arms and raised him. “So—so!” he saidquerulously. “And why shouldn’t the son go like a penitent if thefather does? That’s only respect! But the young don’t respect us anylonger—”

  The procession came close. There rode twenty horsemen, of whom threeor four wore knights’ spurs, and the others were mounted men-at-armsand esquires. All wore, stitched upon the mantle, or the sleeve, orthe breast of the tunic, crosses of white cloth. Behind these men cameothers, mounted, but without crosses or the appearance of travellers.They seemed neighbours to the lord of Panemonde, men of feudal rank,kinsmen and allies. Several might hold their land from him. Theremight be present his bailiff and also the knight or baron who hadpromised to care for Panemonde as though it were his own fief. In therear of the train came the foot-people, castle retainers and servants,villagers, peasants, men, women and children, following their lord fromPanemonde through the first stage of his travel over sea. Throughoutthe moving assemblage now there was solemn silence and now bursts ofpious ejaculation, utterances of enthusiasm, adjurations to God, theVirgin and the Saints. Or, more poignant yet, there were raised chantsof pilgrimage. When this was done the people along the roadside joinedtheir voices. Moreover there were men and women who wept, and therewere those who fell into ecstasy. Of all things in the world, in thisage, emotion was the nearest at hand.

  Garin felt the infecting wave. At the head of the train, dismounted,barefoot, wearing each a white garment that reached half-way betweenknee and ankle, bare-headed, moving a few paces before their ownmounted knights, appeared the lords of Panemonde, father and son. SirEudes was white-headed, white-bearded, finely-featured, tall and lean.His son, Sir Aimar, seemed not older—or but little older—than Garin’sself, and what the girl had said appeared the truth.

  The two came close to the lime tree. Garin, dropping his mantle,stepped into the road and fell upon both knees, suppliant-wise. “Lordof Panemonde,” he cried, “let me go with you to the land over the sea!”

  Sir Eudes and his son stood still, and behind them the riders checkedtheir horses.

  “What is your name, youth?” asked the first, “And whence do you come?”

  “Garin Rogier,” answered Garin, “and from Limousin. I was a youngerbrother, and have set out to seek my fortune. Of your grace, Lord ofPanemonde, place me among your men!”

  Sir Eudes rega
rded him shrewdly. “I make my guess that you are arunaway from trouble.”

  “If I am,” said Garin, “it is no trouble that will touch your honourif you take me! I fought, with good reason, one that was more powerfulthan I.”

  The other made to shake his head and go on by. But Garin spread out hisarms that he might not pass and still cried, “Take me with you, Lord ofPanemonde! I have vowed to go with you across the sea, and so to serveyou that you will make me a knight!”

  The two gazed at him, and those behind them gazed. He kneeled, soresolved, so energized, so seeing the fate he had chosen, that as atCastel-Noir, so now, the glow within came in some fashion through thematerial man. From his blue-grey eyes light seemed to dart, his hair,between gold and brown, became a fine web holding light, his fleshseemed to bloom. His field of force, expanding, touched them. “In thename of the Mother of God!” cried Garin; but what the man within meantwas, “Because I will it, O Lord of Panemonde!”

  The people on foot, too far in the rear to see more than that there wasa momentary halting of the train, began a louder singing.

  “_Jerusalem! Shall the paynim hold thee, Jerusalem? And shame our Lord Jesus, Jerusalem? And shame our blessed Lady, his meek Mother, Jerusalem? So that they say, ‘Why come not the men To slay Mahound and cleanse our holy places? Where are the knights, the sergeants and the footmen?’ Jerusalem! Who takes the cross and wendeth over seas, Jerusalem! Will save his soul thereby, raze out his sins, Jerusalem!_”

  Sir Eudes de Panemonde stared at the kneeling figure. But the youngknight beside him who had stood in silence, his eyes upon thesuppliant, now spoke. “Let him go with us, father! Give him to me foresquire.—There is that that draws between us.”

  The father, who had a great affection for his son, looked from him toGarin and back again. “He is a youth well-looking and strong,” he said.“Perhaps he may do thee good service!”

  The chant, renewed, and taken up from the roadside, came to his ear. Hecrossed himself.

  “Nor may I deny to our Lord Jesus one servant who will strike down theinfidel! Nor to the youth himself the chance to win forgiveness ofsins!” He spoke to Garin. “Stand up, Garin Rogier! Have you a horse?”

  Garin rose to his feet. “No, lord. But I have money sufficient to buyone.”

  Sir Aimar spoke again. “Pierre Avalon will sell him one when we come tothe monastery.”

  The father nodded. “Have you confessed and received absolution?”

  “One week ago, lord. But when we come to the church I will find apriest. And when I am shriven I will take the cross.”

  “Then,” said Sir Eudes, “it is agreed, Garin Rogier. You are my man andmy son’s man. As for becoming knight, let us first see what blows youdeal and what measure you keep! Now delay us no longer.”

  He put himself into motion, and his son walked beside him. The mountedmen followed, their horses stepping slowly. Then came the stream afoot,and Garin joined himself to this.

  “_Who takes the cross and wendeth over seas, Jerusalem! Will save his soul thereby, raze out his sins, Jerusalem!_”

  Here was the calvary again, and the monk sitting beside it—here wasthe church, jutting out from the monastery—and people about it, andpriests and monks—and a loud and deep chanting—and a mounting seaof emotion. Many broke into cries, some, phrensied, fell to the earth,crying that they had a vision.

  “_To slay Mahound, and cleanse our sacred places!_”

  The mass was sung, the sacrament given those who were going to the landover sea. Garin found his priest and was shriven, then knelt with theesquires and men-at-arms and with them took the Body. Upon his breastwas sewn a white cross. He had, with all who went, the indulgence. Hewas delivered from all the sins that through his life, until that day,he had committed.

  The mass was sung. A splinter of St. Andrew’s cross—the church’sgreat possession—was venerated. The two de Panemondes, rising fromtheir knees, passed from the church to the monastery, and here, in theprior’s room, their kinsmen and peers about them, they were clothed asknights again. Without, in a grey square, shaded by old trees, Garinpurchased a horse from Pierre Avalon.

  Sir Eudes and his son came forth in hauberk and helm. The knights forthe ships and the land over the sea mounted, their followers mounted.Farewells were said. Those who were going drew into ranks. A priestblessed them. The people wept and cried out blessings. The monks raiseda Latin chant. The sky was sapphire, a light wind carried to and frothe autumn leaves. Sir Eudes de Panemonde and his son touched theirhorses with their gilded spurs. The knights followed, the esquiresand men-at-arms. Behind them the voices, at first swelling louder,sank as lengthened the road between. They pressed on, and now theylost that sound and lost the church, the monastery, and the castle ofPanemonde.... Now the leper by the roadside was passed, still sittingbeneath the cross, tinkling his bell. In the distance was seen the townthat Garin had left that morning. The company did not enter it, butturned aside into a road that ran to the southward and then east andthen south again. So at last, to-morrow at sunset, they would come tothe port and to the ships that would bring them to Syria.

  Garin rode in a dream. He thought of Raimbaut and of Foulque, ofCastel-Noir and Roche-de-Frêne, but most he thought of the Fair Goal,and tried to see her, in her court he knew not where.