The Fortunes of Garin

by Mary Johnston

  CHAPTER XI

  THIBAUT CANTELEU

  “WHO would risk never, risks ever,” said the Princess Audiart, andmoving her rook, checked the marshal’s king.

  Her cousin Guida, a blonde of much beauty, sitting watching the game,made a sound of demurral. The marshal’s hand hovered over a piece.

  “Do not play courtly, Lord Stephen,” said the princess. “Play fairly!”

  Whereupon Stephen pushed forward a different piece and, releasing hisown king, put hers in jeopardy.

  “Now what will you do, Audiart?” cried Guida. “You were too daring!”

  “That is as may be,” answered the princess, and studied the board.

  In the great fireplace of the hall beechwood blazed and helped themany candles to give light. It was Lenten tide and cold enough to makethe huge fire a need and a pleasure. In the summer the floor had beenstrewn with buds and leaves, but now there lay upon it eastern clothswith bear-skins brought from the North. There were seats of variouskinds,—settles or benches, divan-like arrangements of cushions.Knights and ladies occupied these, or stood, or moved about at will. Sospacious was the hall that these and other folk of the court—pages,jongleurs, a jester with cap-and-bells, dogs, a parrot on a swingingperch, two chaplains in a corner, various clerkly and scholarly personssuch as never lacked in Gaucelm’s court, two or three magnificentlydressed people in the train of a Venetian, half merchant, half noble,and rich as a soldan, whom Gaucelm at the moment entertained—gaveno feeling of a throng. The raised or princely part of the hall, initself a goodly space, had quiet enough for rational converse, even forsitting withdrawn into one’s self, studying with eyes upon the firematters beyond the beechwood flame.

  Gaucelm the Fortunate, seated in his great, richly carved chair, talkedwith the Venetian. Some paces away, but yet upon the dais, Alazais heldcourt. Between, the Princess Audiart played chess with Stephen theMarshal. The castle and town and princedom of Roche-de-Frêne and allthat they held were seven years and some months older than upon thatautumn day when the squire Garin had knelt in the cathedral, and riddenthrough the forest, and fought for a shepherdess.

  The years had not made Alazais less beauteous. She sat in a low chair,robed in buttercup yellow richly embroidered and edged with fur. Sheheld a silver ball pierced and filled with Arabian perfumes. TheVenetian had given it to her, and now she raised it to her nostrils,and now she played with it with an indolent, slow, graceful movement ofher white hands. About her were knights and ladies, and in front, upona great silken cushion placed upon the floor, sat a slender, brilliantgirl with a voice of beauty and flexibility and a genius for poeticnarration. The court took toll of such a talent, was taking toll now.The damosel, in a low and thrilling voice and with appropriate gesture,told a lay of Arthur’s knights. Those around listened; firelight andcandle-light made play; at the lower end of the hall a jongleur, tryinghis viol, came in at the pauses with this or that sweet strain.

  At the other end of the broad, raised space Prince Gaucelm and theVenetian left talk of Venice trade, of Cyprus and Genoa, and came tostatus and event this side the Alps.

  “Duke Richard of Aquitaine plays the rebel to his father the Kingof England and quarrels with his cousin the King of France and warsagainst his neighbour the Count of Toulouse. Count Savaric of Montmaureand his son Count Jaufre—”

  The Princess Audiart won the game of chess, won fairly. “You couch agood lance and build a good house, Lord Stephen,” she said. “Yesterday,it was I who was vanquished!”

  Guida had moved away, joining the group about the girl on the silkcushion. Stephen the Marshal took one of the ivory chessmen in his handand turned it from side to side. “Montmaure!” he said. “Montmaure growsmore puffed with pride than mortal man should be!”

  The princess nodded. “Yes. My lord count sees himself as the great fishfor whom the ocean was built.”

  The marshal put down the chess-piece and took up another. “Have youever seen Jaufre de Montmaure?”

  “No.”

  “I saw him at Périgueux. He is tall and red-gold like his father, butdarker in hue. He has a hawk nose, and there is a strange dagger-scaracross his cheek.—What is it, my Lady Audiart?”

  The princess was sitting with parted lips and with eyes thatlooked far away. She shivered a little, shrugging her shoulders.“Nothing! A fancy. I remembered something. But a-many men have daggerscars.—Jaufre de Montmaure! No, I think that I never saw him. Nor do Iwish to see him. Let him stay with Aquitaine and be his favourite!”

  “I know not how long that will last. Now they are ruthless and recklesstogether, and they say that any day you can see Richard’s arm aroundhis neck. But Duke Richard,” said the marshal, “is much the nobler man.”

  The princess laughed. “You give faint praise! Jesu! If what they say ofCount Jaufre be true—”

  There fell a silence. Stephen the Marshal turned and turned thechess-piece. “The prince will send me presently with representations toKing Philip at Paris.”

  “I know. It seems wise to do that.”

  “I will do my best,” said Stephen the Marshal; and sat silent again.Then, “I will find at Paris festivals and tourneys, no doubt, andfor Roche-de-Frêne’s honour and my own, I must play my part in thosematters also.” He put down the chess-piece, and brought his handstogether. “Queens and princesses may accept, in courtly wise, heartand _devoir_ of true knights! My Lady Audiart! I plead again for somefavour of yours that I may wear. For, as God lives, I will wear noother lady’s!”

  The Princess Audiart looked at him kindly, a little mockingly, a littlemournfully. “Stephen—Stephen! will you be a better or a braver man, ora fitter envoy to King Philip, with my glove in your helmet? No, youwill not!”

  “I should be a happier man,” said Stephen the Marshal.

  “Then almost I wish that I might give it to you! But I cannot—Icannot!” said the princess. “I love earth, fire, air and water, thestars in heaven, the people of the earth, and the thoughts in the mind,but I love no man after the fashion that men desire!—Turn elsewhere,Lord Stephen!”

  But Stephen the Marshal shook an obstinate head. “Saint Mark, mywitness, I shall wear no other’s favour!”

  Prince Gaucelm rose, the Venetian with him, and crossed to Alazais’sside. The girl of the silken cushion had ended her story. The jongleursdistant in the hall began to play viol, lute and harp. “Let us gohearken,” said the princess; and, quitting the chess-table, went to sitbeside her step-dame. She had affection for Alazais, and Alazais forAudiart. Stephen the Marshal followed. All drew together to listen tosung poesy.

  A favourite jongleur had come forward, harp in hand. He was a dark,wiry, eastern-appearing man, fantastically dressed in brown dashed andstreaked with orange. When he had played a dreamy, rich, and murmuringair, he began to sing. He sang well, a fair song and one that was newto a court that was gracious and hospitable to songs.

  “Ah, that goes,” said the Princess Audiart, “like the sea in June!”

  “It is like a chanson of Bernart de Ventadorn’s,” said Alazais, “andyet it is not like him either. Who made it, Elias?”

  “It may have a sound of the sea,” answered Elias, “for it came over thesea. I got it from a palmer. He had learned it at Acre, and he saidthat, words and music, the troubadour, Garin de l’Isle d’Or, made itthere.”

  “Oh, we have heard of him! Knights coming back have told us—But neverdid we hear his singing before! Again, Elias!”

  Elias sang. “It is sweet.—_The Fair Goal!_”

  * * * * *

  A day or two later, in this hall, the Princess Audiart sat beside herfather upon the dais, the occasion a hearing given to the town ofRoche-de-Frêne. There was another than Roche-de-Frêne to be receivedand hearkened to, namely an envoy, arrived the evening before, fromSavaric, Count of Montmaure. But the town came first, at the hour thathad been set.

  The hall presented a different scene from that of the other night. Herenow were
ranged the prince’s officers of state, the bailiff-in-chief,executives of kinds. At the doors were ushers and likewise men-at-arms.Men of feudal rank stood starkly, right and left of the dais. Othersof the castle population, men and women, who found an interest in thishappening, watched from the sides of the hall or from the musicians’gallery. Below the dais sat two clerks with pens, ink, sandbox, andparchment. Before it, in the middle portion of the hall, were massedfifty of the citizens of Roche-de-Frêne.

  The Princess Audiart sat in a deep chair, her arms upon its arms. Shewas dressed in the colour of wine, and the long plain folds of her robeand mantle rested the eye. Her throat was bare, around it a thin chainof gold and a pear-shaped ruby. The thick braids of her hair came overher gown to her knee. Between the dark waves, below a circlet of gold,showed her intent and brooding face.

  Castle and town were used to seeing her there, beside her father.Years ago—when castle and town undertook to remember back—ithad seemed strange, but now use and wont had done their work. Shewas not fair—they remembered when they had called her “the uglyprincess”—but she was wise. It was usual enough among the great of theearth for fathers to associate with them sons. Here was a prince-fatherwho associated with him his daughter. By degrees Roche-de-Frêne hadceased to wonder. Now, for a long time, the fact had been accepted.Strangeness gone, it seemed, for this one spot on the huge earth,rational.

  The town had digested that great meal of liberties obtained yearsago, that and smaller loaves since given. It was hungry again; hungrynow for no slight stop-gaps, but for another full and great meal.For many months it had given the castle oblique indications that itwas hungry. Time was when Gaucelm, a prince not unbeloved, ridingthrough Roche-de-Frêne, met almost wholly broad smiles and faces ofwelcome. That throughout a year had been changing. Roche-de-Frêne,at first unconsciously reflecting growing desires, but then more andmore deliberately, now wore a face of hunger. Roche-de-Frêne sawits interest, and that another meal was to its interest. But it didnot wholly expect its lord at once to see that, nor to identify hisinterest with their interest. It might, it believed, have to fightits lord somewhat as other towns fought theirs. Not with weapons ofsteel,—it would not win there,—but with persistent and mountingclamour and disaffection, and, most effectively, with making trouble asto tolls, rents, taxes, lord’s rights, and supplies.

  The deputation included men from every guild. Here were chief dyers inscarlet, weavers of fine cloth, makers of weapons, workers in leather,moulders of candles, and here were traders and merchants, dealers inwine and handlers of cattle. Men of substance had been chosen, masterworkmen and also master agitators.

  The prince, addressing himself to a man of venerable aspect, a merchantwhose name was known in far places, asked if he were spokesman. Thereran a murmur through the deputation. It pressed forward a little, ittook on an anxious face.

  The merchant advanced a step and addressed the dais. “Fair, good lordand my Lady Audiart, as you both know, I am a judge of merchant’s law,but have no gift of tongue. I know a cause when it is good, but God hasnot made me eloquent to set it forth to another man—craving pardon, myliege lord and my Lady Audiart! So I will not speak, may it please youboth. But here is Thibaut Canteleu, the master of the saddlers—”

  “I had expected,” said Prince Gaucelm, “to hear from ThibautCanteleu.—Stand forth, Thibaut!”

  The merchant stepped back. The throng worked like a cluster of bees,then parted, and out of it came a man of thirty, square-shouldered andsturdy, with crisply curling black hair, and black, bold, and merryeyes. It was evident that he was his fellows’ chosen and favourite,their predestined leader. The fifty slanted their bodies toward him,grew suddenly encouraged and bold, hung upon what he should say.Thibaut Canteleu was magnetic, like a fire for warmth, an instiller ofcourage. He made a gesture of reverence toward the dais.

  The prince smiled slightly. “Well, Thibaut Canteleu?”

  “Sire and my Lady Audiart,” spoke Thibaut, “few words suffice whenhere is right and yon is wisdom! Sire, these many years, back to thebeginning, have we and our fathers and grandfathers before us, givento our lords duteous service. When the town was a poor village, whenthere were but a few huts—when the old castle stood—in the old daysbefore the memory of man, we gave it! And this castle and the oldcastle—and you, lord, and the old lords—have given us succour andprotection, holding your shield above us! Beau sire, we do not forgetthat, nor that you are our lord.” As he spoke he kneeled down on bothknees, joined his hands palm to palm, and made a gesture of placingthem between other hands. “Sire and my Lady Audiart, many castles haveyou and not a few towns and all are your sworn men. Shall this townthat grew up by your greatest castle and took name from it, be lessyour man than another? Jesu forbid! Services, dues, rents and tolls,fair-toll and market-toll, are yours, and when you summon us we dropall and come, and if there is war we hold the town for you while thereis breath in us! Yea, and if there should chance to be needed in thismoment moneys for building, for gathering, clothing, and weaponingmen-at-arms, for castle-wants, for pilgrimages or sending knights tothe land over the sea, for founding of abbeys and buying of books andholy relics, or for any other great and especial matter, we standready, lord, to raise as swiftly as may be, that supply.”

  He came to a period in his speech, still kneeling. “That is goodhearing, Thibaut Canteleu!” said Gaucelm the Fortunate. He spoke withequanimity, with his large scope of humour. He was as big as a mountainrange, and as became mountains he seemed to be able to see in variousdirections. “Now,” he said, “let us hear, Thibaut, what your lords mustdo!”

  “Fair, good lord—”

  “We are yet to guard Roche-de-Frêne from wolf-neighbour andfox-neighbour, Count Dragon and King Lion? Have you heard tell of thesiege in your grandfather’s time? But well I wot that the town has noenemies, that none is jealous of its trade, that no wolf thinks, ‘Nowif I had its market—or if I had it with its market!’ and no dragonponders, ‘What if I put forth a claw and drag these weavers and dyersand saddlers where they may weave and dye and work in leather for me?When I have them in my den they may whistle not for new, but for oldfreedoms!’—We are yet to keep Roche-de-Frêne in as fair safety as wemay?”

  “Lord, lord,” said Thibaut, “are we not of one another? If you arestrong to keep us safe, are we not strong to make you wealth?”

  “My father gave you freedoms, and often have I heard him say that herepented his giving! Then I ruled, and for a time held to that latermind of his. Then about many matters I formed my own mind, and inlarger measure than he had given, I granted freedom. For a fair spaceof time you rested content. Then you began to ask again. And again, nowthis grant and now that, I have given!”

  He ceased to speak, sitting dressed in bronze samite, with a knight’sbelt of finest work, and on his head a circlet of gold.

  Thibaut Canteleu still kneeled. Now he raised his black eyes. “Lord,why did you give?”

  “Because it seemed to me right,” said Prince Gaucelm.

  Thibaut spread his hands. The corners of the Princess Audiart’s lipstwitched. She glanced aside at Gaucelm the Fortunate, and a very sweetand loving look came like a beam of light into her face. She said underher breath, “Ah, Jesu! Judgement in this matter has been given!” turnedher head and retook the intent and brooding look. Her eyes, that hadmarked width between them, received impression from the length andbreadth of the hall. She gathered each slight movement and change inthe deputation of citizens; and as for Thibaut Canteleu, she saw thatThibaut, also, grasped that judgement had been given.

  Prince Gaucelm sat without movement of body or change of look. His sizedid not give him a seeming of heaviness, nor the words that he hadspoken take power from his aspect. He did not seem conscious of theireffect upon others. He sat in silence, then shook himself and returnedto the matter in hand. “Tell us now, Thibaut Canteleu, what it is thatthe town desires.”

  “Lord,” said Canteleu, “we wish and desire to elect our o
wnmagistrates. And our disputes and offences—saving always, lord, thosethat are truly treasonable or that err against Holy Church—we wish anddesire to bring into our own courts and before judges of our choosing.”

  A sharp sound ran through the hall—that portion of it that wasnot burgher. Truly Roche-de-Frêne was making a demand immense,portentous—The red was in the faces of the prince’s bailiffs andin those of other officials. But Gaucelm the Fortunate maintaineda quietness. He looked at Thibaut Canteleu as though he saw thegenerations behind him and the generations ahead. He spoke.

  “That is what you now wish and ask?”

  “Lord, that is what we wish and ask.”

  “And if I agree not?”

  “We are your merchants and artisans, lord! What can we do? But are loveand ready service naught? Fair good lord, and my Lady Audiart, we holdthat we ask a just—yea, as God lives, a righteous thing! Moreover, wethink, lord, that we plead, not to such as the Count of Montmaure, butto Roche-de-Frêne!”

  Behind him spread a deep, corroboratory murmur, a swaying of bodiesand nodding of heads. The winter sunshine, streaming in through long,narrow windows, made luminous the positive colours, the greens, blues,reds of apparel, the faces swarthy, rosy or pale, the workman hands andthe caps held in them, the smoother merchant hands and the better capsheld in them. It lighted Thibaut Canteleu, still kneeling, in a bluetunic and grey hose, a blue cap upon the pavement beside him.

  The prince spoke. “Get you to your feet, Thibaut, and depart, all ofyou! A week from to-day, at this hour, come again, and you shall beanswered.”

  Thibaut Canteleu took up his cap and rose from his knees. He made adeep reverence to the dais, then stepped backward. All the deputationmoved backward, kept their faces toward the prince until they reachedthe doors out of which they passed, between the men-at-arms. The blurof red and blue and green, of faces pale or sanguine or swarthy,filtered away, disappeared. The hall became again all castle—a placeof lord and lady, knight, esquire, man-at-arms, and page, a section ofthe world of chivalry. All around occurred a slight shifting of place,a flitting of whispers. The prince stirred, turned slightly in hisgreat chair, and spoke in an undertone to his daughter. She answered inas low a voice, sitting quite still, her long, slender hands restingupon the arms of her chair.

  Gaucelm nodded, then spoke to the seneschal standing to the right ofthe dais. “Now will we hear Montmaure’s envoy.”