CHAPTER XVIII
COUNT JAUFRE
THE day was soft and bright, neither hot nor cold, and at themid-morning. Half-way between the walls of Roche-de-Frêne and the hostof Montmaure, in a space clear of any cover that might be used forambushes, rose a blue pavilion, a green and silver pavilion, and onebetween that carried these colours blended. Before the blue pavilionhung a banner with a blue field and the arms of Roche-de-Frêne, beforethe green and silver Montmaure’s banner; before the third pavilionthe two ensigns were fixed side by side. Those who had pitched thepavilions and made lavish preparation were servants of Montmaure.Montmaure was the host this day. Led blindfold into Roche-de-Frêne,through the streets and in at the castle gate, had gone four greatbarons, hostages for the green and silver’s faith.
A trumpet sounded from the town. A trumpet answered for Montmaure.The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne rode through the gates upon her whiteArabian. Behind her came two ladies, Guida and Maeut, and after theserode fifty knights. All wound down the hillside that was pitted andscarred and strewn with many a battle token. To meet them, started fromthe tented plain fifty knights of Montmaure, and at their head CountJaufre. Count Savaric, it was known, suffered yet at times with thewound he had got in the spring from Stephen the Marshal. It seemed thatit was so in the week of this meeting. He was laid in his tent in thehands of his leech. But by cry of herald he had made known that hisson’s voice and presence were his own. The Princess of Roche-de-Frênewould meet in Count Jaufre no less a figure than the reigning count.Thus Jaufre rode alone at the head of the fifty knights.
He rode a great steed caparisoned as for a royal tourney. He himselfwore mail beneath a surcoat of the richest samite, but he hadembroidered gloves, not battle gauntlets, and in place of helmet a capsewn with gems and carrying an eagle feather. The one train came downthe hill, the other crossed the level, overburned, and trodden earth.The two met with fanfare of trumpets and caracoling of steeds andchivalrous parade, close at hand the coloured pavilions, overhead thesapphire sky, around the breath of autumn.
Jaufre sprang from his courser, hastened to the Arabian and would aidthe princess to dismount. He swept his cap from his head. Red-goldlocks and hawk nose, and on the right cheek a long scar, curiouslyshaped.... The Princess Audiart sat very still upon her white Arabian.Then she smiled, dismounted, and gave Jaufre de Montmaure her glovedhand.
Jaufre was adept, when he so chose, in _courtoisie_. He had learnedthe value and the practice of it in Italy, and learned, in hisfellowship with Richard Lion-Heart, to temper it with the cool snowof exaltation and poetry—or to seem to temper it. Richard truly didso. To-day this one acre of earth was a court, and he was prepared tobehave to the ruler of Roche-de-Frêne as to a fair woman who chancedto be high-born. All the past fighting should be treated with disdainas a lovers’ quarrel! Count Jaufre had chosen a rôle, and practisedit in his mind, with a smile upon his lips. He did not forget, nordid he wish the princess to forget, how much stronger was the host ofMontmaure, and that the siege must end in humbling for Roche-de-Frêneand victory for Montmaure. Male strength—male strength was his! Hewas prepared to show his consciousness of that. He had had lovers’quarrels before—he could not remember how many. He remembered withcomplacence that—usually—the other side had come to its knees. Ifthe other side had given him much trouble, made him angry, he thenrepaid it. That was what was going to happen here. But, to-day, joy andcourtesies and the _gai science_! Show this Audiart the Wise the lordshe thought she could refuse! So he met the princess, curled, pressed,and panoplied with courtliness. He out-poetized the poets, beggared thegoddesses of attributes. He strewed painted flowers before the Princessof Roche-de-Frêne, then, his count’s cap again upon his head, led herover the battle-cleansed space to the three pavilions.
Her ladies followed her. The hundred knights, dismounting, fraternized.The air was sweet; over high-built town and castle, sweep of martialplain, cloud-like blue mountains, sprang a serenest roof of heaven.The knights gave mutual enmity a day’s holiday, and, having done agood deed, gained thereupon a line in stature. Many of them knew oneanother, name and appearance and fame. They had encountered in tourney,in hall and bower, and in battle. Fortune had at times ranged themon the same side. A fair number wore the sign of the crusader. Undereither banner were famous knights. The time craved fame and worshippedit. War, love, song, and—the counter-pole—asceticism were yourtrodden roads to fame. Now and then one reached it by a path justperceptible in the wilderness; but more fell in striving to make sucha path. There were famous knights among the hundred, and by this timenone more famed than Garin of Castel-Noir, Garin of the Golden Island.Sir Aimar de Panemonde was as brave, but Garin was troubadour no lessthan knight, and about what he did, in either way, dwelt a hauntingmagic.
Montmaure led the princess to the blue pavilion. It was hers, with herladies, to refresh herself therein. He himself crossed to the green andsilver, drank wine, and looked forth upon the mingling of knights. “Letus see,” ran his thought, “the jade’s choice!” He saw valiant men,known afar, or come in this siege to their kind’s admiration. “Ha!” hesaid to Guiraut of the Vale who stood beside him. “She knows how tocull her garden!”.
“She has more mind, lord, than a woman should have!”
He thought to please Count Jaufre, what he said differing not at allfrom what he had heard his lord say. But Jaufre frowned. Reckoningthe princess his own, it was not for a vassal to speak slightingly!A shifting of the knights took place. It brought into view one whomMontmaure had not earlier seen. “Eye of God! will she bring that devilwith her?”
Guiraut followed the pointing finger. “That is the crusader andtroubadour, Garin de Castel-Noir.”
“Devil and double-devil!” burst forth Jaufre. “When I takeRoche-de-Frêne, woe to you, devil! I hope you be not slain before thatday!”
The blood was in his face, his eyes narrowed to a slit, his red-goldlocks seemed to quiver. Another movement of knights in the giantcluster, and Garin was hid from his sight. He turned and drank again,with an effort composed his countenance and, a signal being given, lefthis pavilion. At the same moment the princess quitted the blue; theycame together to the great pavilion of the blended colours and the twobanners. Here, beneath a canopy, were chairs, with a rich carpet forthe feet. Jaufre had provided music, which played,—not loudly, nor soas to trouble their parley.
The princess had a robe of brown samite, with a mantle of the same; butover the robe, in place of silken bliaut, she wore fine chain-mail, andin a knight’s belt of worked leather, a rich dagger. Her braided hairwas fastened close, with silver pins, beneath a light morion. She satdown, looked at Jaufre opposite. “In this war, my lord, we have not metso near before.”
“Never have we met, princess, so near before!” He bent toward her,warm, red-gold, and mighty. This meeting was for condescension, grace,spring touches in autumn! He found her face not so bad, better muchthan long-ago rumour had painted. His memory carried pictures of herin this siege—upon her war horse before the bridge was taken, or insallies from the gates, in a night-time surprise, by the flare oftorches, or upon the walls, above the storming parties. But he had seenher somewhat distantly, never so close as this. That was the inwardreason why he had urged this meeting: he wished to see her close. Hefelt the stirring of a thwart desire. He wished to embrace—since thatwas what she refused—and to crush. He could admire the courage inher—he had courage himself, though little did he know of magnanimity.“We should have met,” he said, “before we went to war!”
Audiart regarded him with a stilly look. “Perhaps, my lord, we shouldhave warred where’er we met.—It has been eight years since you camefrom Italy.”
“Eight years.—Eye of God! they have been full years!”
“Yes. Each has been an ocean. I remember, it was near this season.”
Jaufre’s brows bore a marking of surprise. “Tell me why you hold thatyear in memory—”
The princess sat with a faint smile upon her fa
ce, her eyes uponthe world beyond the canopy. The latter stretched but overhead;the hillside, the town, the tented plain were visible, and in theforeground the company of knights where they were gathered beneatholive and almond trees.
“That year, my lord count, I first saw your father, the ‘great count.’The prince my father made a tourney in honour of a guest who, likeyou, my lord, sought a bride. And by chance there came riding byRoche-de-Frêne—that you must know, my lord, gave always frank welcometo neighbours—Count Savaric of Montmaure. My father gave him goodwelcome, and also my step-dame, Madame Alazais, and myself, and hesat with us and watched the knights joust.... There is where you comein, my lord! One asked why you were not with Count Savaric, for itwas known that you had lately come back to Montmaure from Italy.” Sheturned her eyes upon him and smiled again. “I remember almost CountSavaric’s words! ‘My son,’ he said, ‘would go a-hunting! Giving chaseto a doe, he outstripped his men. Then burst from a thicket a youngwolf which attacked him and tore his side. He cannot yet sit hishorse. I have left him at Montmaure where he studies chivalry, andmakes, I doubt not, chansons for princesses.’”
The blood flooded Montmaure’s brow and cheek. He stared, not at thePrincess of Roche-de-Frêne, but forth upon the train of knights. “Eyeof God!” he breathed. “That wolf—! Eye of God!”
“My lord count,” said the princess, “did you afterwards hunt down andkill the wolf? I never heard—and I have always wished to hear.”
“No! He ran free! Heart of Mahound—!”
Light played over the princess’s face, but Jaufre, choking down thethought of the wolf, did not note it. He opened his lips to speakfurther of that eight-years-past autumn, thus brought up by chance, andof the wolf; then thought better of it. As for Audiart, she thought,“Vengeful so toward a poor squire who but once, and long ago, crossedhis evil will! Then what might Roche-de-Frêne hope for?”
Jaufre, regaining command of himself, signalled for wine. A pagebrought rich flagons upon a rich salver. Jaufre filled a cup, touchedit with his lips, offered it to the princess. He was growing coolagain, assured as before. There was flattery, in her recalling themoment of his return from Italy, in her remembering, across the years,each word that had been spoken of him!
She took the cup—he noted how long and finely shaped were the fingersthat closed upon it—and drank, then, smiling, set it down. “That is agenerous wine, my lord—a wine for good neighbours!”
“It is not a wine of Montmaure but of Roche-de-Frêne,” said Jaufre.“Save indeed that, as I have taken the fields that grew the grapesand the town that sold the wine, it may be said, princess, to be ofMontmaure!”
Audiart the Wise sat silent a moment, her eyes upon her foe. She wasthere because the need of Roche-de-Frêne sucked at her heart. But sheknew—she knew—that it would not avail! Yet she spoke, low, deep andthrillingly. “My lord, my lord, why should we fight? Truth my witness,if ever I wished Montmaure harm, I’ll now unwish it! Do you so, mylord, toward Roche-de-Frêne! This sunny, autumn day—if we were atpeace, how sweet it were! This land garlanded, and Montmaure—and menand women faring upward—and anger, hate, and greed denied—and commongood grown dearer, nearer! Ah, my Lord Count Jaufre, lift this siege,and win a knightlier, lordlier name than warring gives—”
Jaufre broke in. “Are marriage bells ringing in your pleading, myprincess? If they ring not, all that is said says naught!”
She looked at him with a steadfast face. “Marriage bells?... Give meall that is in your mind, my lord.”
Jaufre drank again. “Marriage bells ringing over our heads where westand in the Church of Saint Eustace in Montmaure.”
“_In Montmaure...._ Did you and I wed, my lord, I must come to you inMontmaure?”
“So! I will give you escort—a thousand spears.”
“And Roche-de-Frêne?—and Roche-de-Frêne—”
“As I may conceive,” said Jaufre, “dealing with my own.”
The princess sat very still. Only her eyes moved, and they looked fromCount Jaufre to the walled town and back again. Montmaure had pushedback his seat. He sat propping his chin with his hand, his hot gazeupon her. “Roche-de-Frêne,” she said at last,—”Roche-de-Frêne wouldhave no guaranty?”
“Eye of God!” answered Jaufre. “I will not utterly destroy what comesto me in wedlock! What interest would that serve? It shall feelscourges, but I shall not tumble each stone from its fellow! Take thatassurance, princess!”
She sat silent. “After all,” said her thought, “you have only what youknew you would get!” Within she knew grim laughter, even a certainrelief. Would she sacrifice or would she not, no good would come fromMontmaure to Roche-de-Frêne! Then, fight on, and since thus it was,fight with an undivided will! Resistance rose as from sleep, refreshed.She smiled. “I am glad that I came, my Lord of Montmaure,” she said,and spoke in a pure, limpid, uncoloured voice. “Else, hearing fromanother your will, I might not have believed—”
“Eye of God! Madame, so it is!” said Jaufre, and in mind heard thebells of the Church of Saint Eustace, and the shouting in Montmaure.
The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne stood up in her brown samite, and sheathof chain-mail and morion that reflected the sunbeams. “Having now yourmind, my lord count, I will return to Roche-de-Frêne!”
She signed to her train that was watching. The squires brought beforethe pavilion her white Arabian and the palfreys of Guida and Maeut. Themovement spread to the knights beneath the trees.... Jaufre, risingalso, inwardly turned over the matter of how soon she had willed todepart, to bring short this splendidly-prepared-for visit. That shewould be gone from him and any further entertainment displeased, butwas salved by the thought that she was in flight to conceal her loweredand broken pride. He was conscious that he had not maintained hisintention of suavity, _courtoisie_. When Richard was not there, he didnot well keep down the pure savage. That talk of hers of the “wolf”had poured oil on the red embers of a score unpaid. That the wolf wasthere in presence—that he, Jaufre, did not wish to tell as much tothe world and Audiart the Wise, letting them see what score had goneunpaid—increased the heat. It burned within Jaufre with a smoulderingthat threatened flame. On the other hand, the person of this princesspleased him more than he had looked for. And it was delightsome tohim, the taste of having made her taste him, his power, purpose, andmode of dealing! He felt that longer stay would accomplish no more; hewas not without a dash of the artist. He, too, signed for his greatbay—for his knights to prepare to follow him from these gay pavilions.To-morrow morn this truce would shut—unless, ere that, she sent aherald with her plain surrender!
She was speaking, in the same crystal, uncoloured voice. “Are you sosure, my lord, that you win? Do you always win? What were we talkingof at first? A doe that escaped from under your hand, and a wolf thatlaid you low in a forest glade and went his way in safety?—My Lord ofMontmaure, I defy you! and sooner than wed with you I with this daggerwill marry Death!” She touched it where it hung at her belt, moved toher Arabian, and sprang to the saddle.
Her following, though but a few had heard what passed between herand Montmaure, saw that there was white wrath, and that the meetingwas shortened beyond expectation. Montmaure’s knights marked him noless—that suddenly his mood was black. All of either banner got tohorse.
The veins of Jaufre’s brow were swollen. The company of knights formingabout the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, the “wolf” came suddenly into hisfield of vision.... The “singing knight” placed in her chosen band byRoche-de-Frêne’s princess—the “wolf” protected by her and favoured!Till that instant he had not thought of them together—but now withlightning swiftness his fury forged a red link between them. He didnot reason—certainly he gave her no place in the forest, eight yearsagone—but he desired, he lusted to slay the one before the eyes of theother! He thrust out a clenched hand, he spoke with a thickened voice.Whatever in him had note of a saving quality was passed by the strideof its opposite.
“Ha, my Prince
ss Audiart, that men call the Wise! I will tell you thatyour wisdom will not save you—nor Roche-de-Frêne—nor yonder knight,my foe, that I hold in loathing and will yet break upon a wheel!” Helaughed, sitting his great bay horse, and with a gesture shook forthvengeance. “To-morrow morn, look to yourselves!”
“My Lord of Montmaure, we shall!” The princess gave command, thetrain from Roche-de-Frêne drew away from the pavilions, the knightsof Montmaure and Count Jaufre. “Farewell, my lord!” cried Audiart theWise, “and for hospitality and frank speech much thanks! I love notwar, but, if you will have it so, I will war!”
The trumpets sounded. They who watched from the walls saw the twotrains draw apart and their own come in order up the winding road thatclimbed to the town. Their own reached the gates and entered.... In themarket-place, the bell having drawn the people together, the princessspoke to them, her voice, clear, firm, and with hint of depth beyonddepth, reaching the outermost fringing sort. She spoke at no greatlength but to the purpose, then asked their mind and waited to hear it.
Raimon, Lord of Les Arbres, a great baron, the greatest vassal ofRoche-de-Frêne there present, spoke from the train of fifty, speakingfor those lords and knights and for all chivalry in Roche-de-Frêne.“My Lady Audiart, we are your men! Hold your courage and we shall holdours! There is not here lord nor belted knight nor esquire who wishesfor suzerain the Counts of Montmaure! We will keep Roche-de-Frêne untilwe know victory or perish!”
The captain of the crossbowmen, a giant of a man, spoke with a boomingvoice. “The sergeants, the bowmen, the workers of the machines and thefoot-soldiers sing Amen! The princess is a good princess and a nobleand a wise, and no man here fails of his pay! Montmaure is a niggardand a hard lord. We are yours to the end, my Lady Audiart!”
Thibaut Canteleu spoke for the town. “Since the world will have it thatwe must have lords, give us your like for lord, my Lady Audiart! Weknow what a taken and sacked town is when Montmaure takes and sacks it!But open our gates to him at his call, and what better would we get?Long slavery and slow pain, and our children to begin again at the footof the stair! So we propose to hold this town, how hard it is to holdsoever!”
A clerk, standing upon the steps that led to a house door, sent hisvoice across the crowded place. “I will speak though I be excommunicatefor it! We hear of the miracle of Father Eustace, and one tells usthat God and His Mother would have our princess marry Montmaure! I donot believe that Father Eustace knows the will of God!”
From the throng came a deep, answering note, a multitudinous hummingdoubt if Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne had been truly understood. Thepeople looked at the cathedral tower, and they looked at the castle andaround at their town, their houses, shops, market, and guild-halls, atthe blue sky above and at their princess. The note sustained itself,broadened and deepened, became like the sound of the sea, and saidforthright that whatever had been meant by Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne,it was not alliance with Montmaure!
The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and her train of knights rode throughthe town and mounted to the castle. Some change in the order of thoseabout her brought Garin for a moment beside the white Arabian. Theprincess turned her head, spoke to him. “Count Jaufre holds you in someespecial hatred. Why is that?”
“I crossed him in his will one day, long ago. He would have done anevil thing, and I, chancing by, came between him and his prey. He itwas who caused me to flee the land.—But not alone for that day isthere enmity between us!”
“Ah!” said the princess. “Long is his rosary of ill deeds! Into my mindto-day comes one that was long ago, and on a day like this. It comes soclear—!”
The Fortunes of Garin Page 19
