The Fortunes of Garin
Page 21
CHAPTER XX
THE WHITE TOWER
UPON the wide steps that led to the door he found Pierol, who, turning,went before him through a hall or general room to a flight of stonesteps winding upward. From this he was brought into a small room wherewere ladies and pages. Pierol, motioning to him to wait, vanishedthrough an opposite door, then in a moment reappeared. Garin, answeringhis sign, went forward and, passing beneath the lintel, found himselfin the princess’s chamber.
She sat beside a table placed for the better light before the southernwindow. She had been writing; as she looked up, the light behind hermade a kind of aureole for her head and long throat and slender,energetic form. “Give you good day, Sir Garin de Castel-Noir!” Shenodded to Pierol and the girl Maeut, who left the room. Near her stooda middle-aged, thin, scholarly-appearing man in a plain dress—hersecretary, Master Bernard. She spoke to him, giving directions. Heanswered, gathered up papers from the table, and bowing low, followedPierol and Maeut. The princess sat on for a few moments in silence, herforehead resting upon her hand. To Garin, standing between table anddoor, the whole fair, large room, the figured hangings, the beamedceiling, the deep-set windows, the floor where were strewn autumn budsand shoots from the garden, seemed a rich casket filled with a playinglight. The light had a source. Garin felt a madness, a desire to sinkwholly into the light, a wish to unclasp once and forever the hold ofthe past, accompanied by a dizzying sense that in no wise might it bedone. The inner man put steadying hands upon himself, forced himself tolook into the eye of the day and of duty.
The princess let fall her hand, turned slightly in her chair, and facedhim. Her look was still and intent; behind it stood a strong will,an intelligence of wide scope. There might seem, besides, a glow,a tension, an urging as of something that would bloom but was heldback, postponed, dominated. She spoke and her voice had a golden andthrobbing quality. “I have sent for you, Sir Knight, because I wish toask of some one great service, and it has seemed to me that you wouldanswer to my asking”—
Garin came nearer to her. “I answer, my lady.”
“You will be, and that for long days, in great peril. Peril willbegin this very eve. I do not wish now to tell you the nature of youradventure—or to tell you more than that it is honourable.”
“Tell me what you will, and no more than that.”
“Then listen, and keep each step in mind—and first of all, that thematter is secret.”
“First, it is secret.”
“At dusk a jongleur will come to your lodging, bringing with him adress like his own, his lute and other matters. Clothe yourself likehim, cut your hair closer, somewhat darken your face. Let him aid you;he is faithful. Wear a dagger, but no other arms nor armour. You willgo, too, afoot. Knightly courage you will need, but keen wit must dofor hauberk and destrier, sword and lance. When you are dressed you arehenceforth, for I know not how many days or weeks, the jongleur Eliasof Montaudon.”
“Thus far, I have it in mind.—_Elias of Montaudon._”
“You know the postern called the rock-gate, on the northern face,between Black Tower and Eagle Tower?”
“Yes.”
“When the bells are ringing complin you will go there alone. You willwait, saying naught to any who may come or go. If you are challengedyou will say that you are there upon the princess’s errand, and youwill give the word of the night. It is _Two Falcons_.”
“At complin. _Two Falcons._”
“You will wait until there comes to you one mantled. That one will giveyou a purse, and will say to you, ‘Saint Martin’s summer.’ You willanswer ‘Dreams may come true.’”
“‘_Saint Martin’s summer._’—‘_Dreams may come true._’”
“The purse you will take and keep—keep hidden. It will be for need.That mantled one you are to follow, and, without question, obey.—Nowtell over each direction.”
Garin told, memory making no slip. He ended, “I am to follow that onewho, giving me a purse, says _Saint Martin’s summer_. He commands and Iobey—”
“As you would myself,” said the princess.
She turned in her chair, looked beyond him out of the window upontower and roof and wall and the November sky of a southern land. “Ihold you true knight, true poet, true man,” she said. “Else nevershould I give you this charge! Keep that likewise in memory, SirGarin de Castel-Noir, Sir Garin de l’Isle d’Or!—And now you will go.Tell Sir Aimar de Panemonde that you have been set a task and givenan errand full of danger, but that, living, he may see you again byChristmas-tide. Tell no one else anything.”
“Going on such an errand and so long,” said Garin, “and one from whichthere may be no returning, I would kiss your hands, my liege—”
She gave her hand to him. He knelt and kissed the slender, long,embrowned fingers. As they rested, that moment, upon his own hand,there came into his mind some association. It came and was gone likedistant lightning, and he could not then give it name or habitation.He rose and stepped backward to the door. “God be with you, my LadyAudiart—”
“And with you,” the princess answered gravely.
Outside the White Tower he paused a moment and looked about him, hiseyes saying farewell to a place that in actuality he might not seeagain. It was the same with the garden through which he presentlypassed. Now it was sunshine, but he thought of it in dusk, the eve whenhe had been there with the princess. Later in the day he found Aimar,and told him as much as he had been told to tell and no more. The twobrothers-in-arms spent an hour together, then they embraced and Aimarwent to the men of both, defending the city wall. When the sun hung lowin the west, Garin sent there also his squire Rainier. The sun sank andhe stood at his window watching.
Around the corner came a man in brown and yellow like autumn leaves.Slung from his neck by a red ribbon he had a lute, and under his arm abundle wrapped in cloth. He reached the entrance below, spoke to theporter and vanished within. Garin, turning from the window, answeredpresently to a knock at the door. “Enter!” There came in, the roombeing yet lit by the glow from the western sky, the brown and yellowman. He proved to be a slender, swarthy person, with long, narrow eyesand a Moorish look. “I speak,” he asked, “to the right noble knightand famed troubadour Sir Garin of the Black Castle—also called of theGolden Island?”
“I am Sir Garin. I know you for the jongleur, Elias of Montaudon.”
“That poor same, fair sir!—Moreover I have here that which will makein the castle of Roche-de-Frêne two of me!” He laid the bundle on abench, and slipping the ribbon from his neck placed there the lute aswell. “When I think that from so famous a troubadour I am set to make apoor jongleur, I know not how to take my task! But princesses are to beobeyed, and truly I would do much for this one! And for your comfort,lord,—only for that and never for vain-glory,—I would have you to witthat Elias of Montaudon hath a kind of fame of his own!” As he spoke heuntied the bundle. “It is an honour that you should deign to wear me,so to speak, in whatever world you are repairing to—and Saint Orpheusmy witness, I know not where that world may be! So, noble sir, here is,at your pleasure, a holiday suit—only a little worn—and a name nomore frayed than is reasonably to be expected!”
“Gramercy for both,” answered Garin. “How have you fared between thedays of Guy of Perpignan and now?”
He took the lute from the bench, swept the strings, and sang, thoughnot loudly:—
“In the spring all hidden close, Lives many a bud will be a rose! In the spring ’tis crescent morn, But then, ah then, the man is born! In the spring ’tis yea or nay, Then cometh Love makes gold of clay! Love is the rose and truest gold, Love is the day and soldan bold—”
He owned a golden voice. The notes throbbed through the room. The lastdied and he laughed. “That song of Guy of Perpignan!—I heard it firstfrom you.”
The jongleur stood staring. “I have been in many a castle hall andbower, at an infinity of tournaments, and two or three times wherebaron and knight were warring in earnest. U
p and down and to and froin the world I practice my art, riding when I can and walking when Imust! But when I had the honour of striking viol, lute or harp beforeyou, sir, I do not recall. Being so famous a knight and poet, I shouldremember—. And then men say that you have been long years in the landover the sea!”
“It was before I went to the land over the sea.—But come! the sky isfading, it is growing dusk. Light the candles there, and begin to turnme into your other self!”
The candles lighted, the jongleur shook out the clothing he hadbrought. “Earth-brown and leaf-green,” he said, “with a hooded mantlehalf the one and half the other.—Now, noble sir, I can play the squireas well as the squire himself!”
He took from Garin the garments which the latter put off, gave himpiece by piece those that were to transform. The two, jongleur andknight and troubadour, were much of a height. Garin was the morestrongly built, but the garb of the time had amplitude of line and foldand Elias of Montaudon’s holiday dress fitted him well enough. “Ofdeliberation and answering to command,” said the jongleur, “it has beenslightly rent and patched here and discoloured there. If the BlessedVirgin herself asked me why, I could not tell her! I have also a phialof a brown stain which, lightly used, makes for a darker complexionthan the sun has painted you with.... Sir Garin of the Golden Island,in hall and bower and wherever chivalry gathers, I have sung songs ofyour making. But when and where have I sung _to_ you? I have curiosity,without which life would be a dull dream! Give largesse, sir, in thecoin of a wiser world—that is to say, give knowledge!”
Garin smiled. “I was esquire then, and you sat by a boulder in theforest, not so many miles from Roche-de-Frêne and discoursed ofjongleur merits and of an ingrate master, to wit, Guy of Perpignan!Also you sang certain lines of his, and spoke sapiently of Lord Love.That, too, was an autumn day, and when I was a squire I wore brown andgreen.”
The jongleur lifted both hands and beat a measure upon his brow. “Ha!and by Saint Arion and his dolphin you did! A proper squire, singinga hunting stave—Ha!” cried Elias of Montaudon, “I have heard sing amaster-poet before he was poet!
“‘In the spring ’tis crescent morn, But then, ah then, the man is born!’
though, certainly, it was autumn!... I remember as clear as crystal! Iwas asleep, and you waked me, coming up on a great horse—”
“Just so. I left the saddle and let Paladin graze, and we talked.”
“Clearer than Saint Martha’s well!... The talk was of love, and thatyou had not yet a lady—By all the saints!” said Elias, “how soon mustthat have been remedied!”
Garin laughed, but there was rue in his laughter. He suddenly grewgrave, the rock-gate before his mind’s eye. “Come! let us have thisstain. Shorten, too, my hair.” He took up Elias’s lute and tried itsstrings. “Play the jongleur—play the jongleur. Every man has in his_garde-robe_ every dress! The king can play the beggar, and the beggarplay the king. Be quick, courageous, and certain in the change—so isthe trumpet answered!” He put the lute’s ribbon over his head. “Itfalls night. Hasten, Elias of Montaudon, and while you work tell meyour own life these six years! If I make another of you, I will make itlike!”
The man in brown and yellow worked.... At last there stood in thelighted room, not a knight and crusader and troubadour, but a jongleurwith a brown face, with a somewhat tarnished brown and green attire,with a lute slung by a red ribbon, on his head a cap with a blackcock’s feather, at his belt a dagger and sheath of the best Italianmake. Dagger and sheath the knight had supplied. It was now fullnight, and not so long before, from every house of the religious inRoche-de-Frêne, complin would ring. The jongleur in brown and yellowtook his leave. He had his fee, he said; likewise a command as to abridled tongue. The jongleur in brown and green saw him go, then putout the candles, pushed a bench to the window, and sitting down waitedfor the signal next in order.... At last the bells spoke.
Garin, rising, left the room and descended the stair. The passage belowwas in darkness, at the exit but one smoky torch. He drew the widemantle closely about him, pulling the hood over head and face. His stepsaid to the man at the door, “Sir Garin.” He passed, an unquestionedinmate, not clearly seen in the light blown by the autumn wind.