“O, Life is sweet, but Life is fleet,O'er quick to go, alack!And once 'tis spilt, try as thou wilt,Thou canst not call it back!
“So bethink thee, bold Robin, and, as thou 'rt king o' the wild-wood, be thou just king and merciful—”
“Now out upon thee, brother!” cried Robin, forgetting to scowl. “Out on thee with thy honied phrases, thy quipsome lilting rhymes! Here go I to do a thing I ha' no lust to do—and all by reason o' thee! Off—off wi' the halter, lads—loose the hangman-claws of him! Hereafter, since he can pay no ransom, he shall be our serf; to have a hangman fetch and carry shall be rare, methinks!”
Quoth JOCELYN: How much should hangman's flesh be worth i' the greenwood, Robin?
“Why, brother, 'tis poor, sad and dismal knave; five gold pieces shall buy him, aye—halter and all, and 'tis fair, good halter, look you!”
“Why, then,” said Jocelyn, opening his wallet, “behold the monies, so do I buy him of thee—”
“Now, by Saint Nick!” cried Robin, amazed. “Nay, brother, an thou'lt buy so sorry a thing, give thy money to the merry lads; I'll none on't. And now,” said he, the money duly paid, “what wilt do wi' thy hangman?”
“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, falling on his knees at Jocelyn's feet, “fain would I serve thee—e'en to the peril o' the life thou hast saved. Bid me labour for thee and in labour shall be my joy, bid me fight for thee and I will fight whiles life is in me; bid me follow thee and I will follow even unto—”
“Nay, hangman,” said Jocelyn, “I bid thee rise and sing for us, and so be gone wheresoever thou wilt.”
Then Ranulph arose and glancing round upon the fierce company, from the noose at his feet to Jocelyn's scarred face, he drew a great breath; quoth he:
“Sir Fool, since 'tis thy will fain would I give thee song blithe and joyful since joy is in my heart, but alack, though my songs begin in merry vein they do grow mournful anon; howbeit, for thy joy now will I sing my cheeriest;” whereupon Ranulph brake into song thus:
“I am forsooth a merry soul,Hey deny down, ho ho!I love a merry song to troll,I love to quaff a cheery bowl,And yet thinks I, alas!Such things too soon do pass,And proudest flesh is grass.Alack-a-day and woe,Alack it should be so!“A goodly lover I might be,Merrily, ho ho!But pretty maids in terror flee,When this my hangman's head they see.But woe it is, thinks I,All fair, sweet dames must die,And pale, sad corpses lie.Alack-a-day and woe,Alack it should be so!“Fairest beauty is but dust,Shining armour soon will rust,All good things soon perish must,Look around, thinks I, and seeAll that, one day, dead must be,King and slave and you and me.Alack-a-day and woe,Alack it must be so!”
“Out!” cried Robin. “Here forsooth is dolorous doleful dirge—out on thee for sad and sorry snuffler!”
“Aye, verily,” sighed Ranulph, “'tis my curse. I begin with laugh and end in groan. I did mean this for merry song, yet it turned of itself sad song despite poor I, and there's the pity on't—”
“Enough!” growled Robin, “away with him. Brand, do you hoodwink him in his 'kerchief and give him safe conduct to beyond the ford, and so set Master Hangman Grimglum-grief on his road—”
“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, “God den t'ye and gramercy. Should it be e'er thy fate to die o' the gallows, may I have thy despatching—I will contrive it so sweetly shalt know nought of it—oho! 'twould be my joy.”
“Off!” cried Robin. “Off, thou pestiferous fungus lest I tread on thee—hence, away!”
So the outlaws blindfolded Ranulph and led him off at speed.
“Away,” quoth Jocelyn, nodding, “so now in faith must I, Robin—”
“What, is't indeed farewell, brother?”
“Aye, Robin.”
“Why, then, what may I give thee in way o' love and friendship?”
“Thy hand.”
“Behold it, brother! And what beside? Here is purse o' good pieces—ha?”
“Nay, Robin, prithee keep them for those whose need is greater.”
“Can I nought bestow—dost lack for nothing, brother?”
“What thou, methinks, may not supply—”
“And that?”
“Horse and armour!” Now at this, Robin laughed and clapped hand to thigh; quoth he:
“Come with Robin, brother!” So he brought Jocelyn into a cave beneath the steep and, lighting a torch from fire that burned there, led him on through other caves and winding passages rough-hewn in the rock, and so at last to a vasty cavern.
And here was great store of merchandise of every sort,—velvets, silks, and rich carpets from the Orient; vases of gold and silver, and coffers strong-clamped with many iron bands. And here also, hanging against the rocky walls, were many and divers suits of armour with helms and shields set up in gallant array; beholding all of which Jocelyn paused to eye merry Robin askance; quoth he soberly:
“Sir Rogue, how came ye by all this goodly furniture?”
“By purest chance, brolher,” laughed Robin, “for hark 'ee—
“Chance is a wind to outlaws kind,And many fair things blows us,It—merchants, priors, lords, knights and squires,And like good things bestows us—”
“Aye,” said Jocelyn, “but what of all those knights and squires whose armour hangeth here?”
“Here or there, brother, they come and they go. Ha, yonder soundeth Ralfwyn's horn—three blasts which do signify some right fair windfall. Come, let us see what this jolly wind hath blown us this time!” So saying, Robin laughed and led the way out into the sunny green. And here, surrounded by a ring of merry forest rogues, they beheld a knight right gallantly mounted and equipped, his armour blazing in the sun, his gaudy bannerole a-flutter from long lance, his shield gaudy and brave with new paint; beholding which, Robin chuckled gleefully; quoth he:
“Oho! On a field vert three falcons gules, proper, charged with heart ensanguined—aha, here's good booty, methinks!”
Now, as this splendid knight rode nearer, contemptuous of his brawny captors, Robin stared to see that on his helmet he wore a wreath of flowers, while lance and sword, mace and battle-axe were wreathed in blooming roses.
“Ho, Jenkyn, Cuthbert!” cried Robin, “what Sir Daintiness have ye here?” But ere his grinning captors could make reply, the knight himself spake thus:
“Behold a very gentle knight,Sir Palamon of Tong,A gentle knight in sorry plight,That loveth love and hateth fight,A knight than fight had rather write,And strophes to fair dames indite,Or sing a sighful song.“By divers braggarts I'm abused,'Tis so as I've heard tell,Because, since I'm to fight unused,I many a fight have bold refused,And, thereby, saved my bones unbruised,Which pleaseth me right well.“No joy have I in steed that prances,True gentle man am ITo tread to lutes slow, stately dances.'Stead of your brutish swords and lances,I love love's lureful looks and glances,When hand to hand, unseen, advances,And eye caresseth eye.”
“And how a plague, Sir Gentleness,” questioned Robin, “may eye caress eye?”
“E'en as lips voiceless may wooing speak, Sir Roguery, and tongue unwagging tell tales o' love, Sir Ferocity.”
ROBIN: Then had I the trick o' voiceless speech, now would I, with silly tongue, tell thee thou art our prisoner to ransom, Sir Silken Softness.
SIR PALAMON: And I joy therefore, Sir Forest Fiend.
ROBIN: And wherefore therefore?
SIR PALAMON: For that therefore I need not to the joust, to that bone-shattering sport of boastful, brutal braggadocios, but here, lapped soft in the gentle green, woo the fair Yolande—
JOCELYN: How, knight, the fair lady Yolande, say'st thou?
SIR PALAMON: Even she.
JOCELYN: But here she is not and thou art, how then may one that is, woo one is not?
SIR PALAMON: Gross mountebank, by thought—I woo in thought, breathe my thought upon the balmy air and air beareth it to her feet.
ROBIN: And she treadeth on't, so there's an end o' thy love! But pray you, Sir Downy Daintiness, how come ye that are so gentle so ungently dight? Discourse, Sir Dove!
SIR PALAMON: In two words then, thou lewd lurcher o' the thickets; I ride thus in steely panoply—the which doth irk me sore—by reason of the tongue of my mother (good soul!) the which doth irk me more. For she (worthy lady!) full-fed o' fatuous fantasies and fables fond, fuddled i' faith o' faddling fictions as—gestes of jongleurs, tales told by tramping troubadours, ballades of babbling braggarts, romances of roysterous rhymers, she (good gossip!) as I say, having hearkened to and perused the works of such-like pelting, paltry prosers and poets wherein sweep of sword and lunge o' lance is accompted of worthier repute than the penning of dainty distich and pretty poesies pleasingly passionate. She, I say—my mother (God rest her!), e'en she with tongue most harsh, most bitter and most unwearying, hath enforced me, her son (whom Venus bless!)—e'en I that am soul most transcendental—I that am a very wing-ed Mercury—me, I say she hath, by torrential tongueful tumult (gentle lady!), constrained to don the habit of a base, brawling, beefy and most material Mars! Wherefore at my mother's behest (gracious dame!) I ride nothing joyful to be bruised and battered by any base, brutal braggart that hath the mind to try a tilt with me. Moreover—
ROBIN: Hold! Take breath, gentle sir, for thine own sweet sake draw thy wind.
SIR PALAMON: 'Tis done, fellow, 'tis done! And now in three words will I—
ROBIN: Cry ye mercy, sir, thy two words do yet halloo “Buzz-buzz” in mine ears.
SIR PALAMON: Faith, robber-rogue, since I a tongue possess—
ROBIN: Therein thou art very son o' thy mother (whom St. Anthony cherish!).
SIR PALAMON: With this rare difference, outlaw—for whereas her tongue (honoured relict!) is tipped with gall, wormwood, henbane, hemlock, bitter-aloes and verjuice, and stingeth like the adder, the asp, the toad, the newt, the wasp, and snaky-haired head of Medusa, mine—
ROBIN: Buzzeth, buzz, O buzz!
SIR PALAMON: Mine, thou paltry knave, I say mine—
ROBIN: Buzz—ha—buzz!
JOCELYN: I pray you, Sir Knight, doth the Red Gui tilt at to-morrow's joust?
SIR PALAMON: Base mime, he doth! My Lord Gui of Ells, Lord Seneschal of Raddemore, is myfriend, a very mirror of knightly prowess, the sure might of whose lance none may abide. He is, in very truth, the doughtiest champion in all this fair country, matchless at any and every weapon, a-horse or a-foot, in sooth a very Ajax, Achilles, Hector, Roland and Oliver together and at once, one and indivisible, aye—by Cupid a very paladin!
“'Tis so I've heard,” said Jocelyn thoughtfully.
SIR PALAMON: Two knights only there are might cope with him, and one Sir Agramore and one Jocelyn of the Helm, Duke of Brocelaunde. The fame of which last rumour hath so puffed up that thrice my Lord Gui hath sent his cartel of defiance, but the said Duke, intent on paltry battles beyond his marches, hath thrice refused, and wisely—so 'tis said.
“Aye me, messire,” quoth Jocelyn, strumming his lute, “and so bloweth the wind. Yet mayhap these twain shall meet one day.”
ROBIN: And heaven send me there to see! Now as to thee, Sir Softly Sweet, fair Lord of Tong, thy goodly horse and armour are mine henceforth, first because thy need of them is nothing, secondly because thou art my prisoner—
SIR PALAMON: And thirdly, Sir Riotous Roughness, I do freely on thee bestow them, hide and hair, bolt and rivet.
ROBIN: Now as to thy ransom, Sir Mildly-Meek, at what price dost rate thy value, spiritual and corporeal?
SIR PALAMON: Fellow, though youthful, well-favoured and poet esteemed, I am yet marvellous modest! 'Tis true I am knight of lineage lofty, of patrimony proud, of manors many—
ROBIN: Even as of thy words, Sir Emptiness.
SIR PALAMON: 'Tis also true, thou ignorant atomy, I, like Demosthenes, am blessed with a wonder o' words and glory o' sweet phrase, and yet, and here's the enduring wonder—I am still but man, though man blessed with so much profundity, fecundity, and redundity of thought and expression, and therefore a facile scribe or speaker, able to create, relate, formulate or postulate any truth, axiomatic, sophistry subtle, or, in other words, I can narrate—
ROBIN: Verily Sir Windbag thou dost, to narrate, thyself with wind inflate, and, being thus thyself inflate of air, thou dost thyself deflate of airy sounds which be words o' wind, and windy words is emptiness—thus by thy inflatings and deflatings cometh nought but wind bred o' wind, and nought is nothing, so nought is thy relation or narration; whereof make now a cessation, so will I, in due form, formulate, postulate and deliberate. Thus, with my good rogues' approbation and acclamation, I will of thy just valuation make tabulation, and give demonstration in relation to thy liberation from this thy situation, as namely, viz. and to-wit: First thou art a poet; in this is thy marketable value to us nought, for poets do go empty of aught but thought of sort when wrought, unbought; thus go they short which doth import they're empty, purse and belly. Second, upon thy testimony thou'rt a man. Go to! Here we be out again, for on the score of manliness thou art not. Yet thou art flesh and blood— good! for here we deal in such. Not that we yearn for thy flesh and blood, but, being thine, they are to thee dear, perchance, and thou would'st fain keep them alive a little longer; wherefore thou shalt for thy loved flesh and blood pay—purchasing the same of us. And, as flesh varies, so do our prices vary; we do sell a man his own flesh and blood at certain rateable values. Thus unto a hangman we did of late sell a hangman, in fair good halter, and he a hangman brawny, for no more than five gold pieces, the which was cheap, methinks, considering the goodly halter, and he a lusty, manly rogue to boot. Now as for thee, thou'rt soft and of a manlihood indifferent, so would I rate thee at one gold piece.
SIR PALAMON: Ignorant grub! Am I less than base hangman—I, a knight—
ROBIN: True, Sir Knight, thou'rt a knight for no reason but that thou art knight born and thus, by nought but being born, hath won to thyself nobility, riches and honours such as no man may win either by courage, skill, or learning, since highborn fool and noble rogue do rank high 'bove such. Sothouart knight, Sir Knight, and for thy knighthood, thy lineage lofty, thy manors many, mulcted thou shalt be in noble fashion. For thy manhood I assess thee at one gold piece, but, since thou'rt son o' thy dam (whom the Saints pity!) we do fine thee five thousand gold pieces—thy body ours until the purchase made. Away with him, lads; cherish him kindly, unarm him gently, and set him a-grinding corn till his ransom be paid—away!
Now here was mighty roar of laughter and acclaim from all who heard, only Sir Palamon scowled, and, for once mute and tongue-tied, was led incontinent away to his labours.
“And now, brother,” quoth Robin, turning where Jocelyn stood smiling and merry-eyed, “what o' this armour dost seek, and wherefore?”
“Art a lovely robber, Robin,” said he; “a very various rogue, yet no rogue born, methinks!”
“I was not always outlaw, brother—howbeit, what would a Fool with horse and knightly arms?”
Now Jocelyn, bending close, whispered somewhatin Robin's ear, whereon he clapped hand to thigh, and laughed and laughed until the air rang again.
“Oho, a jape—a jape indeed!” he roared. “O lovely brother, to see proud knight unhorsed by prancing motley Fool! Hey, how my heart doth jump for gladness! An thou wilt a-tilting ride, I will squire thee—a Fool of a knight tended by Rogue of a squire. O, rare—aha! oho! Come thy ways, sweet brother, and let us set about this joyous jape forthwith!”
And thus it was that, as evening fell, there rode, through bowery bracken and grassy glade, two horsemen full blithe and merry, and the setting sun flashed back in glory from their glittering armour.
How Red Gui sore smitten was in fightBy motley Fool in borrowed armour dight.
Now shrill tucket and clarion, trumpet and hornWith their cheery summons saluted the morn,Where the sun, in his splendour but newly put on,Still more splendid made pennon and brave gonfalonThat with banners and pennoncelles fluttered and flewHigh o'er tent and pavilion of every hue.For the lists were placed here, for the tournament set,Where already a bustling concourse was met;Here were poor folk and rich folk, lord, lady and squire,Clad in leather, in cloth and in silken attire;Here folk pushed and folk jostled, as people still doWhen the sitters be many, the seats scant and few;Here was babble of voices and merry uproar,For while some folk laughed loud, some lost tempers and swore.Until on a sudden this tumult and riotWas hushed to a murmur that sank into quietAs forth into the lists, stern of air, grave of face,Five fine heralds, with tabard and trumpet, did paceWith their Lion-at-arms, or Chief Herald, before;And a look most portentous this Chief Herald wore,And, though portly his shape and a little too round,Sure a haughtier Chief Herald could nowhere be found.So aloof was his look and so grave his demeanour,Humble folk grew abashed, and mean folk felt the meaner;When once more the loud clarions had all echoes wokeThis Chief Herald in voice deep and sonorous spoke:“Good people all,Both great and small,Oyez!Ye noble dames of high degreeYour pretty ears now lend to me,And much I will declare to ye.Oyez! Oyez!Ye dainty lords of might and fame,Ye potent gentles, do the same,Ye puissant peers of noble name,Now unto ye I do proclaim:Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!”Here pealed the trumpets, ringing loud and clear,That deafened folk who chanced to stand too near.In special one—a bent and hag-like dame,Who bent o'er crooked staff as she were lame;Her long, sharp nose—but no, her nose none saw,Since it was hidden 'neath the hood she woreBut from this hood she watched with glittering eyeFour lusty men-at-arms who lolled hard by,Who, 'bove their armour, bore on back and breastA bloody hand—Lord Gui's well-hated crest,And who, unwitting of the hooded hag,On sundry matters let their lewd tongues wag:
THE FIRST SOLDIER: Why, she scorned him, 'tis well beknown!
THE SECOND SOLDIER: Aye, and it doth not do to scorn the Red Gui, look 'ee!
THE THIBD SOLDIER: She'll lie snug in his arms yet, her pride humbled, her proud spirit broke, I'll warrant me!
THE FOURTH SOLDIER: She rideth hence in her litter, d'ye see; and with but scant few light-armed knaves attendant.
THE FIRST SOLDIER: Aye, and our signal my lord's hunting-horn thrice winded—
Thus did they talk, with laughter loud and deep,While nearer yet the hooded hag did creep;But:—Now blew the brazen clarions might and main,Which done, the portly Herald spake again:“Good people, all ye lords and ladies fair,Oyez!Now unto ye forthwith I do declareThe charms of two fair dames beyond compare.Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!The first, our Duchess—Benedicta hight,That late from Tissingors, her town, took flight,To-day, returning here, doth bless our sight,And view the prowess of each valiant knight;Each champ-i-on, in shining armour dight,With blunted weapons gallantly shall fight.And, watched by eyes of ladies beamy-bright,Inspired and strengthened by this sweet eye-light,Shall quit themselves with very main and might;The second:—in her beauty Beauty's peer,Yolande the Fair, unto our Duchess dear,For whose sweet charms hath splintered many a spear,Throned with our lovely Duchess, sitteth hereWith her bright charms all gallant hearts to cheer.Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid fear,To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear!Oyez!'Tis now declared—”
My daughter GILLIAN expostulateth:
GILL: O, father, nowYou must allowThat your herald is rather a bore.He talks such a lot,And it seems frightful rot—MYSELF: I hate slang, miss! I told you before!If my herald says much,Yet he only says suchAs by heralds was said in those days;Though their trumpets they blew,It is none the less trueThat they blew them in other folks' praise.If my herald verbose isAnd gives us large dosesOf high-sounding rodomontade,You'll find they spoke soIn the long, long ago,So blame not—O, blame not the bard.But while we are pratingOur herald stands waitingIn a perfectly terrible fume,So, my dear, here and now,The poor chap we'll allowHis long-winded speech to resume:“'Tis here declared by order of the Ten,Fair Benedicta's guardians—worthy men!Thus they decree—ye lovers all rejoice!She shall by their command, this day make choiceOf him—O, him! O blest, thrice blessed heWho must anon her lord and husband be.'Tis so pronounced by her grave guardians ten,By them made law—and they right reverend men!And this the law—our lady, be it said,This day shall choose the husband she must wed;And he who wins our Duchess for his ownCrowned by her love shall mount to ducal throne,So let each knight, by valiant prowess, proveHimself most worthy to our lady's love.Now make I here an end, and ending, prayYe quit you all like val'rous knights this day.”
Thus spake the Chief Herald and so paced solemnly down the lists while the long clarions filled the air with gallant music. But the lovely Benedicta, throned beneath silken canopy, knit her black brows and clenched slender hands and stamped dainty foot, yet laughed thereafter, whereupon Yolande, leaning to kiss her flushed cheek, questioned her, wondering:
“How say'st thou to this, my loved Benedicta?”
Quoth the DUCHESS:
“I say, my sweeting, 'tis quite plainThat I must run away again!
Howbeit I care not one rush for their laws! Marry forsooth—a fig! Let them make laws an they will, these reverend, right troublesome grey-beards of mine, they shall never wed me but to such a man as Love shall choose me, and loving him—him only will I wed, be he great or lowly, rich or poor, worthy or unworthy, so I do love him, as is the sweet and wondrous way of love.”
“Ah, Benedicta! what is love?”
“A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! This wisdom had I of a Fool i' the forest. Go learn you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench.”
“Nay, but,” sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a-flush, “what of Sir Agramore—hath he not sworn to wed thee?”
“I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, since I have found me one may cope with him perchance—even as did a Fool with my Lord Gui of Ells upon a tune. Art sighing again, sweet maid?”
“Nay, indeed—and wherefore should I sigh?”
“At mention of a Fool, belike.”
“Ah, no, no, 'twere shame in me, Benedicta! A Fool forsooth!”
“Yet Fool of all fools singular, Yolande. And for all his motley a very man, methinks, and of a proud, high bearing.”
Here Yolande's soft cheek grew rosy again:
“Yet is he but motley Fool—and his face—marred hatefully—”
“Hast seen him smile, Yolande, for then—how, dost sigh again, my sweet?”
“Nay, indeed; but talk we of other matters—thy so sudden flight—tell me all that chanced thee, dearest Benedicta.”
“Why first—in thine ear, Yolande—my jewel is not—see!”
“How—how, alas! O most sweet lady—hast lost it? Thy royal amulet?”
“Bestowed it, Yolande.”
“Benedicta! On whom?”
“A poor soldier. One that saved me i' the forest from many of Sir Agramore's verderers—a man very tall and strong and brave, but dight in ragged cloak and rusty mail—”
“Ragged? A thief—”
“Mayhap!”
“An outlaw—”
“Mayhap!”
“A wolf's-head—a wild man and fierce.”
“True he is very wild and very fierce, but very, very gentle—”
“And didst give to such thy jewel? O Benedicta! The Heart-in-heart?”
“Freely—gladly! He begged it of me very humbly and all unknowing what it signified—”
“O my loved Benedicta, alas!”
“O my sweet Yolande, joy!”
“But if he should claim thee, and he so poor and wild and ragged—”
“If he should, Yolande, if he should—
'He that taketh Heart-in-heart,Taketh all and every part.'
O, if he should, Yolande, then I—must fulfil the prophecy. Nay, dear my friend, stare not so great and sadly-eyed, he knoweth not the virtue of the jewel nor have I seen him these many days.”
“And must thou sigh therefore, Benedicta?”
But now the trumpets blew a fanfare, and forth rode divers gallant knights, who, spurring rearing steeds, charged amain to gore, to smite and batter each other with right good will while the concourse shouted, caps waved and scarves and ribands fluttered.
But here, methinks, it booteth not to tellOf every fierce encounter that befell;How knight 'gainst knight drove fierce with pointless spearAnd met with shock that echoed far and near;Or how, though they with blunted swords did smite,Sore battered was full many a luckless wight.But as the day advanced and sun rose highFull often rose the shout: “A Gui—A Gui!”For many a proud (though bruised and breathless) lord,Red Gui's tough lance smote reeling on the sward;And ever as these plaudits shook the air,Through vizored casque at Yolande he would stare.
And beholding all the beauty of her he smiled evilly and muttered to himself, glancing from her to certain lusty men-at-arms who, lolling 'gainst the barriers, bore at back and breast his badge of the bloody hand.
But the fair Yolande heeded him none at all, sitting with eyes a-dream and sighing ever and anon; insomuch that the Duchess, watching her slyly, sighed amain also and presently spake:
“Indeed, and O verily, Yolande, meseemeth we do sigh and for ever sigh, thou and I, like two poor, love-sick maids. How think'st thou?”
“Nay, O Benedicta, hearken! See, who rideth yonder?”
Now even as thus fair Yolanda spoke,A horn's shrill note on all men's hearing broke,And all eyes turned where rode a gallant knight,In burnished armour sumptuously bedight.His scarlet plumes 'bove gleaming helm a-dance,His bannerole a-flutter from long lance,His gaudy shield with new-popped blazon glowed:Three stooping falcons that on field vert showed;But close-shut vizor hid from all his faceAs thus he rode at easy, ambling pace.
“Now as I live!” cried Benedicta. “By his device yon should be that foolish knight Sir Palamon of Tong!”
“Aye, truly!” sighed Yolande. “Though he wear no motley hither rideth indeed a very fool. And look, Benedicta—look! O, sure never rode knight in like array—see how the very populace groweth dumb in its amaze!”
For now the crowd in wonderment grew mute,To see this knight before him bare a lute,While blooming roses his great helmet crowned,They wreathed his sword, his mighty lance around.Thus decked rode he in rosy pageantry,And up the lists he ambled leisurely;Till, all at once, from the astonied crowdThere brake a hum that swelled to laughter loud;But on he rode, nor seemed to reck or heed,Till 'neath the balcony he checked his steed.Then, handing lance unto his tall esquire,He sudden struck sweet chord upon his lyre,And thus, serene, his lute he plucked untilThe laughter died and all stood hushed and still;Then, hollow in his helm, a clear voice rang,As, through his lowered vizor, thus he sang:“A gentle knight behold in me,(Unless my blazon lie!)For on my shield behold and see,Upon field vert, gules falcons three,Surcharged with heart ensanguiney,To prove to one and all of ye,A love-lorn knight am I.”
But now cometh (and almost in haste) the haughty and right dignified Chief Herald with pursuivants attendant, which latter having trumpeted amain, the Herald challenged thus:
“Messire, by the device upon thy shield,We know my Lord of Tong is in the field;But pray thee now declare, pronounce, expound,Why thus ye ride with foolish roses crowned?”
Whereto the Knight maketh answer forthwith:
“If foolish be these flowers I bear,Then fool am I, I trow.Yet, in my folly, fool doth swear,These flowers to fool an emblem rareOf one, to fool, more sweet, more fair,E'en she that is beyond compare,A flower perchance for fool to wear,Who shall his foolish love declareTill she, mayhap, fool's life may share,Nor shall this fool of love despair,Till foolish hie shall go.“For life were empty, life were vain,If true love come not nigh,Though honours, fortune, all I gain,Yet poorer I than poor remain,If true-love from me fly;So here I pray,If that thou may,Ah—never pass me by!”
Here the Chief Herald frowned, puffing his cheeks, and waved his ebony staff authoritatively.
Quoth he: “Enough, Sir Knight! Here is no place for love! For inasmuch as we—”
THE KNIGHT: Gentle Herald, I being here, here is Love, since I am lover, therefore love-full, thus where I go goeth Love—
The Herald: Apprehend me, Sir Knight! For whereas love hath no part in—
The Knight: Noble Herald, Love hath every part within me and without, thus I, from Love apart, have no part, and my love no part apart from my every part; wherefore, for my part, and on my part, ne'er will I with Love part for thy part and this to thee do I impart—
“Sweet Saints aid us!” The Chief Herald clasped his massy brow and gazed with eye distraught. “Sir Knight—messire—my very good and noble Lord of Tong—I grope! Here is that which hath a seeming ... thy so many parts portend somewhat ... and yet ... I excogitate ... yet grope I still ... impart, part ... thy part and its part ... so many parts ... and roses ... and songs o' love ... a lute! O, thundering Mars, I ... Sound, trumpets!”
But the Duchess up-starting, silenced Herald and trumpeters with imperious hand.
“Sir Knight of Tong,” said she, “'tis told thou'rt of nimble tongue and a maker of songs, so we bid thee sing if thy song be of Love—for Love is a thing little known and seldom understood these days. Here be very many noble knights wondrous learned in the smiting of buffets, but little else; here be noble dames very apt at the play of eyes, the twining of fingers, the languishment of sighs, that, seeking True-love, find but its shadow; and here also grey beards that have forgot the very name of Love. So we bid thee sing us of Love—True-love, what it is. Our ears attend thee!”
“Gracious lady,” answered the Knight, “gladly do I obey. But Love is mighty and I lowly, and may speak of Love but from mine own humility. And though much might be said of Love since Love's empire is the universe and Love immortal, yet will I strive to portray this mighty thing that is True-love in few, poor words.”
Then, plucking sweet melody from his lute, the Knight sang as here followeth:
“What is Love? 'Tis this, I say,Flower that springeth in a dayNe'er to die or fade awaySince True-love dieth never.“Though youth, alas! too soon shall wane,Though friend prove false and effort vain,True-love all changeless doth remainThe same to-day and ever.”
Now while the clarions rang out proclaiming Sir Palamon's defiance, Benedicta looked on Yolande and Yolande on Benedicta:
“O, wonderful!” cried the Duchess. “My Lord of Tong hath found him manhood and therewith a wisdom beyond most and singeth such love as methought only angels knew and maids might vision in their dreams. Ah, Yolande—that such a love could be ... e'en though he went ragged and poor in all but love....”
“Benedicta,” sighed Yolande, hands clasped on swelling bosom, “O Benedicta, here is no foolish Lord of Tong ... and yet ... O, I am mad!”
“Why, then, 'tis sweet madness! So, my Yolande, let us be mad awhile together ... thou—a Fool ... and I—a beggar-rogue!”
“Nay—alas, dear Benedicta! This were shame—”
“And forsooth is it shame doth swell thy heart, Yolande, light the glamour in thine eyes and set thee a-tremble—e'en as I? Nay indeed, thou'rt a-thrill with Folly ... and I, with Roguery. Loved Folly! Sweet Roguery! O Yolande, let us fly from empty state, from this mockery of life and learn the sweet joys of ... of beggary, and, crowned with poverty, clasp life—”
MYSELF, myself interrupting:By the way, my dear, you'll understand,Though this is very fine,Still, her Grace's counsel to YolandeMust not be in your line!Not that I'd have you wed for wealth,Or many a beggar-man by stealth,But I would have you, if you can—GILL: Marry some strong, stern, silent man,Named Mark, and with hair slightly gray by the ears!Now he's just the sort who would bore me to tears.If I for a husband feel ever inclined,I shall choose quite an ordin'ry husband—the kindWith plenty of money and nothing to do,With a nice, comfy house, and a motor or two—MYSELF: That's all very fine, miss, but what would you doIf he, by some ill-chance, quite penniless grew?GILL: Oh, why then—why, of course,I should get a divorce—MYSELF: A divorce? Gracious heaven! For goodness' sake—GILL: 'Twould be the most dignified action to take!
MYSELF: Pray, what in the world of such things do you know?GILL: Well, father, like you—each day older I grow.But, instead of discussing poor me,I think you would much nicer beTo get on with our Geste.MYSELF: I obey your behest!
Said Yolande to the duchess, said she:
“Nay, my Benedicta, these be only dreams, but life is real and dreams a very emptiness!”
“And is 't so, forsooth?” exclaimed the Duchess. “Then am I nought but a duchess and lonely, thou a maid fearful of her own heart, and yon singer of love only a very futile knight, Sir Palamon of Tong, nothing esteemed by thee for wit or valour and little by his peers—see how his challengers do throng. How think you?” But the lady Yolande sat very still and silent, only she stared, great-eyed, where danced the scarlet plume.
And indeed many and divers were the knights who, beholding the blazon of Tong, sent the bearer their defiance, eager to cope with him; and each and every challenge Sir Palamon accepted by mouth of his tall esquire who (vizor closed, even as his lord's) spake the Chief Herald in loud, merry voice, thus:
“Sir Herald, whereas and forinasmuch as this, my Lord of Tong himself, himself declaring fool, is so himself-like as to meet in combat each and every of his challengers—themselves ten, my lord that is fool, himself himself so declaring, now declareth by me that am no fool but only humble esquire—messire, I say, doth his esquire require that I, the said esquire, should on his part impart as followeth, namely and to wit: That these ten gentle knights, the said challengers, shall forthwith of themselves choose of themselves, themselves among themselves thereto agreeing, which of themselves, among themselves of themselves so chosen, shall first in combat adventure himself against my Lord of Tong himself. And moreover, should Fortune my lord bless with victory, the nine remaining shall among themselves choose, themselves agreeing, which of themselves shall next, thus chosen of themselves, themselves represent in single combat with this very noble, fool-like Lord of Tong, my master. Furthermore, whereas and notwithstanding—”
“Hold, sir!” cried the Chief Herald, fingering harassed brow. “Pray thee 'bate—O, abate thy speechful fervour. Here forsooth and of truth is notable saying—O, most infallibly—and yet perchance something discursive and mayhap a little involved.”
“Nay, Sir Herald,” quoth the esquire, “if involved 'twill be resolved if revolved, thus: Here be ten lords would fight one, and one—that is my lord who is but one—ten fight one by one. But that ten, fighting one, may as one fight, let it be agreed that of these ten one be chosen one to fight, so shall one fight one and every one be satisfied—every one of these ten fighting one, one by one. Thus shall ten be one, and one ten fight one by one till one be discomfited. Shall we accord the matter simply, thus?”
“Sir,” quoth the Chief Herald, gasping a little, “Amen!”
“O!” cried the Duchess, clapping her hands, “O Yolande, hark to this rare esquire! Surely, I have heard yon cunning tongue ere this?”
But Yolande gazed ever where Sir Palamon, having taken his station, set himself in array. For now, the ten knights having chosen one to represent them, forth rode their champion resplendent in shining mail and green surcoat with heralds before to proclaim his name and rank.
“Yolande,” quoth the Duchess softly, “pray—pray this Lord of Tong may tilt as bravely as he doth sing, for Sir Thomas of Thornydyke is a notable jouster.”
The trumpets blew a fanfare and, levelling their pointless lances, both knights gave spur, their great horses reared, broke into a gallop and thundered towards each other.