Lord Geoffrey's Fancy

by Alfred Duggan

  "As you know, gentlemen, I'm not much of a hand at serving the ladies, singing and playing cat's-cradle and backgammon; all those antics in the bower that help a knight to seduce honourable wives." He glared round atus, puffing out his grey moustache with a gusty sigh. "Whores don't attract me either, I'm not like some of you young men. So in general I have had very little to do with females of either kind. Now I am going to marry a very young lady, of noble birth and surpassing beauty. I'm old enough to be her grandfather. Yes, I am. I've had this moustache a long time. Anyway, she is much younger than I am. It's not to be expected that she will love me. I suppose she will choose some younger and better-looking man to amuse her by the fibre in the hall and hood her falcons for her when she rides in the country. That's the old custom of chivalrous courtesy, and I have nothing against it. But the lady Jeanne will be my wife, and her honour will be in my keeping. So don't any of you young men think you can do more than touch her fingers. Rheumatism won't keep me out of the lists if honour calls. The lady Jeanne de Toucy is poor and unfortunate, without kin to uphold her. The lady Jeanne de Catabas will be protected by my sword. Don't force me to draw it, any of you."

  He glared round again, looking very fierce.

  But we were all on his side without any persuasion. We liked Sir John. We also admired his chivalry in offering marriage to the daughter of his old friend, as the most courteous way of providing for her. Mind you, if he had fallen in love with a pretty face we might have laughed at him; the jealous old man with a flighty young wife is a stock figure of fun. But he made it clear he was undertaking nothing more than a work of charity. He was marrying, not for love, but because it was the most honourable way to support a young lady. We knew that he would have lived happier unmarried, as he had lived for the past fifty years and more. As an injured husband he would be a formidable foe; but in addition no one wanted to give pain to good old Sir John.

  Yet when I told Melisande of this encounter she had her doubts.

  "If Sir John wants to look after the daughter of his old friend he would be wiser to give her a good dowry," she said. "Also that might come cheaper in the long run. A poor damsel who marries well is apt to make free with her husband's money. I don't see how she can be happy, when he doesn't even pretend to be in love with her. He will marry her from charity, and she will marry him out of gratitude. It's no foundation for a decent family life. Let's hope gratitude keeps her straight, and the prospect of one day being a wealthy widow. But the other ladies here may despise her, and she may take her revenge by stealing their men. Poor thing. She will be unhappy here. You and I must do our best to make her stay as pleasant as we can."

  To me this was a new idea, and I said so. "No damsel of good birth expects to marry for love; it's against nature. If Jeanne's father were still alive he might have given her to Sir John, or indeed to someone older. What any sensible girl wants is a husband, and especially a husband who holds land. She doesn't expect to choose the man she will marry. Anyway, what's all this about happiness for wives? Wives make the best of it. They aren't supposed to be happy."

  "Is that how you felt when you married me?"

  "But you can't argue from us, my darling. Ours was a most imprudent match. It happens to have turned out well, but it's not the kind of thing you can recommend for others."

  In answer Melisande first pulled my nose and then kissed me, so I never had the opportunity to develop my argument.

  The wedding between good old Sir John and the maiden in distress captured the imagination of Carytena. The ceremony took place in the castle chapel on St. John's Eve, midsummer night 1262, and practically the whole homage of the barony was there to see it. Sir Geoffrey in person gave away the bride, whose gown had been designed by the lady Isabel and sewn by her waiting ladies. Afterwards there was a great feast in the castle hall, with the happy couple in the place of honour. On bended knee Sir Geoffrey filled the bride's cup, and the lady Isabel poured water for Sir John to wash his hands. There was a great deal to drink for everyone; but at the end of the evening the usual ribald jokes were omitted, because Sir John was looking very stiff and proud and nobody wanted to make him angry. Bride and bridegroom were conducted to their bedchamber with lighted torches, but we sang a fairly inoffensive Grifon nursery rhyme instead of the verses usual on these occasions.

  Later we sang round the fire the songs specially composed in honour of the marriage, and very funny they were though unsuitable for a place in this memoir. It had been a great day, all the more important because my lady had come specially from Satines to honour it. Nowadays she spent most of her time in the beautiful and commodious castle of Satines; on the excuse that her sick father needed the company of his children.

  A week later things were back to normal. The lady Isabel returned to her father's sickbed. Sir Geoffrey led out the mesnie after a party of raiding Esclavons, but as usual we did not catch them. On this foray the only unusual incident was a slight mishap to Sir John the bridegroom. On our return he took a short cut beside the winding track from the lower bailey; his horse missed its footing and turned over on him, so that he damaged his ankle and must rest it for a month before he rode again.

  We laughed a little among ourselves at this accident. Sir John was normally a sound though prudent horseman, the kind of rider who gets there in good time without doing anything spectacular on the way; when he set his horse at that rocky slope he must have been showing off before his bride, watching from the donjon above. It was amusing to see that our blameless knight was not after all superior to every human weakness.

  Melisande and I were still lodged in our comfortable tower room, almost as much a fixture in the castle as the weather-vane above us. In addition we had been given the room below for our younger children, while Geoffrey, aged seven, slept with the other pages in the hall. So we might be private together, a rare amenity in a castle on a permanent war footing.

  If we had been living in England I would have sent my Geoffrey right away to be nourished in a strange castle; a page must learn to stand on his own feet, without running back to mother when things go hard with him. But at that time Lamorie was very disturbed, because of our loss of prestige at Pelagonie. To send a boy on a long journey would be hazardous. Besides, Melisande maintained that it was not the custom of Romanie to send away children to be nourished. She even suggested that he might be brought up by his own natural parents, a sure way to make a milksop out of the hardiest boy. So we compromised by making him a page in Carytena; though I suppose Melisande won the compromise, as usual, since her eldest son remained where she could see him every day.

  All that summer Sir Geoffrey remained in Carytena. He was needed, with the Esclavons so troublesome; and he enjoyed the comforts of home after the hardship and disgrace of his long imprisonment. He had plenty of visitors, with all Lamorie full of fugitives from the lands farther east; and in the absence of his lady he made the castle a centre of gaiety and good hospitality. When we were not riding after the Esclavons we went hawking on every fine day, and in the evening we danced.

  Sir Geoffrey was a fine dancer, and interested in dancing as a pastime. He had some excellent Grifon musicians, and enjoyed teaching them the tunes of the west. Sometimes he would devise new figures, or even complete new dances; and rehearse the knights and ladies of the household until they could perform them perfectly.

  One great advantage of hawking over hunting as an amusement is that for much of the time you may ride gently beside a lady and talk with her. In those days I kept a hackney besides my destrier; and if I chose to put up with the bother of pottering about on a hot war-horse Melisande could come out with me on the hackney. It was a fine summer and we had some very pleasant days; though I am not patient enough, or neat enough with my fingers, to be a falconer of the first class. Usually my little tiercel rode hooded on Melisande's wrist, while we watched Sir Geoffrey fly his peregrines.

  On the day after Sir John's mishap there was a great hawking expedition, with a picnic sent ah
ead on muleback. It was a glorious July day, strong sun without oppressive heat, the kind of weather that makes even a Frank see Romanie as a fairer land than the west. The short grass smelled of thyme; the farther mountains glowed purple. As we began the descent to the lower gate our horses whinnied, glad to be in the open and yet too happy to play up.

  When we had gone a few yards Sir Geoffrey pulled up, as he often did, to gaze back at his beloved home. The usual group of servants watched us from the gate, and on the battlements above a lady stood alone. Sir Geoffrey screwed up his eyes to recognise her.

  "Hallo, madam Jeanne," he called cheerfully. "Why don't you come with us ? It's too fine a day to hang about on a hot rampart-walk."

  "Thank you, my lord," she answered in her clear young voice. "But I have no knight to escort me, with Sir John bandaged to the knee. And anyway my hackney is waiting to be shod."

  "Nonsense. Of course you must come. In Carytena we never get enough sunshine. Here are dozens of brave knights to protect you. My own lady has deserted me for Satines, so I shall make it my business to ride with you. As for the hackney, take one of the lady Isabel's."

  He shouted in Grifon to the grooms, and we all pulled up to wait while young madam Jeanne got into her riding boots.

  When at last we set off we went a long way over the central plain of Escorta, until presently we saw in the distance a building of white marble, a place where the wise men of old used to make magic and worship their demons; an uncanny spot, where Christians look over their shoulders.

  In a nearby marsh Sir Geoffrey flew his falcon, and the rest of us loosed our lesser birds among the cloud of waterfowl. All the time madam Jeanne rode as close beside Sir Geoffrey as if she were a child on a leading-rein. Soon after midday the mules reached us with the picnic; we dismounted to eat cold tunny-fish and black olives, a very good repast that you get only in Romanie. Grooms led our horses about to cool off, while we lay on the grass staring lazily at the purple peaks in the distance. Romanie can be a very good land. Presently Sir Geoffrey and madam Jeanne strolled off to inspect the ancient ruin.

  For a knight to walk any considerable distance is always odd; to walk over rough grass while a groom holds his hackney is very odd indeed. Yet Sir Geoffrey was a very good knight and a gentleman of honour. His followers stared with interest, but no one sniggered.

  My eyes left the couple to glance questioningly at Melisande. "No, I think not," she said casually. "With anyone else one would suspect the worst. But Jeanne is still a child and Sir Geoffrey likes old Sir John. I think they have quite genuinely gone to look at the old ruin. Sir Geoffrey makes a hobby of inspecting them. Remember what he said to you about the carvings outside Our Lady of Satines."

  After about an hour my lord rejoined the company, the lady still beside him and peering up into his face. He must have noticed our stares, but he kept his face expressionless. As far as I could see madam Jeanne was quite unchanged. "Nothing doing," Melisande murmured beside me. "They have really been discussing the old devil-carvings."

  So it went on, day after day, for so long as Sir John was laid up. Sir Geoffrey rode out to hawk, madam Jeanne rode beside him, and at the midday halt they would wander off by themselves. But the most ferocious scandalmonger in the castle, which was full of ferocious scandalmongers, could never see them looking as though they had committed adultery. It really did seem that Sir Geoffrey had chosen his companion for the charm of her conversation; though little Jeanne knew no more about feats of arms, or horses, or hunting, or public affairs, the subjects that interest a knight, than any other girl-bride straight from the ladies' bower.

  Then Sir John was well enough to come out, when we all went after a boar who had been damaging the crops. Ladies, of course, cannot help to take a boar; but they can ride near enough to watch from a distance. A young man can show off with a boar-spear almost as well as with a lance in the lists. It is sad that there are no more wild boars alive in England.

  Naturally, Sir Geoffrey dismounted to kill the boar single-handed, though there were huntsmen to back him up if anything went wrong. He walked straight up, took the boar's charge, and spitted him neatly on the spear. Sir Geoffrey stood there looking very splendid, with the hounds baying and the snarling angry beast bleeding on the end of his spear. He would have been more than human if he had not glanced back at the spectators for applause. We all cheered and blew the morte on our horns— except madam Jeanne who was so busy talking to her husband that she never even glanced down the glade to see the death-stroke.

  All day she rode beside Sir John, and spoke to Sir Geoffrey only to exchange polite greetings. But in the evening, when we celebrated the successful hunt, she sat at the high table on the left of Sir Geoffrey and talked to him with animation, though she shared the dish of Sir John who sat on the other side of her. No one could object to this placing. While the lady Isabel was absent in Satines the constable's wife took precedence of all others. No one could object, but we all stared curiously.

  As we were getting into bed Melisande confessed herself puzzled.

  "There's an attraction there, all right," she said, "but with any luck no harm will come of it. The little girl is overwhelmed to find the great Sir Geoffrey de Bruyere so publicly her knight. But she's a good girl all the same; and even if she doesn't love Sir John she must be grateful to him. She has a head on her shoulders. Let's hope it keeps her straight."

  "It will be rather horrible if they go too far," said I. "Both married, and he her husband's lord. It's not the sort of thing good knights ought to do, though I dare say good knights have done it in the past. I wonder what Sir John is thinking ? He's another good knight, of course, but he must be feeling puzzled. No problem of conduct should ever puzzle a good knight; the code of chivalry has an answer to every question. Yet does loyalty to your chosen lord outweigh the duty of revenge on the scoundrel who seduces your wife? If he takes an unknightly line poor Sir John will feel miserable, much more miserable about that than about his wife betraying him with a better man."

  "That may be true, but it's unkind," said Melisande sharply. "Don't talk about it any more. What would you do if / betrayed you with Sir Geoffrey ? I haven't, have I? One reason is that he has never asked me. He's the most charming and attractive man in all Romanie, and the best knight. Any woman might forsake home and children, not to mention her wretched husband, for the privilege of being his leman. But he will never love a lady. He has no love to spare, for he loves himself only. Or rather, not exactly himself, but the image of the best knight in all Romanie that walks about Carytena blazoned with his arms. So nothing will come of this fancy. Now get into bed and go to sleep, and don't harbour uncharitable thoughts about your lord and mine."

  Although Melisande had herself opened the topic I accepted her rebuke. We had been married for eight years.

  In the autumn, before the weather grew bad enough to make travel unpleasant, the lady Isabel came back from Satines. I suppose kind friends had warned her to look to her own defences before she made further conquests among the vassals of her father, who was still far from well but not in any immediate danger of death. She brought with her a great train of ladies, and a few young unattached knights of the de la Roches and the St. Omers. Carytena became a very gay and crowded castle.

  She persuaded Sir Geoffrey to send out challenges for a tournament, though in these hard times it was a greater expense than the barony could properly afford. Furthermore, Carytena is not a good centre for tournaments, lying as it does off the main road and lacking level ground near the castle. The lists were marked out in a plain some miles to the north-east, and pavilions were set up for the feasting afterwards; though this was the beginning of November, when it can be cold under canvas even in Romanie. However, as Melisande said with a sniff, few visitors to a tournament plan to spend their nights alone.

  Prince William did not come to his nephew's party. He was busy negotiating a comprehensive treaty with Venice, to wind up the war in Negripont which had never been pr
operly settled. Since his current Princess was a Grifon she took no interest in Frankish feats of arms. But we had one most eminent visitor, the refugee nobleman Sir Ancelin de Toucy.

  The unlucky Sir Ancelin had very little to do, and very little money to do it with. But he had brought his mail from Constantinople, for he had been wearing it when he fought his way from the Palace to the quay. He was a good jouster, who wandered over Lamorie from tournament to tournament, like the professional champions of the last century.

  You can't have a real tournament without a mellay, which was indeed at one time the only item on the programme. But nowadays no one likes mellays, dangerous affairs which are no true test of skill. However, the host may lay down the rules for each tournament, and Sir Geoffrey decreed that the only weapons used in the mellay should be spears of light cane, such as the Saracens of Syria use in their jousting. Our mellay was in consequence a very half-hearted affair. Knights coming from the south, led by Sir Geoffrey, charged knights coming from the north, led by Sir Ancelin; but many keen jousters arrived a day late on purpose to miss it. The south won, but no one was seriously hurt; as had been intended when the rules were laid down.

  I rode in this mellay, though I did not enjoy it. It was difficult for a household knight, living in the castle, to avoid following Sir Geoffrey. No one knocked me off my horse, and as far as I could see I did no damage. I was glad when it was over, and so were all the other participants. Last year at an encounter on London Bridge there was jousting only, with no mellay on the plea of lack of space. I consider that a sensible innovation.

  The second day was devoted to individual jousting after the latest French fashion; with lists to protect the spectators and a barrier lengthways down the middle to keep the destriers galloping straight. A well-run affair, where success should go to the better horseman and warrior.