"Good Heavens, what a thing to say! What a thing to be said by a Toucy, even one sprung from a long line of bastards. Hasn't the girl any shame at all?"
"I thought so. Men will forgive a pretty girl almost anything, and make excuses even if she does something unforgivable. But cowardice is never forgiven, the prettiest face can't excuse it."
"Well, you know, Melisande, it is the unforgivable sin, for Franks living in Romanie. We can stay here only so long as the Grifons are afraid of us. Once we run away there will be no coming back. Why is Jeanne so frightened, anyway ? This is one of the strongest castles I have ever seen, and Sir John, who commands it, won't forget to look after his own wife."
"Yes, but remember she has seen only one fight, and that was the fall of Constantinople. She told me that she was with the party who fought their way on foot from Blachernae to the harbour, through three miles of yelling Grifons. Her father was killed before her eyes, and his body mutilated as it lay in the street."
"That explains why she thinks of Grifons as dangerous, but it doesn't excuse it. Her father was killed, and it's bad luck she saw it. But the other knights got her away safely. It's the duty of a knight to protect ladies, and if necessary get killed doing so. There are knights in Carytena who will protect her. What did you say to calm her fears?"
"I didn't waste time trying to calm them. I just told her I couldn't help her. I said that if she wanted money she must ask her husband, but she mustn't let him know that she is afraid. I told her to say that she wanted to go to Rome for the welfare of her soul."
"Sir John will be interested when he hears it. He will wonder what his wife has done that only St. Peter can forgive. Of course he has no money to spare, with the war just beginning. So that's that. But I'm glad you told me. Now I know what to think of madam Jeanne, and I don't care what becomes of her. Frightened, indeed, and of Grifons!"
On the next day a most maddening accident befell me. I was riding Sylvia at the quintain from odd angles, to make her handy, when she crossed her legs as she turned at speed. We rolled over together, and because my shield hit the ground awkwardly I broke a bone in my left arm. It was only one of the bones between wrist and elbow, but for some weeks I would be unable to control a horse. It was garrison duty for me, while the mesnie of Escorta rode to Chorinte.
"Are you sure you didn't put a spell on me ?" I said to Melisande while she made a sling for my bandaged arm. "Long ago you wanted me to break a leg before battle. If this had been a leg instead of an arm I would know it was your doing."
"Keep still, or this will hurt. As though I would want my husband here in the castle, when all the other ladies have a holiday! Don't get too proud if the damsels hang round you. Remember, with Sir Geoffrey away there will be no competition. You aren't really the most attractive knight in Carytena."
"Who knows ? I shall be next week, anyway. I might try my luck with little Jeanne."
Standing in the gate with Sir John de Catabas I watched the mesnie ride off to the muster. The whole barony of Escorta was left under the protection of five unfit knights and about thirty Grifon sergeants.
At midnight a flustered page awoke me, to say I was wanted urgently at the outer gate. I grumbled, and so did Melisande, for the outer gate was down by the river and rain was falling. I would have to put on a tunic and cloak unless I were to shiver, and with my arm in a sling that was a tiresome business. But when I told the page to go away and say he couldn't find me (which Melisande pointed out would mean that I was sleeping in the wrong bed) he showed me a token. It was a little shield-shaped jingler from a spur-chain, blazoned with the arms of Bruyere; Sir Geoffrey had been wearing those spurs when he rode out in the morning,
"Private business for my lord," I said to Melisande. "It must be something urgent, or he would have told me before he started. I must go, of course. Help me with these blasted points. If ever I lose a hand in battle I shall have to become a friar; their frocks are the only thing you can put on with one arm. Now this is bound to be frightfully confidential. When I come back don't press me to tell you what I must not."
Melisande pinched me. "Have I ever done that ? If it's anything interesting I can find out by myself."
I was puzzled to imagine what my lord could want of me. In his place some great men would arrange a fatal accident for Sir John and another for the lady Isabel. That would simplify things, but it was not how Sir Geoffrey would behave. Besides, I flatter myself that anyone in need of an unscrupulous assassin would not come tome.
The sentry on the upper gate managed to restrain his curiosity as he let me out. I asked him whether he had obtained the castellan's permission before opening the gate, as laid down in standing orders. He answered No, since standing orders also laid down that a direct command from the baron of Escorta must be obeyed without question.
At the lower gate I found Sir Geoffrey himself, sheltering under the arch as he chatted with the sentry. When I arrived he motioned me out on to the bridge, where no one could overhear us through the driving windy rain. What astonished me most of all was to see that he wore tunic and surcoat under his long cloak. That morning he had ridden to war in his mail. It was strange that he should take it off to ride back again, even if there was something urgent to be done in Carytena.
"Cousin William," he began, as we squatted for shelter behind the windward parapet of the bridge, "you have been faithful ever since you took oath to me, and I think I have repaid your fidelity. When I could get one man out of that Grifon prison you were the man I chose. So now I give you a most unpleasant task, just to make things even."
He laughed. It was a nervous titter, such as I had never heard from him. In great astonishment I realised that he was afraid of me. What on earth was the matter?
"Of course I shall do anything you command, my lord, even though it should be unpleasant or dangerous. That is, I shall do anything a knight may do with honour." I was so confused that I put in this warning, though it was hard to suppose that Sir Geoffrey would want me to do anything dishonourable.
"I don't want you to do anything you shouldn't," he said with a rush, as though anxious to get it over. "All you have to do is to tell the others what /have done. It's bound to be said that I have dishonoured my knighthood, and that's why I want to explain everything to you; so that you can put it fairly before the world. It's like this. One of the first duties of a knight is to help ladies in distress. That's so, isn't it?"
" 'To protect the Church of God, to foster the widow and the orphan, to help ladies in distress/ That's what I swore at my knighting. A lady in distress is not the first obligation. She comes third."
I spoke firmly, for already I feared what was coming.
"The third duty, then, if you want to be accurate. But in Lamorie widows and orphans receive their due inheritance, and the Church of God stands secure. So I may rightly put everything aside when a lady in distress appeals to my knighthood. That's what I have done, cousin William, and that's my reason for doing it. Make that clear to everyone. The lady Jeanne de Catabas is in distress, driven to distraction by fear of invading Grifons. In addition her spiritual life is in a bad way, and she needs to pray at the tomb of St Peter. She is already under vow to visit Rome, and feels overwhelmed with guilt because the vow has been neglected. She has appealed to me to help her."
"But the lady Jeanne has a husband," I broke in. "Her duty to Sir John takes precedence of any vow. Anyway, I never heard it was the duty of a knight to help cowards run away when they are frightened. How did she appeal to you? She is here in the castle and you rode with the mesnie."
"She rode after the mesnie and caught up. Now she is on her way to Clarence where I shall join her tomorrow. As soon as we can find a ship we shall cross to Italy, and I shall escort her to Rome. There it is. That's what you've got to tell them in Carytena."
"My lord, you have been summoned to the muster," was all I could answer at first. When I had thought it over I tried to find out how much bad news I would have to break. "Wh
at does Sir John know of this?" I inquired.
"Nothing at all. You must explain it to him. That's why I called you out of bed in the middle of the night. I can't tell him face to face. If you like you can say that I am afraid to tell him."
"It doesn't matter what / say, my lord, here on this bridge where no one can hear us. It will be said that you were afraid to face an injured husband, whether I say it or not. Sir Geoffrey, can't you give up this frivolous distraction ? You owe a duty to your peasants, who look to you for protection. You owe a duty to your uncle the Prince, who holds your fealty. You owe a duty to Sir John de Catabas, who has grown old and crippled in the service of Escorta. Most of all you owe a duty to your own honour, to your knighthood, to your self-respect. Get little Jeanne to creep back to her husband's lodging. He's a kind man, he may pretend to notice nothing. Then ride to your mesnie, and fulfil the essential duty of a Baron of the Conquest; lead your men against their enemies. I shall say nothing about this evening, and there will be no stain on your repute. There is still time to put everything right."
I could not see my lord's face. I suppose that was one reason why he chose midnight for this interview. I must judge his state of mind from the tone of his voice; now this changed to a discourteous and unknightly mixture of joviality and bluster.
"Cousin William, I am Sir Geoffrey de Bruyere of Carytena, your lord; and incidentally by universal consent the best knight in all Romanie. I know the rules of chivalry, because they were made by knights no better than I am; and I have the prowess and the authority to alter those rules if I feel like it. You can say, if you like, that I am running away with another man's wife when I ought to be defending my people. What of it? That is my fancy. That is what I choose to do. This won't be the first time a pretty young woman has left an old husband for a rich and handsome protector. There won't be an earthquake or an eclipse, or any other striking sign of Heaven's wrath. I'm not ashamed of what I do. It may be contrary to the rules of the Church, but those rules were not made to bind heroes. I do not break a marriage. This marriage was already broken. I bring happiness and safety to a lady in distress. And, damn it all, why shouldn't I do as I choose? Is there anyone in Lamorie who can stop me ? Now will you deliver my news to Sir John, or must I climb up to the castle and tell him personally ? Can't you see that I want to slip away quietly, without forcing him to fight me ?"
I was trying to think of an answer when he went on, unable to bear my silence.
"Get down from your chivalrous horse for a moment, cousin William. I am taking away another man's wife, but surely that's an old knightly custom? I'm not asking you to help me, only to break the news after it's all over. I am being quite straightforward with you. And little Jeanne is really in genuine distress."
"I'm sorry, my lord, that I did not answer sooner. There is no need for further explanation. I understand what you propose to do. I was silent because I was thinking over what you said just now, about her running off with a rich and handsome protector. You are handsome, I agree, though you are now on the verge of middle age. But you will not be rich after the Prince has heard of your misdeeds."
"Personal abuse won't stop me. I came without my sword, on purpose so that no one could provoke me into fighting. I want you to deliver a message, not to improvemy morals. Willyou deliver it ?"
"That's a direct order from the lord who holds my homage, and it's my duty to obey it I shall deliver the message, which you need not repeat. To whom shall I deliver it? To Sir John only, or to the whole castle?"
"1 have made a mess of this interview, haven't I? I wanted to part friends. But you didn't make it easy fot me, you know. I want you to tell Sir John first of all, and then to see that the whole castle knows of it. That will spare Sir John the embarrassment of explaining what has become of his wife. I am telling the truth when I say that I don't want to hurt him."
"And your mesnie, Sir Geoffrey? Do your knights still take part in this war?"
"They have orders to join the Prince and follow him. Escorta will be weakened only by a single lance. At the tomb of St. Peter I shall pray for victory, and that ought to do nearly as much good."
I could tell from his tone that he was laughing again, that horrible mocking laughter of a man who is ashamed of his conduct and strives to palliate it by making out that he is no worse than others. My appeal to knightly duty had not moved him. There was no more to be said.
I turned to the gate, which the sentry held ajar. Then I looked back at the muffled figure shapeless in the murk, and in my mind's eye saw the smiling gallant Geoffrey de Bruyere I remembered.
"Come back safe, my lord, and come back soon," I called into the darkness.
"Thank you, cousin," came the answer, "I shall come back to answer for my deeds." Then the sentry shut the gate, and I began the steep trudge to the inner bailey.
Sir John de Catabas looked rather silly, sitting up alone in the big curtained marriage-bed. I had not realised that in the daytime he wore a wig. But his eyes were not silly, as he glared at me from under bushy brows.
"Thank you for telling me in private," he said quietly when I had finished. "No use crying over spilt milk. An injured husband always looks ridiculous; but an injured husband who cannot revenge himself and still ramps about will feel ridiculous also. I shall be as calm as I can."
"Shall I send to Prince William for another castellan?" I asked, amazed at his self-control.
"Of course not, and it's an unworthy suggestion," he snapped, with the first hint of anger. "You don't suppose I will change sides just because my wife has left me? I hold the fee of Catabas by knight-service from the barony of Escorta, and I shall do my duty even if my lord chooses to neglect his. I stay here, I stay in command, and I shall exact obedience from the knights who are under my orders. No sniggers, no waggling fingers at the temples. Is that understood? Then pass it on. With this castle to defend against the Grifons we haven't time for private quarrels. That's all."
Melisande had cakes and mulled wine waiting for me, for it was nearly dawn by the time I reached our room. "There's nothing private in this, in fact the sooner everyone knows it the better," I began, and told her all that had passed. She did not interrupt.
"So Jeanne has got away to safety after all," she said when I had finished. "For Sir Geoffrey it's just an amusing escapade. Presently he will grow bored with Italy, and return to Carytena which he loves better than any lady in distress. I wonder what his uncle will do to him?"
"If he hangs him he will be within his rights, and the mesnie of Escorta will look on with approval. Desertion in the face of the enemy, stealing the wife of a vassal, a sacrilegious pilgrimage undertaken in mortal sin. He has offended against all the laws of God and man. Do you think I should have taken back my homage then and there, at the outer gate ? Then I could ride off to seek a better lord."
"Perhaps I might not come with you," said Melisande with a smile. "He hasn't done us any harm, and he befriended us when we were penniless. Besides, he's Sir Geoffrey. You are angry with frim now because you can't see him. When he comes back and tells us all about his adventures the old charm will come over us. We shall roar with laughter, and pray for a happy outcome to his trial."
"He will need our prayers. He has no defence. But, as you say, I can't really hate Sir Geoffrey. This has been coming for a long time, and now that it's here it's not so bad as I feared it might be. The really astounding thing is the composure of Sir John."
"The injured husband? His horns are the least important thing about him. Sir John married Jeanne out of duty, and except for the disgrace he won't mind losing her. He is in love with the barony of Escorta, and always has been. Besides, he is an old man —he can almost remember the conquest. To him it is still wonderful and strange that Franks should bear rule in Romanie. He has only to see armed Grifons and at once he reaches for his sword."
"Not today. With that crippled hand he can't hold a sword. But I agree that he's the last man to leave a castle when the Grifons are about to bes
iege it."
By midday the whole barony of Escorta knew of their lord's elopement. The lady Isabel seemed less affected than anyone else in the castle. During the last year she had grown accustomed to the idea that her lord no longer loved her, and it seemed to all of us that she thought of herself as a de la Roche of Satines rather than as the lady of Escorta. Sir John, inspecting grim-faced the stock of arrows and biscuit, made no comment. No one dared to refer to it in his presence. While we sat at dinner we saw beacons flaring on the outer watch-towers. Sir John ordered the gates to be closed and extra sentries posted. Cut off from the world, the castle of Cary-tena awaited attack. From the highest turret fluttered the banner of its absent lord, his constable scanning the valley as he leaned against the pole.
12. THE GRIFON INVASION
Next morning the Sebastocrator who had vanquished us at Pelagonie rode down the valley of the Charbon at the head of three thousand horse. Though Carytena had been built to block this gorge our tiny garrison could do nothing to hinder the Grifons; we could not spare men for a sortie and they kept beyond arrow range. At least we could deny them the bridge Sir Geoffrey had built close under the lower gate; but not far away they found a ford and struggled through it. They were riding to the sack of almost undefended Andreville, as they shouted joyfully to our sentries; and while Prince William lingered at Chorinte, waiting for the mesnie of Estives, there were no Franks in the field to restrain their ravages.
Three thousand horse sounds an enormous army, more than could be put into the field by the Emperor or the King of France. But that is to judge by western standards. These men were not mailed knights. Most of them were skirmishing light horse from Asia, scarcely better armed than their Turkish enemies; with in addition a few local Grifons from Malvoisie and La Grande Maigne, forsworn vassals of Prince William who had joined their schismatic fellows in hopes of driving the Franks from their last holding in Romanie. These were even less formidable than the Asiatics, though they were valuable guides to the best plunder. The knights of Lamorie and Satines could have scattered them in one fair charge; but the knights of Lamorie were at Chorinte, and the knights of Satines busy settling the private affairs of their new Duke.
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