"Don't fuss," said Melisande sharply, "though I'm glad you recognise that every problem in life can't be solved by a good joust. Sir Geoffrey brought back Jeanne to Lamorie, but he was too sensible to come here and hand her over to an angry husband. He is waiting in Andreville to make his peace with Prince William. After all, he can't be sure that he is still lord of Carytena. His uncle could hang him, though I don't suppose he will. Jeanne told me all about it, but it's a long story."
"Never mind. Tell me while I dress. If I know all about it I can inform Sir John quietly, which I suppose is what you want. Otherwise you will have to see him in private, and rumour will be buzzing all over the castle. Besides, I should look silly if I have to admit that my wife knows something important and I don't."
I began to pull on my hose. It was nearly dawn, not worth while trying to sleep again.
"You want to know because you are curious. The other reasons aren't very convincing," said Melisande. "Very well. I shall tell you what Jeanne told me. I am repeating what she said, I don't vouch for it. You may doubt her word without doubting mine."
She sat up in bed, smiling under her red silk nightcap. I wrapped a cloak round her bare shoulders.
"Well, the two of them found a ship to take them to some port in Apulia, Sir Geoffrey carried a draft on a Venetian merchant, and in Naples of Italy they cashed it without trouble. They lived in comfort at the best inns, giving out that they were pilgrims returning from the Holy Land. Sir Geoffrey used his own name, but without any mention of Lamorie or Escorta. Champagne is full of Bruyeres, and everyone assumed he was one of them. But, and this is important, Jeanne passed as his widowed sister and they never shared a bed. They behaved like pilgrims, too, hearing Mass every day and visiting all the more important shrines. Though Jeanne says she never dared to take Communion, and as far as she knows Sir Geoffrey did not either. So there was no sacrilege.
"From Naples they crossed Apulia again, and made the pilgrimage to St. Michael at Monte Gargano. Then they wandered about the Kingdom for the best part of a year, living quietly because their money would not last for ever but living in comfort all the same. To Jeanne it was a foretaste of Heaven, at least that's how she put it. She had never before been out of Romanie. To live in a land where there were no Turks or other infidels, where all the peasants spoke a western language and prayed in Latin churches, where the craftsmen made every day the luxuries we import at great expense, was exactly what she wanted. It's true, you know, that she was afraid of being captured by angry Grifons in Lamorie, as she had so nearly been captured in Constantinople. Now all her enemies were on the far side of the Adriatic, and for the first time in her life she might sleep unafraid. What that child must have gone through in Constantinople, with Frank-hating Grifons all round her! But of couse she never dared to tell her father of her terror.
"Jeanne told me they had one great disappointment. They could not visit the tombs of the Apostles. It seems King Manfred lost control of Rome just about the time they landed, and it wasn't safe for Ghibellines to go there from the Kingdom of Naples.
"That reminds me. By all accounts there is a great war brewing in Italy. The Guelfs have a new leader, the Count of Anjou, the brother of King Louis. He has been proclaimed Senator of Rome; his men hold the city, though he has not yet arrived."
"Yes, yes, I know," I interrupted quickly. Though I am all for talking scandal at any hour, a chilly dawn is no time for a discussion of international politics. "There will be a war soon, and quiet likely the Guelfs will win it. We out here will be just as well off, in fact better. The Guelfs are a more suitable party for dedicated Crusaders."
"Very well, I shall continue with Jeanne's adventures," said Melisande placidly. "For a whole year she and Sir Geoffrey lived very happily in Italy, lodging in inns, or as guests in great castles. But Sir Geoffrey always took the precedence of a simple knight. He could not ask for a seat at the high table for fear of being recognised. I expect he enjoyed his lowly rank; if you are really grand you can afford to despise grandeur. Of course he could not ride in a tournament; experts would have recognised his style even if he had borne false arms. Anyway, he had no mail with him. But except for tournaments he enjoyed all his normal amusements. He and Jeanne were very happy."
Melisande sat up straighter, and took a deep breath.
"Now comes the difficult bit," she went on. "Remember, I am passing on what Jeanne told me. You may believe it or not without calling me a liar. But I must add that I believe Jeanne, though her story is most unlikely. She assured me again and again, with great emotion, that all the time they have been absent from Carytena Sir Geoffrey has in truth treated her as a sister. They never made love, they never committed adultery, Sir John is not a cuckold. Jeanne ran away without his permission. If you like, she deserted him. But in the sense in which ordinary people use the words she has not been an unfaithful wife. That's what she says, and I believe her. You may do as you please."
Silence fell while I weighed this remarkable information. Its oddity almost made it carry conviction. It was not the kind of story an erring wife would invent. For one thing, if true it reflected on her attraction as much as the more normal explanation of her flight reflected on her morals.
"Well," I said after a pause, "I suppose it's just possible. Jeanne ran away because she was afraid of the Turks, not because she was in love with Sir Geoffrey. Even I can see that. When he had taken her safely over the Adriatic he had done all she wanted of him, and she need not go on to tempt him to become her lover. I don't think she cares very much about love anyway. If she did, she would not have endured so cheerfully the embraces of old Sir John. I can believe it of Jeanne, quite easily. Sir Geoffrey is the stumbling-block. Probably he has lost his barony, he may lose his head, he has certainly spent a great sum of money; and all for the company of a rather stupid young girl, and for the pleasure of showing her the sights of Italy. That's not my idea of Sir Geoffrey. And if she was holding him off while permitting him to hope she couldn't have kept it up for a whole year."
'There you are wrong," Melisande answered me. "It's exactly how Sir Geoffrey might be expected to behave. He is the best knight in all Romanie, and he makes up his own rules of conduct as he goes along. He doesn't mind what others think of him, so long as his own conscience does not reproach him. Like many other good knights, he thinks of all women as nothing but cuddly little dolls. So long as he did not possess little Jeanne, in his own eyes he has done her husband no wrong. The fact that he had taken her away for more than a year, that Sir John didn't know where she was, that the whole world saw him as a horned cuckold, wouldn't weigh with Sir Geoffrey a bit. He would be innocent, for all that his neighbours thought him guilty. A true knight, conscious of his own uprightness, does not deign to refute slander. Yes, I can see Sir Geoffrey behaving like that. My own opinion is that Jeanne is telling the truth, though I wouldn't grasp a hot ploughshare to prove my faith in her."
"I don't know what to believe," I answered doubtfully. "I suppose it does not concern us. For the time being we can both take the line that we believe anything told us by a knight or lady of honourable birth. So that's that. Sir Geoffrey and little Jeanne toured Italy as brother and sister, visiting holy shrines for the good of their souls. An innocent pastime, if there hadn't been a war on here in Lamorie. Why did they interrupt their spiritual exercises? Why have they come back, to what must be a frosty welcome? Did Jeanne bother to tell you that, after stuffing you with these unlikely stories?"
"Oh yes, she explained it most convincingly. They didn't come back of their own accord. It was all because Sir Geoffrey ran out of money. He knew that any Italian merchant would let him draw another bill; the credit of Escorta is good from Venice to Palermo. But of course that meant going to the merchant and proving his identity. He had brought his signet, and after a bit of argument he got his money. But the merchant talked, and soon everyone knew who they were; until at last the story reached King Manfred. He sent sergeants to arrest Sir Geoffrey, an
d it seems gave him a frightful dressing-down at a private interview; though of course Jeanne wasn't there, and all this is just what she thinks happened. In the end Sir Geoffrey left the King's court a free man, but with seven days to get out of Italy and return to his duty. If he disobeyed the command he would be outlaw. So they came here, and Sir Geoffrey surrendered himself to his uncle in Andreville."
"That was courageous," I admitted. "He might have ridden north to join the Guelfs. But then we all know he is brave. What will happen to him? I don't see that he has any defence. If I were in the parliament I should have to pronounce him a felon, though afterwards I would petition the Prince to show mercy. Is Jeanne afraid for him, or doesn't she care?"
"I think she cares. You know, William, she is silly, but she isn't entirely base. Remember, she came back to take her own punishment. But she says Sir Geoffrey is convinced that no harm will come to him. He has a trick up his sleeve that will induce his uncle to pardon him, though she doesn't know what it is."
"It had better be a good one. If he wasn't Sir Geoffrey I would say he deserved to hang on the common gallows. But it's nearly time for morning Mass. What happens immediately? Is there anything you want me to do this very day?"
"Today, after dinner when we hope everyone will be in a good temper, poor Jeanne will appear and throw herself on her husband's mercy. If Sir John cuts her down then and there no one can do anything. If he locks her in a dungeon I hope you will help her to escape after a month or so, when she has been punished enough. That's the most I ask of you. But it will help her to know that you will be at least half on her side for love of Sir Geoffrey, You are on her side, aren't you?"
"I won't withstand Sir John to his face, because he is in the right. But I'll be there, with my sword and a purse full of money, just by the door. If she has to flee in a hurry I can lend her the money and get her past the sentry on the gate. It all depends on the mercy of Sir John. He'll be within his rights if he kills her. I suppose she won't start explaining, as soon as she arrives, that she has never been more than a sister to Sir Geoffrey ?"
Then I went off to the washplace, very excited at coming events. It was always exciting being married to Melisande, who knows everything before it happens.
By dinner-time everyone in the castle knew there was something in the wind; everyone, that is, except Sir John. Melisande had decided, in the end, that it was better to allow his wife's arrival to take him by surprise. Perhaps the rumour from the lower gate had not reached the lady Isabel either, since she held herself very aloof from the general company. It was natural that the two people most closely concerned should be the last to hear the news.
It was a fish day, but in Romanie you dine well on fish. We had fresh tunny, and mussels, and octopus, and wine unstinted. Sir John did himself very well. His teeth troubled him, as they trouble most men of his age; and he dined better on fish than on beef. He drank as heartily as he ate, never noticing that all eyes were on him. As he finished up with figs in syrup he seemed serene and content; Jeanne would find him in a better temper than usual.
Suddenly she stood before the dais, looking very pitiable. She wore a plain green surcoat, without fur; and her saucy little coif was hidden by a deep hood. She bent her head and hid her hands in her sleeves, like a penitent waiting outside the confessional. The lady Isabel recognised her, and caught Sir John by the arm. He stared without a word, then set his jaw and rose from his seat. Suddenly he noticed that everyone was watching him, and didn't like it. He came down from the dais and took his wife's finger most courteously, as though to lead her out in the dance; then he stalked with her back across the dais into what by rights was Sir Geoffrey's own private solar at the end of the hall.
My hand came away from my swordhilt. Of course he might be going to strangle her in private; but that was not in his character, and if he did I could not interfere. It looked rather as though he wanted to talk with her. Once Jeanne got talking she would be safe; that young woman could talk herself out of any predicament.
The rest of us emptied our cups from sheer excitement; but then the lady Isabel withdrew by the far door, a signal that dinner was over. The butlers passed no more drink, and there was nothing for us to do but go out into the courtyard. I hurried straight to my tower room, and waited for Melisande to come and tell me the inside story.
It was some time before she came, and then it was only to turn me out. "Jeanne needs somewhere to be private, and Isabel won't allow her in the bower. You can't have a loose woman in the same room with respectable damsels, that's what she says. But this is my room, so much mine that I can tell my husband to leave it. Jeanne may rest here, in spite of the lady Isabel."
"Jeanne stole my lady's husband," I pointed out. "If I had been stolen you might take offence."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. We need not go into it. Now run away and look at the pretty horses in the stable. Whenever I need you you are always fussing about in the stable, so now you may as well go there to please me."
"Is it a happy ending?" I asked as I went out.
"The best. I shall tell you later. I don't want Jeanne to find a man in this room."
Shortly before sunset I looked down from the upper bailey to see figures crossing the bridge below the castle; Jeanne, mounted on a good mule, and behind her a sergeant leading a pack-pony. So I knew the coast was clear, and came back to my tower to hear all the news from Melisande.
"It turned out most fortunately," she said with a sign of satisfaction. "Sir John has behaved like a courteous knight, and I shall never listen to another hard word against him. When he got Jeanne alone he just asked her why she had come back, and she answered that King Manfred had commanded her to beg forgiveness from the husband she had wronged. That was sensible of the girl. She didn't try to convince him that she had never committed adultery. He wouldn't have believed her anyway."
"Even if he chose to believe her he couldn't say so in public," I pointed out. "Unless all the world believes in Jeanne's chastity, and that's impossible, he would just gain the reputation of a cuckold who is easily deceived. He must treat her as guilty, whatever he thinks in his own heart."
"She didn't place that strain on his good nature. Later on I may perhaps let him know that his wife remained physically faithful, if that will comfort him. Today he followed his conscience, and it's a good one. He told Jeanne, of course, that she could not come back. He offered her a little manor up in the mountains, if she had nowhere else to go. But if she could manage by herself he would be happier if she left Romanie. That's what she wants, of course. So she will go to Apulia, and live as a lay boarder in some convent of nuns. She must call herself Jeanne de Toucy so as not to bring shame on the house of Catabas. The nuns will know privately that she is married, to stop her committing bigamy. But to the world in general she will be an orphan refugee from Constantinople."
"That's all very well, but a corrody in a good convent costs money. Will Sir Geoffrey pay?"
"Oh no, that would be shocking, to get rid of a discarded mistress by turning her out to pasture among nuns. Jeanne is a Toucy, remember, and since Makryplagi the Toucys have golden hyperpers by the sackful. Her own kin will make all the arrangements. A corrody is a lump sum. Once it's paid Jeanne will have a home for life."
"It seems to me that someone arranged this in advance. The Toucys are ready to pay up, and there is a convent waiting for Jeanne. I wonder who fixed it? But if it's a secret don't tell me."
Melisande smiled happily to herself. A lady bred in Constantinople is never overtaken by events.
"I suppose Jeanne was willing?" I added as an afterthought. "It will be tiresome if she gives scandal in a respectable religious house."
"Of course she is willing, and she will behave herself. In Italy, where the Turks can't get at her, she will be happy. She won't run off with a man, either. She is incapable of real love for anything except her own beautiful body. That's what made her such a dangerous coquette. She will go down well with the nuns. They will be charm
ed by her beauty, and holy ladies have a soft spot for a girl with a dashing past provided she lives respectably in the present. Think of the stories Jeanne can tell them at recreation. She will live happy ever after." As far as I know she did. I never heard of her again.
Sir Geoffrey was said to be living quietly in a friary at Andreville, awaiting his trial before the parliament of Lamorie. I wanted to see him, to let him know that he still had friends and supporters among the knights of his mesnie; but I thought it unfair to ask permission for such an errand from Sir John, who was still our constable. To my surprise, the old man raised the subject of his own accord. He was a good knight; and Sir Geoffrey was his lord until sentence had been pronounced on him. It was given out to all the homage that our absent lord had returned to Romanie, and was now awaiting audience with the Prince his uncle. If any of his vassals wished to pay their respects to him in Andreville they had only to give in their names and ask for leave of absence.
When I had been granted leave I slipped off on my own, without taking even Melisande. I avoided the party of knights and servants who were bringing money and clothes and horses on the instructions of the lady Isabel. Sir Geoffrey had rescued me, me alone, from a most unpleasant Grifon prison, and in gratitude I owed him more than the ordinary fealty due to a lord. If I saw him alone I could find out how to be most useful to him. I scarcely admitted, even to myself, that I must see him alone, and talk with him, before I could be sure that I was still on his side.
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