The Fortunes of Garin

by Mary Johnston

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE VENETIAN

  THAT year Saladin was victor in Syria and the Kingdom of Jerusalemfell. Many a baron, knight, and footman was slain that year in the landover the sea! Those who could escape left that place of burning heatand Paynim victory. Another crusade they might go, but here and now wasdownfall! A part survived and reached their homes, and a part perishedat sea, or in shipwreck on strange shores.

  Sir Eudes de Panemonde, an old man now and bent, came home to hiscastle and fief. With him came his son, Sir Aimar, a beautiful andbrave knight, all bronzed with the sun, with fame on his shield andcrest. With them came a third knight, bronzed too by the sun, withfame on his shield and crest. He had been Garin de Castel-Noir, andthen Garin Rogier, and now, for five years, Sir Garin of the GoldenIsland,—Garin de l’lsle d’Or,—known in the land over the sea forexploits of an extreme, an imaginative daring, and also for the songshe made and sang in Frank and English fortress halls. He was knight andfamed knight, and three emirs’ ransoms stood between him and the chillof poverty. Two esquires served him. He had horses,—better could notbe bought in Syria! He had brought off in safety men-at-arms in hispay. He was known for wearing over his mail a surcoat of deep blue, andon the breast embroidered a bird with outstretched wings. He was allbronzed and rightly lean of face and frame, strongly-knit, adventurous,courteous, could be gay and could be melancholy, showed not his entiredepth, but let the inner fountain, darkly pure, still send up jets andhues of being. He and Sir Aimar were brothers-in-arms, were Damon andPythias. He was, also, true poet. Many a song had he made since thatfirst song, made where he lay upon a boundary stone, by the stream thatflowed past Castel-Noir and on to Our Lady in Egypt. And always he sangof one whom he named the Fair Goal. That name was known in Crusaders’cities, in tents that were pitched upon desert sands. He himself wasknown and welcomed. Comrade-Frank or Englishman or German cried withpleasure, “Here comes the singer!”—or “the lover!” as might be.

  In the castle of Panemonde there was welcome and feasting. The strongkinsman had not proved weak in fidelity, but had held afar from thefief eagle and kite, while at home the Lady of Panemonde, a small,fair, determined woman, had administered with great ability castle,village, and the fields that fed both. Here were Crusaders who, unlikeenough to many, had not come home impoverished, or to lands ravaged anddebt-ridden. And Sir Eudes’s old sin was now wiped out of the memory ofGod, and he could sit in the sun and wait death with a peaceful mind.And Sir Aimar was so beautiful and strong a knight that his suzerain,the Count of Toulouse, would be sure to give him opportunity by whichhe might win fame for Panemonde beyond that which he had brought fromacross the sea. Garin de l’Isle d’Or, too, looked for service thatshould win him land and castle.

  Toulouse! No sooner had their ship come to port than they learned thatAquitaine warred against Toulouse, Duke Richard claiming the latterthrough his mother, Duchess Eleanor. But hardly had they taken the roadto Panemonde before they heard the news that Richard and Count Raymondhad made in some sort peace, due, perhaps, to hold, and perhaps duenot to hold. Coming to Panemonde they found that the lady there hadfurnished Count Raymond the spears that the fief owed, and that, thefighting over, some of these had returned. Some would never return.

  They feasted and rejoiced at Panemonde, giving and hearing news.Kindred and friends came about the restored from over the sea. Therewere feasts in the hall, exercises in the tilting yard, hunting andsinging. They carried in procession to the monastery church a vialof water from the Jordan, a hands-breadth of silk from the bliaut ofJoseph of Arimathea. They gave holiday to the serfs and remitted a tax.The early summer days went highly and well.

  Sir Aimar had a sister, Aigletta, a fair, rose-cheeked, dark-eyedlady. She was fain to hear stories of Saladin from her brother, andshe liked to listen to the lute and the deep, rich and sweet voiceof Garin of the Golden Island. He sang when she asked it, seated inhall or in garden, or perhaps resting by the little stream without thecastle wall, where you looked across the bridge of one arch to theeastward-stretching highway. Oftenest Garin sang other men’s songs, butwhen she asked it, he sang his own. Aigletta listened with a pensivelook. Her brother found her alone one day in the garden, a white roseby her knee, her smooth cheek resting upon her hand. He sat beside her.

  “Sister, ladies more than two or three have wished that Sir Garin wouldsing not so much for them as of them! And still he sings only of theFair Goal.”

  “Who is she?” asked Aigletta.

  “Who knows? He knows not himself. But she is as a hedge of white rosesto keep him from other loves. So I would not have you, sister, scorchthe finger-tip of your heart!”

  “I? Not I!” said Aigletta. “I dip my finger-tips in cool, runningwater!—But, truly, to sing for years of a lady whom he knows not bysight—!”

  “A poet can do even that,” said Aimar. “And it is not true that he hathnever seen her. He saw her once, where she rested at an abbey, though Iam not sure that he saw her face. But now for years he hath made herfamous—loving her, or loving the love of her.”

  “By my faith!” said Aigletta. “Truly a poet finds roses where othersfeel snow!—Well, I am no thief to take away a lady’s knight! And,perhaps, as you say, fair brother, I could not do it.”

  “I think that you could not, fair sister. His Fair Goal has become tohim as air and light, streaming through the house of being.”

  They had not been long at Panemonde when they had news that eastward ofToulouse the Count of Montmaure made bitter war against Roche-de-Frêne,and that Aquitaine greatly helped Montmaure, while King Philip,distracted by quarrels nearer home, sent to the aid of Roche-de-Frênebut a single company of spears. Now, traditionally, Toulouse wasfriendly to Roche-de-Frêne, but Toulouse was weary of war, and had madepact with Duke Richard. Moreover Toulouse had present trouble with aspreading heresy and Holy Church’s disfavour. Panemonde heard thatMontmaure made very grim war.

  For Sir Garin and Sir Aimar the future pushed its head above thepresent’s rich repose. When war swung his iron bell knights musthearken—not the old knight, ready now for rest from war, forcontemplation of a Heaven where that bell lay broken—but the youngmen, the inheritors of wrath. Aimar wished to ride to Toulouse, toCount Raymond. Garin of the Golden Island would not show restlessnessin the house of his benefactor, but those who were awake saw him pacingat dawn the castle wall, or leaning against the battlement, watchingthe rose in the east.

  Once he had assured Sir Eudes and his son that he was of Limousin. Butere he received knighthood he had told plainly his birthplace and home,name, and fealty, and that anger of Montmaure against him. In the landbeyond the sea much of the past had drifted toward remoteness, manydegrees of experience coming between it and him. But now, early andlate, he began to think of Castel-Noir and of Foulque—Foulque who hadheard naught of him since that night in which they had parted, beneaththe old cypress. The cypress itself rose before him, and the thoughtof Sicart and Jean. Paladin might be living. Tower and crag and wood,the stream that slipped through the wood—he wished to see them. Notonly Castel-Noir—even Raimbaut’s half-ruinous hold—even Raimbautthe Six-fingered himself. Garin half laughed at the thought of thegiant. And he wished to follow down that stream again—to see again theboundary stone of Our Lady of Egypt—to find again that little lawnwith the cedar, plane, and poplar—to touch again that carved seat, sonear the laurels....

  He rose from his bed and, while the morning star was still shining,went down the stair and crossing the court mounted the castle wall.Here he rested arms against the stone and gazed at the east where wasnow a little colour.

  Montmaure warred against Roche-de-Frêne. Raimbaut held from Montmaure,but Montmaure, for that fief, was vassal to Roche-de-Frêne. They saidthat the war was bitter and far-flung. Garin knew not if Raimbaut,carrying with him Castel-Noir, clave to Montmaure, or to the overlordthat was Roche-de-Frêne. There sprang within him wish and beliefthat it was to Roche-de-Frêne. Montmaure! His lips moved,
his browdarkened. In imagination he wrestled again with Jaufre de Montmaure.Then, athwart that mood, came again, and stronger than before, a greatlonging to follow once more that southward-slipping stream, and to hearthe nightingale in the covert, and to come again through the laurels tothe lawn, the cedar, and the chair of stone. The east was like a rose.“I will tarry no longer!” said Garin.

  Five days later he and Aimar rode away toward Toulouse. Behind them,well mounted, rode their esquires, bearing lance and shield; behindthese, threescore mounted men. The two knights kneeled for Sir Eudes’sblessing, they kissed the cheek of the Lady of Panemonde and of thedark-eyed Aigletta; they went away like a piece of the summer, and allthe castle out to see them go. Here was the bridge, here the road,here a lime tree that Garin remembered, but in an autumn dress. Now itwas green and palest gold, fragrant, murmurous with bees. Farther,and here was the calvary, and the way that branched to church andmonastery. Wherever there were people, they stopped in their tracksupon the road, or in the fields dropped their work and stood to see theknights go by, with the goodly men behind them. The sky was dazzlingblue, the world drenched with light and heat.

  They meant to lodge that night in the town to which Garin had come withthe scholar, and where first he had seen the cross taken. Reaching itbefore sunset, they looked up at its castle. But said Garin, “Let usfind some hostel! It is not in my mind to-night to be questioned of theHoly Land, made to talk and sing.”

  Aimar agreed; could tell, too, that anciently there was here a famousinn. Passing through the town gate, they came into streets wherethe folk abroad and at door and window turned at the sound of theclattering hoofs, gazed at the well-appointed troop, and made freecomment. All the place was bathed in a red light.

  “There are many heretics in this town,” said Aimar. “Catharists or_bons hommes_—men of Albi, as they are now called. The strange thingis that they seem very gentle, good people! I remember one who cameto Panemonde the year before we took the cross. He sat beneath thegreat oak and talked to any who would listen as sweetly as if Our Ladyhad sent him down from Heaven! I wondered—Some of the people took upstones to stone him, but I would not let him be hurt, and he wentaway. I wondered—”

  Garin’s squire, Rainier, had been sent ahead to the inn, and nowrode back to meet them. “Sirs, a Venetian merchant-lord and hispeople possess the house! But I have caught one fair chamber from theItalian’s clutch and the hostess promises good supper and soon. For themen, the next street hath the Olive Tree and the Sheaf and Sickle.”

  They came to the great inn, a low, capacious building with a courtyard,and in a corner of this a spacious arbour overrun by a grape-vine. Itwas sunset. The knights and their squires dismounted, and a sumptermule with its load was brought from the rear. Men came from the innstable and took away the horses. Orders as to the morning start havingbeen given, the troop from Panemonde trotted off, down an unpaved lane,to the lesser hostels. The hostess appeared, a woman of great size witha face as genial as the sun. She poured forth words as to preëmptedquarters, regrets, admirations, welcomes, hints that they were as welloff here as at the castle where the lord was healing him of a grislywound, and the lady had yesterday been brought to bed of a woman-child.Then she herself marshalled the knights, the squire Rainier following,to a chamber reasonably large and clean. Maids brought basins and ewersof water. Rainier busied himself with squire’s duties. He, too, lookedto knighthood, somewhere in the future. The bright evening light camethrough the window. Below, under the grape-arbour, serving-men placedboards on trestles, and furnished forth a table.

  The inn followed a good fashion, and on these warm and long daysspread supper in the largest, most open hall that might be. When theydescended to the court it was to find the Venetian great merchantalready at table, sitting with two others above the salt. He was alordly person, dressed in prune-coloured cendal, breathing potencies oftravel and trade. In his air were Venice and her doges, the equal seaand the flavour of gold.

  He greeted the two knights courteously, and they returned his greeting.They took their places, the squire below them. Supper went well, withthe hum of life around the arbour, and the sky’s warm tint showingbetween twisted branches of the vine. When hunger was satisfied, theytalked. They who spent years in the East came back to Europe withcertain Saracenic touches of conduct and manner that to such as theVenetian told at least part of their history. He began at once to speakof cities beyond the sea—of Jaffa, Tripoli, Edessa, Aleppo, Damascus.In turn Garin and Aimar questioned him of Venice, paved with the sea.

  When they had eaten, they washed and dried their hands. Serving-mentook away the dishes, the boards and trestles. The arbour was left,a cool and pleasant place, with a table whereon was set wine of thecountry, with the summer stars brightening overhead, and a vagrantwind lifting the vine leaves. They tarried under the arbour, drinkingthe red wine and talking now of matters nearer at hand than was Veniceor Damascus. Around was the hum of the town, of the long, warm eveningsettling into night. Out from the inn door came voices of the innpeople. The hostess was rating some idle man or maid. “May Aquitainetake you—!”

  The Venetian, it seemed, was on his way to Barcelona, had travelledyesterday from the city of Toulouse. He had left Venice the pastwinter, and in the interest of that sea-queen and her trade had beenin many towns and a guest of many courts. Of late, war, blazing forth,had disarranged his plans, preoccupied his hosts. He was in a most illhumour with this warring.

  “Fair sirs, I look not that you should believe me, but one day it willbe found that war is the name of the general foe! For what, say I, isthe mind given to you?” He drank his wine. “Now the Count of Montmaurewars against the Prince of Roche-de-Frêne! In Montmaure trade is brokenon the wheel. In Roche-de-Frêne she is burned at the stake.” He tappedthe wine-cup with his fingers. “Trade is the true ship—War is thepirate!”

  Garin spoke. “I have hours in which I should believe that you wereright. Love, too, and the finer thought are broken on the wheel! But itis the way of the world, and we are knights who go to war.”

  “My lord of Montmaure fights,” said the chant, “like a fiend! Or sothe Count of Toulouse told me. The country of Roche-de-Frêne is harriedand wasted. Now he goes about to besiege the town and the castle.”

  “We have been home no great while,” said Aimar, “and our castle is in acorner of the land and away from hearing how the wind blows elsewhere.”

  The Venetian sipped his wine, then set down the cup. “I spent a week,before this war broke forth, in the castle of Roche-de-Frêne. I foundthe prince a wise man, with for wife the most beauteous lady my eyeshave gazed upon!”

  “Aye!” said Garin. “Alazais the Fair, men called her.”

  “Just. Alazais the Fair.—While I was in the castle came the Countof Montmaure’s demand for the prince’s daughter for wife to his son.Certes, I think,” said the merchant, “that he knew she would be refusedhim! Cause of war, or mask-reason for a meant war—now they war.”

  “We heard something of all this,” said Aimar.

  Garin spoke again. He was back in mind at Castel-Noir. “That is thePrincess Audiart. I remember their saying that she was ugly and unlikeothers—like a changeling. They were praying for a son to PrinceGaucelm.”

  “She is not a changeling,” answered the Venetian. “She is a very wiselady, though she is not fair as is her step-dame. I saw her sit besidethe Prince in council and the people love her. Now, they say, she isas brave as a lion. Pardieu! If I were knight, or knight-errant—”

  “Are they hard pressed?” Garin spoke, his hands before him on the table.

  “So ’tis said. Montmaure has gathered a host and Richard of Aquitainegives to Count Jaufre another as great. At Toulouse there was much talkof the matter.”

  The Venetian emptied his glass, looked up at the stars, and, the day’stravel having been wearying, thought of his bed. Presently he rose, hispeople with him, said a courteous good night and quitted the arbour.

  The two knights
waited a little longer, sitting in silence. Then they,too, left the arbour, and, Rainier attending, went to the chamber thathad been given. Here sleep came soon. But in the first light of morningSir Aimar, waking, saw Garin standing, half-clothed, at the window.

  “Aimar,” said Garin, “you must to Toulouse, for Count Raymond is yoursuzerain and Sir Eudes hath your promise that you follow no adventureuntil you have received lord’s leave. But for me that makes too longdelay. I will ride on to Roche-de-Frêne.”

  Sir Aimar sat upon the side of the bed. “I thought last eve that I sawthe knight-errant look forth from your eye! Will you rescue this uglyprincess?”

  “Ugly or fair, she is a lady in distress—and Jaufre de Montmaure doesher wrong.... Her father is my liege lord. I have had a vision too,of my brother Foulque, hard bestead. I cannot tarry to go about byToulouse.”

  Aimar agreed to that. “My father hath my promise.—But I will followyou as soon as I may. Pardieu! If what the Venetian said be true, everyknight will be welcome!”

  “I think that it was true.—Ha!” said Garin to himself, “I see againthe autumn wood, and Jaufre de Montmaure who beats to her knees thatherd-girl!”

  The two knights, Garin and Aimar, left the town together, in thebrightness of the morning. But a mile or two beyond the walls theirways parted. Their followers were divided between them—each had nowtwo esquires and more than a score of men-at-arms. Each small troopcame in line behind its leader. Then the two knights, dismounting,embraced. Each commended the other to the care of the Mother of God.They made a rendezvous; they would meet again, brothers-in-arms, assoon as might be. They remounted—each troop cried farewell to theother—Sir Aimar and those with him turned aside into the way toToulouse.

  Sir Garin waited without movement until a great screen of poplars camebetween him and his brother knight. Then he spoke to his courser,and with his men behind him, began to pursue the road to the countryof his birth. As he travelled he saw in fancy, coming toward him onthis road, Garin de Castel-Noir clad in a serf’s dress, fleeing fromMontmaure, in his heart and brain hopes and fears, a welling-up ofpoesy, and the image of his lady whom he named the Fair Goal. Garin ofthe Golden Island, older by nigh eight years of time and a world ofexperience, rich, massy, and intricate, smiled on that other Garin andsaw how far he had to travel—but without finding as yet the Fair Goal!