CHAPTER XVII
OUR LADY OF ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE
STEPHEN the Marshal lay in a fair chamber in the castle ofRoche-de-Frêne, very grievously hurt and fevered with his hurt. Aphysician attended him, and his squires watched, and an old skilledwoman, old nurse of the Princess Audiart, sat beside his bed. SometimesAlazais, with the Lady Guida, came to the room, stood and murmuredpitiful words. Through the windows, deep set in the thick wall,entered, through the long day, other sound, not pitiful. At times itcame as well in the long night. Montmaure might assault three, fourtimes during the day and, for that he would wear out the defenders,strike again at midnight or ere the cock crew.
Montmaure had so many fighting men that half might rest through theday or sleep at night while their fellows wore down Roche-de-Frêne.Count Jaufre had ridden westward and northward,—after the day of thewounding of Stephen,—and coming to Autafort where was Duke Richard,had procured, after a night of talk and song, dawn mass, and aheadlong, sunrise gallop between the hills, the gift of other thousandsof men wherewith to pay the cost of the jewel. Normans, Angevins, menof Poitou and Gascony, Englishmen, soldiers of fortune, and FreeCompanions—they followed Jaufre de Montmaure to Roche-de-Frêne andswelled the siege. They were promised great booty, plenary license whenthe town was sacked, a full meal for the lusts of the flesh.
The host defending Roche-de-Frêne grew smaller, the host grew small andworn. Vigilance that must never cease to be vigilant, attack by day andby night, many slain and many hurt, death and wounding and, at last,disease—and yet the host held the bridge-head and the bridge, made noidle threat against Montmaure, but struck quick and deep. It did whatwas possible to the heroic that yet was human.... There came a day whenthe entire force of Montmaure thrown, shock upon shock, against thebarriers, burst a way in. The strong towers, guardians of the bridge,could no longer stand. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne must draw ashattered host across the river, up the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, and inat the gates to the shelter of the strong-walled town.
It was done; foot by foot the bridge was surrendered, foot by footthe host brought off. From hillside and wall the archers and thecrossbowmen sent their bolts singing through the air, keeping backMontmaure.... Company by company, division by division, the gates werepassed; when the host was within, they closed with a heavy sound. Gateand gate-towers and curtains of walls high and thick—the armed town,the huge, surmounting castle, looked four-square defiance to theCounts of Montmaure. Now set in the second stage of this siege.
Montmaure held the roads to and from Roche-de-Frêne. Montmaure layas close as he might lie and escape crossbow bolts and stones flungby those engines caused to be constructed by men of skill in theprincess’s pay. From the walls, look which way you might, you saw thecoils of Montmaure. He lay glittering, a puissant dragon, impatientto draw his folds nearer, impatient to tighten them around townand castle, strangle, and crush! To hasten that final hour he madedaily assay with tooth and claw. Sound of fierce assault and fiercerepulse filled great part of time. The periods between of repose, ofexhaustion, of waiting had—though men and women went about and spokeand even laughed—the feeling of the silence of the desert, a blankstillness.
The spirit of the town was good—it were faint praise, calling it that!Gaucelm the Fortunate, Audiart the Wise, and their motto and practice,I BUILD, had lifted this princedom and this town, or had given room forproper strength to lift from within. Now Thibaut Canteleu supportedthe princess in all ways, and the town followed Thibaut. Audiart theWise and Roche-de-Frêne fought with a single will. And Bishop Ugo madeattestation that he wished wholly the welfare of all. He preached inthe cathedral; he passed through the town with a train of churchmen andblessed the citizens as they hurried to the walls; he mounted to thecastle and gave his counsel there. The princess listened, then wenther way.
Lords, knights, and squires, the chivalry of Roche-de-Frêne, was hers.They liked a woman to be lion-hearted, and they forgot the old namethat had been given her. Perhaps it was no longer applicable, perhapsit had never, in any high degree, been applicable. Perhaps there hadbeen some question of fashion, and a beauty not answered to by the eyesof many beholders, a thing of spirit, mind, and rarity. Her vassals,great and less great, gave her devout service; they trusted her, warpand woof. She had a genius and a fire that she breathed into them andthat aided to heroic deeds.
Garin of the Golden Island did high things in the siege ofRoche-de-Frêne. Where almost all were brave, where each day deedsresounded, he grew to have a name here for exquisiteness of daringas he had had it in the land beyond the sea.... He found himself,in one of those periods of stillness between assaults, alone by thewatch-tower above the castle garden. He had left Aimar at the barbican,Rainier he had sent upon some errand. It was nearing sunset, and thetrees in the garden had an autumn tint. The year wheeled downward.
Garin, mounting the watch-tower, found upon the summit a mantledfigure, leaning against the battlement overlooking the wide prospect. Amoment, and he saw that it was the princess and would have withdrawn.But Audiart called him back. In the garden below waited a page and anattendant of whom the princess was fond—the dark-eyed girl who toldstories well. But for the rest there held a solitude. She had comefrom the White Tower to taste this quiet and to look afar, to batheher senses in this stillness after clamour, and to feel overhead theenemyless expanse.
“You are welcome, Sir Garin of the Golden Island!” she said, and turnedtoward him. “I watched you lead the sally yesterday. No brave poet evermade men more one with him than you did then—”
Garin came to her side, bent and kissed her mantle edge where her armbrought it against the battlement. “Princess of Roche-de-Frêne!” hesaid, “watching you, in this war, all men turn brave and poets.”
He had spoken as he felt. But, “No!” said the Princess Audiart. “No manturns what he is not.” She looked again at the wide prospect. “My heartaches,” she said, “because of all the misery! At times I would that Iknew—”
She rested her brow upon her hands. The sun touched the mountains,jagged and sharp, shaped long ago by central fires. The castle andtown of Roche-de-Frêne were bathed in a golden light. The princessuncovered her eyes. “Well! we travel as we may, or as the inner willdoth will.—How long do you think that this castle will go untaken byMontmaure?”
“I think that it will go forever untaken by Montmaure.”
“He is strong—he has old strength.... But I came to the garden and thewatch-tower not to think of that and of how the battle goes.... Look atthe violet stealing up from the plain.”
“In the morning comes the sun once more! I believe in light.”
“Yea! so do I.” She looked from the cloud-shapes of the western sky tothe clear fields of the east and the deeps overhead. Her gaze stayedthere a moment, then dropped, a slow sailing bird, to the garden treesbelow the tower, the late flowers, and the sunburned turf. “The autumnair.... I like that—have always liked it.... In the hurly-burly ofthis siege, you think yet of the Fair Goal?”
“Yes, lady.”
“Listen to the convent-bells! That is the Convent of Saint Blandina....Pierol, down there, has a lute. I am tired. I would rest for an hourand forget blood and crying voices. I would think of fairer things.I would forget Montmaure. Let us go down under the trees, and I willlisten to your singing of your Fair Goal.”
They descended the tower-stair and came into the garden. Here was atall cypress and a seat beneath it for the princess, and a lower onefor the singer. Pierol gave the lute, then with the dark-eyed girl drewback into the shade of myrtles. Garin touched the strings, but when hesang it was of love itself.
The Princess Audiart listened, wrapped in her mantle. When the song wasended, “That is of love itself, and beautiful it was!—Now sing ofyour own love.”
Garin obeyed. When it was done, “That is loveliness!” said thePrincess. “This very moment that fair lady has you, doubtless, in herthought.”
“She whom I sing, lady, and call the
Fair Goal, has never seen me. Sheknows not that such a man lives.”
“What!” exclaimed the princess and turned upon him. “You have seen heronce, and she has not seen you at all! You know not her true name norher home, and she knows not that you are in life! Now, by my faith—”
She broke off, sitting staring at him with a strangely vivid face. “Ihave heard troubadours sing of such loves,” she said slowly, “but Ihave not believed them. Such loves seemed neither real, nor greatlydesirable to be made real. It was to me like other pretences.... Butyou, Sir Garin of the Golden Island, I hold to be honest—”
Garin laid the lute upon the earth beside him. He looked at the treesof the garden, and he seemed to see again a nightingale that flewfrom shade to shade and sang with a sweetness that ravished. “If Iknow my own heart,” he said, “it loves with reality!” And as he spokecame the first confusion, strangeness, and doubt, the first sense ofsomething new, or added. It was faint—so underneath that only thepalest dawn-light of it came over the horizon of the mind—so farand speechless that Garin knew not what it was, only divined thatsomething was there. Whatever recognition occurred was of something notunpleasing, something that, were it nearer, might be known for wealth.Yet there was an admixture of pain and doubt of himself. He fellsilent, faint lines between his brows.
The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne likewise sat without speaking. A colourwas in her cheek and her eyes had strange depths. There was softness inthem, but also force and will. She looked a being with courage to nameher ends to herself and power to reach them.
The dusk was coming, the small winged creatures that harboured in thecastle garden were at their vesper chirping. The page Pierol and thedark-eyed girl whispered among the myrtles.
The princess rose. “I am not so tired nor so melancholy now! I thankyou for your singing, Sir Garin.”
“I would, my princess,” answered Garin, “that, like the singers of old,I might build walls where they are broken! I would that, with armèdhand, I might bring you victory!”
“One paladin alone no longer does that,” said Audiart. “If we win, weall have part—you and Sir Aimar and Lord Stephen, for whom I grieve,and all the valiant chivalry and those who fight afoot. And ThibautCanteleu and every brave townsman. And the women who are so brave,ready and constant. And the children who hush their crying. All havepart—all! Account must be taken, too, of my father’s jester, who, theother day, penned a cartel to Montmaure. He tied it to an arrow andshot it from the point of highest danger. And it was a scullion whothrew down the ladder from the northern wall. All share. The value isin each!”
“And you, my Lady Audiart, have you no part?”
“I take account of myself as well. Yes, I, too, have part.”
She turned her face toward the myrtles. “Come, Pierol—Maeut!” thenspoke again to Garin of the Golden Island. “It seems to me sad thatthe Fair Goal, whoever she be, wherever she bides, should know naughtof you! Did you perish to-morrow in Roche-de-Frêne, her tears wouldnot flow. If she were laughing, her laughter would not break. No senseof loss where is no sense of possession! This siege never threats herhappiness—so little do you know of each other!” Her voice had a faintnote of scorn, with something else that could not be read.
“That is true,” said Garin, and was once more conscious of that appealbeyond the horizon, under seas. He felt that there had been some birth,and that it was a thing not unsweet or passionless. It seemed otherthan aught that had come before into his life. And yet, immediately,he saw again and loved again the inaccessible, veiled figure, thetraveller from far away,—it had fixed itself in his mind that she wasa traveller from far away,—the lady who had been the guest of Our Ladyin Egypt! He loved, he thought, more strongly, if that might be, thanbefore. And again came the note of pain and bewilderment. “It is true,my princess! And still I think that in some hidden way—hidden to herand to me—she knows and answers!” He took the lute from the grassand drew from it a deep and thrilling strain. “So,” he said, “is thethought of her among my heart-strings.”
The princess drew her mantle about her. “Let us go,” she said.“To-night I hold council. There is a thing that must be decided,whether to do it or not to do it.”
They left the garden, Maeut and Pierol following.
Garin was not among the barons and the knights in the great hall whenthe council was held. He might have been so, but he chose absence.The castle was so vast—there were so many buildings within the ringof its wall—that it lodged a host. He, with Aimar, their squires andmen-at-arms, had quarters toward the northern face. Here he came, therebeing a half moon, and all the giant place in black and silver. But hedid not enter his lodging or call to Aimar or to Rainier. He went on towhere a wooden stair was built against the wall. Here stood a sentinelto whom he gave the word, then, passing, climbed the stair. At the topwas space where twenty might stand, and a catapult be worked. Here,too, a soldier kept guard. Garin gave him good-evening, and the manrecognized him.
“Sir Garin of the Black Castle, I was behind you in the sallyyesterday! Thumb of Saint Lazarus! yonder was enough to make dead bloodleap!”
Garin gave him answer, then crossed to the battlements, and leaninghis folded arms upon the stone, looked forth into the night. Thisangle of the castle turned from the crowded town. The wall was builton sheer rock, and below the rock was the moat; beyond the moat rosescattered houses, and then the ultimate strong wall enclosing all, townand castle alike. And below, on the plain, was Montmaure, islandingRoche-de-Frêne.
The autumn air struck cool. Montmaure had camp-fires flaring here andflaring there, making red-gold blurs in the night. Garin, watchingthese, came, full-force, upon an awareness of fresh misliking forMontmaure—for Jaufre de Montmaure; misliking so strong that it cameclose to hatred. He had misliked him before, calling him private noless than public foe. But that feeling had been tame to this.
The inner atmosphere thickened and darkened. Could he have forgedmaterial lightning, Jaufre might then have perished. He stood staringat the red flare upon the horizon. His lips moved. “Jaufre, Jaufre!would you have the princess?”
The autumn wind blew against him. Overhead, the moon came out fromclouds and blanched the platform where he stood and the long line ofthe wall. He turned, and looking to the huge castle, saw the rayssilver the White Tower. He knew that this was where the princess lived.Hate went out of Garin’s heart and out of his eyes. “What is this,” hecried, but not aloud, “what is this that has come to me?”
He stayed a long while on the platform, that was now in light andnow in shadow, for the sky had fleets of clouds. But at last he saidgood-night to the pacing sentinel, and, descending the stair, went tohis lodging. Here, before the door, watched one of his own men. “HasSir Aimar returned, Jean the Talkative?”
“No, lord,” said Jean from Castel-Noir. “He sent to find you, but noone knew where—It seems that all the lords and famous knights havebeen called into hall. Moreover, there are townsmen in the great court,and the mayor is inside with the lords. The bishop came up the hill atsupper-time with a long train. There was a monk here, an hour agone,who said that there had been a miracle down there in the cathedral.One Father Eustace, who is very holy, was kneeling before Our Lady ofRoche-de-Frêne, and he put up his hands to her, like a child to hismother, and he said ‘Blessed, Divine Lady, when will Roche-de-Frênehave peace and happiness?’ Then, lord, what favour was granted to theholy man! Our Lady’s lips opened smilingly, and words came out of themin a sweet and gracious voice, to this effect: ‘When those two wed.’Holy Eustace fell in a swoon, so wonderful was the thing, and when hecame to went to my lord the bishop. Whereupon—”
But, “Talk less, Jean—talk less!” said Sir Garin, and went by,leaving Jean staring. Within the house, stretched upon the floor ofthe great lower room, lay his men asleep. They needed sleep; all inRoche-de-Frêne knew the strain of watching overtime, of fighting by dayand by night. Two only whispered in a corner, by a guttering candle.These springing up as
Garin entered proved to be Rainier and theyounger squire of Aimar, the elder being with his master. “Stay till Icall you,” said Garin to Rainier, and passing between the slumberingforms, ascended the stair to the chamber above. Here, before a smallwindow was drawn a bench. He sat down, and looked forth at the moonpassing from cloud to cloud.
Eight years ago he, like Father Eustace, had knelt before Our Lady ofRoche-de-Frêne and asked for a sign.... Of his age, inevitably, in along range of concerns, Garin had not formerly questioned miracles.They occurred all the time, sworn to by Holy Church. But now, andpassionately enough, he doubted that Father Eustace lied.
Here, sometime later, Aimar found him. “Why did you not come to thehall? Saint Michael! It had been worth your while!”
“I know not why I did not come.... I have been on the walls—I thinkthat I have been struck by the moon.... What was done in hall?”
Aimar stood beside him. “This princess—I have not seen another likeher in the world!”
“She came from fairyland and the wise saints’ land and the bravestfuture land.—What was done?”
“Have you heard of the miracle of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne?”
“I have heard of it. I do not believe it.”
“Speak low!” said Aimar. “Bishop Ugo related it with eloquent lips.”
“Bishop Ugo is Montmaure’s man.”
“Speak lower yet!... Perchance he thinks that Montmaure is his man.”
“Perchance he does. Let them be each other’s. What was answered?”
“The princess rose and spoke. She said that there were so many twos inthe world that we must remain in doubt as to what two the Blessed Imagemeant.”
“Ha!” cried Garin, and laughed out.
“So,” said Aimar, “did we all—barons, knights, and no less a soul thanThibaut Canteleu. But the bishop looked darkly.”
“No doubt Father Eustace will presently be vouchsafed anexplanation!—Light wed darkness, and Heaven approve!—Ha! what then,is Heaven?”
“But then Ugo became smooth and fine, and wove a sweet garland of wordsfor the wise princess. And so, for this time, that passed.—Came thatwhich the council had been called to judge of. Heralds from Montmaure,appearing this morning before the river-gate, asking for parley, wereblindfolded and brought to her in hall.”
Garin turned. “What said Jaufre de Montmaure?”
“What is wrong with you, Garin of the Golden Island? Heaven forfendyour sickening with the fever!—Montmaure offers a truce from sunriseto sunrise, offers, moreover, to pitch pavilions two bow shots fromthe walls. Then, saith the two of him,—or rather saith Jaufre witha supporter signed by Count Savaric,—then let this be done! Let thePrincess of Roche-de-Frêne, followed by fifty knights, and Count Jaufrede Montmaure, followed by fifty, meet with courtesy and festival beforethese pavilions—the end, the coming face to face, the touching hands,the speaking together of two who never yet have had that fortune. So,perchance, a different music might arise!”
“How might that be? Her soul does not accord with his.” Garin left thewindow, paced the room, came back to the flooding moonlight. “What saidthe princess?”
“She gave to all in hall the words of the heralds and asked forcounsel. Then this baron spoke and that knight and also ThibautCanteleu, and they spoke like valiant folk, one advising this courseand one that. And Bishop Ugo spoke. Then the princess stood up, thankedall and gave decision.”
“She will take her knights, and with courtesy and festival she willmeet and touch hands and speak with Jaufre, there by his pavilions?”
“Just,” said Aimar.... “Do you know, Garin, that when you make poems ofthe Fair Goal, you make men see a lady not unlike the princess of thisland?”
The Fortunes of Garin Page 18