“In God’s good time and if so He will, I will come back, and from the moment of my coming I will never again depart from you.”
“Promise me that!” she said, clinging to him with her arms twined about his neck, and he promised her, and so, comforting her a little more, he got him into his boat and sailed away upon his errand.
But of all this, the Princess Joceliande knew nothing. From her balcony in the castle she saw the Sieur Rudel sail forth. He stood upon the poop, the wind blowing the hair back from his face, and as she watched his straight figure, she said, “A boon he shall ask, but a greater will I grant. Surely no man ever did such loyal service but for love, and for love’s sake, he shall share my throne with me.” With that she wept a little for fear he might be slain or ever he should return; but she remembered from how many noble exploits he had come scatheless, and so taking heart once more she fell to thinking of his black locks and clear olive face and darkly shining eyes. For, in truth, these outward qualities did more enthral and delight her than his most loyal services.
But for the maiden Solita, she got her back to her chamber and, remembering her lord’s advice, spied about for a mirror. No mirror, however, did she possess, having never used aught else but a basin of clear water, and till now found it all-sufficient, so little curious had she been concerning the whiteness of her beauty. Thereupon she thought for a little, and unbinding her hair so that it fell to her feet in a golden cloud, hied her to Joceliande, who bade her take a book of chivalry and read aloud. But Solita so bent her head that her hair fell ever across the pages and hindered her from reading, and each time she put it roughly back from her forehead with some small word of anger as though she was vexed.
“What ails you, child?” asked the princess.
“It is my hair,” replied Solita. But the princess paid no heed. She heard little, indeed, even of what was read, but sat by the window gazing out across the grey hungry sea, and bethinking her of the Sieur Rudel and his gallant men. And again Solita let her hair fall upon the scroll, and again she tossed it back, saying, “Fie! Fie!”
“What ails you, child?” the princess asked.
“It is my hair,” she replied, and Joceliande, smiling heedlessly, bade her read on. So she read until Joceliande bade her stop and called to her, and Solita came over to the window and knelt by the side of the princess, so that her hair fell across the wrist of Joceliande and fettered it. “It is ever in the way,” said Solita, and she loosed it from the wrist of the princess. But the princess caught the silky coils within her hand and smoothed them tenderly. “That were easily remedied,” she replied with a smile, and she sought for the scissors which hung at her girdle.
But Solita bethought her that many men had praised the colour and softness of her hair — why, she could not tell, for dark locks alone were beautiful in her eyes. Howbeit men praised hers, and for Sieur Rudel’s sake she would fain be as praiseworthy as might be. Therefore she stayed Joceliande’s hand and cried aloud in fear, “Nay, nay, sweet lady, ’tis all the gold I have, and I pray you leave it me who am so poor.”
And the Princess Joceliande laughed, and replaced the scissors in her girdle. “I did but make pretence, to try you,” she said, “for, in truth, I had begun to think you were some holy angel and no woman, so little share had you in a woman’s vanities. But ’tis all unbound, and I wonder not that it hinders you. Let me bind it up!”
And while the princess bound the hair cunningly in a coronal upon her head, Solita spake again hesitatingly, seeking to conceal her craft.
“Madame, it is easy for you to bind my hair, but for myself, I have no mirror and so dress it awkwardly.”
Joceliande laughed again merrily at the words. “Dear heart!” she cried. “What man is it? Hast discovered thou art a woman after all? First thou fearest for thy hair, and now thou askest a mirror. But in truth I like thee the better for thy discovery.” And she kissed Solita very heartily, who blushed that her secret was so readily found out, and felt no small shame at her lack of subtlety. For many ladies, she knew, had secrets — ay, even from their bosom lords and masters — and kept them without effort in the subterfuge, whereas she, poor fool, betrayed hers at the first word.
“And what man is it?” laughed the princess. “For there is not one that deserves thee, as thou shalt judge for thyself.” Whereupon she summoned one of her servants and bade him place a mirror in the bed-chamber of Solita, wherein she might see herself from top to toe.
“Art content?” she asked. “Thus shalt thou see thyself, without blemish or fault even for this crown of hair to the heel of thy foot. But I fear me the sight will change all thy thoughts and incline thee to scorn of thy suitor.”
Then she stood for a little watching the sunlight play upon the golden head and pry into the soft shadows of the curls, and her face saddened and her voice faltered.
“But what of me, Solita?” she said. “All men give me reverence, not one knows me for a woman. I crave the bread of love, all day long I hunger for it, but they offer me the polished stones of courtesy and respect, and so I starve slowly to my death. What of me, Solita? What of me?”
But Solita made reply, soothing her:
“Madame,” she said, “all your servants love you, but it beseems them not to flaunt it before your face, so high are you placed above them. You order their fortunes and their lives, and surely ’tis nobler work than meddling with this idle love-prattle.”
“Nay,” replied the princess, laughing in despite of her heaviness, for she noted how the blush on Solita’s cheek belied the scorn of her tongue. “There spoke the saint, and I will hear no more from her now that I have found the woman. Tell me, did he kiss you?”
And Solita blushed yet more deeply, so that even her neck down to her shoulders grew rosy, and once or twice she nodded her head, for her lips would not speak the word.
Then Joceliande sighed to herself and said —
“And yet, perchance, he would not die for you, whereas men die for me daily, and from mere obedience. How is he called?”
“Madame,” she replied, “I may not tell you, for all my pride in him. ‘Twill be for my lord to answer you in his good time. But that he would die for me, if need there were, I have no doubt. For I have looked into his eyes and read his soul.”
So she spake with much spirit, upholding Sieur Rudel; but Joceliande was sorely grieved for that Solita would not trust her with her lover’s name, and answered bitterly:
“And his soul which you did see was doubtless your own image. And thus it will be with the next maiden who looks into his eyes. Her own image will she see, and she will go away calling it his soul, and not knowing, poor fool, that it has already faded from his eyes.”
At this Solita kept silence, deeming it unnecessary to make reply. It might be as the princess said with other men and other women, but the Sieur Rudel had no likeness to other men, and in possessing the Sieur Rudel’s love she was far removed from other women. Therefore did she keep silence, but Joceliande fancied that she was troubled by the words which she had spoken, and straightway repented her of them.
“Nay, child,” she said, and she laid her hand again upon Solita’s head. “Take not the speech to heart. ’Tis but the plaint of a woman whose hair is withered from its brightness and who grows peevish in her loneliness. But open your mind to me, for you have twined about my heart even as your curls did but now twine and coil about my wrist, and the more for this pretty vanity of yours. Therefore tell me his name, that I may advance him.”
But once more Solita did fob her off, and the princess would no longer question her, but turned her wearily to the window.
“All day long,” she said, “I listen to soft speeches and honeyed tongues, and all night long I listen to the breakers booming upon the sands, and in truth I wot not which sound is the more hollow.”
Such was the melancholy and sadness of her voice that the tears sprang into Solita’s eyes and ran down her cheeks for very pity of Joceliande.
> “Think not I fail in love to you, sweet princess,” she cried. “But I may not tell you, though I would be blithe and proud to name him. But ’tis for him to claim me of you, and I must needs wait his time.”
But Joceliande would not be comforted, and chiding her roughly, sent her to her chamber. So Solita departed out of her sight, her heart heavy with a great pity, though little she understood of Joceliande’s distress. For this she could not know: that at the sight of her white beauty the Princess Joceliande was ashamed.
And coming into her chamber, Solita beheld the mirror ranged against the wall, and long she stood before it, being much comforted by the image which she saw. From that day ever she watched the ladies of the court, noting jealously if any might be more fair than she whom Sieur Rudel had chosen; and often of a night when she was troubled by the aspect of some fair and delicate new-comer, she would rise from her couch and light a taper, and so gaze at herself until the fear of her unworthiness diminished. For there were none that could compare with her in daintiness and fair looks ever came to the castle of the Princess Joceliande.
But of the Sieur Rudel, though oft she thought, she never spake, biding his good time, and the princess questioned her in vain. For she, whose heart hitherto had lain plain to see, like a pebble in a clear brook of water, had now learnt all the sweet cunning of love’s duplicity.
Thus the time drew on towards the Sieur Rudel’s home-coming, and ever the twain looked out across the sea for the black boats to round the bluff and take the beach — Joceliande from her balcony, Solita from the window of her little chamber in the tower; and each night the princess gave orders to light a beacon on the highest headland that the wayfarers might steer safely down that red path across the tumbling waters.
So it fell that one night both ladies beheld two ships swim to the shore, and each made dolorous moan, seeing how few of the goodly company that sailed forth had got them home again, and wondering in sore distress whether Rudel had returned with them or no.
But in a little there came a servant to the princess and told of one Sir Broyance de Mille-Faits, a messenger from the neighbouring kingdom of Broye, that implored instant speech with her. And being admitted before all the Court assembled in the great hall, he fell upon his knees at the foot of the princess, and, making his obeisance, said —
“Fair Lady Joceliande, I crave a boon, and I pray you of your gentleness to grant it me.”
“But what boon, good Sir Broyance?” replied the princess. “I know you for a true and loyal gentleman who has ever been welcome at my castle. Speak, then, your need, and if so be I may, you shall find me complaisant to your request.”
Thereupon, Sir Broyance took heart and said:
“Since our king died, God rest his soul, there has been no peace or quiet in our kingdom of Broye. ’Tis rent with strife and factions, so that no man may dwell in it but he must fight from morn to night, and withal win no rest for the morrow. The king’s three sons contend for the throne, and meanwhile is the country eaten up. Therefore am I sent by many, and those our chiefest gentlemen, to ask you to send us Sieur Rudel, that he may quell these conflicts and rule over us as our king.”
So Sir Broyance spake and was silent, and a great murmur and acclamation rose about the hall for that the Sieur Rudel was held in such honour and worship even beyond his own country. But for the Princess Joceliande, she sat with downcast head, and for a while vouchsafed no reply. For her heart was sore at the thought that Sieur Rudel should go from her.
“There is much danger in the adventure,” she said at length, doubtfully.
“Were there no danger, madame,” he replied, “we should not ask Sieur Rudel of you to be our leader, and great though the danger be, greater far is the honour. For we offer him a kingdom.”
Then the princess spake again to Sir Broyance:
“It may not be,” she said. “Whatever else you crave, that shall you have, and gladly will I grant it you. But the Sieur Rudel is the flower of our Court, he stands ever at my right hand, and woe is me if I let him go, for I am only a woman.”
“But, madame, for his knighthood’s sake, I pray you assent to our prayer,” said Sir Broyance. “Few enemies have you, but many friends, whereas we are sore pressed on every side.”
But the princess repeated: “I am only a woman,” and for a long while he made his prayer in vain.
At last, however, the princess said:
“For his knighthood’s sake thus far will I yield to you: Bide here within my castle until Sieur Rudel gets him home, and then shall you make your prayer to him, and by his answer will I be bound.”
“That I will well,” replied Sir Broyance, bethinking him of the Sieur
Rudel’s valour, and how that he had a kingdom to proffer to him.
But the Princess Joceliande said to herself:
“I, too, will offer him a kingdom. My throne shall he share with me;” and so she entertained Sir Broyance right pleasantly until the Sieur Rudel should get him back from the foray. Meanwhile she would say to Solita, “He shall not go to Broye, for in truth I need him;” and Solita would laugh happily, replying, “It is truth: he will not go to Broye,” and thinking thereto silently, “but it is not the princess who will keep him, but even I, her poor handmaiden. For I have his promise never to depart from me.” So much confidence had her mirror taught her, as it ever is with women.
But despite them both did the Sieur Rudel voyage to Broye and rule over the kingdom as its king, and how that came about ye shall hear.
Now on the fourth day after the coming of Sir Broyance, the Princess Joceliande was leaning over the baluster of her balcony and gazing seawards as was her wont. The hours had drawn towards evening, and the sun stood like a glowing wheel upon the farthest edge of the sea’s grey floor, when she beheld a black speck crawl across its globe, and then another and another, to the number of thirty. Thereupon, she knew that the Sieur Rudel had returned, and joyfully she summoned her tirewomen and bade them coif and robe her as befitted a princess. A coronet of gold and rubies they set upon her head, and a robe of purple they hung about her shoulders. With pearls they laced her neck and her arms, and with pearls they shod her feet, and when she saw the ships riding at their anchorage, and the Sieur Rudel step forth amid the shouts of the sailors, then she hied her to the council-chamber and prepared to give him instant audience. Yet for all her jewels and rich attire, she trembled like a common wench at the approach of her lover, and feared that the loud beating of her heart would drown the sound of his footsteps in the passage.
But the Sieur Rudel came not, and she sent a messenger to inquire why he tarried, and the messenger brought word and said:
“He is with the maiden Solita in the tower.”
Then the princess stumbled as though she were about to fall, and her women came about her. But she waved them back with her hand, and so stood shivering for a little. “The night blows cold,” she said; “I would the lamps were lit.” And when her servants had lighted the council-chamber, she sent yet another messenger to Sieur Rudel, bidding him instantly come to her, and waited in great bitterness of spirit. For she remembered how that she had promised to grant him the boon that he should ask, and much she feared that she knew what that boon was.
Now leave we the Princess Joceliande, and hie before her messenger to the chamber of Solita. No pearls or purple robes had she to clad her beauty in, but a simple gown of white wool fastened with a silver girdle about the waist, and her hair she loosed so that it rippled down her shoulders and nestled round her ears and face.
Thither the Sieur Rudel came straight from the sea, and —
“Love,” he said, kissing her, “it has been a weary waste of days and nights, and yet more weary for thee than for me. For stern work was there ever to my hand — ay, and well-nigh more than I could do; but for thee nought but to wait.”
“Yet, my dear lord,” she replied, “the princess did give me this mirror, wherein I could see myself from top to toe, and a great com
fort has it been to me.”
So she spake, and the messenger from the princess brake in upon them, bidding the Sieur Rudel hasten to the council-chamber, for that the Princess Joceliande waited this long while for his coming.
“Now will I ask for the fulfilment of her promise,” said Rudel to
Solita, “and to-night, sweet, I will claim thee before the whole
Court.” With that he got him from the chamber and, following the
messenger, came to where the princess awaited him.
“Madame,” he said, “good tidings! By God’s grace we have won the victory over your enemies. Never again will they buzz like wasps about your coasts, but from this day forth they will pay you yearly truage.”
“Sir,” she replied, rebuking him shrewdly, “indeed you bring me good tidings, but you bring them over-late. For here have I tarried for you this long while, and it beseems neither you nor me.”
“Madame,” he answered, “I pray you acquit me of the fault and lay the blame on Love. For when sweet Cupid thrones a second queen in one’s heart beside the first, what wonder that a man forgets his duty? And now I would that of your gentleness you would grant me your maiden Solita for wife.”
“That I may not,” returned Joceliande, stricken to the soul at that image of a second queen. “A nameless child, and my handmaiden! Sieur Rudel, it befits a man to look above him for a wife.”
“And that, madame,” he answered, “in very truth I do. Moreover, though no man knows Solita’s parentage and place, yet must she be of gentle nurture, else had there been no silk sail to float her hitherwards; and so much it liketh you to grant my boon, for God’s love, I pray you, hold your promise.”
Thereupon was the princess sore distressed for that she had given her promise. Howbeit she said: “Since it is so, and since my maiden Solita is the boon you crave, I give her to you;” and so dismissed the Sieur Rudel from her presence, and getting her back to her chamber, made moan out of all measure.
Complete Works of a E W Mason Page 773