Complete Works of a E W Mason

by A. E. W. Mason

  “Lord Jesu,” she cried, “of all my kingdom and barony, but one thing did I hunger for and covet, and that one thing this child, whom of my kindness I loved and fostered, hath traitorously robbed me of! Why did I take her from the sea?”

  So she wept for a great while, until she bethought her of a remedy. Then she wiped her tears and gave order that Sir Broyance should come to her. To him she said: “To-night at the high feast you shall make your prayer to the Lord Rudel, and I myself will join with you, so that he shall become your leader and rule over you as king.”

  So she spake, thinking that when the Sieur Rudel had departed, she would privily put Solita to death — openly she dared not do it, for the great love the nobles bore towards Rudel — and when Solita was dead, then would she send again for Rudel and share her siege with him. Sir Broyance, as ye may believe, was right glad at her words, and made him ready for the feast. Hither, when the company was assembled, came the Sieur Rudel, clad in a green tunic edged with fur of a white fox, and a chain set with stones of great virtue about his neck. His hose were green and of the finest silk, and on his feet he wore shoes of white doeskin, and the latchets were of gold. So he came into the hall, and seeing him thus gaily attired with all his harness off, much did all marvel at his knightly prowess. For in truth he looked more like some tender minstrel than a gallant warrior. Then up rose Sir Broyance and said;

  “From the kingdom of Broye the nobles send greeting to the Sieur

  Rudel, and a message.”

  And with that he set forth his errand and request; but the Sieur Rudel laughed and answered:

  “Sir Broyance, great honour you do me, and so, I pray, tell your countrymen of Broye. But never more will I draw sword or feuter spear, for this day hath the Princess Joceliande granted me her maiden Solita for wife, and by her side I will bide till death.”

  Thereupon rose a great murmur of astonishment within the hall, the men lamenting that the Sieur Rudel would lead them no more to battle, and the women marvelling to each other that he should choose so mean a thing as Solita for wife. But Sir Broyance said never a word, but got him from the table and out of the hall, so that the company marvelled yet more for that he had not sought to persuade the Sieur Rudel. Then said the Princess Joceliande, and greatly was she angered both against Solita and Rudel:

  “Fie, my lord! shame on you; you forget your knighthood!”

  And he replied, “My knighthood, your highness, had but one use, and that to win my sweet Solita.”

  Wherefore was Joceliande’s heart yet hotter against the twain, and she cried aloud:

  “Nay, but it is on us that the shame of your cowardice will fall. Even now Sir Broyance left our hall in anger and scorn. It may not be that our chiefest noble shall so disgrace us.”

  But Sieur Rudel laughed lightly, and answered her:

  “Madame, full oft have I jeopardised my life in your good cause, and I fear no charge of cowardice more than I fear thistle-down.”

  His words did but increase the fury of the princess, and she brake out in most bitter speech:

  “Nay, but it is a kitchen knave we have been honouring unawares, and bidding sit with us at table!”

  And straightway she called to her servants and bade them fetch the warden of the castle with the fetters. But the Sieur Rudel laughed again, and said:

  “Thus it will be impossible that I leave my dear Solita and voyage perilously to Broye.”

  Nor any effort or resistance did he make, but lightly suffered them to fetter him, the while the princess most foully mis-said him. With fetters they prisoned his feet, and manacles they straitly fastened about his wrists, and they bound him to a pillar in the hall by a chain about his middle.

  “There shall you bide,” she said, “in shameful bonds until you make promise to voyage forth to Broye. For surely there is nothing so vile in all this world as a craven gentleman.”

  With that she turned her again to the feast, though little heart she had thereto. But the Sieur Rudel was well content; for not for all the honour in Christendom would he break his word to his dear Solita. Howbeit, the nobles were ever urgent that the princess should set him free, pleading the worshipful deeds he had accomplished in her cause. But to none of them would she hearken, and the fair gentle ladies of the Court greatly applauded her for her persistence — and especially those who had erstwhile dropped their gauntlets that Rudel might bend and pick them up. And many pleasant jests they passed upon the Sieur Rudel, bidding him dance with them, since he was loth to fight. But he paid no heed to them, nor could they provoke him by any number of taunts. Whereupon, being angered at his silence, they were fain to send to Solita and make their sport with her.

  But that Joceliande would not suffer, and, rising, she went to Solita’s chamber and entreated her most kindly, telling her that for love of her the Sieur Rudel would not adventure himself at Broye. Not a word did she say of how she had mistreated him, and Solita answered her jocundly for that her lord had held his pledge with her. But when the castle was still, the princess took Solita by the hand and led her down the steps to where Rudel stood against the pillar in the dark hall.

  “For thy sake, sweet Solita,” she said, “is he bound. For thy sake!” and she made her feel the manacles upon his hands. And when Solita had so felt his bonds, she wept, and made the greatest sorrow that ever man heard.

  “Alas!” she cried, “that my dear lord should suffer in such straits. In God’s mercy, madame, I pray you let him go! Loyal service hath he done for you, such as no other in the kingdom.”

  “Loyal service, I trow,” replied the princess. “He hath brought such

  shame upon my Court that for ever am I dishonoured. It may not be that

  I let him go, without you give him back his word and bid him forth to

  Broye.”

  “And that will I never do,” replied Solita, “for all your cruelty.”

  So the princess turned her away and gat her from the hall, but Solita remained with her lord, making moan and easing his fetters with her hands as best she might. Hence it fell out that she who should have comforted must needs be comforted herself, and that the Sieur Rudel did right willingly.

  The like, he would say to me, hath often happened to him since, and when he was harassed with sore distress he must needs turn him about to stop a woman’s tears; for which he thanked God most heartily, and prayed that so it might ever be, since thus he clean forgot his own sad plight. Whence, meseems, may men understand how noble a gentleman was my good lord the Sieur Rudel.

  Now when the night was well spent and drawing on to dawn, Solita, for very weariness, fell asleep at the pillar’s foot, and Rudel began to take counsel with himself if, by any manner of means, he might outwit the Princess Joceliande. For this he saw, that she would not have him wed her handmaiden, and for that cause, and for no cowardice of his, had so cruelly entreated him. And when he had pondered a little with himself, he bent and touched Solita with his hands, and called to her in a low voice.

  “Solita,” he said, “it is in Joceliande’s heart to keep us twain each from other. Rise, therefore, and get thee to the good abbot who baptised thee. Ever hath he stood my friend, and for friendship’s sake this thing he will do. Bring him hither into the hall, that he may marry us even this night, and when the morning comes I will tell the princess of our marriage; and so will she know that her cruelty is of small avail, and release me unto thee.”

  Thereupon Solita rose right joyously.

  “Surely, my dear lord,” said she, “no man can match thee, neither in craft nor prowess,” and she hurried through the dark passages towards the lodging of the abbot. Hard by this lodging was the chapel of the castle, and when she came thereto the windows were ablaze with light, and Solita clapped her ear to the door. But no sound did she hear, no, not so much as the stirring of a mouse, and bethinking her that the good abbot might be holding silent vigil, she gently pressed upon the door, so that it opened for the space of an inch; and when she looked
into the chapel, she beheld the Princess Joceliande stretched upon the steps before the altar. Her coronet had fallen from her head and rolled across the stones, and she lay like one that had fallen asleep in the counting of her beads. Greatly did Solita marvel at the sight, but no word she said lest she should wake the princess; and in a little, becoming afeard of the silence and of the shadows which the flickering candles set racing on the wall, she shut the door quickly and stole on tiptoe to the abbot. Long she entreated him or ever she prevailed, for the holy man was timorous, and feared the wrath of the princess. But at the last, for the Sieur Rudel’s sake, he consented, and married them privily in the hall as the grey dawn was breaking across the sea.

  Now, in the morning, the princess bid Solita be brought to her, and when they were alone, gently and cunningly she spake:

  “Child,” she said, “I doubt not thy heart is hot against me for that I will not enlarge the Sieur Rudel. Alas! fain were I to do this thing, but for the honour of my Court I may not. Bound are we not by our wills but by our necessities — and thus it is with all women. Men may ride forth and shape their lives with their good swords; but for us, we must needs bide where we were born, and order such things as fall to us, as best we can. Therefore, child, take my word to heart: the Sieur Rudel loves thee, and thou wouldst keep his love. Let my age point to thee the way! What if I release him? No longer can he stay with us, holding high honour and dignity, since he hath turned him from his knightlihood and avoided this great adventure, but forth with you must he fare. And all day long will he sit with you in your chamber, idle as a woman, and ever his thoughts will go back to the times of his nobility. The clash of steel will grow louder in his ears; he will list again to the praises of minstrels in the banquet-hall, and when men speak to him of great achievements wrought by other hands, then thou wilt see the life die out of his eyes, and his heart will become cold as stone, and thou wilt lose his love. A great thing will it be for thee if he come not to hate thee in the end. But if, of thy own free will, thou send him from thee, then shalt thou ever keep his love. Thy image will ride before his eyes in the van of battles; for very lack of thee he will move from endeavour to endeavour; and so thy life will be enshrined in his most noble deeds.”

  At these words, with such cunning gentleness were they spoken, Solita was sore troubled.

  “I cannot send him from me,” she cried, “for never did woman so love her lord — no, not ever in the world!”

  “Then prove thy love,” said Joceliande again. “A kingdom is given into his hand, and he will not take it because of thee. It is a hard thing, I trow right well. But the cross becomes a crown when a woman lifts it. Think! A kingdom! And never yet was kingdom established but the stones of its walls were mortised with the blood of women’s hearts.”

  So she pleaded, hiding her own thoughts, until Solita answered her, and said:

  “God help me, but he shall go to Broye!”

  Much ado had the Princess Joceliande to hide her joy for the success of her device; but Solita, poor lass! had neither eyes nor thoughts for her. Forthwith she rose to her feet, and quickly gat her to the hall, lest her courage should fail, before that she had accomplished her resolve. But when she came near to the Sieur Rudel, blithely he smiled at her and called “Solita, my wife.” It seemed to her that words so sweet had never as yet been spoken since the world began, and all her strength ebbed from her, and she stood like one that is dumb, gazing piteously at her husband. Again Rudel called to her, but no answer could she make, and she turned and fled sobbing to the chamber of the princess.

  “I could not speak,” she said; “my lips were locked, and Rudel holds the key.”

  But the princess spoke gently and craftily, bidding her take heart, for that she herself would go with her and second her words; and taking Solita by the hand, she led her again to the hall.

  This time Solita made haste to speak first. “Rudel,” she said, “no honour can I bring to you, but only foul disgrace, and that is no fit gift from one who loves you. Therefore, from this hour I hold you quit of your promise and pray you to undertake this mission and set forth for Broye.”

  But the Sieur Rudel would hearken to nothing of what she said.

  “No foul disgrace can come to me,” he cried, “but only if I prove false to you and lose your love. My promise I will keep, and all the more for that I see the Princess Joceliande hath set you on to this.”

  But Solita protested that it was not so, and that of her own will and desire she released him, for the longing to sacrifice herself for her dear lord’s sake grew upon her as she thought upon it. Yet he would not consent.

  “My word I passed to you when you were a maid, and shall I not keep it now that you are a wife?” he cried.

  “Wife?” cried the princess, “you are his wife?” And she roughly gripped Solita’s wrist so that the girl could not withhold a cry.

  “In truth, madame,” replied the Sieur Rudel, “even last night, in this hall, Solita and I were married by the good abbot, and therefore I will not leave her while she lives.”

  Still Joceliande would not believe it, bethinking her that the Sieur Rudel had hit upon the pretence as a device for his enlargement; but Solita showed to her the ring which the abbot had taken from the finger of her lord and placed upon hers, and then the princess knew that of a surety they were married, and her hatred for Solita burned in her blood like fire.

  But no sign she gave of what she felt, but rather spoke with greater softness to them both, bidding them look forward beyond the first delights of love, and behold how all their years to come were the price they needs must pay.

  Now, while they were yet debating each with other, came Sir Broyance into the hall, and straightway the princess called to him and begged him to add his prayers to Solita’s. But he answered:

  “That, madame, I will not do, for, indeed, the esteem I have for the Sieur Rudel is much increased, and I hold it no cowardice that he should refuse a kingdom for his wife’s sake, but the sweetest bravery. And therefore it was that I broke off my plea last night and sought not to persuade him.”

  At that Rudel was greatly rejoiced, and said:

  “Dost hear him, Solita? Even he who most has need of me acquits me of disgrace. Truly I will never leave thee while I live.”

  But the princess turned sharply to Sir Broyance. “Sir, have you changed your tune?” she said; “for never was a man so urgent as you with me for the Sieur Rudel’s help.”

  “Alas! madame,” he replied, “I knew not then that he was plighted to the maiden Solita, or never would I have borne this message. For this I surely know, that all my days are waste and barren because I suffered my mistress to send me from her after a will-of-the-wisp honour, even as Solita would send her lord.”

  Thereupon Solita brake in upon him:

  “But, my lord, you have won great renown, and far and wide is your prowess known and sung.”

  “That avails me nothing,” he replied, “my life rings hollow like an empty cup, and so are two lives wasted.”

  “Nay, my lord, neither life is wasted. For much have you done for others, though maybe little for yourself, while for her you loved the noise of your achievements must have been enough.”

  “Of that I cannot tell,” he answered. “But this I know: she drags a pale life out behind convent walls. Often have I passed the gate with my warriors, but never could I hold speech with her.”

  “She will have seen your banners glancing in the sun,” said Solita, “and so will she know her sacrifice was good.” Thereupon she turned her again to her husband. “For my sake, dear Rudel, I pray you go to Broye.”

  But still he persisted, saying he would not depart from her till death, until at last she ceased from her importunities, and went sadly to her chamber. Then she unbound her hair and stood gazing at her likeness in the mirror.

  “O cursed beauty,” she cried, “wherein I took vain pride for my sweet lord’s sake — truly art thou my ruin and snare!” And while she th
us made moan, the princess came softly into her chamber.

  “He will not leave me, madame,” she sobbed. Joceliande came over to her and gently laid her hand upon her head and whispered in her ear, “Not while you live!”

  For awhile Solita sat silent.

  “Ay, madame,” she said at length, “even as I came alone to these coasts, so will I go from them;” and slowly she drew from its sheath a little knife which she carried at her girdle. She tried the point upon her finger, so that the blood sprang from the prick and dropped on her white gown. At the sight she gave a cry and dropped the knife, and “I cannot do it” she said, “I have not the courage. But you, madame! Ever have you been kind to me, and therefore show me this last kindness.”

  “I will well,” said the princess; and she made Solita to sit upon a couch, and with two bands of her golden hair she tied her hands fast behind her, and so laid her upon her back on the couch. And when she had so laid her she said:

  “But for all that you die, he shall not go to Broye, but here shall he bide, and share my throne with me.”

  Thereupon did Solita perceive all the treachery of Princess Joceliande, and vainly she struggled to free her hands and to cry out for help. But Joceliande clapped her palm upon Solita’s mouth, and drawing a gold pin from her own hair, she drove it straight into her heart, until nothing but the little knob could be seen. So Solita died, and quickly the princess wiped the blood from her breast, and unbound her hands and arranged her limbs as though she slept. Then she returned to the hall, and, summoning the warden, bade him loose the Sieur Rudel.

  “It shall be even as you wish,” she said to him. Wise and prudent had she been, had she ended with that; but her malice was not yet sated, and so she suffered it to lead her to her ruin. For she stretched out her hand to him and said, “I myself will take you to your wife.” And greatly marvelling, the Sieur Rudel took her hand and followed.

  Now when they were come to Solita’s chamber, the princess entered first, and turned her again to my Lord Rudel and laid her finger to her lips, saying, “Hush!” Therefore he came in after her on tiptoe and stood a little way from the foot of the couch, fearing lest he might wake his wife.