'Tis woman that seduces all mankind.
GAY.
In the days of chivalry, a dangerous post or a perilous adventure was a
reward frequently assigned to military bravery as a compensation for its
former trials; just as, in ascending a precipice, the surmounting one
crag only lifts the climber to points yet more dangerous.
It was midnight, and the moon rode clear and high in heaven, when
Kenneth of Scotland stood upon his watch on Saint George's Mount, beside
the banner of England, a solitary sentinel, to protect the emblem of
that nation against the insults which might be meditated among the
thousands whom Richard's pride had made his enemies. High thoughts
rolled, one after each other, upon the mind of the warrior. It seemed
to him as if he had gained some favour in the eyes of the chivalrous
monarch, who till now had not seemed to distinguish him among the crowds
of brave men whom his renown had assembled under his banner, and Sir
Kenneth little recked that the display of royal regard consisted in
placing him upon a post so perilous. The devotion of his ambitious and
high-placed affection inflamed his military enthusiasm. Hopeless as that
attachment was in almost any conceivable circumstances, those which had
lately occurred had, in some degree, diminished the distance between
Edith and himself. He upon whom Richard had conferred the distinction
of guarding his banner was no longer an adventurer of slight note, but
placed within the regard of a princess, although he was as far as ever
from her level. An unknown and obscure fate could not now be his. If
he was surprised and slain on the post which had been assigned him, his
death--and he resolved it should be glorious--must deserve the praises
as well as call down the vengeance of Coeur de Lion, and be followed
by the regrets, and even the tears, of the high-born beauties of the
English Court. He had now no longer reason to fear that he should die as
a fool dieth.
Sir Kenneth had full leisure to enjoy these and similar high-souled
thoughts, fostered by that wild spirit of chivalry, which, amid its
most extravagant and fantastic flights, was still pure from all selfish
alloy--generous, devoted, and perhaps only thus far censurable, that it
proposed objects and courses of action inconsistent with the frailties
and imperfections of man. All nature around him slept in calm moon-shine
or in deep shadow. The long rows of tents and pavilions, glimmering or
darkening as they lay in the moonlight or in the shade, were still and
silent as the streets of a deserted city. Beside the banner-staff lay
the large staghound already mentioned, the sole companion of Kenneth's
watch, on whose vigilance he trusted for early warning of the approach
of any hostile footstep. The noble animal seemed to understand the
purpose of their watch; for he looked from time to time at the rich
folds of the heavy pennon, and, when the cry of the sentinels came from
the distant lines and defences of the camp, he answered them with one
deep and reiterated bark, as if to affirm that he too was vigilant in
his duty. From time to time, also, he lowered his lofty head, and wagged
his tail, as his master passed and repassed him in the short turns which
he took upon his post; or, when the knight stood silent and abstracted
leaning on his lance, and looking up towards heaven, his faithful
attendant ventured sometimes, in the phrase of romance, “to disturb his
thoughts,” and awaken him from his reverie, by thrusting his large rough
snout into the knight's gauntleted hand, to solicit a transitory caress.
Thus passed two hours of the knight's watch without anything remarkable
occurring. At length, and upon a sudden, the gallant staghound bayed
furiously, and seemed about to dash forward where the shadow lay
the darkest, yet waited, as if in the slips, till he should know the
pleasure of his master.
“Who goes there?” said Sir Kenneth, aware that there was something
creeping forward on the shadowy side of the mount.
“In the name of Merlin and Maugis,” answered a hoarse, disagreeable
voice, “tie up your fourfooted demon there, or I come not at you.”
“And who art thou that would approach my post?” said Sir Kenneth,
bending his eyes as keenly as he could on some object, which he
could just observe at the bottom of the ascent, without being able to
distinguish its form. “Beware--I am here for death and life.”
“Take up thy long-fanged Sathanas,” said the voice, “or I will conjure
him with a bolt from my arblast.”
At the same time was heard the sound of a spring or check, as when a
crossbow is bent.
“Unbend thy arblast, and come into the moonlight,” said the Scot, “or,
by Saint Andrew, I will pin thee to the earth, be what or whom thou
wilt!”
As he spoke he poised his long lance by the middle, and, fixing his eye
upon the object, which seemed to move, he brandished the weapon, as
if meditating to cast it from his hand--a use of the weapon sometimes,
though rarely, resorted to when a missile was necessary. But Sir Kenneth
was ashamed of his purpose, and grounded his weapon, when there stepped
from the shadow into the moonlight, like an actor entering upon the
stage, a stunted, decrepit creature, whom, by his fantastic dress and
deformity, he recognized, even at some distance, for the male of the two
dwarfs whom he had seen in the chapel at Engaddi. Recollecting, at the
same moment, the other and far different visions of that extraordinary
night, he gave his dog a signal, which he instantly understood, and,
returning to the standard, laid himself down beside it with a stifled
growl.
The little, distorted miniature of humanity, assured of his safety from
an enemy so formidable, came panting up the ascent, which the shortness
of his legs rendered laborious, and, when he arrived on the platform at
the top, shifted to his left hand the little crossbow, which was just
such a toy as children at that period were permitted to shoot small
birds with, and, assuming an attitude of great dignity, gracefully
extended his right hand to Sir Kenneth, in an attitude as if he expected
he would salute it. But such a result not following, he demanded, in a
sharp and angry tone of voice, “Soldier, wherefore renderest thou not
to Nectabanus the homage due to his dignity? Or is it possible that thou
canst have forgotten him?”
“Great Nectabanus,” answered the knight, willing to soothe the
creature's humour, “that were difficult for any one who has ever looked
upon thee. Pardon me, however, that, being a soldier upon my post,
with my lance in my hand, I may not give to one of thy puissance the
advantage of coming within my guard, or of mastering my weapon. Suffice
it that I reverence thy dignity, and submit myself to thee as humbly as
a man-at-arms in my place may.”
“It shall suffice,” said Nectabanus, “so that you presently attend me to
the presence of those who have sent me hither to summon you.”
“Great sir,” replied the knight, “neither in this can I gratify thee,
for my orders are to abide by this banner till daybreak--so I pray you
to hold me excused in that matter also.”
So saying, he resumed his walk upon the platform; but the dwarf did not
suffer him so easily to escape from his importunity.
“Look you,” he said, placing himself before Sir Kenneth, so as to
interrupt his way, “either obey me, Sir Knight, as in duty bound, or I
will lay the command upon thee, in the name of one whose beauty could
call down the genii from their sphere, and whose grandeur could command
the immortal race when they had descended.”
A wild and improbable conjecture arose in the knight's mind, but he
repelled it. It was impossible, he thought, that the lady of his love
should have sent him such a message by such a messenger; yet his voice
trembled as he said, “Go to, Nectabanus. Tell me at once, and as a true
man, whether this sublime lady of whom thou speakest be other than
the houri with whose assistance I beheld thee sweeping the chapel at
Engaddi?”
“How! presumptuous Knight,” replied the dwarf, “think'st thou the
mistress of our own royal affections, the sharer of our greatness, and
the partner of our comeliness, would demean herself by laying charge on
such a vassal as thou? No; highly as thou art honoured, thou hast not
yet deserved the notice of Queen Guenevra, the lovely bride of Arthur,
from whose high seat even princes seem but pigmies. But look thou here,
and as thou knowest or disownest this token, so obey or refuse her
commands who hath deigned to impose them on thee.”
So saying, he placed in the knight's hand a ruby ring, which, even in
the moonlight, he had no difficulty to recognize as that which usually
graced the finger of the high-born lady to whose service he had devoted
himself. Could he have doubted the truth of the token, he would have
been convinced by the small knot of carnation-coloured ribbon which was
fastened to the ring. This was his lady's favourite colour, and more
than once had he himself, assuming it for that of his own liveries,
caused the carnation to triumph over all other hues in the lists and in
the battle.
Sir Kenneth was struck nearly mute by seeing such a token in such hands.
“In the name of all that is sacred, from whom didst thou receive
this witness?” said the knight. “Bring, if thou canst, thy wavering
understanding to a right settlement for a minute or two, and tell me the
person by whom thou art sent, and the real purpose of thy message, and
take heed what thou sayest, for this is no subject for buffoonery.”
“Fond and foolish Knight,” said the dwarf, “wouldst thou know more of
this matter than that thou art honoured with commands from a princess,
delivered to thee by a king? We list not to parley with thee further
than to command thee, in the name and by the power of that ring, to
follow us to her who is the owner of the ring. Every minute that thou
tarriest is a crime against thy allegiance.”
“Good Nectabanus, bethink thyself,” said the knight. “Can my lady know
where and upon what duty I am this night engaged? Is she aware that my
life--pshaw, why should I speak of life--but that my honour depends on
my guarding this banner till daybreak; and can it be her wish that
I should leave it even to pay homage to her? It is impossible--the
princess is pleased to be merry with her servant in sending him such
a message; and I must think so the rather that she hath chosen such a
messenger.”
“Oh, keep your belief,” said Nectabanus, turning round as if to leave
the platform; “it is little to me whether you be traitor or true man to
this royal lady--so fare thee well.”
“Stay, stay--I entreat you stay,” said Sir Kenneth. “Answer me but one
question: is the lady who sent thee near to this place?”
“What signifies it?” said the dwarf. “Ought fidelity to reckon furlongs,
or miles, or leagues--like the poor courier, who is paid for his
labour by the distance which he traverses? Nevertheless, thou soul
of suspicion, I tell thee, the fair owner of the ring now sent to so
unworthy a vassal, in whom there is neither truth nor courage, is not
more distant from this place than this arblast can send a bolt.”
The knight gazed again on that ring, as if to ascertain that there was
no possible falsehood in the token. “Tell me,” he said to the dwarf, “is
my presence required for any length of time?”
“Time!” answered Nectabanus, in his flighty manner; “what call you time?
I see it not--I feel it not--it is but a shadowy name--a succession of
breathings measured forth by night by the clank of a bell, by day by
a shadow crossing along a dial-stone. Knowest thou not a true knight's
time should only be reckoned by the deeds that he performs in behalf of
God and his lady?”
“The words of truth, though in the mouth of folly,” said the knight.
“And doth my lady really summon me to some deed of action, in her name
and for her sake?--and may it not be postponed for even the few hours
till daybreak?”
“She requires thy presence instantly,” said the dwarf, “and without the
loss of so much time as would be told by ten grains of the sandglass.
Hearken, thou cold-blooded and suspicious knight, these are her very
words--Tell him that the hand which dropped roses can bestow laurels.”
This allusion to their meeting in the chapel of Engaddi sent a thousand
recollections through Sir Kenneth's brain, and convinced him that the
message delivered by the dwarf was genuine. The rosebuds, withered as
they were, were still treasured under his cuirass, and nearest to his
heart. He paused, and could not resolve to forego an opportunity, the
only one which might ever offer, to gain grace in her eyes whom he had
installed as sovereign of his affections. The dwarf, in the meantime,
augmented his confusion by insisting either that he must return the ring
or instantly attend him.
“Hold, hold, yet a moment hold,” said the knight, and proceeded to
mutter to himself, “Am I either the subject or slave of King Richard,
more than as a free knight sworn to the service of the Crusade? And whom
have I come hither to honour with lance and sword? Our holy cause and my
transcendent lady!”
“The ring! the ring!” exclaimed the dwarf impatiently; “false and
slothful knight, return the ring, which thou art unworthy to touch or to
look upon.”
“A moment, a moment, good Nectabanus,” said Sir Kenneth; “disturb not
my thoughts.--What if the Saracens were just now to attack our lines?
Should I stay here like a sworn vassal of England, watching that her
king's pride suffered no humiliation; or should I speed to the breach,
and fight for the Cross? To the breach, assuredly; and next to the cause
of God come the commands of my liege lady. And yet, Coeur de Lion's
behest--my own promise! Nectabanus, I conjure thee once more to say, are
you to conduct me far from hence?”
“But to yonder pavilion; and, since you must needs know,” replied
Nectabanus, “the moon is glimmering on the gilded ball which crowns its
roof, and which is worth a king's ransom.”
“I can return in an instant,” said the knight, shutting his eyes
desperately to all further consequences, “I can hear from thence the bay
of my dog if any one approaches the standard. I will throw myself at my
lady's feet, and pray her leave to return to conclude my watch.--Here,
Roswal” (calling his hound, and throwing down his mantle by the side of
the standard-spear), “watch thou here, and let no one approach.”
The majestic dog looked in his master's face, as if to be sure that he
understood his charge, then sat down beside the mantle, with ears erect
and head raised, like a sentinel, understanding perfectly the purpose
for which he was stationed there.
“Come now, good Nectabanus,” said the knight, “let us hasten to obey the
commands thou hast brought.”
“Haste he that will,” said the dwarf sullenly; “thou hast not been in
haste to obey my summons, nor can I walk fast enough to follow your long
strides--you do not walk like a man, but bound like an ostrich in the
desert.”
There were but two ways of conquering the obstinacy of Nectabanus, who,
as he spoke, diminished his walk into a snail's pace. For bribes Sir
Kenneth had no means--for soothing no time; so in his impatience
he snatched the dwarf up from the ground, and bearing him along,
notwithstanding his entreaties and his fear, reached nearly to the
pavilion pointed out as that of the Queen. In approaching it, however,
the Scot observed there was a small guard of soldiers sitting on the
ground, who had been concealed from him by the intervening tents.
Wondering that the clash of his own armour had not yet attracted
their attention, and supposing that his motions might, on the present
occasion, require to be conducted with secrecy, he placed the little
panting guide upon the ground to recover his breath, and point out what
was next to be done. Nectabanus was both frightened and angry; but he
had felt himself as completely in the power of the robust knight as an
owl in the claws of an eagle, and therefore cared not to provoke him to
any further display of his strength.
He made no complaints, therefore, of the usage he had received; but,
turning amongst the labyrinth of tents, he led the knight in silence
to the opposite side of the pavilion, which thus screened them from
the observation of the warders, who seemed either too negligent or too
sleepy to discharge their duty with much accuracy. Arrived there, the
dwarf raised the under part of the canvas from the ground, and made
signs to Sir Kenneth that he should introduce himself to the inside of
the tent, by creeping under it. The knight hesitated. There seemed an
indecorum in thus privately introducing himself into a pavilion pitched,
doubtless, for the accommodation of noble ladies; but he recalled
to remembrance the assured tokens which the dwarf had exhibited, and
concluded that it was not for him to dispute his lady's pleasure.
He stooped accordingly, crept beneath the canvas enclosure of the tent,
and heard the dwarf whisper from without, “Remain here until I call
thee.”