The truth concerning the downfall of the Princess Joceliande has never
as yet been honestly inscribed. Doubtless there be few alive except
myself that know it; for from the beginning many strange and insidious
rumours were set about to account for her mishap, whereby great damage
was done to the memory of the Sieur Rudel le Malaise and Solita his
wife; and afterwards these rumours were so embroidered and painted by
rhymesters that the truth has become, as you might say, doubly lost.
For minstrels take more thought of tickling the fancies of those to
whom they sing with joyous and gallant histories than of their high
craft and office, and hence it is that though many and various
accounts are told to this day throughout the country-side by
grandsires at their winter hearths, not one of them has so much as a
grain of verity. They are but rude and homely versions of the chaunts
of Troubadours.
And yet the truth is sweet and pitiful enough to furnish forth a song,
were our bards so minded. Howbeit, I will set it down here in simple
prose; for so my duty to the Sieur Rudel bids me, and, moreover, 'twas
from this event his wanderings began wherein for twenty years I bare
him company.
And let none gainsay my story, for that I was not my master's servant
at the time, and saw not the truth with mine own eyes. I had it from
the Sieur Rudel's lips, and more than once when he was vexed at the
aspersions thrown upon his name. But he was ever proud, as befitted so
knightly a gentleman, and deigned not to argue or plead his honour
to the world, but only with his sword. Thus, then, it falls to me to
right him as skilfully as I may. Though, alas! I fear my skill is
little worth, and calumnies are ever fresh to the palate, while truth
needs the sauce of a bright fancy to command it.
These columnies have assuredly gained some credit, because with ladies
my lord was ever blithe and _débonnaire_. That he loved many I do not
deny; but while he loved, he loved right loyally, and, indeed, it is
no small honour to be loved by a man of so much worship, even for
a little--the which many women thought also, and those amongst the
fairest. And I doubt not that as long as she lived, he loved his wife
Solita no less ardently than those with whom he fell in after she had
most unfortunately died.
The Sieur Rudel was born within the castle of Princess Joceliande,
and there grew to childhood and from childhood to youth, being ever
entreated with great amity and love for his own no less than for his
father's sake. Though of a slight and delicate figure, he excelled in
all manly exercises and sports and in venery and hawking. There was
not one about the court that could equal him. Books too he read, and
in many languages, labouring at philosophies and logics, so that had
you but heard him speak, and not marked the hardihood of his limbs
and his open face, you might have believed you were listening to some
doxical monk.
In the tenth year of his age came Solita to the castle, whence no man
knew, nor could they ever learn more than this, that she sailed out of
the grey mists of a November morning to our bleak Brittany coast in a
white-painted boat. A fisherman drew the boat to land, perceiving
it when he was casting his nets, and found a woman-child therein,
cushioned upon white satin; and marvelling much at the richness of her
purveyance, for even the sail of the boat was of white silk, he bore
her straightway to the castle. And the abbot took her and baptised her
and gave her Sola for a name. "For," said he, "she hath come alone and
none knoweth her parentage or place." In time she grew to exceeding
beauty, with fair hair clustering like finest silk above her temples
and curling waywardly about her throat; wondrous fair she was and
white, shaming the snowdrops, so that all men stopped and gazed at her
as she passed.
And the Princess Joceliande, perceiving her, joined her to the company
of her hand-maidens and took great delight in her for her modesty and
beauty, so that at last she changed her name. "Sola have you been
called till now," she said, "but henceforth shall your name be Solita,
as who shall say 'you have become my wont.'"
Meanwhile the Sieur Rudel was advanced from honour to honour, until
he stood ever at the right hand of the Princess, and ruled over her
kingdom as her chancellor and vicegerent. Her enemies he conquered and
added their lands and sovereignties to hers, until of all the kings
in those parts, none had such power and dominions as the Princess
Joceliande. Many ladies, you may believe, cast fond eyes on him, and
dropped their gauntlet that he might bend to them upon his knee and
pick it up, but his heart they could not bend, strive how they might,
and to each and all he showed the same courtesy and gentleness. For
he had seen the maiden Solita, and of an evening when the Court was
feasting in the hall and the music of harps rippled sweetly in
the ears, he would slip from the table as one that was busied in
statecraft, and in company with Solita pace the terrace in the dark,
beneath the lighted windows. Yet neither spoke of love, though loving
was their intercourse. Solita for that her modesty withheld her, and
she feared even to hope that so great a lord should give his heart to
her keeping; Rudel because he had not achieved enough to merit she
should love him. "In a little," he would mutter, "in a little! One
more thing must I do, and then will I claim my guerdon of the Princess
Joceliande."
Now this one more thing was the highest and most dangerous emprise of
all that he had undertaken. Beyond the confines of the kingdom there
dwelt a great horde of men that had come to Brittany from the East
in many deep ships and had settled upon the coast, whence they
would embark and, travelling hard by the land, burn and ravage the
sea-borders for many days.
Against these did the Sieur Rudel make war, and gathering the nobles
and yeomen he mustered them in boats and prepared to sail forth to
what he believed was the last of his adventures, knowing not that it
was indeed but the beginning. And to the princess he said: "Lady, I
have served you faithfully, as a gentleman should serve his queen.
From nothing have I drawn back that could establish or increase you.
Therefore when I get me home again, one boon will I ask of you, and I
pray you of your mercy grant it me."
"I will well," replied the princess. "For such loyal service hath no
queen known before--nay, not even Dame Helen among the Trojans."
So right gladly did the Sieur Rudel depart from her, and down he
walked among the sandhills, where he found Solita standing in a hollow
in the midst of a cloud of sand which the sharp wind whirled about
her. Nothing she said to him, but she stood with downcast head and
eyes that stung with tears.
"Solita," said he, "the Princess hath granted me such boon as I may
ask on my return. What say you?"
And she answered in a low voice. "Who am I, my lord, that I should
oppose the will of the princess? A nameless maiden, meet only to yoke
with a nameless yeoman!"
At that the Sieur Rudel laughed and said, "Look you into a mirror,
sweet! and your face will gainsay your words."
She lifted her eyes to his and the light came into them again, so that
they danced behind the tears, and Rudel clipped her about the waist
for all that he had not as yet merited her, and kissed her upon the
lips and the forehead and upon her white hands and wrists.
But she, gazing past his head, saw the blowing sands beyond and the
armed men in the boats upon the sea, and "O, Rudel, my sweet lord!"
she cried, "never till this moment did I know how barren and lonely
was the coast. Come back, and that soon--for of a truth I dread to be
left alone!"
"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.