"Your heel needed a sharper spur; you are a day too late. I am to be
married this evening."
Argathona laughed.
"Love you, lady! I am a fellow of adventure, and would never make a
hearth-haunting husband. I am here to-day and gone to-morrow. My love
is the child of a night."
Esclaramonde's eyes widened and dwindled like a cat's. She was thinking
of many times and many nights and many comely men, and she was loath to
admit that this stripling should slip through the net of her desires.
"Why, we may find a time by-and-by," she sighed, all enticement.
Argathona shook her head.
"I ride from Athens to-morrow," she began, slowly; then swiftly, with
the imperiousness of victory, she ended, "Give me to-night."
The duchess laughed, but the duchess was pleased at the vehemence.
"You are a mad rascal. Am I not to be married this evening?"
Argathona answered her, in a lowered voice:
"There is an old tale of the Theban country, how a beautiful,
open-hearted lady would send her lord to sleep in the sipping of a
spiced wine, and then talk in the starlight with some lighter, brighter
body."
As Argathona spoke a frown grew and deepened on the face of
Esclaramonde.
"What are you saying?" she whispered.
"An old tale of Thebes," the dryad replied. "You know not such notions.
Yet 'tis a pity. Here is your lord, the unhorsed knight, will be
your fellow forever and a day, while I, who overtumbled him, must
willy-nilly be gone to-morrow. If he were to sleep to-night how should
it harm him? He would not hear us speak in the starlight."
The duchess waved her hand impatiently as if in dismissal.
"You are a mad lad; ride where you will."
"As you please," Argathona replied, "yet I have a toy here I would give
to any fair who was gentle with me."
If the duchess was greedy of love, she was greedy also of lovely things.
"What toy?" she cried, eagerly.
Argathona put her hand to her girdle and held out on extended palm a
small, perfectly fashioned apple of pure gold.
"This golden apple. See, it is pure gold, and see, writ on it in the
Greekish script, 'To the most fair.' This was the globe Paris gave to
Venus and set Troy burning. She who has it will ever be deemed the
loveliest in the eyes of men. I will give this to you to-night if we
talk together in the starlight."
The duchess propped her chin on her palm and meditated. There came
before her mind a diverting picture of her late lord, the ancient Duke
of Thebes, dozing hoggishly in his corner while she talked with another
in the starlight. The young knight of Athens was fair, but very surely
this young knight of Eleusis was fairer, and, after all, if he rode
away to-morrow there would be an age-long time to pass in the company
of Duke Baldwin's son. She decided quickly.
"Well, have your will if I win the golden apple. Come to the west
postern of the palace to-night. I will see to it that the door is ajar.
Mount the stair when I show a light from the window. Be very sure you
bring the apple with you. Farewell."
She extended her hand, which Argathona took and feigned to salute.
Then, swiftly, the wood-nymph turned and passed from the silken tent
into the meadow. As the dryad came into the liberal air she breathed
a great breath. It seemed to the daughter of the forest as if she had
escaped from some strange place where subtle poison guising like sweet
odor saturated the atmosphere and murdered all wholesome thoughts.
She stretched her arms joyously, as one released from cramping labor,
and, smiling to think that so far the woodland guile had triumphed,
she moved towards her own pavilion. Instantly she was aware that the
field which she had expected to find deserted still presented a scene
of animation. Duke Baldwin with a little cloud of knights and courtiers
about him was slowly tramping towards his palace with an angry gloom
upon his countenance, which was reflected in varying shades of
obsequious sympathy upon the faces of those who followed him. A little
removed from these a gigantic soldier moved slowly across the field,
his vacant, honest face overcast with melancholy. Still farther off she
could see Simon standing in front of her pavilion, carefully counting
gold pieces from one hand into the other and whistling blithely to
himself. By the time she had reached her squire Duke Baldwin and his
courtiers had disappeared from the field, the gigantic soldier had
vanished, and the lists were vacant save for herself and Simon.
XIX
SIMON THE STALWART
When Duke Baldwin, leaving the gallery in no good-humor with the world
to ask after his vanquished son, entered the field, he found that his
son had arisen and gone to his tent. Rainouart left with Count Ernault
the assurance that he was unhurt, that he had been fairly overthrown
by the best-planted blow he had ever received, and that his fall was
due to no fatigue on his part, but solely to the greater skill of his
antagonist. As Duke Baldwin listened frowningly to the phrases of the
lord-marshal, he caught sight of a brawny fellow who was lounging in
the lists at a little distance from the duke and the courtiers who
accompanied him. This was Simon of Rouen, who, seeing that Argathona
had been summoned to the pavilion of the Duchess of Thebes, thought
he might as well while away the time by stretching his legs over the
trampled turf. Even in a bad temper Duke Baldwin had an appreciation of
a fine figure in a man, and the sight of Simon's proportions brought a
sudden gleam of interest into his angry eyes. He cherished a taste for
collecting giants, and he surveyed Simon with the eager appreciation
of a possible purchaser. It never occurred to Duke Baldwin to doubt
that any man-at-arms could be other than rejoiced to enter his service,
just as it never occurred to him to doubt that any lady would be other
than pleased to accept his homage.
"Yonder stands a tall fellow," the duke grunted into Count Ernault's
ear; "stands he taller and broader than the pick of my body-guard?"
Count Ernault was not enjoying himself. The duke was in a beastly mood
and hard to manage, and Count Ernault's elastic urbanity was strained
to extreme tension. Desirous to gratify his master, he answered suavely
that the fellow bulked big enough, but that he doubted if he surpassed,
from toe to top, or from shoulder to shoulder, the mightiest of Duke
Baldwin's giants. Duke Baldwin growled uncourteous disbelief in Count
Ernault's skill in gauging height and width, not because he really
disagreed with him, but because he was in the mood to contradict
anything said by anybody, even a compliment to himself. He made his way
to Simon and stared critically at him, and Simon supported his gaze
composedly, looking into the duke's fierce eyes and longing to try a
fall with him, for the duke was a mighty fellow.
"How tall are you, man?" the duke asked, and Simon answered:
"Six feet four, your grace."
"Are you as strong as you look?" was the duke's next question, and
Simon smiled as he answered, somewhat ambiguously:
"I don't know how strong I look in your eyes, but whenever I look in
a mirror I never take the plain face I see there for the face of a
weakling."
Duke Baldwin was hugely strong, and he would have liked nothing better
than to make a personal trial of Simon's vigor, if Simon had only been
of gentle birth, or if, indeed, the two had been alone. It would not
do, however, for Duke Baldwin to indulge in physical competition with
a mere man-at-arms in the presence of the nobles, his courtiers, and
guests. For an instant the idea came into Baldwin's mind to confer
knighthood and title upon the unknown soldier for the sake of indulging
his whim, but a moment's reflection warned him, unwilling, that this
course would probably be found too eccentric in the eyes of his
illustrious companions.
"Bid them send for Harald Haraldson," he said to Count Ernault, and
while Count Ernault gave the order to a page, who sped like a greyhound
to execute it, Duke Baldwin went on questioning Simon.
"Tell me, friend," he said, "have you seen the pygmies who serve in my
body-guard?" Simon grinned.
"I have seen some of the laddies," he answered; "they may grow tall if
they live long enough."
"There be some there that are taller than you," the duke answered;
"do you think you are strong enough to overcome the smallest and the
slightest of them?" Simon shrugged his shoulders.
"I should not like to hurt your gracious play-things," he answered,
amiably, "but if you have, as you say, one among them that is taller
than I, and broader of breadth, I will be heartily pleased to try a
fall with him for the honor of Rouen."
"You have a good conceit of yourself," said the duke, grimly. "My
giants are the pick of Europe, but if you will stand by your vaunt,
here is your chance," and he pointed to where the little page came
skipping back, followed slowly by a man who seemed, indeed, a monster
in size and strength. The new-comer, with the fair hair and blue eyes
of a Norseman, was, indeed, some four inches taller than Simon, and
seemed broader across the shoulders. Simon eyed him approvingly as he
came slowly to where the duke stood. The duke spoke with the Norseman.
"Harald Haraldson," he said, "here is a strange soldier who thinks he
may prove as strong as you."
A suggestion of a smile for a moment disturbed the bland calm of the
northern giant's face, as he answered in execrable French to the effect
that the stranger must be a madman. Simon said nothing, and the duke,
looking at the pair, felt his confidence in his own soldier swell
within him and trumpet triumph.
"Will you try a fall with my partisan?" Duke Baldwin asked, clapping
the northern giant confidentially on the shoulder and eying Simon
sardonically.
"With all the pleasure in life," Simon answered, briskly.
"I take you at your word," said Duke Baldwin--"at this place, on this
instant."
The lists were almost empty, the crowd outside had for the most part
dispersed. Captain Fox and Captain Gander, Captain Bat and Captain
Chanticleer, Captain Rat and Captain Badger, prowling at the heels of
the departing multitude to pick up any little trifles that negligence
might let fall, were among the few who noted signs of renewed animation
in the enclosed space, and, noting, came again to the barriers and
leaned upon them to see what might be towards. Their curiosity found
its reward. Duke Baldwin had explained to Harald Haraldson that the
French adventurer was willing to try a fall with him, and the Norse
giant had looked pityingly upon the French adventurer, who, for his
part, was brisk in getting him ready for the coming scuffle.
On the spot the Norseman stripped off his body armor, and in a few
seconds the two men stood in their jerkins opposite to each other,
while Duke Baldwin and the nobles with him watched hard by in a little
group that gradually swelled its numbers as knight after knight emerged
unarmored from his tent and joined it. All who were with Duke Baldwin
were trained students of men, and to all it appeared patent that the
French adventurer was over-matched, not merely in patent height but in
no less patent breadth. Duke Baldwin, seeing the two men quiet and
silent, waiting to begin, felt some uneasiness of mind. He knew, of
course, that his man must win, and he would not have had it otherwise
for much, and yet he was sorry to think that a countryman should be
bested by the northerner. He again asked Simon if he persisted in his
wild challenge, and, on Simon reiterating that he did, the duke, with a
scowl of pity for his foolhardiness, gave the signal and the struggle
began.
The two men linked their arms each round the other's body, and stood
so for some seconds motionless, wedded pillars of mighty flesh. As
they waited thus there came into Simon's mind the thought of the last
time he had so clasped an adversary, and of his brief contact with the
soft flesh of the wood-maiden, and of his unparalleled overthrow. Then
the Norseman, obviously surprised by the strength of Simon's clasp,
made a strenuous effort to lift Simon from his feet, and found that
he might as well have attempted to lift a pillar of the Parthenon.
Frank astonishment reigned in the faces of all the spectators, who
had been confident that, though the Frenchman showed a sturdy fellow
enough, he would be little less than a plaything in the hands of the
northern Goliath. But their astonishment deepened into marvel when
Simon, striving in turn with no palpable exertion of force, plucked his
gigantic adversary from the ground, and, wrenching himself free from
his clasp, flung Harald Haraldson heavily to the earth. The Norseman
was up in an instant and ready to renew the tussle, but the duke, in a
very ill humor, forbade it. This was his second discomfiture that day,
and he chafed at it.
"No more," he said; "go your ways, Harald," and as the defeated
northerner withdrew, the duke turned again to Simon and offered to take
him into his service. Simon shook his head.
"I cannot serve two masters," he said, "and I will not leave the master
I serve now."
"Whom do you serve?" the duke asked, and Simon answered:
"I serve the Prince of Eleusis."
For the second time that day the name of the Prince of Eleusis had been
associated with the defeat of Duke Baldwin's wish, and it was very
plain that his rage longed to interpret itself in furious speech. But
the Prince of Eleusis was the conqueror of Rainouart, and under the
conditions not to be spoken ill of by Rainouart's father, so swallowing
his rage as well as he was able, Duke Baldwin thrust a number of gold
pieces into Simon's ready fingers and stamped sulkily away in the
direction of his palace, followed in discreet silence by his courtiers
and his knights.
XX
THE PROMISE OF RAINOUART
When Simon of Rouen saw Argathona speeding towards him across the
meadow, he stopped counting his gold pieces and turned to counting
his heart-beats. With every new occasion now of seeing the girl, were
it but a few minutes since a parting, his heart must needs drum the
same foolish music, to his vexation, yet to his greater vexation he
knew that he would not have it otherwise. He had forgotten her mad
fancy of immortality; he could never forget her glorious beauty and
her glorious strength, and at times the slow thought was forged in the
patient stithy of his wits that if in his youth he had met such a mate,
Simon of Rouen might now have shown another man than Simon the soldier
of fortune with his body soiled with the world's mire and his lips
stained with the world's wine. But he kept such thoughts to himself,
partly because he would have found it hard to throw them into words,
but chiefly because he dreaded that they might peril a friendship which
he cherished as his breath. Now as the girl neared him he rose to greet
her in a rapture, shovelling Duke Baldwin's gold pieces into his pouch
that he might have both hands free to applaud her.
"You have done well, lad," he cried, as she came a-nigh, then hurriedly
would have mended the matter, adding, "I should say, you have done
well, lass."
Argathona set a finger to her lips and smiled protest.
"You must think of me as a boy, friend," she entreated; "the girl of
the greenwood has forgotten her girlhood while she wears this golden
gear."
Simon looked contrition for his slip.
"How in Heaven's name did you do it?" he questioned. "You are amazing
strong for so slim a strip, but it takes more skill than strength to
over-tumble a practised cavalier that had just upset no fewer than
seven gallant gentlemen."
"I have little joy in my victory," Argathona answered, sadly, "but the
thing had to be, for my lover is bewitched, and it will be hard to win
him to his wits again, for as I think none can unspell him save she
that has cast the spell."
"That seems a grim task," said Simon, "but in the mean time you have
won his horse and armor."
"I build some hopes on that," the girl answered; "help me to disarm,"
and she passed into the tent, followed by Simon. Scarcely had she
begun, however, to peel off her steel when a voice was heard without
calling for the Prince of Eleusis. Straightway Simon went into the
open, where he found the page of Rainouart at the tent's door, and the
heir of Athens standing a little way apart in the meadow. The page
bade Simon tell his master that Sir Rainouart, Prince of Athens, was
without and desired speech with him. Simon returned to the tent and
delivered Rainouart's message, whereupon Argathona bade admit him,
and Simon brought Rainouart to her and left her with the young man.
Rainouart's eyes were downcast, and it was plain that, strive as he
might, he was dejected at his most strange, most unexpected defeat. He
broached his business immediately.
"Knight of Eleusis," he began, "you have won the toss, and by the rules
of the tourney you have the conqueror's right to my horse and armor.
As for the armor it shall be carried to your tent, but for the steed,
it was a gift to me from one whose gifts are dear to me"--he sighed a
little as he spoke, and Argathona was angry with him and pitied him.
"If you will let me ransom it at your hands, I think there is nothing
you can ask that the treasury of the Duke of Athens cannot amply
answer."
The little red flame of rage that threatened for a moment to sear the
heart of Argathona was instantly drowned in a great wave of sorrow for
the gallant lad so tragically beguiled. All her womanhood longed to
clasp him in her arms and kiss him tenderly, and tell him the truth and
her name and renew their loves. But she knew that she would speak in
vain. Her clear spirit saw that his eyes were purblind, that his soul
was swaddled with sorceries, and that only she who had set the spell
upon him could unspell his senses. Sad and frank she addressed him:
"Fair lord, I do not think I could ever have overthrown you if you
carried a true heart in your body. Somewhere, I think, some maiden
calls you false."
Rainouart's brows clouded.
"It is enough to have overthrown me without finding such shameful
reason for my fate. You are my conqueror, with whom it were dishonor
to quarrel while my defeat is unredeemed. But when I am quit with you
and a new sun reigns in heaven, I shall be very glad to give you the
lie. So if you will take ransom for my charger, I pray you to name your
price, and I will pay it were it all my estate and all my credit."
Argathona answered the loyal disloyal with an anguish in her voice
which he did not understand, being too busy with his own humiliation.
"Prince of Athens, will you promise me by your knightly chivalry to
grant me, in lieu of golden ransom for this horse you cherish so
dearly, whatever favor I may pray of you?"
Rainouart stared at his antagonist with a surprise that was almost a
suspicion, yet even his thickened vision could see nothing but candor
in the brave face opposed to him.
"I will grant you whatever favor you may pray of me," he promised,
"that is consistent with the laws of honor and the conduct of a
chivalrous knight."
"Is there any one in the world," Argathona asked, "so bold as to
entreat Rainouart of Athens to infringe in the least the laws of honor,
or to smirch with the slightest stain the conduct of a chivalrous
knight? Have I your promise?"
"I give you my promise," Rainouart declared, holding out his right
hand, that Argathona clasped in hers; "it is ask and have."
"It is a little thing," said Argathona, slowly, still holding the hand
of the prince, "yet it may come to carry a great meaning. All I demand
of you is that when you are alone to-night with your bride, if she
offer you a draught of wine to drink you do not drink it, but feign to
do so, and feign to fall asleep."
The young prince looked angrily into the frank eyes that made him
think, he knew not why, of forest fountains, and marvel why the thought
made him sad. Suddenly a ray of light shone on his darkness, for his
old memories of Esclaramonde, and of all that men and women once said
of her, rekindled in the gray ashes of his enchantment, and his spirit
was vexed with bewildering suspicions.
"That is a strange request," he said, "for it meddles with my lady, who
has nothing to do with our parley."
"It is a request that you are bound to answer," Argathona insisted,
"for, by my faith, it offends not against your chivalry. If the Lady
Esclaramonde offers you to drink to-night you will not drink. She may
not do so; then you are absolved. But if she do you will not drink,
but you will feign to drink and you will feign to fall asleep."
"And what then, if I do this?" Rainouart asked. He felt that he must
obey, he felt that Esclaramonde had someway ensnared him. He felt all
this dimly, incoherently, but there was a kind of hope in his heart.
"If within a little piece of time you are not glad of your feigning,"
Argathona answered, "why, you may put it by and all is well, and your
black horse neighs in your stable. Have I your promise?"
Her eyes were fixed intently upon his. She felt that she was struggling
with the spell that numbed his real self. Her spirit commanded him
to obey. He yielded to the strong influence. Bitter distrust of
Esclaramonde struggled against her sorceries and justified him in
entertaining the test.
"I have given you my promise," he said, gravely, "and will not gainsay
it."
Argathona repeated her demand: "If the duchess offers you to drink
to-night you will not drink, but will feign to do so and will feign to
fall asleep."
Rainouart saluted her and passed out of the tent, and she listened to
his footsteps dying away over the grass. Then she called to Simon, and
told him she was full of cheer, and bade him see that the prince's
horse was surrendered to his page. When Simon was gone on this errand,
Argathona fell on her knees in a corner and began to cry, just for all
the world as if she were human.
XXI
THE WINE OF ESCLARAMONDE
Duke Baldwin had devoted the fairest rooms in his palace to the Duchess
Esclaramonde of Thebes before her arrival, when he thought of her
only as a visitor whom he might--and the rumors of her encouraged the
thought--persuade with no great pains to an intimacy of friendship.
The best part of the left wing of the palace was consecrated to her
use, and its spacious rooms that looked upon the plain of Athens were
furnished and adorned in the most noble manner that the age could
compass. Duke Baldwin loved to be prodigal of pleasures to others
when the prodigality enforced an almost aching sense of gratitude,
and probably any woman in the world, with the exception of the Lady
Esclaramonde, would have felt at least a little grateful to Duke
Baldwin. All that gold and silver and bronze and ivory and ebony
and silks and furs and jewels could lend to make her rooms a little
paradise of luxury had been done under the duke's orders by those who
knew better than the burly duke how to grace the haven of a fair dame.
Money that would have paid twice over the outstanding demands of the
Catalan Grand Company had been squandered with a free hand to make a
fitting background for the imperious beauty of the lady of Thebes. In
fulsome compliment that might have been flagrant irony, the mosaic
walls were hung with exquisite arras, upon which the cunning hands of
many craftsmen had woven amorous images from every passionate tale of
love.
All this the bluff duke had done, and done cheerfully, when his only
thoughts concerning his comely visitor were of a personal nature.
But when the duchess rode to his gates on that May evening, bearing
his son's inanimate body with her, and, while that body still lay
inanimate, told the lord of Athens that her troth was plighted to his
son, Duke Baldwin's cheerfulness dwindled no whit. His palace hummed
with ebullient compliance; he would have no lack of consolation,
while his foolish son had done a wise thing unawares. So Duke Baldwin
resigned without a sigh all thoughts of his fair Theban neighbor, save
as a daughter-in-law, and chuckled inwardly at the little less than
prophetic instinct which had led him to prepare so fair a nest for
her homing. As for Esclaramonde, who had started upon her journey in
a spirit of perfect willingness to entertain with complaisance any
homage that the Duke of Athens might lay at her feet, she now readily
dressed her temper to accept his paternal caresses, while she smiled
significant appreciation of the duke's ostentatious care for her
comfort.