GILL: She couldn't, father, for just think,
You've made her all of pen and ink.
So you, of course, can make her do
Exactly as you want her to.
MYSELF: Dear innocent! You little know
The trials poor authors undergo.
How heroines, when they break loose,
Are apt to play the very deuce,
Dragging their authors to and fro,
And where he wills--they will not go.
GILL: Well, since she's here, please let her be,
She wants to set Duke Joc'lyn free.
MYSELF: Enough--enough, my plans are made,
I'll set him free without her aid,
And in a manner, I apprise you,
As will, I fancy, quite surprise you.
Besides, a dungeon no fit place is
For a dainty lady's graces.
So, since she's in, 't is very plain
I now must get her out again.
“To bide in Canalise, 't is folly!” cried Hugo. “O, 't were a madness fond!”
“Aye,” sighed Jocelyn, “some do call love a madness--thus mad am I,
forsooth!”
“Hush!” whispered Hugo, as from without came the tramp of heavy feet.
“Fare-thee-well and--ah, be not mad, Joconde!”
The door creaked open, and six soldiers entered bringing a prisoner,
chained and fettered, and therewith fast bound and gagged, whom they set
ungently upon the stone floor; then straightway seizing upon Robin, they
haled him to his feet.
“Come, rogue,” said one, “thou art to hang at cockcrow!”
“Is't so, good fellows?” quoth Robin,
“Then cock be curst
That croweth first!
As for thee, good Motley, peradventure when, by hangman's noose, our souls
enfranchised go, they shall company together, thine and mine! Till then
--farewell, Folly!”
So Robin was led forth of the dungeon and the heavy door crashed shut; but
when Jocelyn looked for Hugo--lo! he was gone also.
Evening was come and the light began to fail, therefore Jocelyn crouched
beneath the narrow loophole and taking from his bosom the wallet, found
therein good store of money together with the charm or philtre: and bowing
his head above this little wallet, he fell to profound meditation.
But presently, roused by hoarse laughter, he glanced up to find the three
plaguing the helpless prisoner with sundry kicks and buffets; so Jocelyn
crossed the dungeon, and putting the tormentors aside, stood amazed to
behold in this latest captive none other than Sir Pertinax. Straightway he
loosed off the gag, whereupon the good knight incontinent swore a gasping
oath and prayed his limbs might be loosed also; the which done, he
forthwith sprang up, and falling on the astonished three, he beat and
clouted them with fist and manacles, and drave them to and fro about the
dungeon.
“Ha, dogs! Wilt spurn me with they vile feet, buffet me with thy beastly
hands, forsooth!” roared he and kicked and cuffed them so that they,
thinking him mad, cried aloud in fear until Sir Pertinax, growing a-weary,
seated himself against the wall, and folding his arms, scowled indignant
upon Jocelyn who greeted him merrily:
“Hail and greeting to thee, my Pertinax; thy gloomy visage is a joy!”
Sir Pertinax snorted, but spake not; wherefore the Duke questioned him full
blithe: “What fair, good wind hath blown thee dungeon-wards, sweet soul?”
“Ha!” quoth the knight. “Fetters, see'st thou, a dungeon, and these foul
knaves for company--the which cometh of thy fool's folly, messire! So
prithee ha' done with it!”
“Stay, gentle gossip, thou'rt foolish, methinks; thou frettest 'gainst
fate, thou kickest unwisely 'gainst the pricks, thou ragest pitifully
'gainst circumstance--in fine, thou'rt a very Pertinax, my Pertinax!”
“Aye troth, that am I and no dog to lie thus chained in noisome pit, par
Dex! So let us out, messire, and that incontinent!”
“Why here is a bright thought, sweet lad, let us out forthwith--but how?”
“Summon the town-reeve, messire, the burgesses, the council, declare thy
rank, so shall we go free--none shall dare hold thus a prince of thy
exalted state and potent might! Declare thyself, lord.”
“This were simple matter, Pertinax, but shall they believe us other than we
seem, think ye?”
Quoth Pertinax: “We can try!”
“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “this very moment!” So saying, he turned to the
three who sat in a corner muttering together.
“Good brothers, gentle rogues,” said he, “behold and regard well this
sturdy cut-throat fellow that sitteth beside me, big of body, unseemly of
habit, fierce and unlovely of look--one to yield the wall unto, see ye! And
yet--now heed me well, this fellow, ragged and unkempt, this ill-looking
haunter of bye-ways, this furtive snatcher of purses (hold thy peace,
Pertinax!). I say this unsavoury-seeming clapper-claw is yet neither one
nor other, but a goodly knight, famous in battle, joust and tourney, a
potent lord of noble heritage, known to the world as Sir Pertinax of Shene
Castle and divers rich manors and demesnes. Furthermore, I that do seem a
sorry jesting-fellow, I that in antic habit go, that cut ye capers with
ass's ears a-dangle and languish here your fellow in bonds, am yet no
antic, no poor, motley Fool, but a duke and lord of many fair towns
and rich cities beyond Morfeville and the Southward March. How say ye,
brothers?”
“That thou'rt a fool!” quoth Rick.
“True!” nodded Jocelyn.
“Most true!” sighed Sir Pertinax.
“And a liar!” growled Gurth.
“And a murderous rogue!” cried Will, “and shall hang, along of us--as I'm a
tanner!”
“Alack, Sir Knight,” smiled Jocelyn, “of what avail rank or fame or both
'gainst a motley habit and a ragged mantle. Thus, Pertinax, thou art
no more than what thou seemest, to wit--a poor, fierce rogue, and I, a
beggarly stroller.”
“And like to have our necks stretched, lord, by reason of a fond and
foolish whim!”
“Unless, Pertinax, having naught to depend on but our native wit we, by our
wit, win free. Other poor rogues in like case have broke prison ere now,
and 'tis pity and shame in us if thou, a knight so potent and high-born,
and I, a prince, may not do the like.”
“Messire, unlearned am I in the breaking o' prisons so when my time cometh
to die in a noose I can but die as knight should--though I had rather 't
were in honest fight.”
“Spoken like the very fool of a knight!” quoth Jocelyn. “So now will I
show thee how by the wit of a brave and noble lady we may yet 'scape the
hangman. Hearken in thine ear!”
But, when Jocelyn had told him all and shown money and sleeping-charm, Sir
Pertinax grew thoughtful, sighing deep and oft, yet speaking not, wherefore
the Duke questioned him.
“Good gossip, gasp not!” quoth he. “How think'st thou of prison-breaking
now--expound!”
“Why, sir, I think when all do charmed and spellbound
snore,
Then will we shrewdly choke them that they wake
no more!”
“Nay, Pertinax, here shall be no need of choking, forsooth!” Sir Pertinax
bowed chin on fist and sighed again.
“Pertinax, prithee puff not! Yet, an puff ye will, pronounce me then the
why and wherefore of thy puffing.”
“Lord, here is neither gasp nor puff, here is honest sighing. I can sigh as
well as another.”
“Since when hast learned this so tender art, my Pertinax?”
“And I do sigh by reason of memory.”
“As what, Pertinax?”
“Eyes, lord--her eyes so darkly bright and, as I do think--black!”
“Nay, blue, Pertinax--blue as heaven!”
“Black, messire, black as--as black!”
“Blue, boy, blue!”
“Lord, they are black!”
“Speak'st thou of Yolande?”
“Messire, of one I speak, but whom, I know not. She came to me i' the
greenwood as I sat a-fishing. Her hair long and black--ay, black and
curled, her eyes dark, and for beauty ne'er saw I her like.”
“And yet hast seen my Lady Yolande oft!”
“Her voice, messire, her voice soft and sweet as the murmur of waters, and
very full of allure.”
“Why, how now!” cried Jocelyn. “Art thou--thou, my Pertinax, become
at last one of Cupid's humble following? All joy to thee, my lovely
lover--here in truth is added bond betwixt us! For since thou dost love a
maid, even as I do love a maid, so being lovers twain needs must we love
each other the better therefore.”
“Nay, out alack, my lord!” sighed Sir Pertinax. “For though I do love her,
she, by reason o' my ill-favoured looks, the which, woe's me, I may not
alter, loveth not me, as I do judge.”
“How judge ye this?”
“Lord, she giveth me hard names. She, all in a breath, hath pictured me
thus: 'Hooked of nose, fierce-eyed, of aspect grim--ungentle, unlovely,
harsh o' tongue, dour o' visage, hard o' heart, flinty o' soul and of
manners rude.'”
“Good! But was this all, my Pertinax?”
“Nay, lord, and with a wannion--there was more to like purpose.”
“Excellent, my lovely knight--let hope sing in thee. For look now, if she
named thee hooked of nose, fierce-eyed and of aspect grim--she speaketh
very truth, for so thou art, my Pertinax. Now truth is a fair virtue in man
or maid, so is she both virtuous and fair! Nay, puff not, sighful Pertinax,
but for thy comforting mark this--she hath viewed and heeded thy outward
man narrowly--so shall she not forget thee soon; she with woman's eye hath
marked the great heart of thee through sorry habit and rusty mail, and
found therein the love thy harsh tongue might not utter; and thus,
methinks, she hath thee in mind--aye, even now, mayhap. Lastly, good,
lovely blunderbore--mark this! 'Tis better to win a maid's anger than she
should heed thee none at all. Let love carol i' thy heart and be ye worthy,
so, when ye shall meet again, 'tis like enough, despite thy hooked nose,
she shall find thine eyes gentle, thy unloveliness lovely, thy harsh tongue
wondrous tender and thy flinty soul the soul of a man.”
“Why, faith, lord,” quoth Pertinax, his grim lips softening to a smile,
“despite her words, she spake in voice full sweet, and her eyes--ah,
messire, her eyes were wondrous kind--gentle eyes--aye, her eyes were--”
“Eyes, my Pertinax--black eyes!”
“And gentle! By which same token, lord, she did give to me this token--this
most strange trinket.”
But all at once, was the creak of hinges, and the ponderous door opening,
Ranulph o' the Axe appeared, followed by divers of the warders bearing
torches.
“Oho!” sighed Ranulph, doleful of visage. “Aha, good bawcocks, here come
I, and these my fellows, for love o' thee, good Fool, thy quips, thy
quirks, thy songs and antics capersome. For troth I'm a merry dog, I--a
wanton wag, a bully boy and jovial, though woeful o' look!”
“Wherefore woeful!”
“For that I am not joyous, good Motley. Look 'ee--here's me born with a
rare, merry heart, but sad and sober of head! Here's a heart bubbling with
kindliness and soft and tender as sucking lamb, wedded to head and face
full o' gloom! Here's laughter within me and woe without me, so am I ever
at odds with myself--and there's my sorrow. Regarding the which same I will
now chaunt ye song I made on myself; 'twas meant for merry song and blithe,
but of itself turned mournful song anon as ye shall hear.”
So saying, Ranulph o' the Axe threw back grim head and sang gruff, albeit
plaintive, thus:
“O! merry I am and right merry I'll be,
Ho-ho for block, gibbet and rack--oho!
To hang or behead ye there's none like to me,
For I'm headsman, tormentor, and hangman, all three,
And never for work do I lack--oho!
“I live but to torture since torment's my trade,
But my torment well meant is, I trow;
If I hang or behead ye, it can't be gainsaid,
Though my head for the head of a headsman was made,
Still I'm all loving-kindness below.
“But if ever I strive merry story to tell,
Full of japeful and humorsome graces,
'T is as though I were tolling a funeral bell
As if dismally, dolefully tolling a knell,
So solemn and sad grow all faces.
“I hang, burn and torture the best that I may,
Ho pincers and thumbscrews and rack--oho!
And all heads I cut off in a headsmanlike way;
So I'll hang, burn and torment 'till cometh the day
That my kind heart within me shall crack--oho!
Well-a-wey! Well-a-wey!
Woe is me for the day
That my poor heart inside me shall crack! Oho!
“So there's my song! 'T is dull song and, striving to be merry song, is sad
song, yet might be worse song, for I have heard a worse song, ere now--but
't is poor song. So come, Fool, do thou sing us merry song to cheer us
'gainst my sad song.”
“Why truly, Sir Headsman,” said Jocelyn, “here be songs a-many, yet if thou
'rt for songs, songs will we sing thee, each and every of us. But first,
behold here is money shall buy us wine in plenty that we may grow merry
withal in very sooth.”
“Oho!” cried Ranulph. “Spoken like a noble Motley, a fair, sweet Fool! Go
thou, Bertram, obey this lord-like Fool--bring wine, good wine and much,
and haste thee, for night draweth on and at cock-crow I must away.”
“Aye,” nodded Jocelyn, “in the matter of one--Robin?”
“Verily, Fool. A cheery soul is Robin, though an outlaw, and well beloved
in Canalise. So is he to hang at cock-crow lest folk make disturbance.”
“Where lieth he now?”
“Where but in the watch-house beside the gallows 'neath Black Lewin's
charge. But come, good Motley, sing--a pretty song, a merry ditty, ha!”
So forthwith Jocelyn took his lute and sang:
“With dainty ditty
Quaint and pretty
I will fit ye,
So heed and mark me well,
And who we be
That here ye see
Now unto ye
Explicit I will tell:
“Then here first behold one Gurth, a worthy, dying
Dyer,
Since he by dyeing liveth, so to dye is his desire:
For being thus a very Dyer, he liveth but to dye,
And dyeing daily he doth all his daily wants
supply.
Full often hath he dyed ere now to earn his
daily bread,
Thus, dyeing not, this worthy Dyer must soon,
alas! be dead.
“Here's Rick--a saintly ploughman, he
Hath guided plough so well,
That here, with rogues the like of me,
He pines in dungeon cell.
“Here's Red-haired Will--O fie!
That Will should fettered lie
In such base, cruel manner!
For though his hair be red,
Brave Will, when all is said,
Is--hark 'ee--Will's a tanner!”
“Enough, Fool!” cried Will. “An thou must sing, sing of thyself, for
thyself, to thyself, and I will sing of myself an' need be!”
Laughed JOCELYN:
Why then, brave Will,
Come, sing thy fill.
Whereupon Will cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and rumbling a
note or so to fix the key, burst into songful roar:
“A tanner I, a lusty man,
A tanner men call Will,
And being tanner true, I tan,
Would I were tanning still;
Ho derry, derry down,
Hey derry down,
Would I were tanning still.”
“Aye, verily!” growled Sir Pertinax. “And choked in thy vile tan-pit, for
scurvier song was never heard, par Dex!”
“Why 'tis heard, forsooth,” said Jocelyn, “and might be heard a mile hence!
Chant on, brave Will.”
The Tanner, nothing loth, wiped his mouth, clenched his fists and standing
square and rigid, continued:
“How gaily I a-tanning went,
No tanner blithe as I,
No tanner e'er so innocent,
Though here in chains I lie.
Ho derry down,
Hey derry down,
In grievous chains I lie.
“No more, alack, poor Will will tan,
Since Will will, all unwilling,
Though tanner he and proper man,
A gloomy grave be filling.
Hey derry down,
Ho derry down,
A gloomy grave be filling.”
“Now out upon thee, Tanner!” sighed Ranulph. “Here's sad song, a song o'
graves, and therefore most unlovely, a song I--Saints and Angels!” he
gasped:
And pointed where Sir Pertinax did stand,
The Heart of Crystal shining in his hand.
“The Heart-in-Heart! The Crystal Heart!” cried he,
And crying thus, sank down on bended knee,
While jailers all and scurvy knaves, pell-mell,
Betook them to their marrow-bones as well;
Whereat Sir Pertinax oped wond'ring eyes,
And questioned him 'twixt anger and surprise.
Then answered Ranulph, “Sir, though chained ye go,
Yet to thee we do all obedience owe
By reason of that sacred amulet,
That crystal heart in heart of crystal set:
'For he that holdeth Crystal Heart
Holdeth all and every part,
And by night or eke by day
The Heart-in-Heart all must obey!”'
“Obey?” quoth Pertinax. “Ha! Let us see
If in thy vaunt there aught of virtue be:
For by this Heart of Crystal that I bear,
I charge ye loose the chains the Fool doth wear,
Then off with these accursèd gyves of mine,
Or--”
Ranulph to the warders gave a sign,
And they to work did go with such good speed,
That Joc'lyn soon with Pertinax stood freed,
“Now by my halidome!” quoth Pertinax,
“This talisman methinks no magic lacks,
So knaves, I bid ye--by this magic Heart,
Draw bolt and bar that hence we may depart--”
But now the scurvy knaves made dismal cry.
“Good sir!” they wailed, “Ah, leave us not to die!”
“Aye, by Heav'n's light!” fierce quoth Sir Pertinax,
“Ye're better dead by gibbet or by axe,
Since naught but scurvy, coward rogues are ye,
And so be hanged--be hanged to ye, all three!”
“Knight!” Joc'lyn sighed, “'neath Heaven's light
somewhere
Doth live a dark-eyed maid with black-curled hair--
Her voice is soft and full of sweet allure,
And thou, perchance, one day may humbly woo her;
So these poor rogues now woo their lives of thee,
Show mercy then and mercy find of she.”
At this Sir Pertinax rubbed chin and frowned,
Red grew his cheek, his fierce eyes sought the ground,
Then, even as he thus pinched chin and scowled,
“Loose, then, the dismal knaves!” at last he
growled.
But now grim Ranulph tangled beard tore
And wrung his hands and sighed and groaned and
swore
With loud complaints and woeful lamentations,
With muttered oaths and murmured objurgations,
With curses dire and impious imprecations.
“Beshrew me, masters all!” quoth he. “Now here's ill prank to play a poor
hangman, may I ne'er quaff good liquor more, let me languish o' the
quartern ague and die o' the doleful dumps if I ever saw the like o' this!
For look 'ee now, if I set these three rogues free, how may I hang 'em as
hang 'em I must, since I by hanging live to hang again, and if I don't
hang 'em whom shall I hang since hang I must, I being hangman? Bethink ye
o' this, sirs, and show a little pity to a poor hangman.”
“Why then, mark ye this, hangman,” said Jocelyn, “since on hanging doth thy
hangman's reputation hang, then hang thou must; therefore, an ye lack rogue
to hang, go hang thyself, so, hanging, shall thy hanging be done with and
thou having lived a hangman, hangman die, thus, hangman hanging hangman,
hangman hanging shall be hangman still, and being still, thus hanging,
shall hang no more.”
“Aye, verily!” quoth Sir Pertinax, “there it is in a nutshell--hangman, be
hanged to thee! So off with their fetters, Master Gallows, by Crystal Heart
I charge thee!”
Hereupon the scurvy knaves were freed, to their great joy, and following
the bold knight, made haste to quit their gloomy dungeon. Reaching the
guardroom above, Sir Pertinax called lustily for sword and bascinet, and
thereafter chose divers likely weapons for his companions who, with axe and
pike and guisarme on shoulder, followed him out into the free air.
Now it was night and very dark, but Gurth, who was a man of the town,
brought them by dim and lonely alleys and crooked ways until at last they
halted within a certain dark and narrow street.
“Whither now?” questioned Sir Pertinax.
“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “where but to the gatehouse--”
“Not so,” muttered Gurth, “'tis overly well guarded--”
“Aye,” growled Will, “which is true, as I'm a tanner!”
“Howbeit,” said Jocelyn, “I'm for the gatehouse!”
“And wherefore?” demanded Sir Pertinax.
“In cause of one Rob, a robber.”
“Aye, but,” said Gurth, “he is to hang at crow-o'-cock and 'tis nigh
cock-crow now.”
“The more need for haste,” said Jocelyn.
But, even now, as they together spoke,
A sullen tramp the sleeping echoes woke,
Behind them in the gloom dim forms they saw,
While others grimly barred the way before;
And so, by reason that they could not fly,
They grasped their weapons and prepared to die.
Then in the darkness of that narrow street,
Broad axe and pike and flashing sword did meet.
Duke Jocelyn full many a thrust drave home,
Till whirling pike-staff smote him on cock's-comb,
And staggering back to an adjacent wall,
In deep-sunk doorway groaning he did fall.
My daughter GILLIAN remonstrateth: