How Red Gui sore smitten was in fight
By motley Fool in borrowed armour dight.
* * * * *
Now shrill tucket and clarion, trumpet and horn
With their cheery summons saluted the morn,
Where the sun, in his splendour but newly put on,
Still more splendid made pennon and brave gonfalon
That with banners and pennoncelles fluttered and flew
High o'er tent and pavilion of every hue.
For the lists were placed here, for the tournament set,
Where already a bustling concourse was met;
Here were poor folk and rich folk, lord, lady and squire,
Clad in leather, in cloth and in silken attire;
Here folk pushed and folk jostled, as people still do
When the sitters be many, the seats scant and few;
Here was babble of voices and merry uproar,
For while some folk laughed loud, some lost tempers and swore.
Until on a sudden this tumult and riot
Was hushed to a murmur that sank into quiet
As forth into the lists, stern of air, grave of face,
Five fine heralds, with tabard and trumpet, did pace
With their Lion-at-arms, or Chief Herald, before;
And a look most portentous this Chief Herald wore,
And, though portly his shape and a little too round,
Sure a haughtier Chief Herald could nowhere be found.
So aloof was his look and so grave his demeanour,
Humble folk grew abashed, and mean folk felt the meaner;
When once more the loud clarions had all echoes woke
This Chief Herald in voice deep and sonorous spoke:
“Good people all,
Both great and small,
Oyez!
Ye noble dames of high degree
Your pretty ears now lend to me,
And much I will declare to ye.
Oyez! Oyez!
Ye dainty lords of might and fame,
Ye potent gentles, do the same,
Ye puissant peers of noble name,
Now unto ye I do proclaim:
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!”
Here pealed the trumpets, ringing loud and clear,
That deafened folk who chanced to stand too near.
In special one--a bent and hag-like dame,
Who bent o'er crooked staff as she were lame;
Her long, sharp nose--but no, her nose none saw,
Since it was hidden 'neath the hood she wore
But from this hood she watched with glittering eye
Four lusty men-at-arms who lolled hard by,
Who, 'bove their armour, bore on back and breast
A bloody hand--Lord Gui's well-hated crest,
And who, unwitting of the hooded hag,
On sundry matters let their lewd tongues wag:
THE FIRST SOLDIER: Why, she scorned him, 'tis well beknown!
THE SECOND SOLDIER: Aye, and it doth not do to scorn the Red Gui, look 'ee!
THE THIBD SOLDIER: She'll lie snug in his arms yet, her pride humbled, her
proud spirit broke, I'll warrant me!
THE FOURTH SOLDIER: She rideth hence in her litter, d'ye see; and with but
scant few light-armed knaves attendant.
THE FIRST SOLDIER: Aye, and our signal my lord's hunting-horn thrice
winded--
Thus did they talk, with laughter loud and deep,
While nearer yet the hooded hag did creep;
But:--
Now blew the brazen clarions might and main,
Which done, the portly Herald spake again:
“Good people, all ye lords and ladies fair,
Oyez!
Now unto ye forthwith I do declare
The charms of two fair dames beyond compare.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!
The first, our Duchess--Benedicta hight,
That late from Tissingors, her town, took flight,
To-day, returning here, doth bless our sight,
And view the prowess of each valiant knight;
Each champ-i-on, in shining armour dight,
With blunted weapons gallantly shall fight.
And, watched by eyes of ladies beamy-bright,
Inspired and strengthened by this sweet eye-light,
Shall quit themselves with very main and might;
The second:--in her beauty Beauty's peer,
Yolande the Fair, unto our Duchess dear,
For whose sweet charms hath splintered many a spear,
Throned with our lovely Duchess, sitteth here
With her bright charms all gallant hearts to cheer.
Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid fear,
To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear!
Oyez!
'Tis now declared--”
My daughter GILLIAN expostulateth:
GILL: O, father, now
You must allow
That your herald is rather a bore.
He talks such a lot,
And it seems frightful rot--
MYSELF: I hate slang, miss! I told you before!
If my herald says much,
Yet he only says such
As by heralds was said in those days;
Though their trumpets they blew,
It is none the less true
That they blew them in other folks' praise.
If my herald verbose is
And gives us large doses
Of high-sounding rodomontade,
You'll find they spoke so
In the long, long ago,
So blame not--O, blame not the bard.
But while we are prating
Our herald stands waiting
In a perfectly terrible fume,
So, my dear, here and now,
The poor chap we'll allow
His long-winded speech to resume:
“'Tis here declared by order of the Ten,
Fair Benedicta's guardians--worthy men!
Thus they decree--ye lovers all rejoice!
She shall by their command, this day make choice
Of him--O, him! O blest, thrice blessed he
Who must anon her lord and husband be.
'Tis so pronounced by her grave guardians ten,
By them made law--and they right reverend men!
And this the law--our lady, be it said,
This day shall choose the husband she must wed;
And he who wins our Duchess for his own
Crowned by her love shall mount to ducal throne,
So let each knight, by valiant prowess, prove
Himself most worthy to our lady's love.
Now make I here an end, and ending, pray
Ye quit you all like val'rous knights this day.”
Thus spake the Chief Herald and so paced solemnly down the lists while the
long clarions filled the air with gallant music. But the lovely Benedicta,
throned beneath silken canopy, knit her black brows and clenched slender
hands and stamped dainty foot, yet laughed thereafter, whereupon Yolande,
leaning to kiss her flushed cheek, questioned her, wondering:
“How say'st thou to this, my loved Benedicta?”
Quoth the DUCHESS:
“I say, my sweeting, 'tis quite plain
That I must run away again!
Howbeit I care not one rush for their laws! Marry forsooth--a fig! Let them
make laws an they will, these reverend, right troublesome grey-beards of
mine, they shall never wed me but to such a man as Love shall choose me,
and loving him--him only will I wed, be he great or lowly, rich or poor,
worthy or unworthy, so I do love him, as is the sweet and wondrous way of
love.”
“Ah, Benedicta! what is love?”
“A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! This wisdom had I of a Fool
i' the forest. Go learn you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench.”
“Nay, but,” sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a-flush, “what of Sir
Agramore--hath he not sworn to wed thee?”
“I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, since I have found me one may
cope with him perchance--even as did a Fool with my Lord Gui of Ells upon a
tune. Art sighing again, sweet maid?”
“Nay, indeed--and wherefore should I sigh?”
“At mention of a Fool, belike.”
“Ah, no, no, 'twere shame in me, Benedicta! A Fool forsooth!”
“Yet Fool of all fools singular, Yolande. And for all his motley a very
man, methinks, and of a proud, high bearing.”
Here Yolande's soft cheek grew rosy again:
“Yet is he but motley Fool--and his face--marred hatefully--”
“Hast seen him smile, Yolande, for then--how, dost sigh again, my sweet?”
“Nay, indeed; but talk we of other matters--thy so sudden flight--tell me
all that chanced thee, dearest Benedicta.”
“Why first--in thine ear, Yolande--my jewel is not--see!”
“How--how, alas! O most sweet lady--hast lost it? Thy royal amulet?”
“Bestowed it, Yolande.”
“Benedicta! On whom?”
“A poor soldier. One that saved me i' the forest from many of Sir
Agramore's verderers--a man very tall and strong and brave, but dight in
ragged cloak and rusty mail--”
“Ragged? A thief--”
“Mayhap!”
“An outlaw--”
“Mayhap!”
“A wolf's-head--a wild man and fierce.”
“True he is very wild and very fierce, but very, very gentle--”
“And didst give to such thy jewel? O Benedicta! The Heart-in-heart?”
“Freely--gladly! He begged it of me very humbly and all unknowing what it
signified--”
“O my loved Benedicta, alas!”
“O my sweet Yolande, joy!”
“But if he should claim thee, and he so poor and wild and ragged--”
“If he should, Yolande, if he should--
'He that taketh Heart-in-heart,
Taketh all and every part.'
O, if he should, Yolande, then I--must fulfil the prophecy. Nay, dear my
friend, stare not so great and sadly-eyed, he knoweth not the virtue of the
jewel nor have I seen him these many days.”
“And must thou sigh therefore, Benedicta?”
But now the trumpets blew a fanfare, and forth rode divers gallant knights,
who, spurring rearing steeds, charged amain to gore, to smite and batter
each other with right good will while the concourse shouted, caps waved and
scarves and ribands fluttered.
But here, methinks, it booteth not to tell
Of every fierce encounter that befell;
How knight 'gainst knight drove fierce with pointless spear
And met with shock that echoed far and near;
Or how, though they with blunted swords did smite,
Sore battered was full many a luckless wight.
But as the day advanced and sun rose high
Full often rose the shout: “A Gui--A Gui!”
For many a proud (though bruised and breathless) lord,
Red Gui's tough lance smote reeling on the sward;
And ever as these plaudits shook the air,
Through vizored casque at Yolande he would stare.
And beholding all the beauty of her he smiled evilly and muttered to
himself, glancing from her to certain lusty men-at-arms who, lolling
'gainst the barriers, bore at back and breast his badge of the bloody hand.
But the fair Yolande heeded him none at all, sitting with eyes a-dream
and sighing ever and anon; insomuch that the Duchess, watching her slyly,
sighed amain also and presently spake:
“Indeed, and O verily, Yolande, meseemeth we do sigh and for ever sigh,
thou and I, like two poor, love-sick maids. How think'st thou?”
“Nay, O Benedicta, hearken! See, who rideth yonder?”
Now even as thus fair Yolanda spoke,
A horn's shrill note on all men's hearing broke,
And all eyes turned where rode a gallant knight,
In burnished armour sumptuously bedight.
His scarlet plumes 'bove gleaming helm a-dance,
His bannerole a-flutter from long lance,
His gaudy shield with new-popped blazon glowed:
Three stooping falcons that on field vert showed;
But close-shut vizor hid from all his face
As thus he rode at easy, ambling pace.
“Now as I live!” cried Benedicta. “By his device yon should be that foolish
knight Sir Palamon of Tong!”
“Aye, truly!” sighed Yolande. “Though he wear no motley hither rideth
indeed a very fool. And look, Benedicta--look! O, sure never rode knight in
like array--see how the very populace groweth dumb in its amaze!”
For now the crowd in wonderment grew mute,
To see this knight before him bare a lute,
While blooming roses his great helmet crowned,
They wreathed his sword, his mighty lance around.
Thus decked rode he in rosy pageantry,
And up the lists he ambled leisurely;
Till, all at once, from the astonied crowd
There brake a hum that swelled to laughter loud;
But on he rode, nor seemed to reck or heed,
Till 'neath the balcony he checked his steed.
Then, handing lance unto his tall esquire,
He sudden struck sweet chord upon his lyre,
And thus, serene, his lute he plucked until
The laughter died and all stood hushed and still;
Then, hollow in his helm, a clear voice rang,
As, through his lowered vizor, thus he sang:
“A gentle knight behold in me,
(Unless my blazon lie!)
For on my shield behold and see,
Upon field vert, gules falcons three,
Surcharged with heart ensanguiney,
To prove to one and all of ye,
A love-lorn knight am I.”
But now cometh (and almost in haste) the haughty and right dignified Chief
Herald with pursuivants attendant, which latter having trumpeted amain,
the Herald challenged thus:
“Messire, by the device upon thy shield,
We know my Lord of Tong is in the field;
But pray thee now declare, pronounce, expound,
Why thus ye ride with foolish roses crowned?”
Whereto the Knight maketh answer forthwith:
“If foolish be these flowers I bear,
Then fool am I, I trow.
Yet, in my folly, fool doth swear,
These flowers to fool an emblem rare
Of one, to fool, more sweet, more fair,
E'en she that is beyond compare,
A flower perchance for fool to wear,
Who shall his foolish love declare
Till she, mayhap, fool's life may share,
Nor shall this fool of love despair,
Till foolish hie shall go.
“For life were empty, life were vain,
If true love come not nigh,
Though honours, fortune, all I gain,
Yet poorer I than poor remain,
If true-love from me fly;
So here I pray,
If that thou may,
Ah--never pass me by!”
Here the Chief Herald frowned, puffing his cheeks, and waved his ebony
staff authoritatively.
Quoth he: “Enough, Sir Knight! Here is no place for love! For inasmuch as
we--”
THE KNIGHT: Gentle Herald, I being here, here is Love, since I am lover,
therefore love-full, thus where I go goeth Love--