The Fortunes of Garin by Mary Johnston
CHAPTER XII
MONTMAURE
THERE came into the hall, ushered by the seneschal and walking withStephen the Marshal to whom had been confided his entertainment, aknight banneret, very good-looking, very sumptuously attired, with anair of confidence verging on audacity. Behind and attending him weretwo other knights, lesser men; behind these, three esquires. All weredressed with a richness; all, indefinably, stood in a debatable stripbetween friend and foe.
The envoy came before the dais. On yesterday welcome had been givenhim, and to-day set to hear the desires of Count Savaric of Montmaure.Now, Gaucelm being, by virtue of three castles, his lord’s lord, theenvoy just bent the knee, then straightened himself and stood preparedto give that forth which the count had preferred to send by word ofmouth rather than by written letter. There occurred, however, somedelay. A wider audience than had gathered to the town’s hearing wouldcome to hear what Savaric of Montmaure had to say. Lord and lady,knight and squire, were entering, and now came Alazais, clad in whitebordered with ermine. Her lord made her welcome; the Princess Audiart,rising, stood until she was seated. Her ladies, fair and gailydressed, made about her a coloured cloud. Two that were Audiart’s cameand stood behind that princess.
At last, quiet falling, the prince once more gave to Montmaure’s envoywords of welcome, then, “We should have been glad,” he said, “to havegreeted in friendly wise Count Savaric himself! His son, too, who issaid to be a puissant knight.”
“So please you, they may come some day to Roche-de-Frêne, the one andthe other,” answered the envoy. “But now my master, the great count,is busy at home where he makes a muster of lords who are his men. AtAutafort, with Duke Richard, is the young count, Sir Jaufre, red-gold,shining and mighty, like a star of high fortune!”
“The ‘great count,’” said Gaucelm, with suavity, “is well employed. Andyou grow a poet, Sir Guiraut of the Vale, when you speak of the youngcount.”
“Sir,” said Guiraut of the Vale, “he is poet himself and theme ofpoets! He is the emerald of knights, the rose of chivalry! That ladycounts herself fortunate for whom he rides in tournament. His lanceunhorses the best knights, and behind him, in his quarrels, are themany spears of Montmaure—I will be highly bold and say the spears, fornumber like the trees in the forest, of Duke Richard of Aquitaine!”
Gaucelm smiled. “Duke Richard,” he said, “hath just now, I think, needof his spears before Toulouse.”
Guiraut of the Vale waved his hand. “Count Raymond will come to terms,and the Duke’s spears be released. But all this, sir, is not the matterof my message! Truly, when I think of Count Jaufre I forget myself inpraises!”
“_Guiraut, Guiraut!_” thought the Princess Audiart. “_You forget notone word of what you have been taught to say!_”
Gaucelm the Fortunate spoke with serenity. “A servant so devoted is asa sack of gold in the count’s treasury!—Now your message, sir envoy,and the matter upon which you were sent?”
Guiraut of the Vale breathed deep, lifted his chest beneath bliaut androbe of costly stuffs, made his shoulders squarer, included now in thescope of his look alike Gaucelm and his daughter.
“Prince of Roche-de-Frêne,” he said, “it is to my point—though theBlessed Virgin is my witness I am not so commissioned!—to cause youand this priceless lady, the princess your daughter, to see Sir Jaufrede Montmaure as the glass of the world shows him, the brightest coalupon the hearth of chivalry! The world hears of the wisdom of thePrincess Audiart—well wot I that did she see and greet him, she wouldvalue this knight aright! As for him, like his sword to his side, hewould wear there this wisdom! Fair prince, my master, the great count,would see Montmaure and Roche-de-Frêne one in wedlock. Count Savaric ofMontmaure offers his son, Count Jaufre, for bridegroom to the PrincessAudiart!”
The great hall rustled loudly. Only the dais seemed quiet, or onlythe two figures immediately fronting Sir Guiraut of the Vale. Out ofthe throng seemed to come a whisper, electric and flowing, “Here isa suitor that would hang Roche-de-Frêne at his belt!” It lifted anddeepened, the whispering and muttering. It took the tone of distantthunder.
Gaucelm the Fortunate raised his hand for quiet. When it was attainedhe spoke courteously to Guiraut of the Vale. “Count Savaric echoes mysoul when he would have peace and friendliness and not enmity betweenRoche-de-Frêne and Montmaure. Certes, that may be brought about,or this way or that way! For the way that he advances, it must beconsidered, and that with gravity and courteousness. But, such is theplenitude of life, the same city may be reached by many roads.”
“Beseeching your pardon,” said Guiraut of the Vale, “that is true ofmany cities, but not, according to the count my master, of this one!”
The hall rustled again. The lord of Roche-de-Frêne sat quietly in hisgreat chair, but he bent upon Montmaure’s envoy a look profound andbrooding. At last he spoke. “We are not to be threated, Sir Guiraut ofthe Vale, into a road whatsoever! Nor is this city, that is only to bereached so, of such importance, perhaps, to Roche-de-Frêne as imagineththe ‘great count.’” Wherewith he ceased to deal with Guiraut and spokeaside to his daughter.
The Princess Audiart rose from her chair. She stood in long, flowingred shading from the cherry of her under-robe through the deepenedcrimson of the bliaut to the almost black of her mantle. At the base ofher bare throat glowed on its chain of gold the pear-shaped ruby.
“To-day, Sir Guiraut of the Vale,” she said, “we receive the countyour master’s fair proffer of his son for my bridegroom. For my part,I thank the count for his courtesy and good-will and fair words tome-ward. The prince my father consenting, one week from to-day, here inthe hall, you shall have answer to bear back. Until then, the princemy father, and the princess my fair and good step-dame, and myself,who must feel the honour your master does me, and all the knights andladies of this court give you fair welcome! An we may, we will make thedays until then pass pleasantly for a knight of whose valiancy thiscastle is not ignorant.”
She spoke without pride or feeling in her voice, simply, in the toneof princely courtesy. A stranger could not have told if she liked thatproffer or no. Guiraut of the Vale made obeisance. Prince Gaucelm rose,putting an end to the audience.
Two hours later he came to the chamber of the ugly princess. It wasa room set in a tower, large, with narrow windows commanding threedirections. A curtained archway showed a smaller, withdrawing room.Rugs lay upon the oaken floor and the walls were hidden by hangingsworked with the wanderings of Ulysses. The bed had silken curtains anda rich coverlet. Jutting from the hearth came a great cushioned settle.There were chairs, carven chests for wardrobe, a silver image of theVirgin, nearby a row of books. Present in the room when the prince camewere the Lady Guida and the girl who had told in hall the story ofArthur’s knights. These, upon his entrance, took embroidery-frame andbook, and disappeared into the smaller room.
Prince Gaucelm sat in the corner of the settle by the hearth. ThePrincess Audiart now stood before him, and now walked with slow stepsto one or another window and back again. The prince watched her.
“Audiart, Audiart!” he said at last; “I doubt me that the hey-day andsummer of peace has passed for Roche-de-Frêne!”
“Winter is the time between summers.”
“Have it so.... It was wise to delay this knight the week out.”
“Ah, where is Wisdom? Even the hem of her mantle turns out to be astray light-beam in shadow. But it seemed wiser. So one may think alittle.”
“Now, by God Almighty!” said Gaucelm, “it needs not much thinking!”
“No. But still one may take time and speak Montmaure fair, while westudy what will come and how we meet and defeat it.... Let us dealfirst with Thibaut Canteleu and Roche-de-Frêne.”
Gaucelm the Fortunate, leaning forward, warmed his hands at the firewhich was burning with a singing sound. “Aye, my burghers—Child, allover the green earth they cease to be mine or another’s burghers!”
“They grow to be their own men.
“Gaucelm of the Star thought that idea the strangest, mostabhorrent!—and his father before him—and so backward into time. Itoutraged them, angering the very core of the heart within them! Lateand soon they would have fought the town!”
“Or late or soon they would have lost.—Does it in truth anger usthat Thibaut Canteleu and the others should wish to choose theirmagistrates?”
“No. Montmaure angers me, but not Thibaut.”
“Then let us act toward the town from our own thought and mind, and notfrom that of our fathers.”
She paced the floor. “I sorrow for Bishop Ugo’s disappointment. It willbe a sword thrust if we and the town embrace!”
“Aye. Ugo desires that quarrel for us.... Well, then we say to ThibautCanteleu, ‘Burgher, grow your own man!’”
“I counsel it,” said Audiart. “It is right.”
“And wise?”
She turned from the window. “Pardieu! If war is upon us Montmaure’sself might say that it were wise!”
The prince pondered it. “Yes—Put, then, Thibaut Canteleu and the townto one side. Now Montmaure—Montmaure—Montmaure!”
The princess came to the settle and sat down, leaning her elbow upona small table drawn before it. Upon the table lay writing materials,together with a number of small counters and figures of wood. Therewas also a drawing, a rude map as it were, of the territory ofRoche-de-Frêne, bordered by the names of contiguous great fiefs. Shedrew this between them, and the two, father and daughter, studied itas they talked. With her left hand she moved the little pieces of woodto and fro. Upon each was painted a name—names of castles, towns,villages, abbeys that held from Gaucelm. One piece had the name of thatfief for which Montmaure had been wont to give homage.
Gaucelm looked at the long space upon the drawing marked “Aquitaine.”“Guiraut of the Vale is a braggart. I know not if he bragged beyondreason of Richard’s great help.”
“It is like enough that he did. But Richard Lion-Heart has often backedanother’s quarrel. Pity he looks not to see if it be stained or clean!”
“Toulouse still holds him.... Stephen the Marshal must go quickly toKing Philip at Paris.”
“Yes. Before Guiraut of the Vale’s week is gone by—or right upon thatdeparture? Right upon it, I think.”
“Yes. No need to show Guiraut what you expect.” He touched the woodenpieces with his finger, running over the names of his barons. “Lettersmust be written and heralds sent. Madonna Alazais and Guida. RaimonSeneschal and Aimeric the Gay, had best plan shining and dazzlingentertainment for Guiraut and his following.... I know well that the‘great count’ is making his muster.”
“He makes no secret of it.... _But one road to peace forRoche-de-Frêne._”
“That is not a road,” said Prince Gaucelm, “or it is a road ofdishonour. Savaric of Montmaure and his son have in them a demon. Wasteno words upon a way that we are not going!”
He took a quill from the table, dipped it into ink, and began towrite upon a bit of paper, making a computation of strength. He putdown many lords whose suzerain he was, and beneath each name itsquota of knights, sergeants, and footmen, the walled towns besidesRoche-de-Frêne that called him lord, the villages, the castles, manors,and religious houses, Roche-de-Frêne itself, and this great castle thathad never been taken. He added allies to the list, and the sum of goldand silver he thought he could command, and with part of it purchasefree companies. He paused, then added help—an uncertain quantity—fromhis suzerain, King Philip. “It is a fair setting-forth,” said Gaucelmthe Fortunate. “Once, and that not so long ago, Montmaure would not inhis most secret dream have dared—. But he has made favour and wilybargains, and snapping up this fief and that, played the great carp inthe pool! And now drifts by this fancy of Aquitaine for Count Jaufre,and he seizes it.”
“Aye, it is Richard that gives sunshine to his war!”
Gaucelm rose from the settle. “I love not war, though we live in awarring world. Little by little, child, it may change.”
The day passed, the evening of courtly revel, of paces woven aroundGuiraut of the Vale. The Princess Audiart was again in her chamber, herwomen dismissed, the candles extinguished, the winter stars looking inat window, fresh logs upon the hearth casting tongues of light. Thesestruck in places the pictured hangings. Here Ulysses dallied withCalypso and here he met Circe. Here Nausicaa threw the ball, and herePenelope wove the web and unravelled it, and here Minerva paced withshield and spear. The figures were as rude as the hues were bright,but a fresh and keen imagination brought them into human roundness andproportion.
Audiart lay in her bed, and they surrounded her as they had done sinceearly girlhood when at her entreaty this chamber in the White Tower hadbeen given her. She was glad now to be alone with the familiar figuresand with the fitful firelight and the stars that, when the hearth-blazesank, she could see through the nearest window. She was read in thescience of her time; those points of light, white or bluish or golden,had for her an interest of the mind and of the spirit. Now, throughthe window, there gleamed in upon her one of the astrologers’ “royal”stars. She by no means believed all that the astrologers said. Shewas sceptic toward much that was preached, doubted the usefulness ofmuch that was done, and yet could act though she doubted. When doubt,growing, became a sense of probability, then—swerve her as it mightfrom her former course—she would act, as forthright as might be, inthe interest of that sense.
The star shone in the western window—red Aldebaran. “You look likewar, Aldebaran, Aldebaran!” thought the princess. “Come, tell me ifGaucelm, the good man, will win over Savaric, the wicked man—You tellnaught—you tell naught!”
She turned on her side and spread her arms and buried her face betweenthem, and lay so for some minutes. Then she rose from the bed, andtaking from a chair beside it a long and warm robe of fine wool,slipped her arms into its great hanging sleeves, girded it aroundher and crossed to the southward-giving window. She looked forth anddown upon wall and moat, and beyond upon the roofs of Roche-de-Frêne.A warder pacing the walk below, passed with a gleam of steel fromher sight. A convent bell rang midnight. There was no moon, but thenight burned with stars. One shot above the town, leaving a swiftlyfading line of light. She saw all the roofs that lay this way andknew them. Castle and town, river and bridge, and the country beyond,felt not seen to-night—they were home, bathed, suffused, coloured bythe profound, the inmost self, part of the self, dissolving into it.She stood before the window, a hand upon either wall, and her heartyearned over Roche-de-Frêne. Again a star shot, below her the warderpassed again. Suddenly she thought of Jaufre de Montmaure, and muchdisliked the thought. She spoke to the stars. “Ah,” she said, “it ismuch misery at times to be a woman!”
A week from that day, in the castle hall, crowded from end toend,—Bishop Ugo here to-day with churchmen behind him, ranks ofknights, Gaucelm’s great banner spread behind the dais, and against ithis shield blazoned with the orbs and wheat-sheafs of Roche-de-Frêneand the motto _I build_; everywhere a richness of spectacle, anevidenced power, a high vitality, a tension as of the bow stringbefore the skilled arrow flies,—Thibaut Canteleu received the answerfor the town, and Guiraut of the Vale the answer for Count Savaric ofMontmaure. Behind Thibaut was the deputation that had attended before,the same blues and greens and reds, bright as stained glass, the samefaces swarthy, or lacking blood, or pink and white of hue. Thibautknelt in his blue tunic and grey hosen, his cap beside him on thepavement.
Henceforth the town of Roche-de-Frêne should choose its ownofficers—mayor, council and others. Likewise it should give judgementthrough judges of its election upon its own offenders—always exceptingthose cases that came truly before its lord’s bailiff-court. PrinceGaucelm gave decision gravely, without haughtiness, or warning againstabuse of kindness, or claim upon increased loyalty, and withoutmany words. Roche-de-Frêne took it, first, in a silence complete andstriking, then with a long breath and fervent exclamation.
Thibaut Can
Whereby it might be guessed that Thibaut and Roche-de-Frêne knew wellenough of Guiraut of the Vale’s errand. Probably they did. The time waselectric, and Montmaure had been seen for some time, looming upon thehorizon. Roche-de-Frêne, nor no town striving for liberties, cared forMontmaure. He was of those who would strangle in its cradle the infantnamed Middle Class.
Gaucelm thanked the burghers of Roche-de-Frêne, and the PrincessAudiart said, “I thank you, Thibaut Canteleu, and all these with you.”
The fifty were marshalled aside. They did not leave the hall; itbehooved them to stay and hear the answer to Montmaure.
All the gleaming and coloured particles slightly changed place, thebowstring tension grew higher. Here was now Guiraut of the Vale, theaccompanying knights behind him, standing to hear what answer he shouldtake to the Count of Montmaure. The answer given him to take was brief,clothed in courtesy, and without a hint in its voice or eye of thepossibility of untoward consequences. Roche-de-Frêne thanked Montmaurefor the honour meant, but the Princess Audiart was resolved not to wed.
Guiraut of the Vale, magnificent in dress and air, heard, and towereda moment in silence, then flung out his hands, took a tone, harsh andimperious. “You give me, Prince of Roche-de-Frêne, an ill answer withwhich to return to the great count, my master! You set a bale-fire anda threat upon the one road of peace between your land and Montmaure!And for that my master was foretold by a sorceress that so would youanswer him, I am here not unprovided with an answer to your answer!”With that he made a stride forward and flung down a glove upon thedais, at Gaucelm’s feet. “Gaucelm the Fortunate, Montmaure will warupon you until he and his son shall sit where now you and your daughterare seated! Montmaure will war upon you until men know you as Gaucelmthe Unhappy! Montmaure will war upon you until the Princess Audiartshall kneel for mercy to Count Jaufre—”
The hall shouted with anger. The ranks of knights slanted toward theenvoy. Gaucelm’s voice at last brought quiet. “The man is a herald andsacred!—My lord Stephen the Marshal, take up the Count of Montmaure’sglove!”
So began the war between Roche-de-Frêne and Montmaure.