The Fortunes of Garin by Mary Johnston
CHAPTER XXII
THE SAFFRON CROSS
MOON and stars began to pale. The camp-followers up the stream hadpoultry with them, for from that direction a cock crew and wasanswered. The herd-girl waked the jongleur. “I have black bread in myscrip,” she said. “Look if you have not the same.”
He found a portion of a loaf; they sat by the brook Saint Laurent andhe cut the bread with his dagger and they ate and drank of the water.
Light strengthened, it became grey-pearl under the pines. “Chill!chill!” said the herd-girl. “Often I think of how it would be to lieout under the sky, winter, spring, summer and now! So many thousandsdo.—Now, we will be going.”
They moved along the bank of the stream. “We go north,” said Garin’smind. “Will she go to the King at Paris?” But he waited withoutquestion until she was ready to say. Jongleur and herd-girl, theywalked through the grey and dewy world. The trees now stood furtherapart, they were coming to open ground. To their right the east showedstripes of carnation. The cocks crew again; the mutter and murmur ofthe night suddenly took height and depth, became inarticulate clamourof the day and an encamped, huge host. The light strengthened. Betweenthe stems of trees they saw, at no great distance, huts and booths ofautumn branches. They stood still for a little in the flush of thebrightening dawn—divers regarding the sea into which they were toplunge, the sea whose every wave was inimical. They looked, then, eachturning a little, their eyes met. It was but for a moment; immediatelythey went forward.
Elias of Montaudon was all dusk and green of garb, and dusk of browand cheek. But his dagger hung in a gilt sheath and his lute by a redribbon, and his eyes were grey with glints of blue. Jael the herd,too, was hued like a Martinmas leaf, and her hair hung over her bosomand to her knee, in long, dusk braids. The jongleur had a vision ofdark hair loosened and spread in elf-lock and wave, half hiding a facemore girlish than this face, but as this face might have been, eightyears agone. Impossibilities—dreams, phantasies, magic somewhere,impossibilities!
They were now almost clear of the broken ground and the remnant ofwood. They looked back and saw Roche-de-Frêne lifted against the solemnsky; stood still and for a minute or more gazed, and as though thewalls were glass, viewed the tense life within.
“Did you ever see Richard of Aquitaine?” asked the herd-girl.
“No,” answered the jongleur, and felt a momentary wonder, then the dawnof a conjecture.
The herd-girl turned again to their wandering and he followed her,then walked beside her.... Leaving the last group of trees, they camewith suddenness upon a little pebbly shore of the stream and upon halfa dozen women, kneeling and beginning the washing of clothes. Severalragged children sat by a fire of sticks and made an outcry when the twocame from the wood. The women looked up. “Hè! a jongleur!” cried one.“Come trill me a love-lay while I wash my sergeant’s one shirt!”
Elias and Jael came near, sat by the fire of sticks, and felt thewarmth pleasant. The first drew his hand across the strings of his luteand sang:—
“Sweet May, come! the lovers’ sweet season. In May Love seems the height of reason! Try your love when the year grows older, The birds depart and the earth is colder.—”
He stopped. “Saint Michael! the mist is yet in my throat. Your fire,gossips, is the sweet, crackling singer—”
One of the women sat back upon her heels, and, hands on hips, regardedthe two. “From what camp are you? You are not of our camp?”
“No. We have been over yonder—near to the young count.”
“If Cap-du-Loup saw you he would have your lute broken and you sent towait on fighting men! Cap-du-Loup loatheth jongleurs and monks! Your_douce_ there he might take—but no, I think that he would not. She isnot fair, and she has the look of one with claws—”
“I have claws, sister,” said Jael. “But I know how to keep themsheathed.” She yawned. “This good fire makes you sleepy. Prettychildren, let me rest my head upon that log for a bit! Play to us,Elias, if you cannot sing.”
She put her head down, closed her eyes, lying in the firelight. Thejongleur played and he played strange quaint airs that made thewasherwomen laugh, nod their heads, and pat with their hands. Afterthis he played quieter strains, a dreamy and monotonous music, hummingto it a thought of the East. They listened, then turned to theirrubbing and beating of clothes, working as in a dream, to a soothed andunquestioning mood.
Jael sat up, warmed her hands at the fire, looked to the west. Onthe other side of the brook of Saint Laurent a trampling sound aroseand grew. The mist yielded a grey vision of horsemen approaching innumber. They loomed, there ran before them noise—harsh voices, ribaldlaughter. The washerwomen sprang to their feet, gathered hastily intotheir arms the scattered garments, seized by the hands the children.
“Jacques le Noir and his men! Get out of their way! Jesu! What a worldwhere your own side tramples and abuses—”
They turned up the stream, quarrelling as they went. With them and thechildren went the jongleur and the herd-girl, all faring along thebank together, in the mist that was now being torn by golden arrows.One of the women, with a load of wet, half-washed clothing, let falla part of the burden. The herd-girl, stooping, gathered it up. “I’llhelp you here, sister!” A child struck its foot against a stone, fell,and began to cry. The jongleur lifted him to his shoulder. Behind themthey heard Jacques le Noir splash with his horsemen into the stream.The washerwomen and the two from Roche-de-Frêne went on like one familyor like old acquaintances, and so came into the thickly peopled camp ofthe followers of Cap-du-Loup and his fighting men.
The sun was now risen. The pied and various world in which they foundthemselves had breakfasted or was breakfasting. Noise prevailed,self-wrought into some kind of harmony. Here were women, soldiers’ andothers’ wives, and frank harlots, and here were children, seraphic,impish, and all between. Here harboured men of sorts, men who caredfor horses, were smiths, menders of harness and armour, fitters oflance-heads to lances, fletchers of arrows. Here were barber-surgeons,cooks, and servitors of servitors. Sutlers and merchants of small waresshowed both men and women, as did also the amusement-mongers. Thereabounded folk of nondescript and uncertain trades, or of no tradesat all, mere followers and feeders, a true rabble. And there weregamesters and cunning thieves.
Elias of Montaudon and Jael the herd came into this throng in thecompany of the women who had washed by the brook of Saint Laurent. Theair was yet hung with mist-wreaths; they entered with these about them,and none took especial notice.
The washerwomen did not stray from the brook. Down they flung theirhalf-washed, wet, and dripping loads, and complained loudly to any whowould listen of Jacques le Noir and his demon band. Some listened,some did not; the most had recitals of their own. Voices sprang likegrass-blades, were confounded.... With the others Jael threw upon theground her load, Elias set down the child he had carried. Then in theconfusion they went away, leaving without staying word or hand thegroup that had brought them thus far. They followed the brook SaintLaurent and they passed many folk, buried in their own concerns. Toan eye not observant beyond a certain point, the two would seem aloitering couple of the camp, vacant and idly straying, being set atthe moment to no task. None greeted them as acquaintances—but thereseemed here no eye to note that fact. Units and groups shifted likethe bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Continually the tube was shakenand there came up new arrangements. The two went on, and none saw inthem wandering bodies from outer and hostile space, pursuing a courseathwart the field of the kaleidoscope.... The mist was gone, the sunpoured light; looking back, they saw Roche-de-Frêne, indeed, but alwaysfarther, farther from them.
They approached the edge of the camp-followers’ demesne. It frayed outamong trees and gullies and heaps of refuse. Presently came a strip ofbare earth, recently burned over, licked clean by the flame, and desertof human works or being. Beyond, flung widely, grey reefs across theirway, were soldiers’ tents. Jael the herd’s lips moved. “Come down, fora minut
Descending a miniature slope, they stood in a narrow space betweenwalls of parched earth. The camp behind them, the camp beforethem, sank abruptly from view, though the sound of each remained.Roche-de-Frêne sank from view; they were roofed by the blue sky. Alizard ran from stone to stone; a wind, circling the place, lifted intoair dead leaves and particles of earth. The herd-girl, seating herself,opened the scrip that she carried. The jongleur watched her take fromit something at which he started. It was a piece of saffron-colouredcloth, cut in the shape of a cross. The upright measured near two feet,it and the arms had a palm’s breadth. The next thing that she did wasto find a needle and thread; then she took her frieze mantle, and afteran instant of looking into the pure, deep heavens, began to fasten uponthe mantle the saffron cross.
Garin held his breath. Holy Church had many penances for erring souls,and the most were acquiesced in with the least possible inner pain,and some were dreaded, and a few were direfully dreaded, shudderinglylooked upon. The most were burdensome but matter-of-fact; some gavethe weak flesh sharp pain, but did not necessarily humble one in theeyes of the world and the neighbours. A certain number had for label,_Humiliation_, and they were dreaded. A few were more sinister thanthese, frightening the imagination. One or two brought a dark terror,dark and cold. These did not partake of the nature of prostrations,or of prayers in multiplied repetition, or of flagellations, orpilgrimages, or amercement of goods. Flagellation was of temporaryaccount; pilgrimages a way to see the world as well as to wipe outsin; loss in money and land a serious thing, God knew! but thoughbitter, without ignominy. None of these came under the same sky withexcommunication, which was not penance, but doom and living death! Butto wear a cross like this came under the same sky.
It carried no physical pain with it, nor imprisonment within materialwalls. Of itself, it did not dip into the purse, or shear away houseand land. Of itself, it did not say, “Leave your home, penitent, andwander to many a shrine, know many calvaries!” Incidentally it mighthave come after—most often it did come after—these lesser things. Itwas rarely bound, like the mark of Cain, upon the young in offending.It came somewhat rarely upon any but the poor. So long as there wasany wealth there might be compounding for something less than themillstone.... It was not likely to be imposed for any less time thana long, long while. Perhaps it was worn for years, perhaps they diedwearing it. It weighed hardly anything materially, but it weighed lifedown. The people regarded it with superstitious horror. It said, “Lo,shadow and substance of sin that may hardly be pardoned! Lo, here theObdurate, the Ancient and Resigned to the Prince of the Power of theAir—preserved that ye may see—set aside in the midst of you that yemay know! Not to be touched, not to be dealt with in pleasant, humanways—any more than a leper!”
Garin looked. His face had paled beneath the stain applied by thetrue Elias. “Ah!” he said, “what people of the future comes, my LadyAudiart, from such as you!”
The other stood up, her sewing finished. She drew the cloak over hershoulders, and her right arm and side showed the saffron cross. Herdark eyes met Garin’s. “Now you are my brother. We are twin, and SaintPeter himself would not have you utterly forsake me! Let us go.”
They came out from the crack in the earth and proceeded to cross theburned strip. All in all, they had now penetrated some distance in thedragon’s field. When they looked over their shoulder, Roche-de-Frêneyet showed with grandeur in the morning light, against the south-eastquarter of a fleckless sky. But it showed as somewhat distant.... Garinunderstood now that they were to cross the dragon’s field, to leaveit behind them, to escape as quickly as might be from its poisonousbreath, from the reach of its talons. He saw also that, danger-grownas was their path of travel, it was the least so that should have beentaken from the beleaguered place. The dragon lay here, too, but not,perhaps, the brain nor eyes of him.
The day shone bright and cool. Directly ahead a large campfire yetsmoked and smouldered, and right and left of it and beyond grew thesomewhat tattered tents of Cap-du-Loup’s force. In the assault, on theway to the assault, Cap-du-Loup drove his men like a storm. At othertimes he let them live as they would.
There were Free Companions, a score or so, around the fire. Thesecaught sight of the two upon the burned and blackened strip betweenthem and the followers’ camp. There was passage to and fro, as the godsof license knew! Many figures of the world strayed almost at will,found lanes enough through the loose warp of the time’s armies. A womanand a jongleur might find a groove, so easy, so worn—There were,however, toll-gates.
Men who had been lying on the ground sat up. “Come across! Comeacross!” called one. Another rose to his feet and went to touch first,so claim first. A third sprang up, ran after, but a young giant,starting fourth, outstripped him, gained on the first. The men had beenidle after a night’s sleep. Breakfast of goat’s flesh and bread wasdigested, the slight enough camp tasks disposed of, after which cameidleness and yawning. Cap-du-Loup meant to join Aimeric the Bastard ina night attack upon Roche-de-Frêne’s western gate, and until then thestorm slept. The Free Companions were ready for movement, enterprise,deviltry. They rose from the ashy fire, and finding pleasure instretching of the limbs, raced after their fellows. The distance wasa pygmy one; immediately they were at their goal—the giant just thefirst.
He put his hands upon the woman. “Come, my _mie_—come, my jewel!” Theone who had started first began to clamour that he was first; therearose a noise as from any brute pack. The giant, dragged at by hisfellows, half turned, turning with him her he grasped. The saffroncross came into view.
The Free Companion’s hands dropped. He, and every man as he saw it,gave back. The recoil left black earth between them and Jael andElias. Quarrelling and laughter alike sank. Here was neither wooingnor taking, but a hand stole down, picked up a stone and threw it. Itstruck her, then she spoke. “Leave to the cross them who wear it, bravesoldiers!”
The giant came from a hamlet that tilled Abbey fields, and he was wisebeyond his fellows in what the Church said. Moreover he was by natureunresistant to Authority. It was not he who had thrown the stone, andnow he struck down the arm of one who gathered a second missile. “AbbotArnaut told us we mustn’t ever do that! If you do, God the Father’lllengthen your score—burn you a year longer in Purgatory!”
“It’s the serpent of sin.—Naught’s doing but stoning!”
“You can’t strike man or woman when they’ve touched sanctuary! Yellowcross’s a kind of sanctuary—”
The giant found some upon his side. “That’s true! Father Andrewpreached a sermon about it, Saint John Baptist’s day!—You don’t breakinto a house marked for plague. Holy Church says, ‘This cross’s myseal. I punish, and don’t you be trying to better it!’”
“That’s true! Holy Church says, ‘Have no communion, for good or forill! Here is something fearful and not like it was mortal!’”
The black earth widened about Jael and Elias. “What is the man doingwith her?” cried the first runner.
Another yet more reckless lifted voice. “Is a jongleur to be a heathenand we can’t? Is he to give the dare to a Free Companion?”
Despite the giant and those backing him, the pack came nearer,narrowing the black mark. Garin spoke. He was accustomed to lead andcommand men, fusing their will with his. Use gave him power herealso, though they that he faced knew not what it was. And he hadother powers over men and himself. He spoke. “Good soldiers! I am herbrother, twin with her, and I had a vision that I was not utterlyto forsake her. The priest said that I was to mind it.” He broughthis lute forward, and as he spoke he drew from the strings notes ofwistfulness and beauty. “So we started many months ago, on a pilgrimagefrom Pont-de-Lys in Limousin (for we are of Limousin) to Our Lady ofRoche-de-Frêne. And after that we fared on a long way to the north,to the famous shrine of Saint Thomas in Burgundy.” He was playingvery sweetly, notes of unearthly tenderness and melancholy. “Therethe vision came again and told me
He changed and deepened the strain until it had solemnity, became musicplayed in churches. “She speaks not often to me, nor I to her. Shetouches me not, and I touch not her. But the vision said, ‘Go with herto Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne, and then to the shrine of Saint Thomas’;and then it said, ‘Turn and go with her to Compostella.’ The priestsaid, ‘Obey that which spoke to you, and It will see that you are nothindered.’” His lips shut. He had spoken in a voice that he knew how touse so as to bring the heart into acquiescence, and his fingers stillspoke on, upon the strings of the lute.
The half-ring parted. It felt horror of the saffron cross, but,strange to itself, it also now felt pity and an impulse to help. Itsill passion fell cold and dead. Sufficiently swift and deep and forsufficiently long time came the change. Whether there was responsiblesome saint, or suggestion, or these beings’ proper motion, here waswhat answered for miracle. The giant was the spokesman.
“The way is clear so far as we are named! Go on, poor soul, and brotherjongleur, and maybe there’s a star somewhere to shine for you!—Nay,I’ll go before and see that no man of Cap-du-Loup breaks sanctuary—no,nor harms you, jongleur!”