The Fortunes of Garin by Mary Johnston
CHAPTER XXVI
THE FAIR GOAL
MESSENGERS, heralds, bearing decisive and peremptory speech, wentfrom Richard, Count of Poitou and Duke of Aquitaine, to the Countsof Montmaure. Others were despatched to the leaders of the host ofAquitaine before Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard was at peace withRoche-de-Frêne; let that host therefore direct no blow against itslord’s ally! Instead, let it forthwith detach itself from Montmaure,withdraw at once from the princedom of Roche-de-Frêne, and, returnedwithin its own boundaries, go each man to his own home. _On your faithand obedience._ So the heralds to the leaders of the aid from Aquitaine.
To the Counts of Montmaure the heralds, declaring themselves trueheart, mouth, and speech of Duke Richard, delivered peremptory summonsto desist from this war. An they did not, it would be held to them forrevolt from Richard their suzerain.... The heralds with their trainrode fast and rode far.
The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne awaited in Angoulême the earliest fruitof this faring. She waited at first at the Abbey of the Fountain, butpresently in the town as Duke Richard’s guest. A great house was givenher, with all comfort and service. Ladies came to wait upon her; shehad seneschal, chamberlain and page. If she would go abroad she hadpalfreys with their grooms; in her hall waited knights to attend her.Angoulême and its castle and the court about Duke Richard buzzed ofher presence in this place, of what adventure had been hers to reachit, and of the attitude now of Richard Lion-Heart. They did not knowdetail of her adventure, but they knew that it had taken courage. Theyknew that Richard had in him power to turn squarely. They did not knowall the whys and wherefores, depths and reasons of the right anglethat made in Angoulême a whirling cloud of speculation, but as a factthey accepted it and proceeded with their own adaptation. The partythat, for reasons personal to itself, had backed Montmaure, wageringin effect upon the permanency of his influence with Richard, tookits discomforture as enforced surgery and found it wisdom’s part toprofess healing. The party that had been hostile to Montmaure founda clearing day and walked with satisfaction in the sun. Those—notmany—who had stood between the two, found usual cautious pleasure inchanging scenery and event. The most in Angoulême could give nine daysto wonder. The Princess Audiart stayed with them no greatly longer time.
Duke Richard came to her house in state. In state she returned thevisit, was met by him at the castle gate. He would give a joust in herhonour, and afterward a contest of troubadours. She sat beside him onthe dais, and watched all with a gentle face, a still and inscrutablelook. Beauvoisin was of those who tourneyed, and among the knights whomhe brought into the lists rode Garin of the Black Castle, who did mostwell and was given great observance. The next day, when there was song,Richard called for Garin of the Golden Island, naming him famed knight,famed poet, famed bird of song, bird that sang from itself. Garin camebefore the dais, took from a jongleur his lute.
“Sir Garin of the Golden Island,” said Richard, “sing _Within its heartthe nightingale_—”
He sang—a golden song sung greatly.
“Ah!” sighed Richard Lion-Heart, and bade him sing _When in my dreamsthou risest like a star_. “Ah God!” said Richard. “Some are kings oneway, and some another! Sing now and lastly to-day, _Fair Goal_.”
Garin sang. All Angoulême that might gather in the great hall, in thegalleries, in the court and passages without, listened with partedlips. Richard listened, and in some sort he may have felt what thesinger felt of goals beyond goals, of glories beyond the lovelinessand glories of symbols, of immortal union behind, beneath, above thesweetness of an earthly fact.
One was present who did feel what the singer felt, and that was theprincess who sat as still as if she were carven there.... Garin of theGolden Island won the golden falcon that was the duke’s prize.
A week went by. A second began to drift into the past, winter day bywinter day. Messengers now rode into Angoulême and through the castlegates, and were brought to Duke Richard. They came from the lords ofAquitaine encamped before Roche-de-Frêne, and they bore tidings ofobedience. The host helped no longer in this war. When the messengersdeparted it was in act of lifting from all its encampments; even nowit would be withdrawing from the lands of Roche-de-Frêne. Richard sentthis word in state to the princess in Angoulême.
A day later there spurred at dusk into Angoulême a cloaked and hoodedlord, behind him three or four, knights or squires. The followingmorn the first won through to Richard’s presence. The two were alonetogether a considerable time. Those who waited without the room heardrise and fall of voices.... At last came the lion’s note in Richard’svoice, but it changed and fell away. He was speaking now with an icyreasonableness. That passed to a very still, pointed utterance withsilences between.... The other made passionate answer. Richard’s speechtook a sternness and energy which in him marked the lion sublimated.Then a bell was struck; the attendants, when they opened the door, hada glimpse of a red-gold head and a working face, hook-nosed, with ascar upon its cheek.
Montmaure left Angoulême; he rode in savagery and bitterness, his spurreddening the side of his horse, the men with him labouring after.He rode, whether by day or by eve, in a hot night of his own. Redsparks flashed through it, and each showed something he did not wishto see. Now it was Richard whom he doubted if ever he could regain,and now it was Richard’s aid withdrawing—withdrawn—from the plainby Roche-de-Frêne. Cap-du-Loup—Cap-du-Loup would follow Aquitaine,might even now gustily have whirled away! Jaufre’s spirit whisperedof other allies who might follow. The glare showed him the force ofMontmaure that was left, spread thinly before Roche-de-Frêne. It showedRoche-de-Frêne, as last he had seen it, over his shoulder, when he rodewith fury and passion to work in Angoulême a counter-miracle,—as hewould see it now again,—Roche-de-Frêne grim and dauntless, huge giantseated on a giant rock. Jaufre, whelmed in his night-time, shook withits immensity of tempest. The storm brought forth lights of its own.They showed him Montmaure—Montmaure also in motion—cowering forth,unwinning, from this war. They showed him Audiart the princess. When hecame to Angoulême he had learned there who had wrought the miracle....An inner light that was not red or born of storm trembled suddenly, farabove the great fens and marshes and hot, wild currents. _That qualityin her that had wrought the miracle_—It was but a point, a gleam, butJaufre had seen white light. The storm closed in upon him, but he hadlooked into a higher order, knew now that it was there. His huge, lowerbeing writhed, felt the space above it.
Hours passed, days passed. He came through country which he hadcharred, back to Montmaure’s tents. The dragon lay shrunken; it couldno longer wholly enfold Roche-de-Frêne. Jaufre found his father’s redpavilion, entered.
Count Savaric started up. “Ha! you rode fast! Speak out! Is it good orbad?”
“Bad,” said Jaufre, and faintly, faintly knew that it was good.
The days went by in Angoulême and there came again the heralds who hadbeen sent to Montmaure. They brought Count Savaric’s and Count Jaufre’ssubmission to the will of their suzerain—since no other could be doneand sunshine be kept to grow in! They brought news of the lifting ofthe siege of Roche-de-Frêne. On the morrow came one who had been inRoche-de-Frêne. He had to tell of joy that overflowed.
The Princess Audiart left the court of Richard Lion-Heart for her ownland and capital town. She went with a great escort which Richardwould give her. The danger now from the dragon that had ravagedher country lay only in the scattered drops of venom that might beencountered,—wild bands, Free Companies, wandering about, ripe formischief, not yet sunk back into their first lairs. She and DukeRichard made pact of amity between his house and hers, and she wentfrom Angoulême on a grey day, beneath a cloud-roof that promised snow.At the Abbey of the Fountain she dismounted, entered to say farewell tothe Abbess Madeleine and to kneel for Church’s blessing. She had ladiesnow in her train. These entered with her, and two knights, the Count ofBeauvoisin and Sir Garin of the Black Castle. Forth and upon the road,Beauvoisin rode at her right. He had the d
The snow fell, but the air was not cold. They rode through theafternoon wrapped in a veil of large white flakes. In the twilight theyreached a fair-sized town where great and rich preparation had beenmade for them. The next day also the snow fell, and they fared forwardthrough a white country. Then the snow ceased, the clouds faded and agreat heaven of blue vaulted the world. The sun shone and melted thesnow, there came a breath as of the early spring.
In the middle of the day they pitched the princess’s pavilion in thelee of a hill or in some purple wood. They built a fire for her andher ladies and, a distance away, a campfire. Dinner was cooked andserved; rest was taken, then camp was broken and they rode on again.Time and route were spaced so that at eve they entered town or villageor castle gate. Beauvoisin had sent horsemen ahead—when the princessand her company entered, they found room and cheer with varying pompof welcome. The night passed, in the morning stately adieux were made;they travelled on.
Riding east and south, they came now into and crossed fiefs that heldfrom Montmaure who held from Aquitaine. Beauvoisin kept hawk-watchand all knights rode with a warrior mien. Care was taken where thecamp should be made. Among those sent ahead to town or castle werepoursuivants who made formal proclamation of Duke Richard’s mind.—Butthough they saw many who had been among the invaders of Roche-de-Frêne,and though the country wore a scowling and forbidding aspect,—whereit did not wear an aspect relieved and complaisant,—they made transitwithout open or secret hindrance. They came nearer, nearer to bordersof Roche-de-Frêne. In clear and gentle weather the princess enteredthat fief which had been held by Raimbaut the Six-fingered.
This was a ravaged region indeed, and there was no town here forsleeping in and no great castle that stood. When the sun was low in thewestern sky they set the princess’s pavilion, and one for her ladies,at the edge of a wood. A murmuring stream went by; there were two greatpine trees and the fire that was lighted made bronze pillars of theirtrunks. Something in them brought into Audiart’s mind the Palestinepillars before the shrine of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne.
The sun was a golden ball, close to the horizon. Wrapped in hermantle, she sat on a stone by the fire and watched it. Her ladies,perceiving that she wished to be alone, kept within the pavilions.Beauvoisin and his knights sat or reclined about their fire fartherdown the stream. Farther yet a third great fire blazed for the squiresand men-at-arms. Upon a jutting mound a knight and a squire sat theirhorses, motionless as statues, watching that naught of ill came nearthe pavilions.
One upon the bank of the stream drew farther from the knights’ fire andnearer to that of the princess, then stood where she might see him. Sheturned her head as if she felt him there.
“Come to the fire, Sir Garin,” she said.
Garin came. “My Lady Audiart, may I speak? I have a favour to beg.”
She nodded her head. “What do you wish, Sir Garin?”
Garin stood before her, and the light played over and about him. “Weare on land that Raimbaut the Six-fingered held, whose squire I was.Not many leagues from this wood is Castel-Noir, where I was born andwhere my brother, if it be that he yet lives, abides. I would see himagain, and I would rest with him for a time and help him bring our fiefback to well-being and well-doing.—What I ask, my Lady Audiart, isthat in the morning I may turn aside to Castel-Noir and rest there.”
The princess sat very still upon the stone. The golden sun had slippedto half an orb; wood and hill stretched dark, the voice of the streamchanged key. Audiart seemed to ponder that request. Her hand shadedher face. At last, “We have word that ere we reach the Convent of OurLady in Egypt there will meet us a great company of our own lordsand knights. So, with them and with our friends here, we are to makeglittering entry into Roche-de-Frêne.... I do not prize the glitter,but so is the custom, and so will it be done. Now if I have wroughtmuch for Roche-de-Frêne, I know not, but I am glad. But if I have doneaught, you have done it, too, for I think that I could not have reachedDuke Richard without you. That is known now by others, and will be morefully known.... Will you not ride still to Roche-de-Frêne and take yourshare of what sober triumph is preparing?”
“Do you bid me do so, my Lady Audiart?”
“I do not bid you. I will for you to do according to your own will.”
“Then I will not go now to Roche-de-Frêne, but I will go toCastel-Noir.”
The princess sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand.She sat very still, her eyes upon the winter glow behind the winterwoods. “As you will, Garin of the Golden Island,” she said at last.Her voice had in it light and shadow. She sat still and Garin stood asstill, by the fire. All around them was its light and the light in thesky that made a bright dusk.
He spoke. “_The Convent of Our Lady in Egypt._ Martinmas, eightyears ago, I was in Roche-de-Frêne. I heard Bishop Ugo preach and Iknelt in the church before Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. Then I wentto the inn for my horse. There, passers-by asked me if I was for thefeast-day jousts and revels in the castle lists. I said No, I could notstay. Then they said that there sat to judge the contest the PrincessAlazais, and beside her, the Princess Audiart. I had no reason to thinkthem mistaken. Were they right, or were they wrong? Were you there inRoche-de-Frêne?”
“Martinmas, eight years ago?—No, I was not in Roche-de-Frêne, though Icame back to the castle very soon. I was at Our Lady in Egypt.”
“Ah God!” said Garin with strong emotion. “How beautiful are Thycircles that Thou drawest!”
She looked at him with parted lips. “Now, I will ask a question! Iwearied, that autumn, of nuns’ ways and waiting ladies’ ways and my ownways. One day I said, ‘I will go be a shepherdess and taste the trueearth!’” A smile hovered. “Faith! the experiment was short!—Now, myquestion.—Being a shepherdess, I was like to taste shepherdess’s farein this so knightly world. Then came by a true knight, though his dressand estate were those of a squire.—My question:—I asked him, thatday, ‘Where is your home?’ He answered, that squire, and I thought thathe told the truth,—‘I dwell by the sea, a long way from here.’—SirGarin de Castel-Noir, that was squire to Raimbaut the Six-fingered,neither dwelling nor serving by the sea but among hills, and not faraway but near at hand, tell me now and tell me truly—”
“Jael the herd, I am punished! I thought to myself, ‘I am in dangerfrom that false knight who will certainly seek me.’”
“Ah, I see!” said the princess; and she laughed at him in scorn.
“It is an ill thing,” said Garin, “to mistrust and to lie! I make noplea, my Lady Audiart, save that I do not always so.”
“Certes, no! I believe you there.... Let it go by.... That shepherdesscould not, after all, be to you for trustworthiness like your FairGoal—”
She ceased abruptly upon the name. The colour glowed in the west, thecolour played and leaped in the faggot fire, the colour quivered intheir own faces. Light that was not outer light brightened in theireyes. Their frames trembled, their tissues seemed to themselves and toeach other to grow fine and luminous. There had been a shock, and allthe world was different.
Garin spoke. “On a Tuesday you were Jael the herd. On a Thursday, inthe middle of the day, you came with your ladies to a lawn by thestream that flows by Our Lady in Egypt—the lawn of the plane, thepoplar and the cedar, the stone chair beneath the cedar, and thetall thick laurels rounding all.” He was knight and poet and singernow—Garin of the Golden Island—knight and poet and singer andanother besides. “A nightingale had sung me into covert there. Ifollowed it down the stream, from grove to grove, and it sung me intocovert there. The laurels were about me. I rested so close to thecedar—so close to the stone chair! One played a harp—you moved withyour ladies to the water’s edge—you came up the lawn again to thethree trees. You were robed in blue, my princess; your veil was longand threaded with silver and gold, and it hid your face. I never sawyour face that day—nor
“Stop!” said the Princess Audiart. She sat perfectly still in therich dusk. Air and countenance had a strange hush, a moment ofexpressionless waiting. Then uprushed the dawn. He saw the memoryawaken, the wings of knowledge outstretch. “Ah, my God!” she whispered.“As I sat there, the strangest breath came over me—sense of a presencenear as myself—” The rose in her face became carnation, she sprang toher feet, turned aside. The fire came between her and Garin; she pacedup and down in the shadowy space between the tree-trunks that were likethe Saracen pillars.
Moments passed, then she returned and stood beside the stone.
Garin bent his knee. “My Lady Audiart, you, and only you, in womanform, became to me her whom for years I have sung, naming her the _FairGoal_.... I left that covert soon, going away without sound. I onlysaw you veiled, but all is as I have said.... But now, before I go toCastel-Noir, there is more that I would tell to you.”
“Speak at your will,” said the princess.
“Do you remember one evening in the castle garden—first upon thewatch-tower, and then in the garden, and you were weary of war and allits thoughts, and bade me take Pierol’s lute and sing? I sang, and yousaid, ‘Sing of the Fair Goal.’ I sang—and there and then came thatsense of doubleness and yet one.... It came—it made for me confusionand marvel, pain, delight. It plunged me into a mist, where for a timeI wandered. After that it strengthened—strengthened—strengthened!...At first, I fought it in my mind, for I thought it disloyalty. Ifought, but before this day I had ceased to fight, or to think itdisloyalty. Before we came to Angoulême—and afterwards.... I knewnot how it might be—God knoweth I knew not how it might be—but mylady whom I worshipped afar, and my princess and my liege were one! Iknew that, though still I thought I saw impossibilities—They did notmatter, there was something higher that dissolved impossibilities.... Isaw again the Fair Goal, and my heart sang louder, and all my heart washers as it had been, only more deeply so—more deeply so! And still itis so—still it is the same—only with the power, I think, of growingforever!” He rose, came close to her, kneeled again and put the edge ofher mantle to his lips. “And now, Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, I takemy leave and go to Castel-Noir. I am knight of yours. If ever I mayserve you, do you but call my name! Adieu—adieu—adieu!”
She regarded him with a great depth and beauty of look. “Adieu, now,Sir Garin of the Black Castle—Sir Garin of the Golden Island! Doyou know how much there is to do in Roche-de-Frêne—and how, for along time, perhaps, one must think only of the people and the landthat stood this war, and of all that must be builded again?... Adieunow—adieu now! Do not go from lands of Roche-de-Frêne without myleave.”
The dark was come, the bright stars burned above the trees. There wasa movement from the knights’ fire—Beauvoisin coming to the princess’spavilions to enquire if all was well before the camp lay down to sleep.
Garin felt her clasped hands against his brow, felt her cheek close,close to his. “Go now,” she breathed. “Go now, my truest friend! Whatcomes after winter?—Why, spring comes after winter!”