Chivalry

'Liar!' Prince Edward said, very softly. 'O hideous liar! Already your eyes shift!' He drew near and struck the Frenchman. 'Talk and talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you.'

De Gatinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak, the head of it striking one leg of the table.

 

'A candle!' de Gatinais cried, and he panted now—'a hundred candles to the Virgin of Beaujolais!' He shortened his sword to stab the Prince of England.

And now the eavesdropper understood. She flung open the door and fell upon Prince Edward, embracing him. The sword dug deep into her shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound. Then she rose, all ashen.

'Liar!' she said. 'Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you!'

In silence de Gatinais regarded her. There was a long interval before he said, 'Ellinor!' and then again, 'Ellinor!' like a man bewildered.

'I was eloquent, I was magnificent,' she said, 'so that in the end her reserve was shattered! Certainly, messire, it is not your death which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for you—I know not what I desire for you!' the girl wailed.

'You desire that I should endure this present moment,' de Gatinais said; 'for as God reigns, I love you, and now am I shamed past death.'

She said: 'And I, too, loved you. It is strange to think of that.'

'I was afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid before. But I was afraid of this terrible and fair and righteous man. I saw all hope of you vanish, all hope of Sicily—in effect, I lied as a cornered beast spits out his venom,' de Gatinais said.

'I know,' she answered. 'Give me water, Etienne.' She washed and bound the Prince's head with a vinegar- soaked napkin. Ellinor sat upon the floor, the big man's head upon her knee. 'He will not die of this, for he is of strong person. Look you, Messire de Gatinais, you and I are not. We are so fashioned that we can enjoy only the pleasant things of life. But this man can enjoy—enjoy, mark you—the commission of any act, however distasteful, if he think it to be his duty. There is the difference. I cannot fathom him. But it is now necessary that I become all which he loves—since he loves it—and that I be in thought and deed all which he desires. For I have heard the Tenson through.'

'You love him!' said de Gatinais.

She glanced upward with a pitiable smile. 'Nay, it is you that I love, my Etienne. You cannot understand—can you?—how at this very moment every fibre of me—heart, soul, and body—may be longing just to comfort you and to give you all which you desire, my Etienne, and to make you happy, my handsome Etienne, at however dear a cost. No; you will never understand that. And since you may not understand, I merely bid you go and leave me with my husband.'

And then there fell between these two an infinite silence.

'Listen,' de Gatinais said; 'grant me some little credit for what I do. You are alone; the man is powerless. My fellows are within call. A word secures the Prince's death; a word gets me you and Sicily. And I do not speak that word, for you are my lady as well as his.'

But there was no mercy in the girl, no more for him than for herself. The big head lay upon her breast what time she caressed the gross hair of it ever so lightly. 'These are tinsel oaths,' she crooned, as rapt with incurious content; 'these are but the protestations of a jongleur. A word get you my body? A word get you, in effect, all which you are capable of desiring? Then why do you not speak that word?'

De Gatinais raised clenched hands. 'I am shamed,' he said; and more lately, 'It is just.'

He left the room and presently rode away with his men. I say that he had done a knightly deed, but she thought little of it, never raised her head as the troop clattered from Mauleon, with a lessening beat which lapsed now into the blunders of an aging fly who doddered about the pane yonder.

She sat thus for a long period, her meditations adrift in the future; and that which she foreread left her nor all sorry nor profoundly glad, for living seemed by this, though scarcely the merry and colorful business which she had esteemed it, yet immeasurably the more worth while.

THE END OF THE SECOND NOVEL

III The Story of the Rat-Trap

'Leixant a part le stil dels trobados,
Dos grans dezigs han combatut ma pensa,
Mas lo voler vers un seguir dispensa;
Yo l'vos publich, amar dretament vos.'

THE THIRD NOVEL.—MEREGRETT OF FRANCE, THINKING

TO PRESERVE A HOODWINKED GENTLEMAN, ANNOYS A

SPIDER; AND BY THE GRACE OF DESTINY THE WEB OF THAT

CUNNING INSECT ENTRAPS A BUTTERFLY, A WASP, AND

THEN A GOD; WHO SHATTERS IT. 

In the year of grace 1298, a little before Candlemas (thus Nicolas begins), came letters to the first King Edward of England from his kinsman and ambassador to France, Earl Edmund of Lancaster. It was perfectly apparent, the Earl wrote, that the French King meant to surrender to the Earl's lord and brother neither the duchy of Guienne nor the Lady Blanch.

The courier found Sire Edward at Ipswich, midway in celebration of his daughter's marriage to the Count of Holland. The King read the letters through and began to laugh; and presently broke into a rage such as was possible to the demon-tainted blood of Anjou. So that next day the keeper of the privy purse entered upon the household- books a considerable sum 'to make good a large ruby and an emerald lost out of his coronet when the King's Grace was pleased to throw it into the fire'; and upon the same day the King recalled Lancaster, and more lately despatched yet another embassy into France to treat about Sire Edward's second marriage. This last embassy was headed by the Earl of Aquitaine.

The Earl got audience of the French King at Mezelais. Walking alone came this Earl of Aquitaine, with a large retinue, into the hall where the barons of France stood according to their rank; in russet were the big Earl and his attendants, but upon the scarlets and purples of the French lords many jewels shone; as through a corridor of gayly painted sunlit glass came the grave Earl to the dais where sat King Philippe.

The King had risen at close sight of the new envoy, and had gulped once or twice, and without speaking, hurriedly waved his lords out of ear-shot. His perturbation was very extraordinary.

'Fair cousin,' the Earl now said, without any prelude, 'four years ago I was affianced to your sister, Dame Blanch. You stipulated that Gascony be given up to you in guaranty, as a settlement on any children I might have by that incomparable lady. I assented, and yielded you the province, upon the understanding, sworn to according to the faith of loyal kings, that within forty days you assign to me its seignory as your vassal. And I have had of you