Chivalry

'That is very remarkable,' Messire Heleigh observed. 'I was hideously afraid, and am yet shaking. But you, madame, laughed.'

The Queen replied: 'I laughed because I know that some day I shall have Lord Falmouth's head. It will be very sweet to see it roll in the dust, my Osmund.'

Messire Heleigh somewhat dryly observed that tastes differed.

At Jessop Minor a more threatening adventure befell. Seeking food at the Cat and Hautbois in that village, they blundered upon the same troop at dinner in the square about the inn. Falmouth and his lieutenants were somewhere inside the house. The men greeted the supposed purveyors of amusement with a shout; and one among them—a swarthy rascal with his head tied in a napkin—demanded that the jongleurs grace their meal with a song.

At first Osmund put him off with a tale of a broken viol.

But, 'Haro!' the fellow blustered; 'by blood and by nails! you will sing more sweetly with a broken viol than with a broken head. I would have you understand, you hedge-thief, that we gentlemen of the sword are not partial to wordy argument.' Messire Heleigh fluttered inefficient hands as the men-at-arms gathered about them, scenting some genial piece of cruelty. 'Oh, you rabbit!' the trooper jeered, and caught him by the throat, shaking him. In the act this rascal tore open Messire Heleigh's tunic, disclosing a thin chain about his neck and a small locket, which the fellow wrested from its fastening. 'Ahoi!' he continued. 'Ahoi, my comrades, what species of minstrel is this, who goes about England all hung with gold like a Cathedral Virgin! He and his sweetheart'—the actual word was grosser—'will be none the worse for an interview with the Marquess.'

The situation smacked of awkwardness, for Lord Falmouth was familiar with the Queen, and to be brought specifically to his attention meant death for two detected masqueraders. Hastily Osmund Heleigh said:

'Messire, the locket contains the portrait of a lady whom in youth I loved very greatly. Save to me, it is valueless. I pray you, do not rob me of it.'

But the trooper shook his head with drunken solemnity. 'I do not like the looks of this. Yet I will sell it to you, as the saying is, for a song.'

'It shall be the king of songs,' said Osmund—'the song that Arnaut Daniel first made. I will sing for you a Sestina, messieurs—a Sestina in salutation of Spring.'

The men disposed themselves about the dying grass, and presently he sang.

Sang Messire Heleigh:

'Awaken! for the servitors of Spring
Marshal his triumph! ah, make haste to see
With what tempestuous pageantry they bring 
Mirth back to earth! hasten, for this is he 
That cast out Winter and the woes that cling 
To Winter's garments, and bade April be! 

'And now that Spring is master, let us be 
Content, and laugh as anciently in Spring 
The battle-wearied Tristan laughed, when he 
Was come again Tintagel-ward—to bring 
Glad news of Arthur's victory and see 
Ysoude, with parted lips, that waver and cling.

'Anon in Brittany must Tristan cling 
To this or that sad memory, and be 
Alone, as she in Cornwall, for in Spring 
Love sows, and lovers reap anon—and he 
Is blind, and scatters baleful seed that bring 
Such fruitage as blind Love lacks eyes to see!'

Osmund paused here for an appreciable interval, staring at the Queen. You saw his flabby throat a-quiver, his eyes melting, saw his cheeks kindle, and youth ebb back into the lean man like water over a crumbling dam. His voice was now big and desirous.

Sang Messire Heleigh:

'Love sows, and lovers reap; and ye will see
 The loved eyes lighten, feel the loved lips cling 
Never again when in the grave ye be 
Incurious of your happiness in Spring, 
And get no grace of Love there, whither he 
That bartered life for love no love may bring. 

'Here Death is;—and no Heracles may bring 
Alcestis hence, nor here may Roland see 
The eyes of Aude, nor here the wakening spring 
Vex any man with memory, for there be 
No memories that cling as cerements cling, 
No Love that baffles Death, more strong than he.

'Us hath he noted, and for us hath he 
An how appointed, and that hour will bring 
Oblivion.—Then, laugh! Laugh, love, and see 
The tyrant mocked, what time our bosoms cling, 
What time our lips are red, what time we be 
Exultant in our little hour of spring! 

'Thus in the spring we mock at Death, though he 
Will see our children perish and will bring 
Asunder all that cling while love may be.'

Then Osmund put the viol aside and sat quite silent. The soldiery judged, and with cordial frankness stated, that the difficulty of his rhyming scheme did not atone for his lack of indecency, but when the Queen of England went among them with Messire Heleigh's hat she found them liberal. Even the fellow with the broken head admitted that a bargain was proverbially a bargain, and returned the locket with the addition of a coin. So for the present these two went safe, and quitted the Cat and Hautbois both fed and unmolested.

'My Osmund,' Dame Alianora said, presently, 'your memory is better than I had thought.'

'I remembered a boy and a girl,' he returned. 'And I grieved that they were dead.'

Afterward they plodded on toward Bowater, and the ensuing night rested in Chantrell Wood. They had the good-fortune there to encounter dry and windless weather and a sufficiency of brushwood, with which Osmund