The dryad a novel
A smile rippled over the dryad's face.
"I dare not say her name," she said, "yet, if you choose, you may see
her."
Esclaramonde's dark brows met in a frown.
"Is she one of my women?" she asked, suddenly, and the sound of her
voice boded ill for that one of her women whom the champion might name.
Argathona shook her head.
"Indeed no. She is not an inch below you in rank nor an inch above you
in stature. Her eyes shine with no less than your brightness; her lips
smile with your lively red. Here, if you please, is her image."
Stooping a little, Argathona caught up the mirror with which the
duchess had been playing and held it deftly in front of the beautiful,
cruel face. The red blood raced into Esclaramonde's cheeks and ebbed
again, leaving her strangely pale.
"Am I your lady-love?" she cried, with that joy in her voice which
conquest always brought her.
"You are she I rode to see," Argathona answered, enigmatically.
Esclaramonde gave a little sigh of dissatisfaction.
"Your heel needed a sharper spur; you are a day too late. I am to be
married this evening."
Argathona laughed.
"Love you, lady! I am a fellow of adventure, and would never make a
hearth-haunting husband. I am here to-day and gone to-morrow. My love
is the child of a night."
Esclaramonde's eyes widened and dwindled like a cat's. She was thinking
of many times and many nights and many comely men, and she was loath to
admit that this stripling should slip through the net of her desires.
"Why, we may find a time by-and-by," she sighed, all enticement.
Argathona shook her head.
"I ride from Athens to-morrow," she began, slowly; then swiftly, with
the imperiousness of victory, she ended, "Give me to-night."
The duchess laughed, but the duchess was pleased at the vehemence.
"You are a mad rascal. Am I not to be married this evening?"
Argathona answered her, in a lowered voice:
"There is an old tale of the Theban country, how a beautiful,
open-hearted lady would send her lord to sleep in the sipping of a
spiced wine, and then talk in the starlight with some lighter, brighter
body."
As Argathona spoke a frown grew and deepened on the face of
Esclaramonde.
"What are you saying?" she whispered.
"An old tale of Thebes," the dryad replied. "You know not such notions.
Yet 'tis a pity. Here is your lord, the unhorsed knight, will be
your fellow forever and a day, while I, who overtumbled him, must
willy-nilly be gone to-morrow. If he were to sleep to-night how should
it harm him? He would not hear us speak in the starlight."
The duchess waved her hand impatiently as if in dismissal.
"You are a mad lad; ride where you will."
"As you please," Argathona replied, "yet I have a toy here I would give
to any fair who was gentle with me."
If the duchess was greedy of love, she was greedy also of lovely things.
"What toy?" she cried, eagerly.
Argathona put her hand to her girdle and held out on extended palm a
small, perfectly fashioned apple of pure gold.
"This golden apple. See, it is pure gold, and see, writ on it in the
Greekish script, 'To the most fair.' This was the globe Paris gave to
Venus and set Troy burning. She who has it will ever be deemed the
loveliest in the eyes of men. I will give this to you to-night if we
talk together in the starlight."
The duchess propped her chin on her palm and meditated. There came
before her mind a diverting picture of her late lord, the ancient Duke
of Thebes, dozing hoggishly in his corner while she talked with another
in the starlight. The young knight of Athens was fair, but very surely
this young knight of Eleusis was fairer, and, after all, if he rode
away to-morrow there would be an age-long time to pass in the company
of Duke Baldwin's son. She decided quickly.
"Well, have your will if I win the golden apple. Come to the west
postern of the palace to-night. I will see to it that the door is ajar.
Mount the stair when I show a light from the window. Be very sure you
bring the apple with you. Farewell."
She extended her hand, which Argathona took and feigned to salute.
Then, swiftly, the wood-nymph turned and passed from the silken tent
into the meadow. As the dryad came into the liberal air she breathed
a great breath. It seemed to the daughter of the forest as if she had
escaped from some strange place where subtle poison guising like sweet
odor saturated the atmosphere and murdered all wholesome thoughts.
She stretched her arms joyously, as one released from cramping labor,
and, smiling to think that so far the woodland guile had triumphed,
she moved towards her own pavilion. Instantly she was aware that the
field which she had expected to find deserted still presented a scene
of animation. Duke Baldwin with a little cloud of knights and courtiers
about him was slowly tramping towards his palace with an angry gloom
upon his countenance, which was reflected in varying shades of
obsequious sympathy upon the faces of those who followed him. A little
removed from these a gigantic soldier moved slowly across the field,
his vacant, honest face overcast with melancholy. Still farther off she
could see Simon standing in front of her pavilion, carefully counting
gold pieces from one hand into the other and whistling blithely to
himself. By the time she had reached her squire Duke Baldwin and his
courtiers had disappeared from the field, the gigantic soldier had
vanished, and the lists were vacant save for herself and Simon.
XIX
SIMON THE STALWART
When Duke Baldwin, leaving the gallery in no good-humor with the world
to ask after his vanquished son, entered the field, he found that his
son had arisen and gone to his tent. Rainouart left with Count Ernault
the assurance that he was unhurt, that he had been fairly overthrown
by the best-planted blow he had ever received, and that his fall was
due to no fatigue on his part, but solely to the greater skill of his
antagonist. As Duke Baldwin listened frowningly to the phrases of the
lord-marshal, he caught sight of a brawny fellow who was lounging in
the lists at a little distance from the duke and the courtiers who
accompanied him. This was Simon of Rouen, who, seeing that Argathona
had been summoned to the pavilion of the Duchess of Thebes, thought
he might as well while away the time by stretching his legs over the
trampled turf. Even in a bad temper Duke Baldwin had an appreciation of
a fine figure in a man, and the sight of Simon's proportions brought a
sudden gleam of interest into his angry eyes. He cherished a taste for
collecting giants, and he surveyed Simon with the eager appreciation
of a possible purchaser. It never occurred to Duke Baldwin to doubt
that any man-at-arms could be other than rejoiced to enter his service,
just as it never occurred to him to doubt that any lady would be other
than pleased to accept his homage.
"Yonder stands a tall fellow," the duke grunted into Count Ernault's
ear; "stands he taller and broader than the pick of my body-guard?"
Count Ernault was not enjoying himself. The duke was in a beastly mood
and hard to manage, and Count Ernault's elastic urbanity was strained
to extreme tension. Desirous to gratify his master, he answered suavely
that the fellow bulked big enough, but that he doubted if he surpassed,
from toe to top, or from shoulder to shoulder, the mightiest of Duke
Baldwin's giants. Duke Baldwin growled uncourteous disbelief in Count
Ernault's skill in gauging height and width, not because he really
disagreed with him, but because he was in the mood to contradict
anything said by anybody, even a compliment to himself. He made his way
to Simon and stared critically at him, and Simon supported his gaze
composedly, looking into the duke's fierce eyes and longing to try a
fall with him, for the duke was a mighty fellow.
"How tall are you, man?" the duke asked, and Simon answered:
"Six feet four, your grace."
"Are you as strong as you look?" was the duke's next question, and
Simon smiled as he answered, somewhat ambiguously:
"I don't know how strong I look in your eyes, but whenever I look in
a mirror I never take the plain face I see there for the face of a
weakling."
Duke Baldwin was hugely strong, and he would have liked nothing better
than to make a personal trial of Simon's vigor, if Simon had only been
of gentle birth, or if, indeed, the two had been alone. It would not
do, however, for Duke Baldwin to indulge in physical competition with
a mere man-at-arms in the presence of the nobles, his courtiers, and
guests. For an instant the idea came into Baldwin's mind to confer
knighthood and title upon the unknown soldier for the sake of indulging
his whim, but a moment's reflection warned him, unwilling, that this
course would probably be found too eccentric in the eyes of his
illustrious companions.
"Bid them send for Harald Haraldson," he said to Count Ernault, and
while Count Ernault gave the order to a page, who sped like a greyhound
to execute it, Duke Baldwin went on questioning Simon.
"Tell me, friend," he said, "have you seen the pygmies who serve in my
body-guard?" Simon grinned.
"I have seen some of the laddies," he answered; "they may grow tall if
they live long enough."
"There be some there that are taller than you," the duke answered;
"do you think you are strong enough to overcome the smallest and the
slightest of them?" Simon shrugged his shoulders.
"I should not like to hurt your gracious play-things," he answered,
amiably, "but if you have, as you say, one among them that is taller
than I, and broader of breadth, I will be heartily pleased to try a
fall with him for the honor of Rouen."
"You have a good conceit of yourself," said the duke, grimly. "My
giants are the pick of Europe, but if you will stand by your vaunt,
here is your chance," and he pointed to where the little page came
skipping back, followed slowly by a man who seemed, indeed, a monster
in size and strength. The new-comer, with the fair hair and blue eyes
of a Norseman, was, indeed, some four inches taller than Simon, and
seemed broader across the shoulders. Simon eyed him approvingly as he
came slowly to where the duke stood. The duke spoke with the Norseman.
"Harald Haraldson," he said, "here is a strange soldier who thinks he
may prove as strong as you."
A suggestion of a smile for a moment disturbed the bland calm of the
northern giant's face, as he answered in execrable French to the effect
that the stranger must be a madman. Simon said nothing, and the duke,
looking at the pair, felt his confidence in his own soldier swell
within him and trumpet triumph.
"Will you try a fall with my partisan?" Duke Baldwin asked, clapping
the northern giant confidentially on the shoulder and eying Simon
sardonically.
"With all the pleasure in life," Simon answered, briskly.
"I take you at your word," said Duke Baldwin--"at this place, on this
instant."
The lists were almost empty, the crowd outside had for the most part
dispersed. Captain Fox and Captain Gander, Captain Bat and Captain
Chanticleer, Captain Rat and Captain Badger, prowling at the heels of
the departing multitude to pick up any little trifles that negligence
might let fall, were among the few who noted signs of renewed animation
in the enclosed space, and, noting, came again to the barriers and
leaned upon them to see what might be towards. Their curiosity found
its reward. Duke Baldwin had explained to Harald Haraldson that the
French adventurer was willing to try a fall with him, and the Norse
giant had looked pityingly upon the French adventurer, who, for his
part, was brisk in getting him ready for the coming scuffle.
On the spot the Norseman stripped off his body armor, and in a few