The dryad a novel
Rainouart's face darkened, for he thought of his mother, the gracious
lady so basely abandoned, and he thanked God in his heart that his
honor was not as the honor of Duke Baldwin. But Duke Baldwin was not
skilled to read either his son's face or his son's heart, and he went
on, bluffly:
"As for love, why, I am a jolly lover, too, though you and I read in
the book of love at different chapters. But you cannot go to your lass
yet awhile, for your very honor's sake."
"Why not?" Rainouart asked, with such a frown as might have wrinkled
his father's forehead, and the big duke, who liked his son's manner
best when most it resembled his own, went on very amiably to explain.
He told how the Duchess of Thebes had declared war upon Athens, at
which tidings Rainouart laughed contemptuously; and how Fernand Ximenes
inclined to her, and would in all likelihood whistle the Grand Company
to her cause. At this Rainouart's eyes shone and his pale cheeks
flushed ruddy, for if this were so, it promised a fight that would be
worth the fighting.
"Therefore," the duke went on, "your sweetheart must wait awhile till
this little brawl be over, for I am sure that no lass who played the
lad so gallantly as your fancy would have her lover lag aloof from a
battle."
He smiled somewhat sourly as he spoke, for he had no great confidence
in the martial constancy of knights that plied their books and fell in
love with country wenches. But he read Rainouart's answer in his eyes
before he got it from his lips, and it reassured him.
"While Athens is at war," Rainouart said, simply, "I ride and fight
with Athens. When Athens is at peace I will marry my true-love."
Simon nodded his head approvingly, and the duke for his part applauded
in his heart. He liked the lad's belligerent spirit, however little
he relished the nonsense about the witch in the wood. Duke Baldwin's
affection for his son, never very vehement, had waxed when he had
returned as the betrothed of the Duchess of Thebes, but had dwindled to
insignificance with the shattering of that alliance and the chance that
his son might die by a stroke from a woman's hand. Indeed, the jovial
duke, alarmed by the sudden possibility of an heirless duchy, had even
in the last few minutes begun to revolve again in his mind a project
that he had abandoned with the coming of the Duchess of Thebes. He had
up to that time been so much disappointed with his son that, although
as a general principle much averse to marriage as an institution, he
was seriously thinking of wedding again. He loved to have about him
none but such as were jolly eaters, jolly drinkers, jolly lovers, jolly
soldiers, and when he observed the difference between his son and
himself and those he cherished, he shuddered over the thought that such
a puling, mulish reader of books might one day rule in Athens. Baldwin
was still in the prime of life, with every right to hope for an heir,
and he began to reconcile himself to the thought of a state which he
had always regarded as bondage, though when it existed for him before
he had allowed it to bind him but little. In such case the young prince
might be clapped into a monastery to doze away his life over tomes of
nonsense, while the jolly duke would see to it that the son-child of
his dreams should be brought up to a very different purpose.
Now, however, the readiness of Rainouart to obey the call to arms made
Baldwin more content with his son, though he frowned at the foolish
words about marrying his true-love. However, with the gain of a little
time Rainouart's mind might change, though that did not seem likely,
or he might be prevailed upon to take a less high-flown sense of his
obligations to his lovely amazon, or, at the worst, the girl might be
got rid of some way or other.
"Well," he said, cheerfully, "you must wait a while ere you can talk of
marriage to a maid. For you are married, lad, hard and fast, married to
the lady Esclaramonde of Thebes, for a marriage is a marriage though it
be but a marriage in name."
Rainouart gave a groan at the duke's speech, and Simon, who had not
thought of this dilemma, scratched his chin and scowled. The duke
nodded sagaciously.
"Only our Holy Father the Pope can set you apart now, for even when we
take Thebes it would scarcely chime with the chivalry of the Rock to
kill the baggage, however much she deserve it. But I will send an envoy
to Avignon to put our case before the pontiff. By the time he returns
we shall have taken Thebes, and then you will be a free man to go
a-wooing in a wood."
"And till then," Simon added, "I will be your esquire, if you agree,
for such was the wish of your dear lady, whose humble servant I am very
proud to be."
Rainouart stretched out his hand and clasped the hand of Simon.
"We will be brothers-in-arms," he vowed, "as we are brothers in
service." Then he turned to his father.
"Sire," he said; "your son is your soldier till there be an end of the
war and till the pope makes me a free man again. And then, by your
leave, I will take my troth anew to the greenwood, and humbly pray my
sweet love to forgive me."
The duke said nothing, for he had nothing pleasant to say to such
vagaries. But Simon tugged at his russet beard, and muttered:
"I think she will forgive you."
XXV
CEPHISSUS
The dawn was as pink as a peach, and through the pellucid air the city
of Athens looked her fairest. The Parthenon, topping her holy hill,
glowed like amber in the young sunlight, showing the same fine lines of
perfect symmetry to the nobles of France that it had shown to the Roman
soldiers of Mummius and to the Athenians of the great war. Within the
sanctuary the gold and ivory image of Athena, fashioned by Phidias, had
given way to the pale face of Our Lady, Mother of the Holy Child, and
the grandiloquent Latin of the mass rolled its volume through the hall
that once had echoed to the sonorous Greek of the Palladian hymns. The
gods had gone, great Pan was dead, Christ had arisen, and still the
Parthenon in almost unaltered beauty crowned the Acropolis. But the
chivalry of France paid little heed to the Parthenon or the past of
Athens as they rode briskly out on that radiant morning to annihilate
the Catalan Grand Company. Their thoughts were with the vivid present,
with the pleasure of coming battle, with the pride of certain victory,
with the promise of the swift return, flushed with triumph, to find
praise and welcome smiling in their ladies' eyes. It was but the second
day since the night of the ruined nuptials, but Baldwin was brisk on
war business, and his chivalry and his fighting-men were quick to move.
The foot-soldiers had taken the field for the march to Thebes on the
previous day, and this day, this glorious day of peach-colored dawn,
the duke and his knights were to ride to the undoing of the Catalan
Grand Company.
The Catalan Grand Company had confirmed the menace of Ximenes, and
justified Duke Baldwin's doubts by going over as one man to the cause
of the Duchess of Thebes. But their defection did not trouble the bluff
duke. On the contrary, it furnished him with a full-blooded excuse for
exterminating the mutinous mercenaries and wiping out his debt to them
with a wet sword. So he and his chivalry rode to their assured victory,
and made their march a gala-day.
Simon had never seen a braver menace of war. The sunlight gleamed on
coats of many-tinted silk, on armor rich with gilding, on shields whose
gayly painted spaces were so many brave pages from the armorial of
France. Iris was outvied. Cloth of gold and cloth of silver glittered;
stuffs of flame color, sea color, corn color, blood color dazzled the
day; even the Athenian eyes, inured to vivid pigments seen in full
sunlight, ached in the play of hue. All the knights were clad as for
a tournament, save that they did not carry on their helmets the huge
and grotesque crests which made the mimic fight fantastic, for these,
though skilfully fashioned of light wicker-work and painted leather,
would have proved too cumbrous and too bulky in the hour of actual
combat.
Duke Baldwin rode at the head of his knights, with his visor exalted,
and his companions, the Knight of the Fish, the Knight of the Lizard,
the Knight of the Griffin, knights of all conceivable creatures that
blazoners and crest-builders had taken into their whimsical kingdom,
rode in Duke Baldwin's train and cried their war-cries into the ears
of a delighted audience. The Athenians, then as ever eager for new
things, and rejoicing in show, lined the streets and applauded lustily
as the pageant of war passed by. The knights rode to the fight as to
a feast, full of mirth. On every side jest challenged laughter and
laughter answered jest. Sir Guy, Sir Jaufre, Sir Ambrose, Sir Gaston,
Sir Raymond made merry one with another, and blew kisses to such girls
as had fair faces among the gazing throng. It was true that some lords
were missing from Duke Baldwin's following. Andronicus Palæologus,
pompous exile, had asserted that the quarrel was none for him to meddle
with and had taken shipping for Nauplia; Demetrius of Epirus had stolen
away by night to Thebes to lend such dignity as his name could give
to the Catalan rally. But no one seemed to remember or to regret the
fugitive or the traitor, and no one seemed to think any but mirthful
thoughts or to speak other than mirthful words.
Simon marvelled somewhat at the knightly mirth. There was nothing so
wonderful in the crushing of such an uproar as that of the Catalan
Grand Company. Yet Simon's own spirits were high, and he found snatches
of old songs bubbling from his lips as he rode close at hand to his
master. Rainouart seemed once again what he had been before the fatal
coming of Esclaramonde. Thanks to the herb of healing, thanks to his
native health, he had wellnigh recovered from the wound that the
ill-directed stroke of a woman had dealt him. What was of far more
moment, he had wholly escaped from the spell of Esclaramonde's magic,
and rode with clear eyes and clean spirit. If he were not now as blithe
as his fellows, he had never displayed a noisy humor of mirth. But
while the others carolled and babbled, he rode quietly with a bright
smile on his face, for he thought of the girl in the greenwood, and all
the world was fragrant with the perfume of the noble rose. His carriage
cheered Duke Baldwin greatly, wherefore he rode lively enough at the
head of his knights, and did not trouble himself much about the amorous
folly of his son so long as that son rode in arms like a gallant
gentleman against the enemy.
The peach tint of the dawn flushed into rose and glowed into gold as
the morning grew, and soon the sky was all of the liveliest blue above
the heads of Baldwin and his companions. They knew some hours of
blithe riding through a blithe country, now open as they traversed the
Attic plain, now enclosed as they came to the hilly places and fringed
the forest--and here Simon looked wistfully at the wood, but Rainouart
rode steadily with his gaze fixed straight ahead--and then again open
as they began to enter the Theban plain. Here Duke Baldwin found his
foot-soldiers encamped, and here he heard that the opposing forces had
marched out of Thebes and taken up their position in an encampment on
the plain to await the Athenian invaders. Here the knights made a halt
for rest and repose, for the morning was still very young, with the air
exceedingly cool and sweet. The horses were fed and tended, the knights
ate and drank, but sparingly, as befits those about to give battle,
and their brief leisure was as mirthful as their march. When all were
refreshed, man and beast, the march was resumed, and a little time