Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (416 page)

And she answered passionately:

“And what else would you see? Is it that we are merchants who must have goods stored up in our houses where we shall live for the rest of our lives? No, surely I think we are better than that. For there are in the world great plains and wide rivers and woods of a month’s journey in extent. And there are castles and cities, and there are kings and emperors and high adventures. If you would take me to live in such a merchant’s house, surely I would not do it.”

“But would you have us go about the world and not know upon the day where at night we shall lay our heads?” he asked.

“Aye, surely,” she answered, “for what better or gentler life could you ask?”

“But how should we gain our bread?” Mr. Sorrell asked.

“Gentle friend,” she answered, “is it a new thing that a great knight, putting upon himself the garb of a minstrel, and accompanied by a page or two and a few men of arms to give him sufficient state and respect, should journey through the world and sing of the high things of love, or of great adventures in arms? So he goes from castle to castle, and great is his welcome. And so shall you not do? For you have more wonderful things to tell of than any knight ever yet had. And so we should travel through the world, and you shall heal many sick persons. And a king shall give you a castle here, and an emperor shall give you broad lands there. For it should be a very niggardly king or a very miserly emperor that should not do so much. And so we should travel through the great forests and along the broad streams and over the endless plains. And our lives shall be very pleasant and restful, and you shall not ever be sad.”

“But this is all a fable,” Mr. Sorrell said. His voice had fallen low; his resolution was fading away within him. It was as if in that dusk, and before his desire for her and for peace, he were sinking into deep waters and into darkness. He bent his arms a little and she hers, so that they came closer and closer together.

“No, no,” she said, “these are no fables. This is the world as we live in it beneath the starlight and beneath the sun. In the summer the little birds will sing and it will be joyful, and in the winter we shall get us into the great castles. Many knights have done so; many knights shall do this again. It is you that by thinking on things that are beyond the power of man betake yourself into lands all fables, and not worth an old wife’s song that is feeble and cracked in an aged throat.”

With insensible pressure they drew each other closer and closer. The sinking moon went down behind the hills. There remained of her visible only a face that seemed silver in the growing starlight, and the great white hood curiously folded that stood out above her head like an aureole. The world had gone; it was all darkness, all shadows. It seemed extraordinary to Mr. Sorrell that there should be so close to him this woman, with the warm face rendered pale by light of the stars, with the earnest and shadowy eyes and the curiously folded hood all white. It seemed to him odd, it seemed to him unthinkable; and yet he felt upon his face the breath from her lips. The breath from her lips was sweet like the breath of cows that have come out of the clover fields. It was inexplicable that she should be there and he; it was inexplicable that his will should be surrendering before hers. For he felt that he was surrendering, as if he were sinking down between the myriads of stars into unknown spaces.

Their knees trembled so that they sank down on to the wet short grass. Their arms were about each other, and in his she was a heavy weight.

“Before you came,” she said, “there was nothing in the whole world. Surely the little birds did not sing; surely the sun did not shine.”

“There was no sweetness in the world before I came here to you,” he answered, and he did not know with whose voice he spoke, or from what world his thoughts came. “The light of the moon was a pale thing, and the voice of the little larks said nothing in my ears.”

“All my life I have waited for you,” she answered.

“I have come down to you through centuries,” came from his lips; “all the men of my past are like a few phantoms. It is as if they walked upon shrivelled leaves in an autumn wood. There is only you in all the world.”

“In all the world there is only you,” she repeated.

With a great rustling there came from the wood a wild sow, but they did not hear it. It looked to right and left with its tiny and fierce eyes. Perceiving no motion, it adventured itself into the little field and went down towards the river. The mists rose up to join with other mists that descended from the skies. The light of the stars was hidden, and in the great stillness the slight gurgling sound of the river among the reeds made itself heard. A heron flying overhead croaked three times. It was answered from a distance by its mate. Because it was already August the last of the nightingales had flown away.

Lying upon his back and looking into the darkness, Mr. Sorrell was aware of sounds and glimpses of sights. It was as if very dimly he saw about him the shadows of walls through which the dark night appeared. Above him the shapes of women, as indistinct as, in the twilight, are the shadows of poplars, seemed to advance and to recede, now from this side, now from that. It was as if they bent over him and whispered solicitously.

But it was as if he could neither see them nor hear what it was that they whispered. And there stole into his nostrils a penetrating perfume. An immense dread swept down on him, the dumb agony of a nightmare. He seemed to be unable to move; his hands were stretched down at his sides as if he were a corpse laid out for burial. Agony was in his heart, on his lips that would not speak, in his throat whose muscles would not act. The perfume overwhelmed him, suffocating, warm, sweet in the throat, sinister and filling him with a mad foreboding. It was the odour of chloroform.

He screamed out loud; great beads of sweat burst out on his forehead. He stretched out his hand like a madman and clutched at her dress.

“Are you there?” he asked: and she answered:

“I am here, beloved of my heart,” and he lifted his face towards hers which was slightly cold with dew and the night.

“It is so well with me,” she whispered; but Mr. Sorrell was full of fears.

CHAPTER III.

THE Lady Blanche d’Enguerrand de Coucy de Stapleford was awaiting the signal to arm herself against the combat. In a new man’s suit of brown leather she appeared less tall than when she was dressed as a woman; but in revenge, her broad shoulders and her flat chest, that was always heaving with emotions of rage, of hot joy or of cold indignation, seemed to be broader by far. And her hips were very broad too, so that she gave the impression of having a massive and heavy trunk, long arms, and rather short legs. Her face was flushed and her eyes very bright; she sat upon a stool and talked of what she would do.

It was in a large pavilion of linen and silk, red and white in great bands, that stood at one end of the lists. From outside, and all around, came the clamour of an intolerable crowd of people that had come together from all over the south parts to see these famous joustings. The lists had been set up in a broad field along the river Wiley about half-way between the castles of Stapleford and of Tamworth. Many that had come to see these adventures had slept the night before on the grass beneath the stars; many more had slept in the courtyards of one or other of the castles, in the stables, or, if they had been able to scrape the permission, in the empty rooms, the cellars, or beneath the gate-ways. And this great crowd of people had very much delayed the preparations, so that it was already noon, though they should have begun at eight o’clock in the morning.

At each end of the lists was a string of people coming and going as if they had been ants revictualling an ant-heap; round the lists themselves the populace spread out over the grass in a huge swarm. Men and women who had brought provender for sale cried out incessantly that here you might have hot pies, ale, furmety, black puddings, metheglin, roasted apples, and the flesh of swine. They spoke English of the South, English of the West, English of the Midlands, French of London, French of Salisbury, and there were several jugglers and players of pipes and tabors of the lower orders who cried out shrilly for pence in the French of France, saying:

“
Par pitié! des sols
,
des deniers!
”

Horsemen rode about amongst all this many, and there were a number of shepherds from the Plain, gazing about them stupidly in their long cloaks of blue woollen. They leant upon the shafts of huge crooks, at whose heads there hung leathern bottles filled with mead, and at the foot of each crook was an iron trowel. With this they could dig up fragments of turf which they hurled to immense distances, using their long staves. Thus they could protect their lambs from foxes or themselves from robbers, who gave them a wide berth because they were mostly very poor men and very formidable.

The lists themselves shone green and white and red and white, the pavilions at each end being of these colours, and each as large as a merchant’s house of Salisbury. The bearings of Coucy were of red and white chequers, those of Egerton were green and white, the families being allied. Thus, beneath the sun the pavilion of the Lady Blanche showed her colours, and the Lady Dionissia had green and white, but across the roof ran a zigzag of yellow because she was the daughter of the Earl of Morant. The lists themselves were very strongly built, though fair cloths of linen and silk hid their strengths with their straight lines of red and white and of green and white. Along each side of this railed-in space there had been made, with strong banks of timber, a rampart going the whole length of the lists upon each side. This had been the labour of thirteen hinds for three days to set it up. But their labours were hidden by the labours of twenty women, who for a week had sewn the red and white and the green and white chequers of the cloths that covered these erections down to the green grass. Upon the right-hand side the chequers were red, and upon the left they were of green. Down the centre of the lists, there ran such another balustrade covered with just such cloths, the red and white and green and white meeting about half-way, or just where the tilters should encounter each other if their horses ran justly. About the middle of each side of the lists was a wooden erection for such spectators as were of gentle blood. These had over them canopies of green boughs to shield their occupants from the sun, and these canopies were supported upon little posts of which each alternate one was gilded, and others being painted red and white and green and white as the case might be. The passages formed by the balustrade in the centre led on the right-hand side to an opening in the tent of the Lady Dionissia, and on the left to one in that of the Lady Blanche. Each opening was large enough to let through an armed knight upon his destrier. And everyone who perceived this array of white and green and red was agreed that these lists were very properly laid out and in the due fashion of chivalry. Part of the crowd considered that it was strange that ladies should thus run against each other with shields, with sharp spears, with axes, swords, and the little daggers that give the stroke known as the
coup de grace.
But, for the most part, the common people considered that the doings of their betters were no affair of theirs, and they took pleasure in the occasion that thus joyously called them together. Thus, though some lewd fellows sang ribald ballads that they had prepared, they found few listeners, whilst many men and women stood round the French ballad-singers who told them of the ladies Isegonde and Belforest, who had put upon themselves the armour of knights, journeying over the world in search of their paramours that languished in the dungeons of the Soldan.

Not many knights had come to see this fray, for nearly all those of that countryside were away upon one war or adventure or another. But there were many ladies who were with great gaiety eating their dinners in the castle of Stapleford or of Tamworth as the case might be. And there was one old knight, too stiff with age to manage any more fighting. His name was the Sieur de Ygorac de Fordingbridge, and it had been agreed that he should be the judge of this combat, for he had seen many such, and was well versed in their laws.

He was a little man in a blue surcoat, wearing round his neck the collar of the Knights of St. Stephen of Portugal. He had thin white hair, he was past fifty, his blue eyes twinkled always, and before he spoke he generally uttered a “Ho! ho!” that was like a laugh. All these ladies that sat at board in one castle or the other agreed that this tournament was a fine and a gentle thing. They ate delicately from silver plates, their head-dresses waved in long lines, about half being of the shape of steeples and the other half broad like the wings of swans. Some of them wished that it had come into their head before that to engage in such a tournament; some declared that such tournaments they would have next year; and a few said that they had not the courage, but wished that God had given it them. Many agreed that it was shameful that their lords left them as if they were widowed through all the summer months, journeying off one way or another as soon as the ice were melted and the snow gone from the ground. But many others said that so it was the nature of men to do, and even so they must abide it. Then they began to talk of the differences between man and woman, how that one would have this and the other that, and how they could console themselves for the absence of their lords. There were many gentle and joyous things said there, so that some laughed, some blushed, and some held down their heads with the cloths fluttering behind them.

Sitting upon a stool in her tent, the Lady Blanche discoursed of what she would do to the Lady Dionissia. She said:

“Spears are little use. What can you do with a spear? It strikes upon a shield, and if it strikes true, it shivers into pieces. And if it strikes not so true, it glances away, so that you lose your little mark on the judge’s tally. Or you aim at the helmet of the one riding against you. If you strike the mark, in one case out of ten your spear point may go in at the visor and carry away helmet and all. Or if you strike the helmet and your spear glances off, you have gained your little mark in the judges score, but it is not so good a mark as if you break your spear upon the shield of the one that rides against you. Now this is what I will do in the matter of spears, for those come first.”

The Lady Blanche looked round at the faces of those who heard her. These were the Ladies Amourcuse and Blanchemain, the little page Jehan, and Gorhelm the old, her armourer. The Ladies Blanchemain and Amoureuse were, like the Lady Blanche, in men’s clothes of buff leather that fitted like eelskins to their bodies. Over this the armour was to go, for they were to fight in the mêlée with the ladies of the Lady Dionissia, all fighting together after their two mistresses had fought with axes. The little Lady Blanchemain had tears in her eyes, and trembled continuously. She did not love this adventure at all, because she was so little, having been born whilst her father’s castle was closely besieged, so that her mother at that time had had little or no milk to give her.

The Lady Amoureuse also regarded this adventure with little favour. It was true that she was taller and more deft than the Lady Cunigunde, with whom it would be her lot to fight. She could run like a lapwing; she was five foot six in height, her back was straight, she rode a horse well, for she was long in the leg, and she could throw a light spear to a distance of twenty-five yards. The little Lady Blanchemain was squat in the body and knock-kneed, and the Lady Amoureuse regarded her with contempt as she whined and grizzled in her suit of yellow leather. But the Lady Amoureuse regarded her mistress with such hatred that she did not wish her to win in this contest, so that she was setting about it with little joy. Indeed, with such passion did she adore the bearer of the cross of St. Joseph, that for his sake she wished that the Lady Dionissia might win that day and that she herself might die. Yet she did not wish to die by the sword or dagger of the Lady Cunigunde; she desired rather to pine away as ladies do who love hopelessly. So it is that ladies do in ballads and lays, lying in great beds with many knights and others round them, all together sighing out, groaning and lamenting of the great power of tyrannical love. She did not desire to help her mistress, whose pride and jeering had become unbearable to her, neither did she desire to die in this mêlée, or to have her limbs broken or her head split, for so she would not die beautifully in her bed. And all this appeared to her a foolish and a disagreeable plan.

The Lady Blanche set her hard, green eyes first upon her, then upon the little Jehan, who held upright her red and white shield with its point upon the ground. The shield was so tall that it came almost up to the little boy’s chin, and nearly hid the black velvet in which he was dressed. The Lady Amoureuse returned the Lady Blanche’s glance with a mocking and obstinate smile, such as made her whole being revolt within her. She wished for whips to lay across this lady’s back till she screamed out for mercy. The little page Jehan looked back at her with candid blue eyes, and listened to hear her plan. The armourer, who carried a turn-screw, blew his nose in a corner of his greasy hood. He was a man very begrimed with the smoke of his furnaces; his face was a dull brown, his eyes were bloodshot, the lids being rimmed with coal-dust, and even in his pale white hair there were gouts of soot. He wore a long black apron of leather that covered his whole body, and was burnt here and there where coals had fallen upon it. He looked obstinately at the ground, and paid no attention to what was said there. It was his business to screw up the nuts and bolts of the armour that these ladies saw fit to put on, for the little Jehan was not strong enough.

“Now in the matter of spears, which come first, this is what I will do,” the Lady Blanche said. “For the first two courses I will break my spear upon that lady’s shield if she can remain in her saddle, But this last I doubt, for though she is heavier than I am, yet I am stronger and more determined. Then at the third course I shall aim my spear point at her helmet, so that the point, going in at the visor, may haply enter this lady’s eye and pierce through her head. This I very much hope, for I desire to be rid of such vermin.”

Again the Lady Blanche paused and looked round the pavilion. No one answered her. The sun shining down made it very hot there, so that they all perspired. The armour that these three ladies were to wear was disposed round the tent upon wooden horses. Over the shining steel were laid their surcoats of red and white silk. And, through the opening at the back of the tent, they could perceive how two hinds led up and down the destrier that the Lady Blanche was to ride. This was a very great beast and savage, being not so very well trained. Its body, neck, and chest were covered by steel harness, but this again was covered by silken cloth of red and white. Through the holes of this covering its eyes looked out savage and inflamed, and although the harness was very heavy, nevertheless it so bounded and shook its head that it was difficult for the two hinds to keep upon their feet. By rights it should have been squires, or at least men-at-arms, that led this beast; but the Lady Blanche had no squires; her pages were too little and her men-at-arms not strong enough to hold him.

“Now, for the second course,” the Lady Blanche said, “this is what I shall do. The second course is with axes. For the first stroke I shall strike this lady upon the left shoulder so that her shield shall drop to the ground. And the second stroke shall be very weighty upon her right shoulder, so that her axe likewise she shall drop. And the third stroke shall fall, weightiest of all, upon her head, so that she shall fall to the ground. Then, descending from my horse, I shall spring over the barrier as the law provides, and whilst she lies upon the ground I shall seek with my dagger for the joint in her harness. And so she will die then. But I hope I shall have killed her before with my -good lance, though that is more difficult. Then for the mêlée, we being three against two, I think the Lady Dionissia’s ladies must yield themselves up without blow struck, and so they must serve me till I choose that they may marry and I shall take toll of their dowries. And this shall be to the eternal disgrace of the Lady Dionissia, and much it shall redound to my glory.”