The Fortunes of Garin by Mary Johnston (finding audrey .TXT) 📕

THE FAIR GOAL

Messengers, heralds, bearing decisive and peremptory speech, went from Richard, Count of Poitou and Duke of Aquitaine, to the Counts of Montmaure. Others were despatched to the leaders of the host of Aquitaine before Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard was at peace with Roche-de-Frêne; let that host therefore direct no blow against its lord’s ally! Instead, let it forthwith detach itself from Montmaure, withdraw at once from the princedom of Roche-de-Frêne, and, returned within its own boundaries, go each man to his own home. On your faith and obedience. So the heralds to the leaders of the aid from Aquitaine.

To the Counts of Montmaure the heralds, declaring themselves true heart, mouth, and speech of Duke Richard, delivered peremptory summons to desist from this war. An they did not, it would be held to them for revolt from Richard their suzerain.... The heralds with their train rode fast and rode far.

The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne awaited in Angoulême the earliest fruit of this faring. She waited at first at the Abbey of the Fountain, but presently in the town as Duke Richard’s guest. A great house was given her, with all comfort and[347] service. Ladies came to wait upon her; she had seneschal, chamberlain and page. If she would go abroad she had palfreys with their grooms; in her hall waited knights to attend her. Angoulême and its castle and the court about Duke Richard buzzed of her presence in this place, of what adventure had been hers to reach it, and of the attitude now of Richard Lion-Heart. They did not know detail of her adventure, but they knew that it had taken courage. They knew that Richard had in him power to turn squarely. They did not know all the whys and wherefores, depths and reasons of the right angle that made in Angoulême a whirling cloud of speculation, but as a fact they accepted it and proceeded with their own adaptation. The party that, for reasons personal to itself, had backed Montmaure, wagering in effect upon the permanency of his influence with Richard, took its discomforture as enforced surgery and found it wisdom’s part to profess healing. The party that had been hostile to Montmaure found a clearing day and walked with satisfaction in the sun. Those—not many—who had stood between the two, found usual cautious pleasure in changing scenery and event. The most in Angoulême could give nine days to wonder. The Princess Audiart stayed with them no greatly longer time.

Duke Richard came to her house in state. In state she returned the visit, was met by him at the castle gate. He would give a joust in her honour,[348] and afterward a contest of troubadours. She sat beside him on the dais, and watched all with a gentle face, a still and inscrutable look. Beauvoisin was of those who tourneyed, and among the knights whom he brought into the lists rode Garin of the Black Castle, who did most well and was given great observance. The next day, when there was song, Richard called for Garin of the Golden Island, naming him famed knight, famed poet, famed bird of song, bird that sang from itself. Garin came before the dais, took from a jongleur his lute.

“Sir Garin of the Golden Island,” said Richard, “sing Within its heart the nightingale—”

He sang—a golden song sung greatly.

“Ah!” sighed Richard Lion-Heart, and bade him sing When in my dreams thou risest like a star. “Ah God!” said Richard. “Some are kings one way, and some another! Sing now and lastly to-day, Fair Goal.”

Garin sang. All Angoulême that might gather in the great hall, in the galleries, in the court and passages without, listened with parted lips. Richard listened, and in some sort he may have felt what the singer felt of goals beyond goals, of glories beyond the loveliness and glories of symbols, of immortal union behind, beneath, above the sweetness of an earthly fact.

One was present who did feel what the singer felt, and that was the princess who sat as still as if she were carven there.... Garin of the Golden[349] Island won the golden falcon that was the duke’s prize.

A week went by. A second began to drift into the past, winter day by winter day. Messengers now rode into Angoulême and through the castle gates, and were brought to Duke Richard. They came from the lords of Aquitaine encamped before Roche-de-Frêne, and they bore tidings of obedience. The host helped no longer in this war. When the messengers departed it was in act of lifting from all its encampments; even now it would be withdrawing from the lands of Roche-de-Frêne. Richard sent this word in state to the princess in Angoulême.

A day later there spurred at dusk into Angoulême a cloaked and hooded lord, behind him three or four, knights or squires. The following morn the first won through to Richard’s presence. The two were alone together a considerable time. Those who waited without the room heard rise and fall of voices.... At last came the lion’s note in Richard’s voice, but it changed and fell away. He was speaking now with an icy reasonableness. That passed to a very still, pointed utterance with silences between.... The other made passionate answer. Richard’s speech took a sternness and energy which in him marked the lion sublimated. Then a bell was struck; the attendants, when they opened the door, had a glimpse of a red-gold head and a working face, hook-nosed, with a scar upon its cheek.

Montmaure left Angoulême; he rode in savagery[350] and bitterness, his spur reddening the side of his horse, the men with him labouring after. He rode, whether by day or by eve, in a hot night of his own. Red sparks flashed through it, and each showed something he did not wish to see. Now it was Richard whom he doubted if ever he could regain, and now it was Richard’s aid withdrawing—withdrawn—from the plain by Roche-de-Frêne. Cap-du-Loup—Cap-du-Loup would follow Aquitaine, might even now gustily have whirled away! Jaufre’s spirit whispered of other allies who might follow. The glare showed him the force of Montmaure that was left, spread thinly before Roche-de-Frêne. It showed Roche-de-Frêne, as last he had seen it, over his shoulder, when he rode with fury and passion to work in Angoulême a counter-miracle,—as he would see it now again,—Roche-de-Frêne grim and dauntless, huge giant seated on a giant rock. Jaufre, whelmed in his night-time, shook with its immensity of tempest. The storm brought forth lights of its own. They showed him Montmaure—Montmaure also in motion—cowering forth, unwinning, from this war. They showed him Audiart the princess. When he came to Angoulême he had learned there who had wrought the miracle.... An inner light that was not red or born of storm trembled suddenly, far above the great fens and marshes and hot, wild currents. That quality in her that had wrought the miracle—It was but a point, a gleam, but Jaufre had seen white light. The storm closed[351] in upon him, but he had looked into a higher order, knew now that it was there. His huge, lower being writhed, felt the space above it.

Hours passed, days passed. He came through country which he had charred, back to Montmaure’s tents. The dragon lay shrunken; it could no longer wholly enfold Roche-de-Frêne. Jaufre found his father’s red pavilion, entered.

Count Savaric started up. “Ha! you rode fast! Speak out! Is it good or bad?”

“Bad,” said Jaufre, and faintly, faintly knew that it was good.

The days went by in Angoulême and there came again the heralds who had been sent to Montmaure. They brought Count Savaric’s and Count Jaufre’s submission to the will of their suzerain—since no other could be done and sunshine be kept to grow in! They brought news of the lifting of the siege of Roche-de-Frêne. On the morrow came one who had been in Roche-de-Frêne. He had to tell of joy that overflowed.

The Princess Audiart left the court of Richard Lion-Heart for her own land and capital town. She went with a great escort which Richard would give her. The danger now from the dragon that had ravaged her country lay only in the scattered drops of venom that might be encountered,—wild bands, Free Companies, wandering about, ripe for mischief, not yet sunk back into their first lairs. She and Duke Richard made pact of amity between his house[352] and hers, and she went from Angoulême on a grey day, beneath a cloud-roof that promised snow. At the Abbey of the Fountain she dismounted, entered to say farewell to the Abbess Madeleine and to kneel for Church’s blessing. She had ladies now in her train. These entered with her, and two knights, the Count of Beauvoisin and Sir Garin of the Black Castle. Forth and upon the road, Beauvoisin rode at her right. He had the duke’s signet, lord’s power to bear her safely through every territory that owed allegiance to Richard.

The snow fell, but the air was not cold. They rode through the afternoon wrapped in a veil of large white flakes. In the twilight they reached a fair-sized town where great and rich preparation had been made for them. The next day also the snow fell, and they fared forward through a white country. Then the snow ceased, the clouds faded and a great heaven of blue vaulted the world. The sun shone and melted the snow, there came a breath as of the early spring.

In the middle of the day they pitched the princess’s pavilion in the lee of a hill or in some purple wood. They built a fire for her and her ladies and, a distance away, a campfire. Dinner was cooked and served; rest was taken, then camp was broken and they rode on again. Time and route were spaced so that at eve they entered town or village or castle gate. Beauvoisin had sent horsemen ahead—when the princess and her company entered, they found[353] room and cheer with varying pomp of welcome. The night passed, in the morning stately adieux were made; they travelled on.

Riding east and south, they came now into and crossed fiefs that held from Montmaure who held from Aquitaine. Beauvoisin kept hawk-watch and all knights rode with a warrior mien. Care was taken where the camp should be made. Among those sent ahead to town or castle were poursuivants who made formal proclamation of Duke Richard’s mind.—But though they saw many who had been among the invaders of Roche-de-Frêne, and though the country wore a scowling and forbidding aspect,—where it did not wear an aspect relieved and complaisant,—they made transit without open or secret hindrance. They came nearer, nearer to borders of Roche-de-Frêne. In clear and gentle weather the princess entered that fief which had been held by Raimbaut the Six-fingered.

This was a ravaged region indeed,