The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 13

"Ha, varlet! and wherefore?"

"Caitiff, I drubbed them shrewdly."

"Dared ye withstand them, dog?"

"Minion, I did."

"Saw ye not the badge they bore?" demanded the fierce stranger-knight.

"'T was the like of that upon thy s.h.i.+eld!" nodded Sir Pertinax grimly.

"Know ye who and what I am, dunghill rogue?"

"No, dog's-breakfast--nor care!" growled Sir Pertinax, whereat the stranger-knight grew sudden red and clenched mailed fist.

"Know then, thou kennel-scourer, that I am Sir

Agramore of Biename, Lord of Swanscote and Hoccom, Lord Seneschal of Tissingors and the March."

"Ha!" quoth Sir Pertinax, scowling. "So do I know thee for a very rogue ingrain and villain manifest."

"How!" roared Sir Agramore. "This to my face, thou vile creeper of ditches, thou unsavoury tavern-haunter--this in my teeth!"

"Heartily, heartily!" nodded Sir Pertinax. "And may it choke thee for the knavish carca.s.s thou art."

At this, and very suddenly, the Knight loosed mace from saddle-bow, and therewith smote Sir Pertinax on rusty bascinet, and tumbled him backward among the bracken. Which done, Sir Agramore laughed full loud and, spurring his charger, galloped furiously away. And after some while Sir Pertinax arose, albeit unsteadily, but finding his legs weak, sat him down again; thereafter with fumbling hands he did off dinted bascinet and viewed it thoughtfully, felt his head tenderly and, crawling to the stream, bathed it solicitously; then, being greatly heartened, he arose and drawing sword, set it upright in the ling and, kneeling, clasped his hands and spake as follows:

"Here and now, upon my good cross-hilt I swear I will with joy and zeal unremitting, seek me out one Sir Agramore of Biename. Then will I incontinent with any, all, or whatsoever weapon he chooseth fall upon him and, for this felon stroke, for his ungentle dealing with the maid, I will forthwith gore, rend, tear, pierce, batter, bruise and otherwise use the body of the said Sir Agramore until, growing aweary of its vile tenement, his viler soul shall flee hence to consume evermore with such unholy knaves as he. And this is the oath of me, Sir Pertinax,

"Knight of Shene, Lord of Westover, Framling, Bracton and Deepdene, to the which oath may the Saints bend gracious ear, in especial Our Holy Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood--Amen!"

Having registered the which most solemn oath, Sir Pertinax arose, sheathed his sword, and strode blithely towards the fair and prosperous town of Ca.n.a.lise. But, being come within the gate, he was aware of much riot and confusion in the square and streets beyond, and hasting forward, beheld a wild concourse, a pus.h.i.+ng, jostling throng of people making great clamour and outcry, above which hubbub ever and anon rose such shouts, as: "Murderer! Thief! Away with him! Death to him!"

By dint of sharp elbow and brawny shoulder our good knight forced himself a way until--surrounded by men-at-arms, his limbs fast bound, his motley torn and b.l.o.o.d.y, his battered fool's-cap all awry--he beheld Duke Jocelyn haled and dragged along by fierce hands. For a moment Sir Pertinax stood dumb with horror and amaze, then, roaring, clapped hand to sword. Now, hearing this fierce and well-known battle shout, Duke Jocelyn turned and, beholding the Knight, shook b.l.o.o.d.y head in warning and slowly closed one bright, blue eye; and so, while Sir Pertinax stood rigid and dumb, was dragged away and lost in the fierce, jostling throng.

My daughter GILLIAN propoundeth:

GILL: Father, when you began this Geste, I thought It was a poem of a sort.

MYSELF: A sort, Miss Pert! A sort, indeed?

GILL: Of course--the sort folks love to read.

But in the last part we have heard Of poetry there's scarce a word.

MYSELF: My dear, if you the early Geste-books read, You'll find that, oft as not, indeed, The wearied Gestours, when by rhyming stumped, Into plain prose quite often jumped.

GILL: But, father, dear, the last part seems to me All prose--as prosy as can be--

MYSELF: Ha, prosy, miss! How, do you then suggest Our Geste for you lacks interest?

GILL: Not for a moment, father, though Sir Pertinax was much too slow.

When fair Melissa "laughing stood,"

He should have kissed--you know he should--Because, of course, she wished him to.

MYSELF: Hum! Girl, I wonder if that's true?

GILL: O father, yes! Of course I'm right, And you're as slow as your slow knight.

Were you as slow when you were young?

MYSELF: Hush, madam! Hold that saucy tongue.

You may be sure, in my young days, I was most dutiful always.

Grown up, I was, it seems to me, No slower than I ought to be.

And now, miss, since you pine for verse, Rhyme with my prose I'll intersperse; And, like a doting father, I To hold your interest will try.

FYTTE 5

Which of Duke Joc'lyn's woeful plight doth tell, And all that chanced him pent in dungeon cell.

In gloomy dungeon, scant of air and light, Duke Joc'lyn lay in sad and woeful plight; His hands and feet with ma.s.sy fetters bound, That clashed, whene'er he moved, with dismal sound; His back against the clammy wall did rest, His heavy head was bowed upon his breast, But, 'neath drawn brows, he watched with wary eye Three ragged 'wights who, shackled, lay hard by, Three brawny rogues who, scowling, fiercely eyed him, And with lewd gibes and mocking gestures plied him.

But Joc'lyn, huddled thus against the wall, Seemed verily to heed them none at all, Wherefore a red-haired rogue who thought he slept With full intent upon him furtive crept.

But, ere he knew, right suddenly he felt Duke Joc'lyn's battered shoe beneath his belt; And falling back with sudden strangled cry, Flat on his back awhile did breathless lie, Whereat to rage his comrades did begin, And clashed their fetters with such doleful din That from a corner dim a fourth man sprang, And laughed and laughed, until their prison rang.

"Well kicked, Sir Fool! Forsooth, well done!" laughed he, "Ne'er saw I, Fool, a fool the like o' thee!"

Now beholding this tall fellow, Jocelyn knew him for that same forest-rogue had wrestled with him in the green, and sung for his life the "Song of Roguery." Wherefore he smiled on the fellow and the fellow on him:

Quoth JOCELYN: I grieve to see A man like thee In such a woeful plight--

Quoth the ROGUE: A Fool in fetters, Like his betters, Is yet a rarer sight.

"Ha i' the clout, good fellow, for Folly in fetters is Folly in need, and Folly in need is Folly indeed! But, leaving folly awhile, who art thou and what thy name?"

Saith the ROGUE: Robin I'm named, Sir Fool, Rob by the few, Which few are right, methinks, for so I do.

"Then, Rob, if dost rob thou'rt a robber, and being robber thou'rt perchance in bonds for robbing, Robin?"

"Aye, Fool, I, Rob, do rob and have robbed greater robbers that I might by robbery live to rob like robbers again, as thou, by thy foolish folly, fooleries make, befooling fools lesser than thou, that thou, Fool, by such fool-like fooleries may live to fool like fools again!"

Quoth JOCELYN: Thou robber Rob, By Hob and Gob, Though robber-rogue, I swear That 't is great pity Rogue so pretty Must dance upon thin air.

Quoth ROBIN: Since I must die On gallows high And wriggle in a noose, I'll none repine Nor weep nor whine, For where would be the use?

Yet sad am I That I must die With rogues so base and small, Sly coney-catchers, Poor girdle-s.n.a.t.c.hers, That do in kennel crawl.