The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 27

"A goodly lover I might be, Merrily, ho ho!

But pretty maids in terror flee, When this my hangman's head they see.

But woe it is, thinks I, All fair, sweet dames must die, And pale, sad corpses lie.

Alack-a-day and woe, Alack it should be so!

"Fairest beauty is but dust, s.h.i.+ning armour soon will rust, All good things soon perish must, Look around, thinks I, and see All that, one day, dead must be, King and slave and you and me.

Alack-a-day and woe, Alack it must be so!"

"Out!" cried Robin. "Here forsooth is dolorous doleful dirge--out on thee for sad and sorry snuffler!"

"Aye, verily," sighed Ranulph, "'tis my curse. I begin with laugh and end in groan. I did mean this for merry song, yet it turned of itself sad song despite poor I, and there's the pity on't--"

"Enough!" growled Robin, "away with him. Brand, do you hoodwink him in his 'kerchief and give him safe conduct to beyond the ford, and so set Master Hangman Grimglum-grief on his road--"

"Sir Fool," cried Ranulph, "G.o.d den t'ye and gramercy. Should it be e'er thy fate to die o' the gallows, may I have thy despatching--I will contrive it so sweetly shalt know nought of it--oho! 'twould be my joy."

"Off!" cried Robin. "Off, thou pestiferous fungus lest I tread on thee--hence, away!"

So the outlaws blindfolded Ranulph and led him off at speed.

"Away," quoth Jocelyn, nodding, "so now in faith must I, Robin--"

"What, is't indeed farewell, brother?"

"Aye, Robin."

"Why, then, what may I give thee in way o' love and friends.h.i.+p?"

"Thy hand."

"Behold it, brother! And what beside? Here is purse o' good pieces--ha?"

"Nay, Robin, prithee keep them for those whose need is greater."

"Can I nought bestow--dost lack for nothing, brother?"

"What thou, methinks, may not supply--"

"And that?"

"Horse and armour!" Now at this, Robin laughed and clapped hand to thigh; quoth he:

"Come with Robin, brother!" So he brought Jocelyn into a cave beneath the steep and, lighting a torch from fire that burned there, led him on through other caves and winding pa.s.sages rough-hewn in the rock, and so at last to a vasty cavern.

And here was great store of merchandise of every sort,--velvets, silks, and rich carpets from the Orient; vases of gold and silver, and coffers strong-clamped with many iron bands. And here also, hanging against the rocky walls, were many and divers suits of armour with helms and s.h.i.+elds set up in gallant array; beholding all of which Jocelyn paused to eye merry Robin askance; quoth he soberly:

"Sir Rogue, how came ye by all this goodly furniture?"

"By purest chance, brolher," laughed Robin, "for hark 'ee--

"Chance is a wind to outlaws kind, And many fair things blows us, It--merchants, priors, lords, knights and squires, And like good things bestows us--"

"Aye," said Jocelyn, "but what of all those knights and squires whose armour hangeth here?"

"Here or there, brother, they come and they go. Ha, yonder soundeth Ralfwyn's horn--three blasts which do signify some right fair windfall.

Come, let us see what this jolly wind hath blown us this time!" So saying, Robin laughed and led the way out into the sunny green. And here, surrounded by a ring of merry forest rogues, they beheld a knight right gallantly mounted and equipped, his armour blazing in the sun, his gaudy bannerole a-flutter from long lance, his s.h.i.+eld gaudy and brave with new paint; beholding which, Robin chuckled gleefully; quoth he:

"Oho! On a field vert three falcons gules, proper, charged with heart ensanguined--aha, here's good booty, methinks!"

Now, as this splendid knight rode nearer, contemptuous of his brawny captors, Robin stared to see that on his helmet he wore a wreath of flowers, while lance and sword, mace and battle-axe were wreathed in blooming roses.

"Ho, Jenkyn, Cuthbert!" cried Robin, "what Sir Daintiness have ye here?"

But ere his grinning captors could make reply, the knight himself spake thus:

"Behold a very gentle knight, Sir Palamon of Tong, A gentle knight in sorry plight, That loveth love and hateth fight, A knight than fight had rather write, And strophes to fair dames indite, Or sing a sighful song.

"By divers braggarts I'm abused, 'Tis so as I've heard tell, Because, since I'm to fight unused, I many a fight have bold refused, And, thereby, saved my bones unbruised, Which pleaseth me right well.

"No joy have I in steed that prances, True gentle man am I To tread to lutes slow, stately dances.

'Stead of your brutish swords and lances, I love love's lureful looks and glances, When hand to hand, unseen, advances, And eye caresseth eye."

"And how a plague, Sir Gentleness," questioned Robin, "may eye caress eye?"

"E'en as lips voiceless may wooing speak, Sir Roguery, and tongue unwagging tell tales o' love, Sir Ferocity."

ROBIN: Then had I the trick o' voiceless speech, now would I, with silly tongue, tell thee thou art our prisoner to ransom, Sir Silken Softness.

SIR PALAMON: And I joy therefore, Sir Forest Fiend.

ROBIN: And wherefore therefore?

SIR PALAMON: For that therefore I need not to the joust, to that bone-shattering sport of boastful, brutal braggadocios, but here, lapped soft in the gentle green, woo the fair Yolande--

JOCELYN: How, knight, the fair lady Yolande, say'st thou?

SIR PALAMON: Even she.

JOCELYN: But here she is not and thou art, how then may one that is, woo one is not?

SIR PALAMON: Gross mountebank, by thought--I woo in thought, breathe my thought upon the balmy air and air beareth it to her feet.

ROBIN: And she treadeth on't, so there's an end o' thy love! But pray you, Sir Downy Daintiness, how come ye that are so gentle so ungently dight?

Discourse, Sir Dove!

SIR PALAMON: In two words then, thou lewd lurcher o' the thickets; I ride thus in steely panoply--the which doth irk me sore--by reason of the tongue of my mother (good soul!) the which doth irk me more. For she (worthy lady!) full-fed o' fatuous fantasies and fables fond, fuddled i' faith o' faddling fictions as--gestes of jongleurs, tales told by tramping troubadours, ballades of babbling braggarts, romances of roysterous rhymers, she (good gossip!) as I say, having hearkened to and perused the works of such-like pelting, paltry prosers and poets wherein sweep of sword and lunge o' lance is accompted of worthier repute than the penning of dainty distich and pretty poesies pleasingly pa.s.sionate. She, I say--my mother (G.o.d rest her!), e'en she with tongue most harsh, most bitter and most unwearying, hath enforced me, her son (whom Venus bless!)--e'en I that am soul most transcendental--I that am a very wing-ed Mercury--me, I say she hath, by torrential tongueful tumult (gentle lady!), constrained to don the habit of a base, brawling, beefy and most material Mars! Wherefore at my mother's behest (gracious dame!) I ride nothing joyful to be bruised and battered by any base, brutal braggart that hath the mind to try a tilt with me. Moreover--

ROBIN: Hold! Take breath, gentle sir, for thine own sweet sake draw thy wind.

SIR PALAMON: 'Tis done, fellow, 'tis done! And now in three words will I--