Part 9

Then Sir Raoul sprang forward, and clasping her in his arms (for he was very mighty) bore her towards her bed. As they strove he saw beneath her right breast a black spot upon the groin, and thought within himself that here was certain proof that he had had to do with her. But as he carried her towards the bed his spurs caught within the serge valence about the foot thereof, so that they fell together, the lord below and the lady above; whereupon she rose lightly to her feet, and seizing a billet of wood from the hearth, smote him upon the head so shrewdly that the blood dropped upon the rushes from the wound. When Sir Raoul knew his wound to be both deep and large no more he desired to play, so he arose from the floor and departed straightway from that chamber to his own lodging, a long mile thence, and sought a surgeon for his hurt. For her part the faithful lady called upon Dame Hersent, and returning to her bath, complained to her of this strange adventure with the knight.

Very great and rich was the feast that the father of the fair lady ordained against the home-coming of Sir Robert. Many a lord was bidden to his hall, and amongst these my lord, Sir Raoul, his knight; but he sent messages that he might not come, for reason of his sickness. On the Sunday came Sir Robert, and was sweetly welcomed of all; but the father of the fair lady sought out Sir Raoul, nor would hold him excused from the feast because of his grievous wound. Therefore he tired his face and his wound the best that he was able, and went to hall, where all day long the lords and ladies sat at meat and drink, and rose for morris and to dance.

When closed the night Sir Robert sought his chamber, and very graciously the lady received him, as it becometh every wife to receive her husband. On the morrow again the guests were gathered about the board, but after dinner uprose Sir Raoul demanding that Messire Robert should pay his wager, since he had had to do with his wife, by sign and token of a certain black spot beneath her right breast.

"Of that I know nothing," answered Sir Robert, "for I have not looked so boldly upon her."

"I require you by the faith that you have pledged me to take heed, and to do me justice herein."

"That will I, truly," answered Sir Robert.

When came the night once more, then Sir Robert observed his wife curiously, and marked the black spot upon her white body, whereat the greater grief was his. In the morning he sought out Sir Raoul, and owned before his lord that he had lost the bet. Sick at heart was he throughout the day. When darkness came he went to the stable, and saddling his palfrey, issued forth from the courtyard, taking with him what he might carry of his wealth. So he set forth on the road to Paris, and coming to the city sojourned therein for some three days. There the tale ceaseth to speak of him, and telleth of his wife.

Very dolent and right heavy was the fair lady that thus her lord had fled his house. Very long and right greatly she considered the reason of his flight. She wept and lamented her widowhood, even till such time as her father entered her chamber, and said that it were much better that she had never wed, since she had brought him to shame, him, and all her house, and told her how and why. When she heard this thing she was sick of heart, and swore that never had she done such deed; but her words profited her nothing, for though a woman gave her body to be burned, yet would none believe her clean of sin, once such blame is set upon her.

Very early in the night the lady rose from the bed, and taking what wealth she had in her coffer, saddled a palfrey and took the road. She had sheared her dainty tresses to the shoulder, and in all points was clad as a boy. In this manner came she to Paris, seeking for her husband, for to her heart she declared that never would she give over her search until they were met together once more. So she rode at adventure, a squire searching for her lord. Now on a morning she departed from Paris, and riding on the way to Orleans came to Tombe Isoire, and there met with Sir Robert, her husband. Her heart was very full as she drew close and saluted him, and he rendered her greeting for greeting, saying--

"Fair friend, God give you heart's desire."

"Sir," said she, "from whence come you?"

"Certes, fair friend, I am of Hainault."

"Sir, and whither go you?"

"Forsooth, fair friend, little I know where my path may lead me, nor have I home where I may dwell. Where Fortune hales me, thither I must go, and the Dame looks not kindly on me, for I have lost the thing that most I loved in all the world, and she hath lost me. Moreover with her went house and lands that were fair and deep. But tell me, what is your name, and whither doth God bring you?"

"Certes, sir," answered Jehane, "I purpose to seek Marseilles, near by the sea, where as I hope there is noise of war. There, if I may, will I enter the service of some hardy captain and learn the trade of arms, so it be God's pleasure. For such is my plight that in nowise can I stay in my own country. To my eyes, sir, you seem a knight whom I would serve very gladly, if such was your will, nor of my fellowship could you take any harm."

"Fair friend," answered Messire Robert, "truly am I a belted knight, and in what place the battle is set, there would I gladly ride. But tell me now, what is your name?"

"Sir, my name is John."

"It is right welcome," said the knight.

"And you, sir, what is your name?"

"John, my name is Robert."

"Sir Robert, join me to your company as squire, and I will serve you to the utmost of my power."

"John, so would I do gladly, but I have so little money in my pouch, that ere three days are gone I must sell my very steed; therefore I may take no squire."

"Sir," said John, "be not troubled thereat, for God will provide, if so it seems good to Him. But where are you set to dine?"

"John, my dinner is a simple business, for I have nothing in my purse save three sous of Paris."

"Sir, be not troubled thereat, for on my part I have with me nearly ten pounds of Tournay money, and these are as your own, since your wallet is not heavy to your wish."

"Fair friend, thanks, and thanks again."

The two comrades rode at a brisk pace to Montlhery, where John found meat for his lord, and they ate together. When they had eaten they sought their chamber, the knight lying in a fair bed, and John sleeping in another, at his feet. Refreshed with sleep, John rose and did the harness upon their horses, so they mounted and passed upon their way. Journeying thus at last they lighted at Marseilles upon the Sea, but to their grief they might not hear the rumour of any war. There for the time my story ceases to speak of the two of them, and returns to Messire Raoul, that false knight, who, by leasing, had wrongly gained the land of Sir Robert.

For more than seven years did Messire Raoul hold the lands of Sir Robert against law and right. Then a sore sickness took hold upon him, and afflicted him so grievously that very near he came to death. Much he feared the wrong he had wrought to that fair lady, the daughter of his lord, and to her husband besides, for by reason of his malice were they utterly undone. So great was his sin that he dared not show the matter to the priest, but tossed upon his bed in utter unrest. On a certain day when his sickness lay too heavy upon him he bade his chaplain draw near his bed, for this priest was a wise confessor, loyal and true, and very close to the sick man's heart. Then he spake--

"Father--my father in God, if not according to the flesh--the time is come when I must die. For God's love give me now your counsel, as you are a ghostly man, for on my soul there lies a sin so ugly and so black that scarcely may I hope to be anealed."

The priest prayed him to speak more plainly, so that he might aid him to the utmost of his power, wherefore Sir Raoul brought himself to tell the story that you have heard. At the end he begged the chaplain for the love of God to show him what he must do to obtain the grace of pardon for a sin so dark.

"Sir," said the priest, "be not altogether cast down, for so you are willing to do such penance as I lay upon you, I will take your sin on me and on my own soul, and you shall be clean."

"Now tell me of this penance," said the knight.

"Sir, within a year of your recovery from this sickness must you take the cross and pass beyond the sea, and in all places where men ask the reason of your pilgrimage, there you must tell the story of this bitter wrong. Moreover, this day must you give hostages to God that thus you will do."

"All this will I do gladly."

"Sir, what rich pledge can you offer, therefore?"

"The best," replied the knight. "You, yourself, shall be hostage and surety for me; and on my honour as a knight well will I redeem my pledge."

"Sir," said the priest, "in the hand of God am I set as your pledge."

The sick man turned from death to life, and soon was altogether healed. A full year passed away, and yet he had not taken the cross. Right often the holy man reminded him of his bond, but he treated the covenant as a jest. Then the chaplain told him straitly that except he discharged him as his surety before God, he would tell the whole matter to the father of the fair lady whom he had utterly destroyed. When the knight heard this he said to the chaplain that within six months would he seek the sea for the springtide crossing, and thereto he plighted faith. But now the story ceases to speak of Messire Raoul, and returns to King Florus of Ausay, of whom it has told nought for a great while.

A right happy life led King Florus and his wife together, as becomes bride and groom who wed fondly in their youth, but very dolent and sore of heart were they that they might get no child. The lady caused Masses to be sung, and was urgent in prayer for her desire, but since it was not according to the will of God, no gain she got thereby. On a day there came to the castle of King Florus a holy hermit who dwelt deep within the great forest of Ausay, in a very desolate place. The queen received him very gladly, and because he was a wise man and a holy, would be shriven by him of her sins. So she bared him her secret wound, and told him of her grief that she might have no child by her lord.

"Ah, madame," said the holy man, "it becometh you patiently to suffer the pleasure of our Lord. When it is His will, then shall the barren become a joyful mother of children."

"Certes, sir," said the lady, "would that it were now, for less dear am I to my lord therefor. Moreover the high barons of this realm cast the thing against me, and give counsel to my lord that he should put the barren woman away and take another bride."

"Truly, madame," said the holy man, "grievously would he sin against God and Holy Church by such a deed."

"Ah, sir, pray you to God for me that I may bear a child to my lord, for much I doubt that he will put me away."

"Madame," said the holy man, "prayers of mine are little worth, save by the will of God, yet such as they are you shall have them willingly."

Hardly had this holy man departed from the lady, when the barons of the realm drew together before the King, and counselled him that he should put away his wife, since by her he might have no child, and take another bride. Moreover, if he would not abide by their counsel, then would they withdraw their fealty, for in no case should the kingdom remain without an heir. King Florus feared his barons greatly, and gave credence to their word, so he promised to send his wife to her kindred, and prayed the lords to seek him another queen, which thing was accorded between them. When the lady knew thereof she was stricken to the heart, but nothing might she do, for well she understood that her lord was purposed to forsake her. Therefore she sent to seek that hermit who was her confessor, and when he was come she set before him this business of the barons, and how they would bring another wife to her husband. "So I pray you, fair father, to aid me with counsel as to what I must do."

"Lady," said the holy man, "if it be thus, you must suffer it as best you may, for against king and barons you can make no head."

"Sir," said the gentle lady, "you speak truly; so, if it pleases God, I will dwell as an anchoress near to you, for then shall I serve God all the days of my life, and yet draw some stay and comfort from your presence."

"Lady," said the prudent man, "that were too hazardous a thing, for you are too tender in years, and fair and fresh. But I will tell you what to do. Near by my hermitage is a convent of White Nuns, very quiet and devout. If you go thither, right gladly will they receive you, as well by reason of your blameless life as of your high degree."

"Sir," said she, "wisely have you spoken, and this I will do, since so you counsel me."

On the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, and said--

"Since you may have no child by me, needs must we say farewell. I tell you truly that the parting presses hardly upon me, for never again shall woman lie so nearly to my heart as you have lain."

Then might he speak no more because of tears, and the lady wept with him.

"Husband," said she, "for God's love have pity upon me, for where may I hide myself, and what may I find to do?"

"Wife, so it pleases God, your good days are not yet past, for honourably and in rich estate shall you return to your own friends in your own land."

"Lord," said the dame, "I require none of this gear. So it please you, I will bestow me in a certain convent of nuns, if it will receive me, and there I will serve God all my life; for since I lose your love I am she whose heart shall never harbour love again."

So King Florus and the lady wept together very bitterly.

On the third day the Queen set forth to her convent; and the fresh Queen came to the palace in great pomp, and held revel and festival with her friends. For four years did King Florus possess this lady, yet never might he get an heir. So now the story ceases to speak of King Florus, and turns again to Messire Robert and to John, who were come to Marseilles.

Very sad was Sir Robert when he came to the city that he might hear of no arming in all the land; so he said to John--

"What shall we do? You have lent me much money, for the which I owe you more than thanks. I will give it you again, though I have to sell my very palfrey, to discharge me of the debt."

"Sir," said John, "if it please you give heed to me, and I will show you what we have to do. There remain yet to us one hundred Tournay sous. If you grant me leave, I will turn our two good horses into better money. With this I will make French bread, for I am the lightest baker of whom you have heard, and I doubt but little that we shall gain our money and our livelihood besides."

"John," said Sir Robert, "I am content that you should do according to your will."

The next day John sold his two horses for ten pounds Tournay. With these he bought corn, and carried it to the mill. Afterwards he bought baskets and set to work at his oven to bake good French bread. So white and so fresh were these loaves of his baking that he sold more than the best baker of the town, and prospered so greatly that within two years he had put by well one hundred pounds for their need.

Then said John to his lord--

"Would it not be good to hire a fair large house, with cellarage for wine, that we might offer hostelry and lodging to wealthy folk from home?"

"John," answered Sir Robert, "your will is mine, for every reason have I for content with you."

Then John hired a house, both fair and great, and there gave lodging to honest folk, gaining money very plenteously. He clad his lord in costly raiment, so that Sir Robert bestrode his own palfrey, and sat at meat and drink with the most honourable of the town. Moreover John caused his board to be furnished with all manner of wines and store, so that his companions marvelled greatly at the abundance thereof. With all this so bravely did John prosper that within four years he had put by more than three hundred pounds, besides the furnishing of inn and bakery, which very well was worth another fifty pounds. But here the story ceases to speak of John and Sir Robert, and turneth again to tell of Messire Raoul.

Now telleth the tale that the chaplain pressed Sir Raoul right earnestly that he should pass beyond the sea, and thus discharge his surety from the bond, for much he feared that the knight would yet find reason to remain. So instant was the priest in pleading, that Sir Raoul saw well that go he must. He made him ready for his journey, spending money without stint, and at the end set forth upon the road, him and his three squires. He drew presently to Marseilles-on-Sea, and there sought lodging at the French Hostelry owned by Sir Robert and by John. When John set eyes upon him he knew him well, because he had seen him many times, and for reason of the scar of the wound that he had given him. The knight sojourned in the town for fifteen days, till he might find passage in some vessel going oversea. Whilst he was dwelling at the inn John took him apart and asked him of the purpose of his journey, whereat Messire Raoul told him openly all the occasion thereof, just as the tale hath related already. John listened to his story, but answered naught for good or evil. Presently Sir Raoul caused his harness and his gear to be bestowed on the nave, and mounted in the ship, but for eight days it might not depart from forth the harbour. On the ninth day the vessel sailed from port on its way to the Holy Sepulchre. Thus Sir Raoul did his pilgrimage, and there made honest confession of his sins. In sign of penitence his confessor charged him strictly to restore to the knight and his lady the fief he held in scorn of law and right; and Sir Raoul promised straitly that when he came again to his own land he would carry out the wishes of his heart. So parting from Jerusalem he voyaged to Acre, and took passage in the first homing ship, as a man who desires above all things to look upon the face of his own country. He adventured on the sea, and fared so speedily, by night as by day, that in less than three months he cast anchor at the port of Aigues Mortes. Parting from the harbour he stayed not till he was come to Marseilles, where he rested eight days at the inn owned by Sir Robert and John, which inn men called the French Hostelry; but Sir Robert did not recall him to mind, for he thought but little of Sir Raoul. At the end of eight days he set forth from Marseilles with his three squires, and at length returned to his own home, where his household received him gladly, for he was a great lord, very rich in land and in store. His chaplain inquired of him if any had asked the reason for his journey.

"Yes," said he, "in three places, to wit, Marseilles, Acre, and Jerusalem. Moreover that priest who shrived me counselled me to give back his lands to my lord, Sir Robert, so I may find him, or if I may not hear of him, to his wife or his heirs."

"Certes," said the chaplain, "he gave you godly counsel."

So Messire Raoul dwelt in his own house for a great while in peace and ease; and there the tale ceaseth to speak of him, and returns to Messire Robert and to John.

Sir Robert and John dwelt as citizens in Marseilles for the space of six years. At the end of six years had they put by in a sure place the sum of six hundred pounds. John and his business prospered exceedingly, for so gentle was he and diligent, that he was beloved of all his neighbours. Men spake almost too well of him, and he maintained his lord in such estate and worship that it was marvellous to see. When the end of the seventh year drew near, John sought occasion to speak soberly to Sir Robert his lord, and said--

"Sir, we have dwelt a great while in this city, and have been so fortunate in our dealings that we have gained nearly six hundred pounds in money and in silver vessels."

"Certes," said Sir Robert, "all this, John, is not mine, but yours, for you have earned it."

"Sir," said John, "saving your grace, it is not mine, but yours, for you are my own true lord, and never, please God, will I take another."

"John, I thank you heartily," said Robert. "I hold you not as servant, but as comrade and as friend."

"Sir," said John, "all my days have I given you loyal service, and so will I ever do."

"By my faith," said Sir Robert, "what you require of me, that is my pleasure. But as to returning to my own country, I know not what to say. So much have I lost there that never can it be made up to me."

"Sir," answered John, "fret not over your loss, for, so God pleases, you shall hear good news when you come into your own land. And be not fearful of anything, for in whatever place we shall be, please God, I shall gather enough for me and for you."

"Certes, John," said Sir Robert, "I will do that which pleases you, and lodge wheresoe'er you will."

"Sir," said John, "now will I sell our goods and make ready for the journey, for we shall part within fifteen days."

So John sold all the fair furnishing of his houses, and bought thereout three horses, a palfrey for his lord, another for himself, and a pack horse for the road. Then they bade farewell to their neighbours and to the most worshipful citizens of the town, who grieved sorely at their going.

Sir Robert and John travelled so hardily that in less than three weeks they drew to their own country, and Sir Robert caused it to be told to his lord, whose daughter he had wedded, that he was near at hand. The lord was merry at heart, for much he hoped that his daughter might be with her husband; and so she was, but hid in the trappings of a squire.

The lord greeted Robert warmly, but when he could learn no tidings of his daughter, his mirth was turned into sorrow; nevertheless he made a rich banquet for Sir Robert, and bade his knights and his neighbours to the feast. Amongst these came Sir Raoul who held Sir Robert's land in his despite. Great was the merriment on that day and the morrow, and during all this joy Sir Robert told to John the story of his wager, and of the manner in which Sir Raoul spoiled him of his land.

"Sir," said John, "challenge him to combat as a false traitor, and I will fight the battle in your stead."

"John," said Sir Robert, "this you shall not do."

Thus they left the matter till the morrow, when John came to Sir Robert, and said that he was purposed to speak to the father of his wife. So they sought the lord, and John spake him thus--

"Sir, you are, after God, the lord of my master Sir Robert, who in the years that are gone married your child. As you know, a wager was made between him and Sir Raoul, who said that ere Sir Robert came home from St. James's shrine he would gain the lady to his wish. Sir Raoul spake falsely, and is a most disloyal and traitor knight, for never had he part or share in your daughter's love. All which I am ready to prove upon his body."

Then Robert strode forth and said--

"John, fair friend, this business is mine alone, nor because of it shall you hang shield about your neck."

So Sir Robert held forth his gage to his lord, and Sir Raoul tendered gage of battle in return, though but fearfully; for needs must he defend himself, or be proclaimed recreant and traitor. Thus were the pledges given, and the day for the ordeal by battle pronounced to be fifteen days thence without appeal.