Part 11

Brimmed with the wine of exultation, he waited at his end of the lists after the overthrow of Andronicus Palæologus to see if any other champion would stand against his challenge. There was only one knight left of all the chivalry then in Athens who could hope to contend against him. That knight was Fernand Ximenes, and Rainouart hoped to see him advance. But Fernand Ximenes kept his tent, for he had his own thoughts and purposes concerning the Duchess of Thebes, and he wished to whisper later in her ear that he could not for the life of him challenge her supremacy. So Rainouart waited for a little in his place, a splendid image of steel upon a splendid horse, unquestioned master of the lists. All the spectators, gentle and simple, believed that the day was over, the field fought and won. Rainouart, thinking as they thought, was about to ride forward to receive the wreath of golden violets from the hand of Duke Baldwin when a great shout from the crowd without the barriers, and a murmur that ran along the galleries, stayed his purpose. Then he, with all the rest, became aware of the presence of a new challenger in the lists. A knight in gilded armor, with an acorn for his device, had emerged from a pavilion at the farthest end of the field, and after mounting a white horse which was held in waiting by a burly squire, had ridden slowly to the challenging station. The new-comer's visor was raised, and the spectators beheld a little of a young and beautiful face, very noble in an unfamiliar fairness of feature, of a pale favor delicately colored. But what most won all were the stranger's eyes of lively blue, which made many a woman wish to see her own countenance mirrored in them.

Duke Baldwin leaned forward on his throne in some surprise at the sudden presence; his rugged, bull face flushed with wonder. Count Ernault, after reading the new-comer's shield, whispered to a herald, and the herald proclaimed that the Prince of Eleusis desired to break a lance with the Prince of Athens on the question of his challenge. At this unexpected announcement Esclaramonde, who had bent forward to look at the new-comer and noted how slight he seemed, and youthful, leaned back again with a disdainful smile, though her ready senses quickened at the sight of the youth's beauty. Sympathetic smiles rippled all along the galleries, and many in the crowd beyond laughed derisively, though none that could see the stranger's face denied its marvellous grace. Duke Baldwin called to Count Ernault, who approached his throne.

"Who is this strange knight?" he said. "I have not heard of any Prince of Eleusis."

"Sire," the lord-marshal answered, "this is a young stripling of Greece who claims descent from an ancient Grecian line. For my own part, I know little or nothing of the race which it pleases your grace to rule, yet because he seemed of gentle blood and carried himself so fairly, I saw no reason to deny him a presence in the lists. Your grace, however, who, knowing all things, doubtless knows intimately the genealogy of every Greek his vassal, will be able to set me right if I have erred in this instance, but for myself I thought it better to stretch a point rather than perchance in denying to attain undoubted gentility."

Duke Baldwin frowned. His son was thus far the victor; the Lady Esclaramonde thus far proclaimed peerless. One never could tell what might come of an unexpected challenge. Yet Duke Baldwin, who, in spite of the omniscience attributed to him by his flattering marshal, was well aware in his heart that he knew nothing whatever about the people whom he held subject by an iron hand, was very unwilling to infringe courteous chivalry in the case of one who might be a gentleman of old descent. So with the ferocious distortion of countenance which was Duke Baldwin's conception of a smile, he approved the lord-marshal's action.

"It were shame," he declared, "if ever noble gentleman were denied to ride in lists opened by me. But here I think decision must rest with our son. If he elect to meet this stranger knight, your Prince of Eleusis has our willing leave to joust in this tourney. But tell our son that as he has fought to-day only with knights of known lineage and bearings, he is free if it please him to deny this Grecian, and to remain the unquestioned victor of the day."

The lord-marshal hastened to where Rainouart waited, and made him aware of the conditions under which a new player had come into the game, and of Duke Baldwin's decision in the matter. Rainouart answered instantly that he was in no way breathed or weakened by what had gone, that it would be strange, indeed, for him to deny any challenger, and that he would take the stranger's word for his gentility. Straightway Count Ernault sped to where Argathona waited, mounted on her white horse, and, after acquainting her with the cause of the delay, made her free of the duke's permission to tilt.

Nobody in all that vast concourse had watched these parleyings with more interest than the Duchess Esclaramonde of Thebes. Her heart had been dancing all manner of joyous measures at the success of her betrothed. As knight after knight went down before Rainouart, her eyes brightened and her spirits sang, for all was in her honor, and she knew, rejoicing in her knowledge, that every woman present envied her. The sudden apparition of an unexpected challenger could not affect her triumph. The cavalier who had so triumphantly overcome seven of the gallantest knights in Duke Baldwin's gallant court was scarcely like to have his supremacy menaced by a stripling of Greece. Yet in spite of herself, this apparition of this unexpected challenger, unknown to her, unknown to Athens, unknown to Athens's duke, seemed mysteriously to threaten her confidence, and her cheek burned with anger against the fair-faced stranger as she watched the preliminaries of the combat.

The trumpets sounded, and instantly the opposing knights rushed one against the other, swift as warring winds. In full centre of the tilt-yard the white horse and the black horse came wellnigh head to head. Rainouart's spear was aimed a thought too high as it seemed, and slid over the shoulder of his opponent while the lance of Eleusis struck fair and square at the breast-plate of the Athenian prince, and the next moment the black horse was sweeping riderless down the lists, and Duke Baldwin's son was lying on the grass. While a great groan came from all beholders at this fall, the Knight of Eleusis, galloping to the end of the lists, turned at the barrier and rode back again to draw rein with visor exalted in front of the royal pavilion.

When Duke Baldwin saw his son fall, he gripped his sceptre in both hands so fiercely that it bent in his fingers as if it had been a waxen candle, and his whole soul groaned in travail because he could think of no oath horrible enough with which to express his mortification. Esclaramonde for her part hid her burning face behind her fan and dreamed incredible tortures for the victor. However, there was nothing for it but acceptance of the result of the combat, and, while assiduous squires helped the fallen prince to his feet, Duke Baldwin took from the cushion held by a page at his side the golden wreath, and extended it to the Knight of Eleusis, who received it on the point of the lance. Hardly articulate, Duke Baldwin gasped out that the wreath was the victor's, and that his was the privilege to crown whom so he pleased in that presence queen of the day. Immediately the stranger, shifting a little in the saddle, extended the lance dexterously poised so that the golden wreath swung just in front of the face of Esclaramonde. A little sob of joy came from the duchess's lips.

"Why, this is better than best," she murmured, and with something almost too eager in her action she caught at the golden wreath and placed it on her head, while the whole arena now rang with applause at the chivalrous act of the victor. The moment the duchess had taken the wreath, Argathona turned her horse's head in the direction of her pavilion. Duke Baldwin rose in a towering fury from his throne. "This comes of the reading of books," he muttered to himself, and, quitting the gallery, he entered the lists to make inquiry as to the condition of his fallen son.

Argathona, slowly riding down the field on her white horse, was yet some distance from her pavilion, when a page, running breathlessly to her side, informed her that the lord-marshal desired speech with her. Immediately reining her horse, Argathona turned round and advanced to meet Count Ernault, who told her that the Duchess Esclaramonde earnestly entreated the favor of some speech with the victor who had crowned her queen of beauty.

XVIII

AN APPLE OF GOLD

Following the lord-marshal, Argathona came to the silken tent which sheltered the Lady Esclaramonde. At a sign from Count Ernault the pages in attendance drew back the curtains, and Argathona entering found herself in the presence of the Duchess of Thebes. The Lady Esclaramonde was reclining upon a pile of many-colored cushions, playing with a mirror and talking to her women. She propped herself on one elbow and smiled first at Sir Ernault and then at the fair face of the victor.

"I thank you," she said, and there was that in the tone of her voice, and that in the look of her eyes, and that in the deep of his own memory which made it plain to him that the duchess desired to be left alone with the young knight.

Gravity reigning in his face, irony rising in his mind, Count Ernault bowed and left the presence. At a sign from Esclaramonde the duchess's women withdrew into a further apartment of the pavilion, curtained off from the place where Esclaramonde now lay, who looked up alluringly into the impassive face of the youth. For to her, as to the others, with the glamour of the woodland will upon her, Argathona seemed no more than a handsome lad.

"You joust well, youth," she said. "Who is your true-love?"

"I played for a lady's sake," Argathona answered, "whom I maintain very fair."

Esclaramonde leaned forward a little on her silken couch, resting herself on both hands, like some beautiful wild beast about to spring.

"Who is this lady?" she asked, steel in her voice and steel in her eyes, for she could not bear to think that any man could find any woman fair while she was by.

A smile rippled over the dryad's face.

"I dare not say her name," she said, "yet, if you choose, you may see her."

Esclaramonde's dark brows met in a frown.

"Is she one of my women?" she asked, suddenly, and the sound of her voice boded ill for that one of her women whom the champion might name.

Argathona shook her head.

"Indeed no. She is not an inch below you in rank nor an inch above you in stature. Her eyes shine with no less than your brightness; her lips smile with your lively red. Here, if you please, is her image."

Stooping a little, Argathona caught up the mirror with which the duchess had been playing and held it deftly in front of the beautiful, cruel face. The red blood raced into Esclaramonde's cheeks and ebbed again, leaving her strangely pale.

"Am I your lady-love?" she cried, with that joy in her voice which conquest always brought her.

"You are she I rode to see," Argathona answered, enigmatically.

Esclaramonde gave a little sigh of dissatisfaction.

"Your heel needed a sharper spur; you are a day too late. I am to be married this evening."

Argathona laughed.

"Love you, lady! I am a fellow of adventure, and would never make a hearth-haunting husband. I am here to-day and gone to-morrow. My love is the child of a night."

Esclaramonde's eyes widened and dwindled like a cat's. She was thinking of many times and many nights and many comely men, and she was loath to admit that this stripling should slip through the net of her desires.

"Why, we may find a time by-and-by," she sighed, all enticement.

Argathona shook her head.

"I ride from Athens to-morrow," she began, slowly; then swiftly, with the imperiousness of victory, she ended, "Give me to-night."

The duchess laughed, but the duchess was pleased at the vehemence.

"You are a mad rascal. Am I not to be married this evening?"

Argathona answered her, in a lowered voice:

"There is an old tale of the Theban country, how a beautiful, open-hearted lady would send her lord to sleep in the sipping of a spiced wine, and then talk in the starlight with some lighter, brighter body."

As Argathona spoke a frown grew and deepened on the face of Esclaramonde.

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"An old tale of Thebes," the dryad replied. "You know not such notions. Yet 'tis a pity. Here is your lord, the unhorsed knight, will be your fellow forever and a day, while I, who overtumbled him, must willy-nilly be gone to-morrow. If he were to sleep to-night how should it harm him? He would not hear us speak in the starlight."

The duchess waved her hand impatiently as if in dismissal.

"You are a mad lad; ride where you will."

"As you please," Argathona replied, "yet I have a toy here I would give to any fair who was gentle with me."

If the duchess was greedy of love, she was greedy also of lovely things.

"What toy?" she cried, eagerly.

Argathona put her hand to her girdle and held out on extended palm a small, perfectly fashioned apple of pure gold.

"This golden apple. See, it is pure gold, and see, writ on it in the Greekish script, 'To the most fair.' This was the globe Paris gave to Venus and set Troy burning. She who has it will ever be deemed the loveliest in the eyes of men. I will give this to you to-night if we talk together in the starlight."

The duchess propped her chin on her palm and meditated. There came before her mind a diverting picture of her late lord, the ancient Duke of Thebes, dozing hoggishly in his corner while she talked with another in the starlight. The young knight of Athens was fair, but very surely this young knight of Eleusis was fairer, and, after all, if he rode away to-morrow there would be an age-long time to pass in the company of Duke Baldwin's son. She decided quickly.

"Well, have your will if I win the golden apple. Come to the west postern of the palace to-night. I will see to it that the door is ajar. Mount the stair when I show a light from the window. Be very sure you bring the apple with you. Farewell."

She extended her hand, which Argathona took and feigned to salute. Then, swiftly, the wood-nymph turned and passed from the silken tent into the meadow. As the dryad came into the liberal air she breathed a great breath. It seemed to the daughter of the forest as if she had escaped from some strange place where subtle poison guising like sweet odor saturated the atmosphere and murdered all wholesome thoughts. She stretched her arms joyously, as one released from cramping labor, and, smiling to think that so far the woodland guile had triumphed, she moved towards her own pavilion. Instantly she was aware that the field which she had expected to find deserted still presented a scene of animation. Duke Baldwin with a little cloud of knights and courtiers about him was slowly tramping towards his palace with an angry gloom upon his countenance, which was reflected in varying shades of obsequious sympathy upon the faces of those who followed him. A little removed from these a gigantic soldier moved slowly across the field, his vacant, honest face overcast with melancholy. Still farther off she could see Simon standing in front of her pavilion, carefully counting gold pieces from one hand into the other and whistling blithely to himself. By the time she had reached her squire Duke Baldwin and his courtiers had disappeared from the field, the gigantic soldier had vanished, and the lists were vacant save for herself and Simon.

XIX

SIMON THE STALWART

When Duke Baldwin, leaving the gallery in no good-humor with the world to ask after his vanquished son, entered the field, he found that his son had arisen and gone to his tent. Rainouart left with Count Ernault the assurance that he was unhurt, that he had been fairly overthrown by the best-planted blow he had ever received, and that his fall was due to no fatigue on his part, but solely to the greater skill of his antagonist. As Duke Baldwin listened frowningly to the phrases of the lord-marshal, he caught sight of a brawny fellow who was lounging in the lists at a little distance from the duke and the courtiers who accompanied him. This was Simon of Rouen, who, seeing that Argathona had been summoned to the pavilion of the Duchess of Thebes, thought he might as well while away the time by stretching his legs over the trampled turf. Even in a bad temper Duke Baldwin had an appreciation of a fine figure in a man, and the sight of Simon's proportions brought a sudden gleam of interest into his angry eyes. He cherished a taste for collecting giants, and he surveyed Simon with the eager appreciation of a possible purchaser. It never occurred to Duke Baldwin to doubt that any man-at-arms could be other than rejoiced to enter his service, just as it never occurred to him to doubt that any lady would be other than pleased to accept his homage.

"Yonder stands a tall fellow," the duke grunted into Count Ernault's ear; "stands he taller and broader than the pick of my body-guard?"

Count Ernault was not enjoying himself. The duke was in a beastly mood and hard to manage, and Count Ernault's elastic urbanity was strained to extreme tension. Desirous to gratify his master, he answered suavely that the fellow bulked big enough, but that he doubted if he surpassed, from toe to top, or from shoulder to shoulder, the mightiest of Duke Baldwin's giants. Duke Baldwin growled uncourteous disbelief in Count Ernault's skill in gauging height and width, not because he really disagreed with him, but because he was in the mood to contradict anything said by anybody, even a compliment to himself. He made his way to Simon and stared critically at him, and Simon supported his gaze composedly, looking into the duke's fierce eyes and longing to try a fall with him, for the duke was a mighty fellow.

"How tall are you, man?" the duke asked, and Simon answered:

"Six feet four, your grace."

"Are you as strong as you look?" was the duke's next question, and Simon smiled as he answered, somewhat ambiguously:

"I don't know how strong I look in your eyes, but whenever I look in a mirror I never take the plain face I see there for the face of a weakling."

Duke Baldwin was hugely strong, and he would have liked nothing better than to make a personal trial of Simon's vigor, if Simon had only been of gentle birth, or if, indeed, the two had been alone. It would not do, however, for Duke Baldwin to indulge in physical competition with a mere man-at-arms in the presence of the nobles, his courtiers, and guests. For an instant the idea came into Baldwin's mind to confer knighthood and title upon the unknown soldier for the sake of indulging his whim, but a moment's reflection warned him, unwilling, that this course would probably be found too eccentric in the eyes of his illustrious companions.

"Bid them send for Harald Haraldson," he said to Count Ernault, and while Count Ernault gave the order to a page, who sped like a greyhound to execute it, Duke Baldwin went on questioning Simon.

"Tell me, friend," he said, "have you seen the pygmies who serve in my body-guard?" Simon grinned.

"I have seen some of the laddies," he answered; "they may grow tall if they live long enough."

"There be some there that are taller than you," the duke answered; "do you think you are strong enough to overcome the smallest and the slightest of them?" Simon shrugged his shoulders.

"I should not like to hurt your gracious play-things," he answered, amiably, "but if you have, as you say, one among them that is taller than I, and broader of breadth, I will be heartily pleased to try a fall with him for the honor of Rouen."

"You have a good conceit of yourself," said the duke, grimly. "My giants are the pick of Europe, but if you will stand by your vaunt, here is your chance," and he pointed to where the little page came skipping back, followed slowly by a man who seemed, indeed, a monster in size and strength. The new-comer, with the fair hair and blue eyes of a Norseman, was, indeed, some four inches taller than Simon, and seemed broader across the shoulders. Simon eyed him approvingly as he came slowly to where the duke stood. The duke spoke with the Norseman.

"Harald Haraldson," he said, "here is a strange soldier who thinks he may prove as strong as you."

A suggestion of a smile for a moment disturbed the bland calm of the northern giant's face, as he answered in execrable French to the effect that the stranger must be a madman. Simon said nothing, and the duke, looking at the pair, felt his confidence in his own soldier swell within him and trumpet triumph.

"Will you try a fall with my partisan?" Duke Baldwin asked, clapping the northern giant confidentially on the shoulder and eying Simon sardonically.

"With all the pleasure in life," Simon answered, briskly.

"I take you at your word," said Duke Baldwin--"at this place, on this instant."

The lists were almost empty, the crowd outside had for the most part dispersed. Captain Fox and Captain Gander, Captain Bat and Captain Chanticleer, Captain Rat and Captain Badger, prowling at the heels of the departing multitude to pick up any little trifles that negligence might let fall, were among the few who noted signs of renewed animation in the enclosed space, and, noting, came again to the barriers and leaned upon them to see what might be towards. Their curiosity found its reward. Duke Baldwin had explained to Harald Haraldson that the French adventurer was willing to try a fall with him, and the Norse giant had looked pityingly upon the French adventurer, who, for his part, was brisk in getting him ready for the coming scuffle.

On the spot the Norseman stripped off his body armor, and in a few seconds the two men stood in their jerkins opposite to each other, while Duke Baldwin and the nobles with him watched hard by in a little group that gradually swelled its numbers as knight after knight emerged unarmored from his tent and joined it. All who were with Duke Baldwin were trained students of men, and to all it appeared patent that the French adventurer was over-matched, not merely in patent height but in no less patent breadth. Duke Baldwin, seeing the two men quiet and silent, waiting to begin, felt some uneasiness of mind. He knew, of course, that his man must win, and he would not have had it otherwise for much, and yet he was sorry to think that a countryman should be bested by the northerner. He again asked Simon if he persisted in his wild challenge, and, on Simon reiterating that he did, the duke, with a scowl of pity for his foolhardiness, gave the signal and the struggle began.