The Forest Lovers

  CHAPTER XIX

  LADY'S LOVE

  For, notwithstanding all that Isoult could urge (which was very littleindeed), Prosper started next morning with a dozen men to scour thedistrict for Maulfry. He refused point blank to take the girl with him,and after her rebuke and abasement of the night before, still moreafter the reconciliation on knees, she dared not plead overmuch. He wasa man and a great lord; she could not suppose that she knew all hisdesigns--any of them, if it came to that. He must go his way--which wasman's way--and she must stop at High March nursing her heart--which waswoman's way--even if High March proved a second Gracedieu and Isabel amore inexorable Maulfry. No act of her own, she resolved, shouldhenceforward lead her to disobey him. Ah! she remembered with a hotflush of pain--ah! her disobedience at Gracedieu had brought all themischief, Vincent's death all the anguish. Of course it had not; ofcourse Maulfry had tricked her; but she was not the girl to spareherself reproaches. Her loyalty to Prosper took her easily the lengthof stultification.

  So Prosper went; and it may be some consolation to reflect that hisgoing pleased fourteen people at least. First it pleased the men hetook with him; for Prosper, that born fighter, was never so humorous aswhen at long odds with death. Fighting seemed a frolic with him forcaptain; a frolic, at that, where the only danger was that in beingkilled outright you would lose a taste of the certain win for yourside. For among the High March men there was already a tradition--Godknows how these things grow--that Prosper le Gai and the hooded hawkcould not be beaten. He was so cheerful, victory so light a thing. Thenhis cry--_Bide the time_--could anything be more heartening? Rung outin his shrill tones over the open field, during a night attack, say, orcalled down the darkening alleys of the forest, when the skirmisherswere out of each other's sight and every man faced a dim circle ofpossible hidden foes? Pest! it tied man to man, front to rear. It tiedthe whole troop to the brain of a young demon, who was never so cool aswhen the swords were flying, and most wary when seeming mad. Blood wasa drink, death your toast, at such a banquet. And that accounts fortwelve out of fourteen.

  The thirteenth was Countess of Hauterive, Chatelaine of High March,Lady of Morgraunt, etc. A very few days inhabitancy where Master Roywas of the party, had assured this lady that the page must be ridded.She wished him no ill: you do not wish ill to the earwig which youbrush out of the window. Certainly if a boy had needs be stabbed by anEgyptian (who incontinent disappears and must be hunted) it weresimpler Roy had fallen than the other. But she had no thought ofamending the mistakes of Providence. Great ladies who are really greatdo not go to work to have inconvenient lacqueys stabbed. This at leastwas not the Countess of Hauterive's way. If Fulk de Breaute had notbeen her lover as well as her husband, if he had been (for instance)only her husband, she would have despised Earl Roger fully as much forthe affair on Spurnt Heath. No. But she meant Roy to go, and here washer chance.

  The fourteenth was Melot, a maid of the kitchen. This young woman,whose love affairs were at least as important in her own eyes as couldpossibly be those of the Countess her mistress (whom she had hardlyever seen), or of Prosper (whom she conceived as a sexless abstraction,built for the purposes of eating and wearing steel), or of Roy (who,she assumed, had none)--this young woman, I say, was best pleased ofthem all. She was perhaps pretty; she had a certain exuberant charm, Isuppose--round red cheeks, round black eyes, even teeth, and afigure--and was probably apt to give it the fullest credit. Roy'sindifference, or reticence, or timidity (whichever it was) provokedher. There was either innocence, or backwardness, or _ennui_ toovercome: in any case, victory would be a triumph over a kitchenful ofadepts, and here was a chance of victory. So far she owned to failurein all the essays she had made. She had tried comradeship, a bite ofher apple--declined. She had put her head on his shoulder more thanonce--endured once, checked effectively by sudden removal of theshoulder and upsetting of the lady a final time. She leaned over him tosee what he was reading--he ceased reading. Comradeship was a mockery;let her next try mischief. For happy mischief the passionist must fume:he had looked at her till she felt a fool. She had tried innuendo--hedid not understand it; languishing--he gladly left her to languish;coquetry elsewhere--he asked nothing better. She thought she must bemore direct; and she was.

  Isoult was in the pantry alone the second day of Prosper's quest. Shestood at gaze out of the window, seeing nothing but dun-colour and drabwhere the sunlight made all the trees golden-green. Melot came in witha great stir over nothing at all, hemmed, coughed, sighed, heighoed.The block of a fellow stood fast, rooted at his window--gaping. Melotwas stung. She came to close quarters.

  "Oh, Roy," she sighed, "never was such a laggard lad with me before.Where hast thou been to school?"

  Thereupon she puts hands upon the dunce, kisses him close, grows suddenred, stammers, holds off, has the wit to make sure--and bundles out,blazing with her news.

  In twenty minutes it was all over the castle; Prosper's flag washigher, and Isoult's in the mire. In thirty it had come to my lady'sdresser. Isoult, in the meantime, purely unconscious of anything but asick heart, had wandered up into the ante-chamber, and was poring overa Book of Hours of the Blessed Virgin, leaning on her elbows at a table.

  The dresser, having assimilated the news, was only too happy to impartto the Countess. This she did, and with more detail than the truthwould warrant. Half hints became whole, backstairs whispers shouted inthe corridors; and all went to swell the feast of sound in the lady'schamber. It would be idle to say that the Countess was furious, andmoreover untrue, for that implies a scarlet face; the Countess grew asgrey as a dead fire. She was, in truth, more shocked than angry,shocked at such a flagrant insult to her mere hospitality. Butgradually, as the whole truth seemed to shape itself--the figure shemade, standing bare as her love had left her before this satyr of aman; the figure of Prosper, tongue in the cheek, leering at her; thefigure of Isoult, a loose-limbed wanton sleepy with vice--before thishideous trinity, when she had shuddered and cringed, she rose uptrembling, possessed with a really imperial rage. And if ever agrievously flouted lady had excuse for rage, it was this lady.

  Her rages were never storms, always frosts. These are the more deadly,because they give the enraged more time. So she said very little to herdresser. It came to this--"Ah! And where is the woman now?"

  The dresser replied that when she had passed by the woman was in theante-chamber.

  "Very well," said the Countess, "you may leave her there. Go." Shepointed to a door which led another way. The dresser felt baulked ofher just reward. But that was to come.

  The Countess, still trembling from head to foot, took two or threeswift turns across the room. The few gentle lines about her face weremore like furrows; the skin was very tight over the lips andcheek-bones. She opened the door softly. Isoult was still in theante-chamber, leaning over the Book of Hours, wherein she had foundtreated of the 'Seven Sorrowful Mysteries.' Her short hair fell curlingover her cheeks; but she was boyish enough, to sight. The Countess wentquickly behind her, and before the girl could turn about was satisfiedof the amazing truth.

  Isoult, blushing to the roots of her hair, stood up. Her troubled eyestried at first to meet her accuser's stony pair. They failed miserably;almost any plight but this a girl can face. She hung her head, waitingfor the storm.

  "Why are you here, woman?" came sharp as sleet.

  "I came to warn my lord, madam."

  "What are you to him?"

  Now for it;--no, never! "I am his servant, madam."

  "His servant? You would say his--" The Countess spared nothing. Isoultbegan to rock. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed dry.

  "Answer me, if you please," continued the Countess. "What are you tothis man?"

  Isoult had no voice.

  "If you do not answer me I shall treat you for what I know you are. Youknow the penalty. I give you three minutes."

  There was no more then from the Countess for three minutes by theglass. The great lady stood erect, cold and whit
e, seemingly frozen bythe frost which burns you. The only sound in the room was the sobbingof the cowed girl, who also stood with hidden face and drooping knees,broken with sobs, but tearless. Ah, what under heaven could she do butas she did? Married to Prosper? How, when he had not declared it; hadreceived her as his servant, and treated her as a servant? How, whenshe knew that the marriage of such as he to such as she was adisablement far more serious than the relationship thrown at her by theCountess? How, above all, when he had married her for charity, withoutlove and without worship, could she bring scorn upon him who haddragged her out of scorn? Never, never! She must set her teeth hard,bow her head, and endure. The time was up.

  "Your answer, woman," said the Countess. There was none--could be none.Only the victim raised a white twitching face to a white stony face,and with desperate eyes searched it for a ray of pity. Again there wasnone--could be none.

  The Countess went quickly up and struck her on the mouth with her openhand. The victim shivered, but stood.

  "Go, strumpet!" said the lady. She threw open the door, and thrustIsoult into the crowd of men and maids waiting in the corridor.

  Master Jasper Porges, the seneschal, was the man of all the world wholoved to have things orderly done. The hall was at his disposition; hearranged his tribunal, the victim in the midst, accuser and witnessesin a body about his stool, spectators to form a handsome ring--to setoff, as it were, his jewel.

  "Her ladyship gives me a free hand in this affair," he said in a shortspeech. "You could not have a better man; leave it to me therefore.There must be a judge. By office, by years, by weariness, by experienceof all (or most) ways of evil-doing, I am the judge for you. Good; Isit in the seat of judgment. There must be next a jury of matrons,since this is a free and great country where no man or woman (whicheverthis prisoner may be) can be so much as suspected of sex without ajudgment. And since we have not matrons enough, we will make a shiftwith the maids. A dozen of you to the benches on the table, I beg. Sofar, good. We need next an accused person. He, or she, is there. Putthe person well forward, if you please. Good. Now we are ready for ouradvocates; we need an _Advocatus Dei_, or accuser, and an _AdvocatusDiaboli_, or common enemy, to be defender. Melot, my chicken, you areadvocate for God Almighty, and the office is high enough for you, Ihope. _Diaboli Advocatus_ we have naturally none, since this is aChristian land. Believe me, we are better without such cattle. Iproceed, therefore, by the rules of logic which are well known to beirresistible, so much so that had there been a devil's advocate presentI must have declined to admit him lest our Christian profession be madea mock. Hence it follows that there is no defence. One might almostforetell the event; but that would be prejudice. We proceed then tointerpolate the accused, saying--'Person, you (being a man) arestrangely accused of being a woman. The court invites you to declareyourself, adding this plain rider and doom, that if you declareyourself a man, you are condemned in the person of your familiar, thedevil, who deceiveth those that say you are a woman; and that if youprove to be a woman, you are condemned by those who dealt with you as aman. Therefore, declare.'"

  Master Porges waited, but waited in vain. He was pained. "What,silence?" he whispered awfully. "What, contumacy? Stubborn refusal?Sinking in sin? Can I believe my ears? Very good, prisoner, very good.Melot, my bird of paradise, give your evidence."

  This had effect. "I confess," said the accused (speaking for the firsttime), "I am not a man."

  "There now, there now," cried Master Porges in an ecstasy, "the sleeperawakened! The conscience astir! Oh, infallible fount of justice! Oh,crown of the generation of Adam too weighty for the generation of Eve!Observe now, my loving friends, how beautiful the rills of logicflowing from this stricken wretch. Let me deduce them for you. As thus.A woman seeketh naturally a man: but this is a woman; therefore shesought naturally a man. My friends, that is just what she did. For shesought Messire Prosper le Gai, a lord, the friend of ladies. Again. Aman should cleave unto his wife: but Messire le Gai is a man, thereforeMessire should cleave unto his wife. 'La, la!' one will say, 'but hehath no wife, owl!' and think to lay me flat. Oh, wise fool, I reply,take another syllogism conceived in this manner and double-tongued. Itis not good for man to live alone; neither is it good for a lady tolive alone, who hath a great estate and the cares of it: but MessireProsper is that man, and her ladyship is that lady; therefore theyshould marry; therefore Messire Prosper should cleave unto herladyship, and what the devil hath this woman to do between a man andhis wife now? Aha, I have you clean in a fork. I have purposely omitteda few steps in my ladder of inference to bring it home. Then, look,cometh crawling this accursed. _O tempora, O Mores! O Pudor! O SaeculaSaeculorum!_ What incontinency, you will say; and I say, What, indeed!Then cometh fairly your turn. Seneschal, you go on threatening me, thisis a Christian castle under a Christian lady, the laws whereof arefixed and stable so that no man may blink them. I say, Aye. You go onto plead, noble seneschal (say you), give us our laws lest we perish. Isee the tears; I say, Aye. The penalty of incontinency is well known toyou; I say, Aye. It is just. I bow my head. I say, Take yourincontinent incontinently, and deal!"

  Master Porges got off the table, and, ceasing to be a justice, became acreature of his day. Now, his day was a wild one as his dwelling abarbarous, where the remedy for most offences was a drubbing.

  Isoult bowed her head, set her teeth hard, and bent to the storm. Thestorm burst over her, shrilled, whistled, and swept her down. In herunformulate creed Love was, sure enough, a lord of terrible aspect,gluttonous of blood, in whose service nevertheless the blood-lettershould take delight. No flagellant scored his back more deeply nor withbraver heart than she her smitten side. It would appear that she was abetter Christian than she suspected, since she laid down her life forher friend, and found therein her reward. And her reward was this, thatProsper le Gai, the gallant fighter, remained for Melot and her kind ademi-god in steel, while she, his wife, was adjudged to the black ram.To the black ram she was strapped, face to the tail, and so ran thegauntlet of the yelling host in the courtyard, and of the Countess ofHauterive's chill gaze from the parvise. By this time she had become amere doll, poor wretch; and as there is no pleasure in a love ofjustice which is not quickened by a sense of judgment, the pursuerstired after the first mad bout. Some, indeed, found that they had hurtthemselves severely by excess of zeal. This was looked upon as clearevidence of the devil's possession of a tail, in spite of the Realists.For if he had not a tail, how could he injure those who drove him out?This is unanswerable.

  The end of it all was that no more than three great hearts pursued theblack ram with its wagging burden into the forest. Of whom one, feelingthe fatuity of slaying the slain, or having, it may be, some lurkingseed of nominalism fomenting within, beat off the others and unstrappedthe victim's arms and legs.

  "Though you are a wanton, God knows," he said, "you are flesh andblood, or were so an hour ago. Be off with you now, and learn honestliving."

  This was irony of fact, though not of intention. It was prompted bythat need which we all have of fortifying ourselves. But it probablysaved the girl's life. The men withdrew, and she lay there quietenough, with a bloody foam on her mouth, for two nights and a day.

  It is said, I know not how truly, that the ram stayed by her, was foundstanding there when she was found. It is like enough; there was a gooddeal of the animal, beyond the wild-beast savour, about Isoult. She wascertainly no formularist; nor had she the reward of those who do wellto be angry, which lies, I suppose, in being able to drub with a wholeheart.