Chivalry | Page 9

cling To this or that sad memory, and
be Alone, as she in Cornwall; for in spring Love sows against far
harvestings,--and he Is blind, and scatters baleful seed that bring Such
fruitage as blind Love lacks eyes to see!"
Osmund paused here for an appreciable interval, staring at the Queen.
You saw his flabby throat a-quiver, his eyes melting, saw his cheeks
kindle, and youth seeping into the lean man like water over a crumbling

dam. His voice was now big and desirous.
Sang Messire Heleigh:
"Love sows, but lovers reap; and ye will see The loved eyes lighten,
feel the loved lips cling, Never again when in the grave ye be Incurious
of your happiness in spring, And get no grace of Love there, whither he
That bartered life for love no love may bring.
"No braggart Heracles avails to bring Alcestis hence; nor here may
Roland see The eyes of Aude; nor here the wakening spring Vex any
man with memories: for there be No memories that cling as cerements
cling, No force that baffles Death, more strong than he.
"Us hath he noted, and for us hath he An hour appointed; and that hour
will bring Oblivion.--Then, laugh! Laugh, dear, and see The tyrant
mocked, while yet our bosoms cling, While yet our lips obey us, and
we be Untrammeled in our little hour of spring!
"Thus in the spring we jeer at Death, though he Will see our children
perish and will briny Asunder all that cling while love may be."
Then Osmund put the viol aside and sat quite silent. The soldiery
judged, and with cordial frankness stated, that the difficulty of his
rhyming scheme did not atone for his lack of indecency, but when the
Queen of England went among them with Messire Heleigh's faded
green hat she found them liberal. Even the fellow with the broken head
admitted that a bargain was proverbially a bargain, and returned the
locket with the addition of a coin. So for the present these two went
safe, and quitted the Cat and Hautbois fed and unmolested.
"My Osmund," Dame Alianora said, presently, "your memory is better
than I had thought."
"I remembered a boy and a girl," he returned. "And I grieved that they
were dead."
Afterward they plodded on toward Bowater, and the ensuing night

rested in Chantrell Wood. They had the good fortune there to encounter
dry and windless weather and a sufficiency of brushwood, with which
Osmund constructed an agreeable fire. In its glow these two sat, eating
bread and cheese.
But talk languished at the outset. The Queen had complained of an
ague, and Messire Heleigh was sedately suggesting three spiders hung
about the neck as an infallible corrective for this ailment, when Dame
Alianora rose to her feet. "Eh, my God!" she said; "I am wearied of
such ungracious aid! Not an inch of the way but you have been
thinking of your filthy books and longing to be back at them! No; I
except the moments when you were frightened into forgetfulness--first
by Falmouth, then by the trooper. O Eternal Father! afraid of a single
dirty soldier!"
"Indeed, I was very much afraid," said Messire Heleigh, with perfect
simplicity; "_timidus perire, madame._"
"You have not even the grace to be ashamed! Yet I am shamed, messire,
that Osmund Heleigh should have become the book-muddled pedant
you are. For I loved young Osmund Heleigh."
He also had risen in the firelight, and now its convulsive shadows
marred two dogged faces. "I think it best not to recall that boy and girl
who are so long dead. And, frankly, madame and Queen, the merit of
the business I have in hand is questionable. It is you who have set all
England by the ears, and I am guiding you toward opportunities for
further mischief. I must serve you. Understand, madame, that ancient
folly in Provence yonder has nothing to do with the affair. Count
Manuel left you: and between his evasion and your marriage you were
pleased to amuse yourself with me--"
"You were more civil then, my Osmund--"
"I am not uncivil, I merely point out that this old folly constitutes no
overwhelming obligation, either way. I cry _nihil ad Andromachen!_
For the rest, I must serve you because you are a woman and helpless;
yet I cannot forget that he who spares the wolf is the sheep's murderer.

It would be better for all England if you were dead. Hey, your gorgeous
follies, madame! Silver peacocks set with sapphires! Cloth of fine
gold--"
"Would you have me go unclothed?" Dame Alianora demanded,
pettishly.
"Not so," Osmund retorted; "again I say to you with Tertullian, 'Let
women paint their eyes with the tints of chastity, insert into their ears
the Word of God, tie