The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 4

he muttered fiercely 'neath his breath,?Such baleful words as: "'S blood!" and "'S bones!" and "'S death!"
Then laughed the Duke and from the greenwood strode;?But scarce was he upon the dusty road,?Than came the rogue who, louting to his knee:?"O Fool! Sir Fool! Most noble Fool!" said he.?"Either no fool, or fool forsooth thou art,?That dareth thus to take an outlaw's part.?Yet, since this day my rogue's life ye did spare,?So now by oak, by ash, by thorn I swear--
"And mark, Sir Fool, and to my saying heed--?Shouldst e'er lack friends to aid thee in thy need?Come by this stream where stands a mighty oak,?Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning stroke,?Hid in this cleft a hunting-horn ye'll see,?Take then this horn and sound thereon notes three.?So shall ye find the greenwood shall repay?The roguish life ye spared a rogue this day."
So spake he; then, uprising from his knees,?Strode blithe away and vanished 'mid the trees.?Whereat Sir Pertinax shook doleful head:?"There go our good gold pieces, lord!" he said.?"Would that yon rogue swung high upon a tree,?And in my poke our gold again might be.?Full much I marvel, lord, and fain would know?Wherefore and why unhanged didst let him go?"
Then answered the Duke singing on this wise:
"Good Pertinax, if on a tree?Yon rogue were swinging high?A deader rogue no man could see--?'He's but a rogue!' says you to me,?'But a living rogue!' says I.
"And since he now alive doth go?More honest he may die,?Yon rogue an honest man may grow,?If we but give him time, I trow,?Says I to you, says I."
At this, Sir Pertinax growled in his beard--
My daughter GILLIAN interrupteth:
GILL: A beard? O father--beard will never do!?No proper knight a beard ever grew.'?No knight could really romantic be?Who wore a beard! So, father, to please me,?No beard; they are, I think, such scrubby things--
MYSELF: Yet they are worn, sometimes, by poets and kings.
GILL: But your knight--
MYSELF: Oh, all right,?My Gill, from your disparagement to save him,?I, like a barber, will proceed to shave him.
Sir Pertinax, then, stroked his smooth-shaved chin,?And thus to curse he softly did begin,?"Par Dex, my lord--"
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: Your knight, dear father, seems to love to curse.
MYSELF: He does. A difficult matter, child, in verse--
GILL: Of verse I feel a little tired--
MYSELF: Why, if you think a change desired,?A change we'll have, for, truth to tell,?This rhyming bothers me as well.?So here awhile we'll sink to prose.?Now, are you ready? Then here goes!
"Par Dex, my lord!" growled Sir Pertinax. "A malison on't, says I, saving thy lordly grace, yet a rogue is a rogue and, being rogue, should die right roguishly as is the custom and the law. For if, messire, if--per De and by Our Sweet Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood, if, I say, in thy new and sudden-put-on attitude o' folly, thou wilt save alive all rogues soever, then by Saint Cuthbert his curse, by sweet Saint Benedict his blessed bones, by--"
"Hold now, Pertinax," said the Duke, slipping his lute into leathern bag and slinging it behind wide shoulders, "list ye, Sir Knight of Shene, and mark this, to wit: If a rogue in roguery die then rogue is he forsooth; but, mark this again, if a rogue be spared his life he may perchance and peradventure forswear, that is, eschew or, vulgarly speaking, turn from his roguish ways, and die as honest as I, aye, or even--thou!"
Here Sir Pertinax snorted as they strode on together, yet in a little they turned aside from the hot and dusty road and journeyed on beneath the trees that grew thereby.
"By all the fiends, my lord, and speaking vulgarly in turn, this belly o' mine lacketh, these my bowels do yearn consumedly unto messes savoury and cates succulent--"
Whereat the Duke, smiling merry-eyed, chanted roguishly:
"A haunch o' venison juicy from the spit now?"?"Aha!" groaned the Knight, "Lord, let us haste--"?"A larded capon to thee might seem fit now?"?"Saints!" sighed the Knight, "but for one little taste."?"Or, Pertinax, a pasty plump and deep--"?"Ha--pasty, by the Mass!" the Knight did cry.?"Or pickled tongue of neat, Sir Knight, or sheep--"?"Oh, for a horse! For wings wherewith to fly--"?"Or breast of swan--"
"Stay! nay, my lord, ha' mercy!" groaned Sir Pertinax, wiping moist brow. "Picture no more toothsome dainties to my soul lest for desire I swoon and languish by the way. I pray thee, let us haste, sire, so may we reach fair Canalise ere sunset--yet stay! Hearken, messire, hear ye aught? Sure, afar the tocsin soundeth?"
Now hearkening thus, they both became aware?Of distant bells that throbbed upon the air,?A faint, insistent sound that rose and fell,?A clamour vague that ominous did swell.?As thus they stood, well hidden from the road,?Footsteps they heard of feet that briskly strode.?And, through the leaves, a small man they espied,?Who came apace,