The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 4

lost in thought,
What time Sir
Pertinax did stamp and snort:
"Ha, by the Mass! Now, by the Holy
Rood!
Ne'er heard I roguish rant so bold and lewd!
He should be
whipped, hanged, quartered, flayed alive--"
"Then," quoth the Duke, "pay him gold pieces five,"
"How--pay a
rogue?" the Knight did fierce retort.
"A ribald's rant--give good, gold
pieces for't?
A plague! A pest! The knave should surely die--"
But
here he met Duke Joc'lyn's fierce blue eye,
And silent fell and in his

poke did dive,
And slowly counted thence gold pieces five,
Though
still 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