The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 5

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,

a great sword by his side.
Large bascinet upon his head he bore,

'Neath which his face a scowl portentous wore;
While after toiled a
stout but reverend friar
Who, scant of breath, profusely did perspire

And, thus perspiring, panted sad complaints
Thus--on the heat, his
comrade and the Saints.
"O Bax, O Bax! Saint Cuthbert aid me now!
O Bax, see how to sweat
thou'st made me now!
Thy speed abate! O sweet Saint Dominic!

Why pliest thou thy puny shanks so quick;
O day! O Bax! O hot,
sulphurous day,
My flesh betwixt ye melteth fast away.
Come, sit
ye, Bax, in shade of yon sweet tree,
And, sitting soft, I'll sagely
counsel thee."
"Not so, in faith," the small man, scowling, said,
"What use for
counsel since the cause be fled?
And since she's fled--Saints succour
us!" he cried;
As 'mid the leaves all suddenly he spied
Sir Pertinax
in his unlovely trim,
His rusty mail, his aspect swart and grim--

"Ha!" gasped the little man, "we are beset!"
And starting back, off
fell his bascinet.
Whereat he fiercely did but scowl the more,
And strove amain his ponderous sword to draw.
"Hence, dog!" he
cried, "lest, with my swashing blow,
I make thee food for carrion kite
and crow."
But in swift hands Sir Pertinax fast caught him
And,
bearing him on high, to Joc'lyn brought him,
Who, while the captive
small strove vain aloft
Reproved him thus in accents sweet and soft:
"Right puissant and potential sir, we do beseech thee check thy ferocity,
quell now thy so great anger and swear not to give our flesh for fowls
to tear, so shalt thou come down to earth and stand again upon thine
own two legs. And thou, most reverend friar, invoke now thy
bloody-minded comrade that he swear to harm us not!"
The stout friar seated himself hard by beneath a tree, mopped moist
brow, fetched his wind and smiled.

"Sir Fool," said he, "I am thy security that thou and thy brawny gossip
need quake and tremble nothing by reason of this Bax, our valiant
reeve--he shall harm ye no whit." Here, meeting Jocelyn's eye, Sir
Pertinax set down the small Reeve, who having taken up and put on his
great bascinet, scowled, whereupon Duke Jocelyn questioned him full
meek:
"Good master Reeve, of your courtesy pray you tell us why yon bells
do ring so wild alarm."
The small Reeve viewed him with disdainful eye;
Sniffed haughty
nose and proudly made reply:
'Our bells we ring and clamour make,
because
We've lost our lady fair of Tissingors.
Our Duchess
Benedicta hath this day
From all her worthy guardians stole away.

Thus we for her do inquisition make,
Nor, 'till she's found, may hope
our rest to take,
And thus we cause such outcry as we may,
Since
we lose not our Duchess ev'ry day.
So then we'd have ye speak
us--aye or no,
Saw ye our errant lady this way go?
And, that ye may
her know for whom we seek,
Her just description fully I will speak:

Her hair night-black, her eyes the self-same hue,
Her habit brown,
unless 't were red or blue,
And if not blue why then mayhap 'tis green,

Since she by turns of all such hues is seen--"
"Stay, sir," quoth Jocelyn, "'tis plain to see
No maid but a chameleon
is she,
For here we have her brown and green and blue,
And if not
brown then rosy is her hue,
And, if not red, why then 'tis very plain

That brown she is or blue or green again.
Now fain, sir, would I ask
and question whether
She e'er is seen these colours all together?
"O fain would I a lady spy,
By countryside or town,
Who may be
seen all blue and green,
Unless she's red or brown."
But now, while fierce the little man did scowl,
The rosy Friar,
sly-smiling 'neath his cowl,
His visage meek, spake thus in dulcet
tone:
"Sir Fool, our Reeve is something mixed, I'll own,
Though he

by divers colours is bemused,
Learn ye this truth, so shall he stand
excused:
Our Duchess Benedicta, be it known,
Hath this day from
her several guardians flown.
Ten worthy men her several guardians
be,
Of whom the chief and worthiest ye see,
As first--myself, a friar
of some report,
Well-known, methinks, in country, town and court.

Who as all men can unto all men speak,
Well read beside in Latin and
in Greek,
A humble soul albeit goodly preacher,
One apt to