Under King Constantine | Page 6

his mailed breast, While she toyed
lightly with the yellow scarf That floated from his helmet.
"Goes Sanpeur To the great tournament to-day?" he asked.
"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont To tilt in tourneys like to-day's."
"Think not! I want an honest answer. Do you know?"

"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; It scarce becomes his
chivalry to fight In these new tourneys of such savage guise."
"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks You are too daring. What of
mine, forsooth?"
"I long have told you that I thought your strength Was worthy finer
service. You well know I like not tournaments that waste the land By
useless bloodshed; but, my Torm, you are Your own adviser, so I say
no more. Bend down and kiss me, Torm, before you go; Pray be not
wroth with Gwendolaine, my lord."
"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true You will not see that coward
knight to-day."
Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn, "I know not whom
you mean, my lord Sir Torm."
"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur."
"Sanpeur, the fearless knight, a coward!--he? What, think you, would
your great King Constantine Say to your daring slander? Sir Sanpeur Is
the unquestioned Launcelot at court; The King rests on him with
unfailing trust In every valiant deed and feat of arms." She drew her
beauty to its fullest height, And swept him with her eyes. "Fear not for
me, Sir Torm. Sanpeur, alas! is too engrossed With duties for his
Master, Jesu Christ, And for his lord, the King, to loiter here With any
woman, howe'er fair she be."
Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made The heart of
Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce Against its sound in spirit of revolt.
"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused In open court to joust
with Dinadan?"
"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave."
"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day, And prayers, and fasting, and

such foolery."
"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn, "Unhorsed once, years
ago, the brave Sir Torm, Who never was unhorsed by knight before?"
The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face; His loud voice vibrated
with rising wrath.
"So your fine, fearless knight of chivalry Has won his way to your most
wifely heart By boasting of his prowess! By my sword! That is a
knightly virtue in all truth."
"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell The story that was
waiting for your bride In every prattling mouth about the court. Had it
been so, she never would have heard; It lies with petty souls alone to
boast, Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur."
"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord! Methinks you love this
valiant knight, Sanpeur."
"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow With exultation of defense of
him, "It well might be my glory; for there lives No knight so stainless
and so pure as he."
"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!"
And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand, He struck the lovely face of
Gwendolaine, And went out cursing.
Motionless she leaned Against the window mullion, where she reeled,
White as the pearls she wore; and love for Torm-- The thing that she
had nourished and called love-- Fell dead within her, murdered by his
blow. And in her heart true love arose at last for Sir Sanpeur,
proclaiming need of him;-- A love, for many days hushed and
suppressed By wifely loyalty, now well awake, With conscious sense
of immortality.
Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went, Stopped not to wipe the

blood from her pale cheek; Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and
donned A russet gown she kept for merry plays, And, wrapping o'er her
head a wimple, dark As her dark gown, crept down the castle steps. The
vassals looked at her askance; she drew Her wimple closer, and
deceived their gaze, Until the gate of Tormalot was passed, And she
was out upon the lonely moor. Onward she went, too wrenched with
pain and wrath To fear, or wonder at her fearlessness.
The knight Sanpeur was on his battlements, Silvered with light from
the full summer moon, And heard his seneschal with loud replies
Denying entrance, as his orders were; He would be left alone and
undisturbed With memory and thought of Gwendolaine. "What
sweetness infinite beneath the ebb And flow of moods," he said, half
audibly; "What truth beneath her laughter and her mirth! I ask but that
her nature be fulfilled, That is enough for me; it matters not If I may
only see her from afar. My love was sent