Under King Constantine | Page 3

his delay. "Methinks," she says, in pique, against her will, "The beautiful Ettonne looks for her knight; It scarce seems chivalrous to leave her thus."
"'Tis true, my lady, I came not to stay, But for a greeting, which I now have said."
He left her, the light shadow darker grew Within her eyes, and golden hawking bells Upon her jesses clashed with sudden clink, As her fair hand had closed impatiently.
Betimes came Constantine, who looked a man Of hard-won conquests, not the least, o'er self. Before his stately presence Gwendolaine Bowed low with heartfelt loyalty.
"My King, Care rides beside you, banish him, to-day, He will but spoil the sunshine and the hunt."
"Alas! he is the Sovereign of the King, And stays, defying all command, fair Gwendolaine." Then, smiling grimly,--"My great heritage, As heir to fragments of the Table Round, Brings me no wealth of ease."
In converse light They rode together. When the hunt was done, The King, all courteous, said, "My gracious dame, Well have you learned of nature her great laws; The sun, that warms with its intensity The earth to fruitage, is the same that throws Stray sportive gleams to beautify alone; And you, who meet my purposes of state With a responsive thought and sympathy, As no dame of the court,--and scarcely knight,-- Has ever done, are first in making me Forget their weight. Gramercy for your grace! It has revived me as a summer shower Revives the parched and under-trodden grass; It is but seldom I have time to seek Refreshment, save of labour changed."
"My King,"-- She passed from gay to grave,--"my own heart aches With life's vexed questions, and its stern demands, Full often even in my sheltered state; And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o'ercome With the vast load of duties you fulfil So nobly, to the glory of the realm. Would I could serve you, as you well deserve; But I am only woman, so I smile In lieu of fighting for you, as I would Unto the death, if I were but a knight." And this same dame who spoke so earnestly To Constantine, said when she next had speech With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond The fashion of the robe I wear!"
Sanpeur, Alone of all the men who came within Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns, And when he would not humour passing mood, And when she felt within her wayward heart The silent protest of his calm reserve,-- Although a longing she had never known Awoke in her,--her pride, in arms, cried truce To striving spirit, and she laughed the more. And oftentimes the stirring of new life, Without its recognition, made her quick To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur Confronted to some phases of her charm; Made her assume a wilful shallowness, To hide the soul she was afraid to face.
One day, at court, her restless spirits rose To a defiant mood of recklessness, And half because she wanted to be true, And half because she could not act the false Except to overdo it, her clear laugh Rang out at witty words her heart disdained; Some knights, ignoble, hating noble men, Were loud decrying virtue, Gwendolaine With laugh-begetting words made quick assent To the unworthy wit
She scarce had spoken, Ere Sanpeur raised his penetrating eyes,-- The only ones, in all that laughing group, Which were not bright with an approving smile,-- To meet her own, with silent gravity, A swift arrest within their shining depths To one more word unworthy of herself. And Gwendolaine, the peerless queen of dames, Cast down her eyes, for once, before Sanpeur.
Later, he stood beside her, as she passed, "My Lady Gwendolaine,--incomparable,-- 'Tis not your wont to be so cowardly."
"No? Sanpeur," answered Gwendolaine, "nor yours, It seems, to be well mannered; may I ask Where I have failed in bravery, forsooth?"
"You were a coward to your better self In your light answer to the empty words Your nature disavowed."
"Alack, my lord! That is my armour; warriors ever wear A cuirass of strong steel before their breasts; A woman carries but a little shield Of scorn and badinage, to break the force On her weak woman-heart, of javelins hurled."
"That is well said, my Lady Gwendolaine, But it is not the same, by your fair grace; Our armour is our armour, nothing more; Your shield of scorn is lasting lance of harm, For every word a noble woman says, And every act and influence from her, Live on forever, to the end of time; Your true soul is too true to be belied."
"Who told you, Sir Sanpeur?"
"My heart," he said. She raised her eyes in a triumphant thrill Of sudden rapture, and of gratitude, And saw herself enwrapped by a long