CHAPTER IV
THE ABBOT
FRIDAY the mistral blew, and Foulque was always wretched in that wind.He gloomed now from this narrow window and now from that in the blackcastle’s thick walls. The abbot was not expected before the dial showedtwelve, but Foulque looked from here and looked from there, and kept aman atop of the tower to scan the road beyond the wood. The hall wasready for the abbot, the arras hung, the floor strewn with leaves andautumn buds, the great chair placed aright, a rich coverlet spreadupon the state bed. Pierre was ready,—the sauce for the fish, thefish themselves were ready for the oven. Castel-Noir rested clean andfestive, and every man knew that he was to sink down upon both kneesand ask the abbot’s blessing.
The wind blew and hurled the leaves on high. The sun shone, the skywas bright, but the moving air, dry and keen, was as a grindstone uponwhich tempers were edged. A shrivelled, lame man must feel it. Underthe hooded mantel a fire was laid, but not kindled. Foulque could notdecide whether the abbot would feel the wind as he felt it, and wantto be welcomed with physical as well as other warmth, or whether,riding hard, he would be heated and would frown at the sight of thefire. Foulque would have liked a roaring blaze, out-sounding the wind.But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius was of a full body, tall and stout,a hunter and a hawker. Foulque determined to have a torch from thekitchen immediately at hand and kindle or not kindle according to thefirst glimpse of his kinsman’s face.
The window embrasures were deep enough to swallow a family. Foulque, asensitive, knew without turning his head when Garin, too, stood withinthe one that overlooked the road where it emerged from the wood. “Heshould be here at any minute,” said Foulque. “Well? Well?”
“Brother Foulque,” said Garin, “I have determined, an it please you, tobide with Lord Raimbaut and become a knight.”
Foulque let his wrath gather to a head. When it was at the witheringpoint, his gaze having been directed upon Garin for full thirtyseconds, he spoke. “Marry and crave pardon! Who is it hath determined?”
“I,” said Garin. “I.”
Foulque moistened his lips. “What has come to you? Raimbaut will letyou go. The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius invites—nay, he will himselfsmooth your way to Holy Church’s high places. I, your elder brother,command—”
“Your entreaty would do more, brother,” said Garin. “But I can noother.”
“‘Can no other!—can no other!’ Does the fool see himself Alexanderor Roland or Arthur?” Foulque laughed. “Raimbaut the Six-fingered’ssquire!”
Garin was patient. “All the same he can give me knighthood.”
His brother laughed again and struck his hands together. “Knighthood!Knighthood! Oh, your advantage from his buffet on your shoulder!Raimbaut!” He held by the wall and stamped with the foot that wasnot lamed. “Fight—fight—fight! then eat an ox and drink a cask andgo sleep! Ride abroad whenever you hear of a tourney that’s not toodifficult to enter. Tilt—tilt—tilt! and if you are not killed ordragged to the barrier, win maybe prizes enough to keep body and soultogether until you hear of another joust! Between times, eat, drink,and sleep and have not a thought in your head! Sprawl in the sun by thekeep, or yawn in the hall, or perhaps hunt a boar until there’s morefighting! When there is, be dragged from the wall or smothered in themoat or killed in the breach when the castle’s taken! Oh aye! Your lordmay take his foe’s castle and you be drunk for a day with victory andsmothering and hanging and slaying on your part! Yet forecast the daywhen you’ll drink the cup you’re giving others! Look at the dice inyour hand and know that if you throw six, yet will you throw ace!”
“I may not be always bound to Raimbaut.”
“He is not old, and hath the strength of a bull! And what of the youngRaimbaut? Son grows like sire—”
“Even so,” said Garin desperately, “things happen.”
Foulque’s anger and scorn flowed on. “Oh, I grant you! Have I forgottenlarge wars that may arise—fighting behind your lord for Prince orKing or Emperor? I have not. Cities and great castles instead ofsmall—thousands to kill and be killed instead of hundreds—the samething but more of it! Still a poor knight—still in the train ofRaimbaut the Six-fingered! The young Raimbaut hath six fingers also,hath he not?—Oh, you may go crusading, too, and see strange landsand kill the infidel who dares have his country spread around theHoly Sepulchre! Go!—and die of thirst or be slain with a scimitar,or have your eyes taken out and no new ones put in! Or, if you can,slay and slay and slay the infidel! What have you got? Tired arm andbloody hands and leave to go eat, drink, and sleep! A crusade! Yourcrusade enriches one, beggars fifty! Returns one, keeps the bones of ahundred—”
“I do not think of taking the cross,” said Garin.
His brother laughed again with a bitter mirth. “Well, what’s left?Let’s see! If you can get Raimbaut’s consent, you might become anerrant knight and go vagabonding through the land! ‘Fair sir, mayI fight thee—all for the glory of valour and for thy horse andtrappings?’—‘Fair dame, having no business of mine own, may I takethine upon me? Tell me thy grievance, and I will not enquire if it befounded or no. Nor when, pursuing chivalry, I have redressed it, willI refuse rich gifts.’—Bah!” cried Foulque. “I had rather eat, drink,fight, and sleep with Raimbaut!”
“Aye,” said Garin; then painfully, “You are picturing the common run ofthings. There have been and there are and there will be true and famousknights—aye, and learned, who make good poesy and honour fair ladies,and are courteous and noble and welcome in every castle hall! I meannot to be of the baser sort. And those knights I speak of had, some ofthem, as meagre a setting forth as mine—”
“In _romans_!” answered Foulque. “You are a fool, Garin! Take the otherroad—take the other road!”
“I’ve made my choice.”
“Raimbaut the Six-fingered against the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, whois close friend to Bishop Ugo, who is ear and hand to the Pope—”
“I choose.”
“Now,” cried Foulque, choking, “by the soul of our father, little lacksbut I call Sicart and Jean and have you down into the dungeon! You aretoo untamed—you are too untamed!”
“In your dungeon,” said Garin, “I would think, ‘How like is this toabbey cell and cloister!’”
A silence fell. Only mistral whistled and eddied around the blacktower. Then said Foulque tensely: “What has come to you? Two nights agoI saw you ready to put your hands in those of Holy Church—” He brokeoff, facing the man from the tower top, framed now in the great door.
“Horsemen, my masters!” cried the watchman; “horsemen at the two pines!”
Foulque flung up his arms. “He is coming! Mayhap he will work uponyou—seeing that a brother cannot! Let me by—”
Garin stood at the window watching the abbot and the twenty withhim—ecclesiastical great noble and his cowled following—stout laybrothers and abbey serfs well clad and fed—the abbot’s palfrey, sleekmules and horses—all mounting with a jingle of bits and creakingof leather, but with a suave lack of boisterous laughter, whoop,and shout, the grey zig-zag cut in the crag upon which was perchedCastel-Noir. When they were immediately below the loophole window, heturned and, leaving the hall, went to the castle gate and stood besideFoulque.
When Abbot Arnaut and his palfrey reached them he sprang, squire-like,to the stirrup, gave his shoulder to the abbot’s gloved hand. When thegreat man was dismounted, he knelt with his brother for the liftedfingers and blessing. The abbot was marshalled across the court tothe hall, followed by those two from Saint Pamphilius whom his nodindicated. Jean and Sicart disposed of the following. Foulque’s anxiousdrill bore fruits; everything went as if oiled.
Mistral still blew, high, cold and keen. “Have you a fire, kinsman?”cried Abbot Arnaut. “I am as cold as a merman in the sea!”
Foulque made haste. The torch was at hand—in a moment there sprang ablaze—the hangings from Genoa were all firelit and the great beams ofthe roof.
“Hungry!” cried the abbot. ?
??I am as hungry as Tantalus in hell! Iremember when once I came here, a boy, good fishing—”
The fish were good, Pierre’s sauce was good. All received commendation.The abbot was portly and tall, with a massy head, with a countenanceso genial, a voice so bland, an eye so approving, that all appearednature and no art. His lips seemed made for golden syllables, he had anunctuous and a mellow tongue. It was much to hear him speak Latin andmuch to hear him discourse in the vernacular. The _langue d’oc_ camerichly from his mouth. He was a mighty abbot, a gracious power, timberfrom which were made papal legates.
Foulque sat with him at the raised end of the table, the monks of hiscompany being ranged a foot lower. But Garin, as was squire-like,waited upon the great guest and his brother. The abbot, the keen edgeof hunger abated, showed himself gracious and golden, friendly, almostfamiliar. He spoke of the past, and of the father of his hosts. Heasked questions that showed that he knew Castel-Noir, dark wood andcraggy hills, mountains to the north, stream to the south. It evenseemed that he remembered old foresters and bowmen. He knew theneighbouring fiefs, the disputed ground, the Convent of Our Lady inEgypt. He was warm and pleasant with his kinsmen; he said that he hadloved their father and that their mother had been a fair, wise lady.He remarked that poverty was a sore that might be salved; and when hehad drunk a great cup of spiced wine,—having, for his health’s sake,a perpetual dispensation in that wise,—he said that he was of mindthat a man should serve and be served by his own blood. “Kin may provefaithless, but unkin beats them to the post!”
Dinner was eaten, wine drunken, hands washed. The abbot and Foulquerose, the monks of Saint Pamphilius rose, the table was cleared, theboards and trestles taken from the hall.
Abbot Arnaut, standing by the fire, looked at the great bed. “By therood!” he said, “to face mistral clean from Roche-de-Frêne to this rockis a wearisome thing! I will repose myself, kinsman, for one hour.”
All withdrew save the lay brother whom he retained for chamberlain.Foulque offered Garin’s service, who stood with ready hands. But theabbot was used to Brother Anselm, said as much, and with a sleepy andmellow voice dismissed the two brothers. “Return in an hour when Ishall be refreshed. Then will we talk of that of which I wrote.”
The two left the hall. Without, Foulque must discover from Jean andSicart if all went well and the abbot’s train was in good humour.“I’ve known a discontented horse-boy make a prince as discontented!”But they who followed the abbot were laughing in the small, bare court,and the bare ward room. Even mistral did not seem to trouble them.
South of the tower, in the angle between it and the wall, lay thetiniest of grass-plots, upbearing one tall cypress. Foulque, his mantleclose around him, beckoned hither Garin. Here was a stone seat in thesun, and the black tower between one and that wind from the mountains.Foulque sat and argued, Garin stood with his back against the cypress.The hour dropped away, and Foulque saw nothing gained. He shook withwrath and concern for slipping fortunes. “Since yesterday! This hashappened since yesterday! You took your rod and went down to the riverto fish. What siren sang to you from what pool?”
Garin lifted his head. “No siren. Something wakened within me, and nowI will be neither monk nor priest. I am sorry to grieve you, Foulque.”
But Foulque nursed his wrath. “The hour has passed,” he said. “So wego back to the abbot and spurn a rich offer!” He rose and with a bleakface left the grass-plot.
Garin followed, but not immediately. He stood, beneath the cypress treeand tried to see his life. He could not do so; he could only tell thathis heart was parted between sorrow and joy, and that a nightingalesang and sang. He could tell that he wished to live beautifully, to donoble deeds, to win honour, to serve, if need be to die for, a goddesswhose face was veiled. His life whirled; at once he felt generous,wealthy, and great, and poor, humble, and despairing. He seemed to seethrough drifting mists a Great Meaning; then the cloud thickened and hewas only Garin, Raimbaut’s squire—then again images and music, thenaching sadness. He stood with parted lips, beneath the cypress, and helooked south. At last he sighed and covered his eyes with his hand,then turned and went back to the hall.
The abbot was awake, had left the great bed and come to the greatchair. Seated at ease in the light of the renewed fire, he was goldenlydiscoursing to Foulque who sat on a stool, of Roche-de-Frêne and itsprince and his court, and of Bishop Ugo. “Ah, the great chances inthe fair lap of Mother Church! Ugo is ambitious. There it is that wediffer. I am not ambitious—no, no! I am an easy soul, and but takethings as they come my way!” He turned in his chair and looked at Garinstanding behind his brother. “Ha!” he said, “and this is the squire whowould become canon?”
Foulque groaned. “Most Reverend Father, the boy is mad! I think that heis bewitched. I pray that of your goodness, wisdom and eloquence youbring him to a right mind—”
The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius smiled, assured as the sun. “What is it?Does he think that already he has Fortune for mistress?”
“He will choose knighthood,” said Foulque. “He has no doubt of winningit.”
The abbot lifted his brows. He looked with dignity into the fire, thenback at Foulque and at Garin the squire. “It pains me,” he said, “thefolly of mankind! Are you born prince, count or baron, then in reason,you must run the course where you are set. Though indeed, time out ofmind, have been found castellans, vavasours, barons, dukes, and princeswho have laid aside hauberk, shield, and banner, and blithely come withall their wealth into the peaceful hive of Holy Church—so rightlycould they weigh great value against low! But such as you, youngman—but such as you—poor liegemen of poor lords! What would you have?Verily, the folly is deep! By no means all who would have knighthoodgain it, and if it is gained, what then? Another poor knight in a worldwhere they are as thick and undistinguishable as locusts!—Ha, what doyou say?”
Garin’s lips had moved, but now he flushed red.
“Speak out!” commanded the abbot, blandly imperious. “What was it thatyou said?”
Garin lowered his eyes. “I said that there were many churchmen in theworld, as thick and undistinguishable—”
Foulque drew a dismayed breath. But the Abbot of Saint Pamphiliuslaughed. He sat well back in his chair and looked at the squire withfreshened interest. “Granted, Bold Wit! The point is this. Did youshow me here the signet ring, not—God defend us!—of Raimbaut theSix-fingered, but of Raimbaut’s lord and yours, Savaric of Montmaure,then would I say, ‘So you have your patron! Good fortune, fair kinsman,who are half-way up the ladder!’” He looked at the squire and laughed.“You have it not by you, I think?” Garin shook his head. “Well then,”said the abbot, “choose Holy Church. For here, I think,”—he spoke verygoldenly,—“you may show a patron. A feeble one, my son—of course, afeeble one—”
Garin came from behind Foulque, kneeled before the abbot, and thankedhim for great kindness and condescension. “But, Reverend Father, withall gratefulness and humbleness, yet I will not the tonsure—”
The abbot with a gesture kept him kneeling. “There is some reason herethat you hide. You are young, you are young! I guess that your reasongoes by name of woman—”
Garin knelt silent, but Foulque uttered an exclamation. “No, ReverendFather, no! What has changed him I know not, but it has happened hereat Castel-Noir, since yesterday! There is no woman here, in hut ortower, that could tempt him—”
But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius continued to gaze upon Garin, andto tap gently with his fingers upon the arm of the great chair. “Ihold not,” he said softly, “with those who would condone concubinage,and who see no harm in a too fair cousin, niece, or servant inpriests’ dwellings. It is all sin—it is all sin—and Holy Churchmust reprobate—yea, must chastise. But flesh is weak, my son, fleshis weak! Somewhat may be compounded—somewhat overlooked—somewhatpardoned! Especially, if not solely, in the case of those whose serviceis great. As for courtly love—” The abbot smiled. “When you come tocourtly love,” he said, “ther
e are many lordly churchmen have praisedfair ladies!—Do I resolve your scruples, my son?”
But Garin’s look showed no shaken determination. The abbot leanedback in his chair. “The time grows tender,” he said. “Womanish andtender! Your father would have known how to bring you to reason. Yourgrandfather would have disposed of you like any Roman of old. But nowany sir squire is let to say, ‘I will’—or ‘I will not!’—Think notthat I wish him about me who is sullen and intractable! Nor that Ilack other kinsmen who are pleaders for that kindness I would haveshown Castel-Noir! There is young Enric, Bernart’s son—and there areothers.—Rise and begone to Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s keep!”
Garin stood up. Foulque made to speak, but the abbot waved the matterdown.
“All is said. It is a trifle, and we will disturb ourselves no further.God knows, ungrateful young men are no rarity! Doubtless he hath,after all, Montmaure’s signet—What is it now?”
Into the hall, from the court without, had come a sound of tramplinghoofs and of voices—one voice sullen and heavy. Garin startedviolently, Foulque sprang to his feet. The great door was flung open,admitting a burst of wind that shook the hangings, and behind it,Sicart open-mouthed and breathless.
“Master, master! here is Lord Raimbaut!”