CHAPTER V
RAIMBAUT THE SIX-FINGERED
A LORD might of course visit one who held from him, often did so. Butit was not Raimbaut’s use to ride to Castel-Noir. And Garin, partingfrom him less than a week ago, had heard no word of his coming.
But here he was, pushing Sicart aside, striding into the hall, alow-browed, thick-skulled giant, savage with his foes, dull andgrudging with his friends—Raimbaut the Six-fingered! Foulque hastenedto do him reverence, make him welcome; Garin, stepping to his side,took from him his wide, rust-hued mantle and furred cap.
“Well met, my Lord Raimbaut!” said the abbot in his golden tones.
Raimbaut gloomed upon him. “Ha, Lord Abbot! Are you here for thisspringald, my esquire? Well, I have said that you might have him.”
“Nay,” said the abbot mellowly, “I think that I want him not.”
“—have him,” pursued Raimbaut. “And likewise his quarrel with Savaricof Montmaure.”
He spoke with a deep, growling voice, as of an angered mastiff, and ashe spoke turned like one upon Garin. “Why, by every fiend in hell, didyou fight a Tuesday, with his son?”
Garin stared. He heard Foulque’s distressed exclamation, saw the abbotpurse his lips, but beyond all that he had a vision of a forest gladeand heard a clash of steel. He drew breath. “Was he that knight incrimson? Was that Jaufre de Montmaure?”
Raimbaut doubled his fist and advanced it. Before this Garin had cometo earth beneath his lord’s buffet. He awaited it now, standing assquarely as he might. He was aware that Raimbaut had for him a kindof thwart liking—a liking that made, in Raimbaut’s mind, no reasonwhy he should not strike when angry. It was not the expected blow thatset Garin’s mind whirling. But Jaufre de Montmaure! To his knowledgehe had never, until that Tuesday, seen that same Jaufre. But he knewof him, oh, knew of him! Montmaure was a great count, overlord oftowns and many castles. In Garin’s world Savaric of Montmaure was onlyless than Gaucelm of Roche-de-Frêne—Gaucelm the Fortunate from whomSavaric held certain fiefs. Immediately, Montmaure loomed larger thanRoche-de-Frêne, for Raimbaut the Six-fingered owed direct fealty toMontmaure and in war must furnish a hundred men-at-arms.
Garin knew of the young count, Sir Jaufre. He knew that Jaufre hadbeen long time in Italy, at the court where his mother was born, butthat now he was looked for home again. He knew that he had foughtboldly in sieges of cities, and in tournaments was acclaimed brave andfortunate. Perhaps Garin had dreamed of his own chance coming to himby way of Montmaure—perhaps he had dreamed of somehow recommendinghimself to this same Jaufre. That gibe of the abbot’s about the signetring had struck from the squire an answering thought, “Some day Imay—” Now came the reversal, now Garin felt a faintness, an icy fall.He was young and in a thousand ways, unfree. For a day and a night hisconscious being had strained high. Now there came a dull subsidence, aslipping toward the abyss. “Jaufre de Montmaure!”
Raimbaut did not deliver the meditated blow—too angered and concernedwas Raimbaut to dispense slight tokens. He let his hand drop, butground beneath his heavy foot the rushes on the floor. “I would Ihad had you chained in the pit below the dungeon before I let you goto Roche-de-Frêne!” He turned on Foulque who stood, grey-faced anddry-lipped. “Knew you what this fool did?”
Foulque struck his hands together. “He told me that eve. He didnot know and I did not know—He thought it might be some wanderingknight—Ah, my Lord Raimbaut, as we owe you service, so do you owe usprotection!”
Raimbaut strode up and down, heavy and black as his own ancient donjon.“Comes to me yestereve, as formal as you please, a herald fromMontmaure! ‘Hark and hear,’ says he, puffing out his cheeks, ‘to whatbefell our young lord, Sir Jaufre, riding through the forest calledLa Belle, and for some matter or other sending a good way ahead thosethat rode with him. Came a squire out of the wood, drunken and, as itwere, mad, and with him, plain to be seen, a stark fiend! Then did thetwo fall upon Sir Jaufre from behind and forced him to fight, and bynecromancy overthrew and wounded him, and, ignobly and villainously,bound him to a tree. Which, when they had done, they vanished. Andstraightway his men found him and brought him home. And now that fiendmay perchance not be found, but assuredly the man may be discovered!When he is, for his foul pride, treason, and wizardry, the Count ofMontmaure will flay him alive and nail him head downward to a tree.’”
Mistral sent into the hall a withering blast. The smoke from the fireblew out and went here and there in wreaths. It set the abbot coughing.Raimbaut the Six-fingered continued his striding up and down. “Then hepuffs his cheeks out and says on, and wits me to know that Savaric ofMontmaure calls on every man that owes him fealty to discover—an he isknown to them—that churl and misdoer. And thereupon,” ended Raimbauton a note of thunder, “to my face he describes Garin my esquire!”
Garin stood silent, but Foulque panted hard. “Ah, thou unhappy! Ah,the end of Castel-Noir! Ah, my Lord Raimbaut, have we not been faithfulliegemen?” He caught his brother by the arm. “Kneel, Garin—and I willkneel—”
But Garin did not kneel. He stood young, straight, pale withindignation. “Brother and Reverend Father and my Lord Raimbaut,” hecried, “never in my life had I to do with a fiend! Nor was I drunkennor without sense! Nor did I come upon him from behind! Does he saythat, then am I more glad than I was that I brought him fairly to theearth and, because of his own treachery, tied him to a tree and boundhis hands with his stirrup leather—”
Raimbaut, in his striding up and down being close to his squire, turnedupon him at this and delivered the buffet. It brought Garin, hand andknee, upon the rushes, but he rose with lightness. Raimbaut, stridingon by, came to the abbot, who, having ended coughing, sat, double chinon hand and foot in furred slipper, tapping the floor. He stoppedshort, feudal lord beside as massive ecclesiastic. “The Church says itis her part to counsel! Out then with good counsel!”
The abbot looked at him aslant, then spoke with a golden voice. “Didyou tell the count’s herald that it was your esquire?”
“Not I! I said that it had a sound of Aimeric of the Forest’s men.”Aimeric of the Forest was a lord with whom Raimbaut was wont to wageprivate war.
The abbot murmured “Ah!” then, “Did any in your castle betray him?”
“No,” said Raimbaut. “Only Guilhelm, and Hugonet heard surely andknew for certain. Six-fingered we may be and rude, but we wait a bitbefore we give our esquires to other men’s deaths!” Again he coveredwith his stride the space before the wide hearth. He was as huge as aboar and as grim, but a certain black tenseness and danger seemed togo out of the air of the hall. Turning, he again faced the abbot. “SoI think, now the best wit that I can find is to say ‘Aye’ twice whereI have already said it once, and speed this same Garin the fighterinto Church’s fold! Let him as best he may convoy himself to the Abbeyof Saint Pamphilius. There he may be turned at once into BrotherSuch-an-one. So he will be as safe and hid as if he were in Heaven andOur Lady drooped her mantle over him. By degrees Montmaure may forget,or he may flay the wrong man—”
The abbot covered his mouth with his hand and looked into the blazethat mistral drove this way and that. Foulque came close, with ahaggard, wrinkling face; but Garin, having risen from Raimbaut’sbuffet, made no other motion.
The abbot dropped his hand and spoke. “Do you not know that last yearthe Count of Montmaure became Advocate and Protector of the Abbey ofSaint Pamphilius? As little as Lord Raimbaut do I will openly to offendCount Savaric.”
“‘Openly,’” cried Foulque. “Ah, Reverend Father, it would not be‘openly’—”
But Abbot Arnaut shook his head. “I know your ‘secret help,’” he saidgoldenly. “It is that which most in this world getteth simple andnoble, lay and cleric, into trouble!” He spread his hands. “Moreover,our Squire-who-fights-knights hath just declined the tonsure.”
“Hath he so?” exclaimed Raimbaut. “He is the more to my liking!—So theabbot will let Count Savaric take him?”
The
abbot put his fingers together. “I will do nothing,” he said, “thatwill imperil the least interest of Holy Mother Church. I will never actto the endangering of one small ornament upon her robe.”
Raimbaut made a sound like the grunt of a boar. Foulque covered hisface with his hands.
“But,” pursued the abbot, “kin is kin, and in the little, narrow lanethat is left me I will do what I can!” He spoke to Raimbaut. “Has CountSavaric bands out in search of him?”
“Aye. They will look here as elsewhere.”
Garin stood forth. Above his eye was a darkening mark, sign ofRaimbaut’s buffet. It was there, but it did not depreciate somethingelse which was likewise there and which, for the moment, made of hiswhole body a symbol, enduing it to an extent with visible bloom,apparent power. For many hours there had been an inward glowing. Butheretofore to-day, what with Foulque and Abbot Arnaut and disputes,anxieties, and preoccupation, it had been somewhat pushed away, stifledunder. Now it burst forth, to be seen and felt by others, though notunderstood. Anger and outrage at that knight’s false accusation helpedit forth. And—though Garin himself did not understand this—that gladein the forest toward Roche-de-Frêne, and that lawn of the poplar, theplane, and the cedar by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt, that Tuesdayand that Thursday, came somehow into contact, embraced, reinforced eachthe other. Aware, or unaware, in his conscious or in his unconsciousexperience, there was present a deep and harmonious vibration, anexpansion and intensification of being. Something of this came outwardand crossed space, to the others’ apprehension. They felt bloom andthey felt beauty, and they stared at him strangely, as though he werepalely demigod.
He spoke. “Brother Foulque and Lord Raimbaut and Reverend Father, letme cut this knot! I must leave Castel-Noir and leave my Lord Raimbaut’scastle, and I must take my leave without delay. That is plain. Plain,too, that I must not go in this green and brown that I wore when Ifought him! Sicart can find me serf’s clothing. When it is night, Iwill quit Castel-Noir, and I will lie in the fir wood, near the littleshrine, five miles west of here. In the morning you, Reverend Father,pass with your train. The help that Foulque and I ask is that you willlet me join the Abbey people. They have scarcely seen me—Sicart shallcut my hair and darken my face—they will not know me. But do you, ofyour charity, bid one of the brothers take me up behind him. Let meovertravel in safe company sufficient leagues to put me out of instantclutch of Count Savaric and that noble knight, Sir Jaufre! I will leaveyou short of the Abbey of Saint Pamphilius.”
“And where then, Garin, where then?” cried Foulque.
“I will go,” said Garin, “toward Toulouse and Foix and Spain. Give me,Foulque, what money you can. I will go in churl’s guise until I amout and away from Montmaure’s reach. Then in some town I will get mea fit squire’s dress. If you can give me enough to buy a horse—verygood will that be!” He lifted and stretched his arms—a gesture thatordinarily he would not have used in the presence of elder brother,lord, or churchman. “Ah!” cried Garin, “then will I truly beginlife—how, I know not now, but I will begin it! Moreover, I will liveit, in some fashion, well!”
The three elder men still stared at him. Mature years, advantageousplace, bulked large indeed in their day. A young Daniel might be verywise, but was he not _young_? A squire might propose the solution of ariddle, but it were unmannerly for the squire to take credit; a mousemight gnaw the lion’s net, but the mouse remained mouse, and the lionlion. The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, and Raimbaut the Six-fingered,and Foulque the elder brother looked doubtfully at Garin. But the airof bloom and light and power held long enough. They devised no betterplan, and, for the time at least, their minds subdued themselves andput away anger and ceased to consider rebuke.
Raimbaut spoke. “I give you leave. I have not been a bad lord to you.”
His squire looked at him with shining eyes. “No, lord, you have not. Ithank you for much. And some day if I may I will return good for good,and pay the service that I owe!”
Foulque the Cripple limped from the hearth to a chest by the wall,unlocked it with a key hanging from his belt, and took out a bag ofsoft leather—a small bag and a lank. He turned with it. “You shallhave wherewith to fit you out. Escape harm now, little brother! Butwhen the wind has ceased to blow, come back—”
The abbot seemed to awake from a dream, and, awakening, became goldenand expansive even beyond his wont. “You hear him say himself that hehas no vocation.... Nay, if he begins so early by overthrowing knightshe may be called, who knoweth? to become a column and pattern ofchivalry! I will bring him safe out of the immediate clutch of danger.”
An hour, and Raimbaut departed, and none outside the hall ofCastel-Noir knew aught but that, hunting a stag, he had come ridingthat way. The sun set, and the abbot and his following had supper andGarin served his brother and Abbot Arnaut. Afterwards, it was saidabout the place that the company—having a long way to make—wouldride away before dawn. So, after a few hours sleep, all did arise bytorchlight and ate a hasty breakfast, and the horses and mules and theabbot’s palfrey stamped in the courtyard. Mistral was dead and the aircool, still, and dark. The swung torches confused shadow and substance.In the trampling and neighing and barking of dogs, clamour and shiftingof shapes, it went unnoticed that only Foulque was there to bidfarewell to the abbot and kinsman.
In the early night, under the one cypress between the tower and thewall, Foulque and Garin had said farewell. The light was gone fromabout Garin; he seemed but a youth, poor and stricken, fleeing beforea very actual danger. The two brothers embraced. They shed tears, forin their time men wept when they felt like doing so. They commendedeach other to God and Our Lady and all the saints, and they parted, notknowing if ever they would see each other again.
The abbot and his company wound down the zig-zag road and turned facetoward the distant Abbey of Saint Pamphilius. Riding westward they cameinto the fir wood. The sun was at the hill-tops, when they overtook alimping pedestrian,—a youth in a coarse and worn dress, with shoes ofpoor leather and leggings of bark bound with thongs, and with a capedhood that obscured his features. Questioned, he said that his fathersowed grain and reaped it for Castel-Noir, but that he had an unclewho was a dyer and lived beyond Albi. His uncle was an old man and hadsomewhat to leave and his father had got permission for him to go on avisit—and he had hurt his foot. With that he looked wistfully at thehorse of the lay brother who had summoned him to the abbot.
“Saint Gilles!” exclaimed the abbot, and he spoke loud and goldenly.“It were a long way to hop to Albi! Not a day but I strive to plant onekindly deed—Take him up, my son, behind thee!”