Part 39

Simon made ready for the swinging of his great sword. Ere any one of them all should lay hands upon the damsel there would be a headless duke in Athens. But Argathona's face remained as changelessly grave as befits in danger one who claims a kinship with the high gods, and she spoke out loud and clear.

"Aliens of Athens, you live hateful lives, you live shameful lives, and my spirit is weary of you. I came a stranger into the ways of men, and I go hence very grateful to be stranger to their ways to the end. For you cannot hold me here against my will, and of my own will I come not again to your borders. Fear, for there is a curse upon you; fear, for you have polluted the beautiful city, and dreadful is the vengeance of the gods."

All the while she was speaking to the astounded hearers, a high wind seemed to be rising in the night, and even as she made an end of her speech, a great squalling gust rushed through the open window, and in a clap every torch and candle in the great room was puffed out, and for the space of a moment all was heavy blackness. When lights were found, and the room bright again, there was no sign nor trace of the girl from the greenwood who had fought in the lists as the Prince of Eleusis.

XXIV

THE HONOR OF THE ROCK

When Simon saw that Argathona was clean gone from the room where the others were blinking at the change from light to dark and from dark to light again, he guessed that she had slipped away by the turret-stair, and he knew that it would not take her long, with her cunning, to get clear of the city. Yet, to make assurance surer, he set his back to the arras that masked the turret-door, and stood there with his sword bare waiting composedly for the trouble that seemed very likely to ensue.

Indeed, the trouble came quickly, for as soon as Duke Baldwin had winked his eyes clear of the dazzle and saw that Argathona was gone, he was very wroth with Simon for shielding her retreat, calling him a companion of witches and other ill names, while he bade those about him fling the rascal from the path. But Simon silenced him with words few indeed, but fiercer and fouler than even the duke could compass, and the duke's orders were so incoherent that none knew, or, indeed, greatly desired to know, what he wished. For while Simon stood there at vantage, with his back against the door, with his mighty sword before him, there were few of those by Duke Baldwin's side that liked the looks of him well enough to covet a closer acquaintanceship without need. For though they were valiant knights all, they remembered Simon's play with the Varangian, and esteemed him no less terrible than the giant Fierabras, with whom Ogier combated in the tale of Ogier the Dane.

Now while they stood aloof, uncertain what to do, Simon shouted anew at the duke:

"Duke of dotards, duke of donkeys, you are a foul-lipped fool to call your own son's sweetheart a witch, for she shows as one of God's angels before the sluts and trulls you cherish. So if you have the pluck of your bulk, you will fight this quarrel out with me, sword to sword or fist to fist, I care not which, and we shall see who is the better man and who serves the better kind of woman."

Outside in the court-yard, and beyond on the high-road down the hill, could be heard the rattle and clatter of the men and horses of Esclaramonde's escort starting on their departure for Thebes. In the room a silence like a stupor fell on those that heard their great duke so flouted by a common man-at-arms. But the great duke himself, whose moods veered like the vane, was only tickled with Simon's insolence, and he laughed a wild laugh, for he prized courage in others as much as he prided himself on his own courage, and he was mightily minded to try a fall with the big man.

"Now, by the beard of King Philip," he shouted, "I have a mind to meet your wishes. I had an itch to come to grips with you this morning, and I cherish no desire to deny myself twice in the same day."

The duke was volatile for all his obstinacy, and already the thought of a bout with Simon had dissipated much of his chagrin at preceding discomfitures. Duke Baldwin always charged headlong at any whim, as a bull charges at red temptation.

"On your knee, fellow," he commanded.

"Nay," grunted Simon, "I have nothing to kneel for."

His simplicity missed the duke's meaning, and when the duke saw how he missed, he grinned, for his purpose was to make a knight of the giant.

"Nay, man, on your knee to take the accolade. I cannot cross weapons with one that does not wear the rank of a knight. When you are knighted we will test your mettle."

Now Simon, seeing what the duke would be at, housed his sword, and, coming forward, bent his knee, while those of the duke's party, familiar as they were with their master's vagaries, stared in amaze to find him, after the passing of such great matters, so mightily taken up with so small a thing. But nothing ever seemed small to Duke Baldwin that jumped with his immediate humor. The duke drew his sword and was about to raise it when he bethought him.

"Stay, what is thy name, fellow?" he questioned; and Simon answered, readily enough:

"Simon the Strong, of sweet Rouen city."

Again the duke lifted his sword, and again he lowered it.

"Tell me, friend Simon," he inquired, "have you any broad lands to your name?"

Simon bethought him of his mother's cabbage-garden out in the suburbs of Rouen, a narrow patch enough where a gaunt goat tugged at its tether. It was many a long day since he had seen it, but it came very vividly to his memory now, and made him feel qualmish for a moment, with a spasm of home-sickness.

"In sooth," he answered, slowly, "I have a trifle of property at Florency, but it is no great matter, truly."

"Never care for that," said the duke, cheerfully; "small or great it will serve the turn well enough to help you to gentility."

Then he gave Simon a clap on the shoulder with the flat of his sword and cried out, "Arise, Sir Simon of Florency," and so straightway Simon arose and marvelled a little in himself that he seemed no different for his new honor.

"Now, friend," said the duke, sheathing his sword and stretching his great arms apart, "see if you can spill me as you spilled my tall soldier this morning."

Simon was willing, everyway. He was as eager to try the duke's strength as the duke was to try Simon's, and, win or lose, the struggle meant time gained for Argathona, though he had little fear for her safety. Then, as none of the knights present had the right or the courage to protest against the strange encounter, the two strong men were about to set to in good earnest when their purposes were interrupted by Jaufre, Guy, Ambrose, and Raymond, who came from the bedchamber to tell the duke that his son desired to speak with him.

The duke was vexed at the interruption, for he had set his heart on a bout with Simon, and with him the immediate impulse was ever peremptory to the exclusion of all other thoughts and needs. But he could not very well deny his son, though he cherished some rancor against him as being the cause of the knight's trouble and muddle.