Part 41

"While Athens is at war," Rainouart said, simply, "I ride and fight with Athens. When Athens is at peace I will marry my true-love."

Simon nodded his head approvingly, and the duke for his part applauded in his heart. He liked the lad's belligerent spirit, however little he relished the nonsense about the witch in the wood. Duke Baldwin's affection for his son, never very vehement, had waxed when he had returned as the betrothed of the Duchess of Thebes, but had dwindled to insignificance with the shattering of that alliance and the chance that his son might die by a stroke from a woman's hand. Indeed, the jovial duke, alarmed by the sudden possibility of an heirless duchy, had even in the last few minutes begun to revolve again in his mind a project that he had abandoned with the coming of the Duchess of Thebes. He had up to that time been so much disappointed with his son that, although as a general principle much averse to marriage as an institution, he was seriously thinking of wedding again. He loved to have about him none but such as were jolly eaters, jolly drinkers, jolly lovers, jolly soldiers, and when he observed the difference between his son and himself and those he cherished, he shuddered over the thought that such a puling, mulish reader of books might one day rule in Athens. Baldwin was still in the prime of life, with every right to hope for an heir, and he began to reconcile himself to the thought of a state which he had always regarded as bondage, though when it existed for him before he had allowed it to bind him but little. In such case the young prince might be clapped into a monastery to doze away his life over tomes of nonsense, while the jolly duke would see to it that the son-child of his dreams should be brought up to a very different purpose.

Now, however, the readiness of Rainouart to obey the call to arms made Baldwin more content with his son, though he frowned at the foolish words about marrying his true-love. However, with the gain of a little time Rainouart's mind might change, though that did not seem likely, or he might be prevailed upon to take a less high-flown sense of his obligations to his lovely amazon, or, at the worst, the girl might be got rid of some way or other.

"Well," he said, cheerfully, "you must wait a while ere you can talk of marriage to a maid. For you are married, lad, hard and fast, married to the lady Esclaramonde of Thebes, for a marriage is a marriage though it be but a marriage in name."

Rainouart gave a groan at the duke's speech, and Simon, who had not thought of this dilemma, scratched his chin and scowled. The duke nodded sagaciously.

"Only our Holy Father the Pope can set you apart now, for even when we take Thebes it would scarcely chime with the chivalry of the Rock to kill the baggage, however much she deserve it. But I will send an envoy to Avignon to put our case before the pontiff. By the time he returns we shall have taken Thebes, and then you will be a free man to go a-wooing in a wood."

"And till then," Simon added, "I will be your esquire, if you agree, for such was the wish of your dear lady, whose humble servant I am very proud to be."

Rainouart stretched out his hand and clasped the hand of Simon.

"We will be brothers-in-arms," he vowed, "as we are brothers in service." Then he turned to his father.

"Sire," he said; "your son is your soldier till there be an end of the war and till the pope makes me a free man again. And then, by your leave, I will take my troth anew to the greenwood, and humbly pray my sweet love to forgive me."

The duke said nothing, for he had nothing pleasant to say to such vagaries. But Simon tugged at his russet beard, and muttered:

"I think she will forgive you."

XXV

CEPHISSUS

The dawn was as pink as a peach, and through the pellucid air the city of Athens looked her fairest. The Parthenon, topping her holy hill, glowed like amber in the young sunlight, showing the same fine lines of perfect symmetry to the nobles of France that it had shown to the Roman soldiers of Mummius and to the Athenians of the great war. Within the sanctuary the gold and ivory image of Athena, fashioned by Phidias, had given way to the pale face of Our Lady, Mother of the Holy Child, and the grandiloquent Latin of the mass rolled its volume through the hall that once had echoed to the sonorous Greek of the Palladian hymns. The gods had gone, great Pan was dead, Christ had arisen, and still the Parthenon in almost unaltered beauty crowned the Acropolis. But the chivalry of France paid little heed to the Parthenon or the past of Athens as they rode briskly out on that radiant morning to annihilate the Catalan Grand Company. Their thoughts were with the vivid present, with the pleasure of coming battle, with the pride of certain victory, with the promise of the swift return, flushed with triumph, to find praise and welcome smiling in their ladies' eyes. It was but the second day since the night of the ruined nuptials, but Baldwin was brisk on war business, and his chivalry and his fighting-men were quick to move. The foot-soldiers had taken the field for the march to Thebes on the previous day, and this day, this glorious day of peach-colored dawn, the duke and his knights were to ride to the undoing of the Catalan Grand Company.

The Catalan Grand Company had confirmed the menace of Ximenes, and justified Duke Baldwin's doubts by going over as one man to the cause of the Duchess of Thebes. But their defection did not trouble the bluff duke. On the contrary, it furnished him with a full-blooded excuse for exterminating the mutinous mercenaries and wiping out his debt to them with a wet sword. So he and his chivalry rode to their assured victory, and made their march a gala-day.

Simon had never seen a braver menace of war. The sunlight gleamed on coats of many-tinted silk, on armor rich with gilding, on shields whose gayly painted spaces were so many brave pages from the armorial of France. Iris was outvied. Cloth of gold and cloth of silver glittered; stuffs of flame color, sea color, corn color, blood color dazzled the day; even the Athenian eyes, inured to vivid pigments seen in full sunlight, ached in the play of hue. All the knights were clad as for a tournament, save that they did not carry on their helmets the huge and grotesque crests which made the mimic fight fantastic, for these, though skilfully fashioned of light wicker-work and painted leather, would have proved too cumbrous and too bulky in the hour of actual combat.

Duke Baldwin rode at the head of his knights, with his visor exalted, and his companions, the Knight of the Fish, the Knight of the Lizard, the Knight of the Griffin, knights of all conceivable creatures that blazoners and crest-builders had taken into their whimsical kingdom, rode in Duke Baldwin's train and cried their war-cries into the ears of a delighted audience. The Athenians, then as ever eager for new things, and rejoicing in show, lined the streets and applauded lustily as the pageant of war passed by. The knights rode to the fight as to a feast, full of mirth. On every side jest challenged laughter and laughter answered jest. Sir Guy, Sir Jaufre, Sir Ambrose, Sir Gaston, Sir Raymond made merry one with another, and blew kisses to such girls as had fair faces among the gazing throng. It was true that some lords were missing from Duke Baldwin's following. Andronicus Palæologus, pompous exile, had asserted that the quarrel was none for him to meddle with and had taken shipping for Nauplia; Demetrius of Epirus had stolen away by night to Thebes to lend such dignity as his name could give to the Catalan rally. But no one seemed to remember or to regret the fugitive or the traitor, and no one seemed to think any but mirthful thoughts or to speak other than mirthful words.

Simon marvelled somewhat at the knightly mirth. There was nothing so wonderful in the crushing of such an uproar as that of the Catalan Grand Company. Yet Simon's own spirits were high, and he found snatches of old songs bubbling from his lips as he rode close at hand to his master. Rainouart seemed once again what he had been before the fatal coming of Esclaramonde. Thanks to the herb of healing, thanks to his native health, he had wellnigh recovered from the wound that the ill-directed stroke of a woman had dealt him. What was of far more moment, he had wholly escaped from the spell of Esclaramonde's magic, and rode with clear eyes and clean spirit. If he were not now as blithe as his fellows, he had never displayed a noisy humor of mirth. But while the others carolled and babbled, he rode quietly with a bright smile on his face, for he thought of the girl in the greenwood, and all the world was fragrant with the perfume of the noble rose. His carriage cheered Duke Baldwin greatly, wherefore he rode lively enough at the head of his knights, and did not trouble himself much about the amorous folly of his son so long as that son rode in arms like a gallant gentleman against the enemy.

The peach tint of the dawn flushed into rose and glowed into gold as the morning grew, and soon the sky was all of the liveliest blue above the heads of Baldwin and his companions. They knew some hours of blithe riding through a blithe country, now open as they traversed the Attic plain, now enclosed as they came to the hilly places and fringed the forest--and here Simon looked wistfully at the wood, but Rainouart rode steadily with his gaze fixed straight ahead--and then again open as they began to enter the Theban plain. Here Duke Baldwin found his foot-soldiers encamped, and here he heard that the opposing forces had marched out of Thebes and taken up their position in an encampment on the plain to await the Athenian invaders. Here the knights made a halt for rest and repose, for the morning was still very young, with the air exceedingly cool and sweet. The horses were fed and tended, the knights ate and drank, but sparingly, as befits those about to give battle, and their brief leisure was as mirthful as their march. When all were refreshed, man and beast, the march was resumed, and a little time brought Duke Baldwin and his friends in full view of the enemy and of the destined battle-field.

Simon looked curiously at the stirring scene before him. A great space of land lay between the Athenian forces and their enemies--a space vividly green with young corn that flourished on the plain of Thebes as on all the plains of Greece. On the other side of that spreading area of soft shoots the men of the Catalan Grand Company were drawn up in open array of battle, with the gaudy banner of the Duchess of Thebes floating over their ranks side by side with their own flag and the treasonable pennon of Epirus. Simon marvelled on looking to see them waiting there so composedly for the formidable onslaught of the Frankish chivalry. The bowmen were resting by their strung bows as unconcernedly as if a holiday were toward, and the armored leaders moved hither and thither leisurely among the ranks. It seemed as if the following of Baldwin had but to spur only a few yards across the soft, bright corn to brush these foemen out of existence. Nine hundred of the finest knights in Greece, swathed in steel, rode with the Duke of Athens and filled the summer air with their war-cries, eager to sweep over the field and chastise the insolence of their contemptible enemies. Behind them now tramped a well-equipped army on foot, strongly armed, admirably marshalled, inured to war, and eager for the engagement.

Simon was puzzled if no one else was. The odds against the Catalan Grand Company showed tremendous, even when such reinforcements as were afforded by the adherents of the Duchess of Thebes were taken into account, while Demetrius of Epirus brought no more than his small personal following and the cheap dishonor of his name. It looked as if none might survive the skirmish to mount the gibbets which Duke Baldwin so uncompromisingly promised to the rebels. Suddenly an idea came into Simon's head, and he slapped his leg with satisfaction. That is it, he said to himself, convinced that he had found an answer to the problem that perplexed him. The dogs knew that they must die, one way or another, by sword or by rope, and they meant to make a good end of it, soldier-wise, and at bay. Something of pity stirred in his heart for the stout fellows so soon to be butchered and waiting so soldierly for the end. They were truculent ruffians, those Catalans, but at least they knew how to play a losing game with courage and dignity. Another little hour and how many of those bearded faces would show any hot blood in the cheeks? The fortune of war, Simon reflected, composedly, and settled himself in the saddle for the obliterating charge which he guessed must soon be made, for Duke Baldwin had reined in his horse, and with him the army halted, a splendid patch of steel and color upon the plain. Duke Baldwin turned in his saddle and smiled upon his chivalry, while he pointed to the Catalan Grand Company and the forces of the lady of Thebes.

"There lie the rebels," he shouted, his great voice rolling like a drum-call over his host, "and here ride we that shall wipe them out of the field. It is but poor sport I offer you, gentle friends, to slay the jacks of a jade, but it will soon be over, and we shall scour the land of Greece clean of these cozeners."

As he spoke he swung his sword forth from his scabbard, and held it stretched in menace against the enemy, while the knights behind him thundered cheer after cheer, and settled themselves firmly in their saddles for the charge across the shining plain. Baldwin lifted his great blade to heaven.

"Saint Denis for Athens!" he cried, and stuck his spurs into the sides of his mighty charger.

"Saint Denis for Athens!" echoed his chivalry at his heels, and in another moment the splendid mass of men-at-arms was in motion. Simon's spirits were at the top as he gave his horse the rein and felt the morning air stronger against his face. But he kept a watchful eye on the young prince who rode beside him, and it gladdened him to see that Rainouart sat so stiffly in his saddle and held his lance so well. "A plague upon love and lovers," he grumbled in his heart; "what have they to do with a gentleman-at-arms?" and then he had time to think no more for the swift exhilaration of the charge. On the knights came, Baldwin leading, the young Prince of Athens close behind him, and Simon by his side, the rest thundering in open order with levelled spears. A few minutes more now and the Catalan Grand Company would be very decisively disbanded. But even as Simon charged his horse caught a hoof in a hole, and, coming heavily on to its knees, shot Simon out of his stirrup, and Simon landed sprawling on the ground. Now Simon was a heavy man, and Simon, as befitted the knight of Florency, was in full armor, and Simon, though he tried his best, found it as hard to rise as if he were a capsized turtle. But Rainouart riding ahead saw his mishap, and, reining in his black horse, came back to Simon.

"Nay," cried Simon, "ride to victory, and leave me to shift."

But Rainouart would not have it so. He might be out of the first bright wave of battle, but he could not leave his brother-in-arms in distressful plight. And there was, indeed, but brief delay. Rainouart dismounting soon got Simon to his feet, and Simon mounted his horse, which was little the worse for its stumble, and together they spurred to catch up with the charging cavalry. But the time, short though it was, had allowed a great gap of green field to grow between the riding knights and their two pursuers, and it took some strenuous seconds to bring their horses' noses to the tails of their predecessors.