One Hundred Merrie And Delightsome Stories Part 27

He was not very wrong to do so, for she was provided with a lover--not that the squire knew of that, however much he might suspect it.

He who enjoyed her love was a knight, and a man of great authority, and was so familiar with the squire as to tell him much concerning his love-affair. Often the knight said; "By my faith, friend, I would have you know that I have a mistress in this town to whom I am devoted; for, however tired I may be, I would willingly go three or four leagues to see her--a mere couple of leagues I would run over without stopping to take breath."

"Is there no request or prayer that I can make" said the squire, "that will cause you to tell me her name?"

"No, no!" said the other, "you shall not know that."

"Well!" said the squire, "when I am so fortunate as to have something good, I will be as reticent as you are."

It happened some time after this that the good knight asked the squire to supper at the castle of Rouen, where he was then lodged. He came, and they had some talk; the gentle knight, who had an appointment to see his lady at a certain hour, said farewell to the squire, and added,

"You know that we have various things to see to to-morrow, and that we must rise early in order to arrange various matters. It is advisable therefore to go to bed early, and for that reason I bid you goodnight."

The squire, who was cunning enough, suspected that the good knight wished to go somewhere, and that he was making the duties of the morrow an excuse to get rid of him, but he took no notice, and on taking leave and wishing good-night to his host, said;

"Monseigneur you say well; rise early to-morrow morning, and I will do the same."

When the good squire went down, he found a little mule at the foot of the staircase of the castle, with no one minding it. He soon guessed that the page he had met as he came down had gone to seek for a saddle-cloth for his master.

"Ah, ah" he said to himself, "my host did not get rid of me at this early hour for nothing. Here is his mule, which only waits till I am gone to carry his master to some place he does not wish me to know. Ah, mule!" said he, "if you could speak, you could tell me some news. Let me beg of you to lead me where your master wishes to be."

With that he made his page hold the stirrup, and mounted the mule, and laid the reins on the mule's neck, and let it amble on wherever it liked.

And the little mule led him by streets and alleys here and there, till at last it stopped before a little wicket, which was in a side street where its master was accustomed to come, and which was the garden gate of the house of the very damsel the squire had so loved and had abandoned in despair.

He dismounted, and tapped gently at the wicket, and a damsel, who was watching through a hidden lattice, believing it to be the knight, came down and opened the door, and said;

"Monseigneur you are welcome; mademoiselle is in her chamber, and awaits you."

She did not recognise him, because it was late, and he had a velvet cap drawn down over his face. And the good squire replied, "I will go to her."

The he whispered to his page, "Go quickly and put the mule where we found it; then go to bed."

"It shall be done, sir," he said.

The woman closed the gate, and led the way to the chamber. Our good squire, much occupied with the business in hand, walked boldly to the room where the lady was, and he found her simply dressed in a plain petticoat, and with a gold chain round her neck.

He saluted her politely, for he was kind, courteous and well-spoken, but she, who was as much astonished as though horns had sprouted out of her head, did not for the moment know how to reply, but at last she asked him what he sought there, why he came at that hour, and who had sent him?

"Mademoiselle," said he, "you may well imagine that if I had had to rely on myself alone I should not be here; but, thank G.o.d, one who has more pity for me than you ever had, has done this kindness to me."

"Who brought you here, sir?" she asked.

"By my oath, mademoiselle, I will not conceal that from you; it was such and such a lord (and he named the knight who had invited him to supper), who sent me here."

"Ah!" she cried. "Traitor and disloyal knight that he is, has he betrayed my confidence? Well, well! I will be revenged on him some day."

"Oh, mademoiselle! it is not right of you to say that, for it is no treason to give pleasure to one's friend, or to render him aid and service when one can. You know what a great friendship exists between him and me, and that neither hides from the other what is in his heart.

It happened that not long ago I related and confessed to him the great love I bore you, and that because of you I had no happiness left in the world, for that by no means could I ever win your affection, and that it was not possible for me to long endure this horrible martyrdom. When the good knight knew that my words were really true, and was aware of the sorrow I endured, he was fain to tell me how he stood with regard to you, and preferred to lose you, and so save my life, than to see me die miserably and retain your affection. And if you are such a woman as you should be, you would not hesitate to give comfort and consolation to me, your obedient servant, who has always loyally served and obeyed you."

"I beg of you," she said, "not to speak of that, and to leave here at once. Cursed be he who made you come!"

"Do you know, mademoiselle," he replied, "that it is not my intention to leave here before to-morrow morning?"

"By my oath," she cried, "you will go now, at once!"

"Morbleu! I will not--for I will sleep with you."

When she saw that he was not to be got rid of by hard words, she resolved to try kindness, and said;

"I beg of you with all my heart to leave my house now, and by my oath, another time I will do whatever you wish."

"Bah!" said he; "Waste no more words, for I shall sleep here," and with that he removed his cloak, and led the damsel to the table, and finally--to cut the tale short--she went to bed with him by her side.

They had not been in bed long, and he had but broken one lance, when the good knight arrived on his mule, and knocked at the wicket. When the squire heard that and knew who it was, he began to growl, imitating a dog very well.

The knight, hearing this, was both astonished and angry. He knocked at the door more loudly than before, and the other growled louder than ever.

"Who is that growling?" said he outside. "Morbleu! but I will soon find out! Open the door, or I will carry it away!"

The fair damsel, who was in a great rage, went to the window in her chemise, and said;

"Are you there, false and disloyal knight? You may knock as much as you like, but you will not come in!"

"Why shall I not come in?" said he.

"Because," said she, "you are the falsest man that ever woman met, and are not worthy to be with respectable people."

"Mademoiselle," said he, "you blason my arms very well, but I do not know what excites you, for I have never been false to you that I am aware of."

"Yes, you have," she cried, "done me the greatest wrong that ever man did to woman."

"I have not, I swear. But tell me who is in there?"

"You know very well, wretched traitor that you are," she replied.

Thereupon the squire, who was in bed, began to growl like a dog as before.

"Marry!" said he outside, "I do not understand this. Who is this growler?"

"By St. John! you shall know," cried the other, and jumped out of bed and came to the window, and said;

"And please you, sir, you have no right to wake us up."

The good knight, when he knew who spoke to him, was marvellously astonished, and when at last he spoke, he said.

"How did you come here?"

"I supped at your house and slept here."