The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 42

Alas, poor Fool, that, being fool, must needs look and sigh and sigh and look and leave her to the winning of some young Endymion!

SHE (_dreamily_): Endymion was but lowly shepherd, yet was he loved!

HE: Endymion was fair youth comely of feature, lady. Now had he worn a.s.s's ears 'bove visage scarred--how then? On Ida's mount he had been sighing forlorn and lonely yet, methinks. For maids' hearts are ever governed by their eyes--

SHE: Art so wise in maids' hearts, Joconde?

HE: Wise am I in this: No man may ever know the heart of a woman--and woman herself but seldom.

Now here was silence again wherein Yolande, smiling, viewed him a dim shape in the gloom, and he leaned back to watch a star that twinkled through the leafy canopy above.

SHE: Thou art Duke Jocelyn's Fool at court?

HE: I am Duke Jocelyn's fool here and there and everywhere, lady.

SHE: Yet have I heard Duke Jocelyn was a mighty man-at-arms and, though youthful, sober-minded, full of cares of state and kept no Fool at court.

HE: Lady, his court is filled o' fools as is the way of other courts and amongst these many fools first cometh the Duke himself--

SHE: How, and darest thou call this mighty Duke a fool?

HE: Often, lady!

SHE: And what like is he?

HE: Very like a man, being endowed of arms, legs, eyes, ears--of each two, no more and no less, as is the vulgar custom.

SHE: But is he not of beauty high and n.o.ble, of G.o.d-like perfection far beyond poor, common flesh and blood? 'Tis so the painter has limned his face, 'tis so I dream him to my fancy.

HE: Lady, I am but a Fool, let the picture answer thee.

SHE: And he, this mighty Duke of G.o.d-like beauty doth woo me to his wife--

HE (_bitterly_): With my tongue.

SHE: Why came he not in his own glorious person?

HE: Lady, though a Duke, he hath his moments of wisdom and argueth thus: "I, though a Duke, am yet a man. Thus, should I as Duke woo her, she may wed the Duke, loving not the man--"

SHE: And so he sent a Fool as his amba.s.sador! And so do I scorn this G.o.d-like Duke--

HE: Ha! Scorn him! My lady--O Yolande, what of me?

She: Thou, false to him and faithless to thy trust, didst woo me for thyself which was ill in thee. But thou didst throw the terrible Red Gui into my lily-pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure chains and a prison undaunted which was n.o.ble in thee. Thou didst this night at peril of thy life save me from shame, but thou didst bear me urgently here into the wild, and in the wild here lie I beside thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy and safe beneath thy cloak--and so--'tis very well--

HE: Safe, Yolande? Hath thy heart told thee this at last? But thou didst fear me--

SHE: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in cruel arms and spake me words of love pa.s.sionate and fierce and--and--

HE: Kissed thee, Yolande!

SHE: Many times--O cruel! And bore me hither and lost me in these dark solitudes! Here was good cause for any maid to fear thee methinks.

Yet thou didst basely mock my fears with thy hateful song of "Derry down."

HE: Because thy fears, being unjust, hurt me, for ah, Yolande, my love for thee is deep and true, and True-love is ever gentle and very humble.

SHE: Thus do I fear thee no more, Joconde!

HE: Because I am but lowly--a Fool beneath thy proud disdain?

SHE: Nay, Joconde. Because thou art indeed a very man. So now shall I sleep secure since nought of evil may come nigh me whiles I lie in thy care.

Thus spake she softly 'mid the gloom, and turning upon her rustling couch sighed and presently fell to slumber.

Now, sitting thus beside her as she slept, Jocelyn heard the stream ripple in the shadows like one that laughed soft but very joyously and, as he gazed up at the solitary star with eyes enraptured, this elfin laughter found its echo in his heart.

A bird chirped drowsily from mazy thicket where sullen shadow thinned, little by little, until behind leaf and twig was a glimmer of light that waxed ever brighter. And presently amid this growing brightness was soft stir and twitter, sleepy chirpings changed to notes of wistful sweetness, a plaintive calling that was answered from afar.

Thus the birds awaking sounded pretty warnings summoning each to each for that the day-spring was at hand, while ever the brightness changed to radiance and radiance to an orient glory and up flamed the sun in majesty and it was day. And now, from brake and thicket, from dewy mysteries of green boskage burst forth the sweet, glad chorus of bird-song, full throated, pa.s.sionate of joy.

And Jocelyn, sitting broad back against a tree, felt his soul uplifted thereby what time his eyes missed nothing of the beauties about him: the rugged boles of mighty trees bedappled with sunny splendour, the glittering dew that gemmed leaf and twig and fronded bracken, and the shapely loveliness of her who slumbered couched beneath his worn cloak, the gentle rise and fall of rounded bosom and the tress of hair that a fugitive sunbeam kissed to ruddy gold. Thus sat Jocelyn regardful, gladness in the heart of him, and a song of gladness bubbling to his lips.

Suddenly he saw her lashes quiver, her rosy lips parted to a smile and, stirring in her slumber, she sighed and stretched shapely arms; so waked she to a glory of sun and, starting to an elbow, gazed round, great-eyed, until espying him, she smiled again.

"Good morrow, Joconde! Ne'er have I slept sweeter. But thou hast out-watched dark night and art a-weary, so shalt sleep awhile--"

"Nay," he answered, "a plunge in the stream yonder and I shall be blithe for the road--an we find one. And I do fear me thou'rt hungry, Yolande, and I have nought to give thee--"

"And what of thyself, man? Verily, I read hunger in thy look and weariness also, so, an thou may'st not eat, sleep thou shalt awhile here--in my place."

"Nay, Yolande, indeed--"

"Yea, but thou must indeed whiles I watch over thee. 'Tis a sweet bed--come thy ways."

"And what wilt thou do?" he questioned.

"Much!" she answered, viewing her rumpled, gown with rueful eyes. "As thou sayest, there is the pool yonder! So come, get thee to bed and--sleep!

Come, let me cover thee with thy cloak and gainsay me not; sleep thou must and shalt."

So Duke Jocelyn stretched himself obediently upon the bed of fern and suffered her to cover him with the cloak; but as she stooped above him thus, he lifted the hem of her dress to reverent lips.

"My lady!" he murmured. "My dear lady!"

"Now close me thine eyes, wearied child!" she commanded. And, like a child, in this also he obeyed her, albeit unwillingly by reason of her radiant beauty, but hearing her beside him, was content, and thus presently fell to happy sleeping.

When he awoke the sun was high and he lay awhile basking in this grateful radiance and joying in the pervading quiet; but little by little, growing uneasy by reason of this stillness, he started up to glance about him and knew sudden dread--for the little glade was empty--Yolande had vanished; moreover the horse was gone also.