The Talisman - Sir Walter Scott (best motivational novels .TXT) 📗

ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.

"Thou hast changed the measure upon us unawares in that last couplet, my Blondel," said the King.

"Most true, my lord," said Blondel. "I rendered the verses from the Italian of an old harper whom I met in Cyprus, and not having had time either to translate it accurately or commit it to memory, I am fain to supply gaps in the music and the verse as I can upon the spur of the moment, as you see boors mend a quickset fence with a fagot."

"Nay, on my faith," said the King, "I like these rattling, rolling Alexandrines. Methinks they come more twangingly off to the music than that briefer measure."

"Both are licensed, as is well known to your Grace," answered Blondel.

"They are so, Blondel," said Richard, "yet methinks the scene where there is like to be fighting will go best on in these same thundering Alexandrines, which sound like the charge of cavalry, while the other measure is but like the sidelong amble of a lady's palfrey."

"It shall be as your Grace pleases," replied Blondel, and began again to prelude.

"Nay, first cherish thy fancy with a cup of fiery Chios wine," said the King. "And hark thee, I would have thee fling away that new-fangled restriction of thine, of terminating in accurate and similar rhymes. They are a constraint on thy flow of fancy, and make thee resemble a man dancing in fetters."

"The fetters are easily flung off, at least," said Blondel, again sweeping his fingers over the strings, as one who would rather have played than listened to criticism.

"But why put them on, man?" continued the King. "Wherefore thrust thy genius into iron bracelets? I marvel how you got forward at all. I am sure I should not have been able to compose a stanza in yonder hampered measure."

Blondel looked down, and busied himself with the strings of his harp, to hide an involuntary smile which crept over his features; but it escaped not Richard's observation.

"By my faith, thou laughest at me, Blondel," he said; "and, in good truth, every man deserves it who presumes to play the master when he should be the pupil. But we kings get bad habits of self-opinion. Come, on with thy lay, dearest Blondel - on after thine own fashion, better than aught that we can suggest, though we must needs be talking."

Blondel resumed the lay; but as extemporaneous composition was familiar to him, he failed not to comply with the King's hints, and was perhaps not displeased to show with how much ease he could new-model a poem, even while in the act of recitation.

THE BLOODY VEST.

FYTTE SECOND.

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats - There was winning of honour and losing of seats; There was hewing with falchions and splintering of staves - The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves. Oh, many a knight there fought bravely and well, Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and breast Seem'd the weed of a damsel when bouned for her rest.

There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore, But others respected his plight, and forbore. "It is some oath of honour," they said, "and I trow, 'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament cease - He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace; And the judges declare, and competitors yield, That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field.

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher, When before the fair Princess low looted a squire, And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view, With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and pierc'd through; All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood, With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud; Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween, Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean.

"This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent; He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit; Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won, And now must the faith of my mistress be shown: For she who prompts knights on such danger to run Must avouch his true service in front of the sun.

"'I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I've worn, And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn; For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more, Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd with gore.'" Then deep blush'd the Princess - yet kiss'd she and press'd The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast. "Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show If I value the blood on this garment or no."

And when it was time for the nobles to pass, In solemn procession to minster and mass, The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall, But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over all; And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine, When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine, Over all her rich robes and state jewels she wore That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore.

Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think, And ladies replied with nod, titter, and wink; And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd down, Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown: "Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt, E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt; Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent, When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent'"

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood, Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood: "The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine; And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame; And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent, When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent,"

A murmur of applause ran through the assembly, following the example of Richard himself, who loaded with praises his favourite minstrel, and ended by presenting him with a ring of considerable value. The Queen hastened to distinguish the favourite by a rich bracelet, and many of the nobles who were present followed the royal example.

"Is our cousin Edith," said the King, "become insensible to the sound of the harp she once loved?"

"She thanks Blondel for his lay," replied Edith, "but doubly the kindness of the kinsman who suggested it."

"Thou art angry, cousin," said the King; "angry because thou hast heard of a woman more wayward than thyself. But you escape me not. I will walk a space homeward with you towards the Queen's pavilion. We must have conference together ere the night has waned into morning."

The Queen and her attendants were now on foot, and the other guests withdrew from the royal tent. A train with blazing torches, and an escort of archers, awaited Berengaria without the pavilion, and she was soon on her way homeward. Richard, as he had proposed, walked beside his kinswoman, and compelled her to accept of his arm as her support, so that they could speak to each other without being overheard.

"What answer, then, am I to return to the noble Soldan?" said Richard. "The kings and princes are falling from me, Edith; this new quarrel hath alienated them once more. I would do something for the Holy Sepulchre by composition, if not by victory; and the chance of my doing this depends, alas, on the caprice of a woman. I would lay my single spear in the rest against ten of the best lances in Christendom, rather than argue with a wilful wench who knows not what is for her own good. What answer, coz, am I to return to the Soldan? It must be decisive."

"Tell him," said Edith, "that the poorest of the Plantagenets will rather wed with misery than with misbelief."

"Shall I say with slavery, Edith?" said the King. "Methinks that is nearer thy thoughts."

"There is no room," said Edith, "for the suspicion you so grossly insinuate. Slavery of the body might have been pitied, but that of the soul is only to be despised. Shame to thee, King of merry England. Thou hast enthralled both the limbs and the spirit of a knight, one scarce less famed than thyself."

"Should I not prevent my kinswoman from drinking poison, by sullying the vessel which contained it, if I saw no other means of disgusting her with the fatal liquor?" replied the King.

"It is thyself," answered Edith, "that would press me to drink poison, because it is proffered in a golden chalice."

"Edith," said Richard, "I cannot force thy resolution; but beware you shut not the door which Heaven opens. The hermit of Engaddi
- he whom Popes and Councils have regarded as a prophet - hath read in the stars that thy marriage shall reconcile me with a powerful enemy, and that thy husband shall be Christian, leaving thus the fairest ground to hope that the conversion of the Soldan, and the bringing in of the sons of Ishmael to the pale of the church, will be the consequence of thy wedding with Saladin. Come, thou must make some sacrifice rather than mar such happy prospects."

"Men may sacrifice rams and goats," said Edith, "but not honour and conscience. I have heard that it was the dishonour of a Christian maiden which brought the Saracens into Spain; the shame of another is no likely mode of expelling them from Palestine."

"Dost thou call it shame to become an empress?" said the King.

"I call it shame and dishonour to profane a Christian sacrament by entering into it with an infidel whom it cannot bind; and I call it foul dishonour that I, the descendant of a Christian princess, should become of free will the head of a haram of heathen concubines."

"Well, kinswoman," said the King, after a pause, "I must not quarrel with thee, though I think thy dependent condition might have dictated more compliance."

"My liege," replied Edith, "your Grace hath worthily succeeded to all the wealth, dignity, and dominion of the House of Plantagenet - do not, therefore, begrudge your poor kinswoman some small share of their pride."

"By my faith, wench," said the King, "thou hast unhorsed me with that very word, so we will kiss and be friends. I will presently dispatch thy answer to Saladin. But after all, coz, were it not better to suspend your answer till you have seen him? Men say he is pre-eminently handsome."

"There is no chance of our meeting, my lord," said Edith.

"By Saint George, but there is next to a certainty of it," said the King; "for Saladin will doubtless afford us a free field for the doing of this new battle of the Standard, and will witness it himself. Berengaria is wild to behold it also; and I dare be sworn not a feather of you, her companions and attendants, will remain behind - least of all thou thyself, fair coz. But