Free Chivalry by James Branch Cabell Page A

Hammer of the Scots,
and in further consequence would not lift a finger to avenge him; and
not a being in the universe would rejoice more heartily at the success
of Philippe's treachery than would Sire Edward's son and immediate
successor, the young Prince Edward of Caernarvon. Taking matters by and
large, Philippe had all the powers of common-sense to back him in
contriving an assassination.
    What Sire Edward said was, "Dame Blanch, then, knew of this?" But
Meregrett's pitiful eyes had already answered him, and he laughed a
little.
    "In that event, I have to-night enregistered my name among the goodly
company of Love's Lunatics,—as yokefellow with Dan Merlin in his
thornbush, and with wise Salomon when he capered upon the high places of
Chemosh, and with Duke Ares sheepishly agrin in the net of Mulciber.
Rogues all, madame! fools all! yet always the flesh trammels us, and
allures the soul to such sensual delights as bar its passage toward the
eternal life wherein alone lies the empire and the heritage of the soul.
And why does this carnal prison so impede the soul? Because Satan once
ranked among the sons of God, and the Eternal Father, as I take it, has
not yet forgotten the antique relationship,—and hence it is permitted
even in our late time that always the flesh rebel against the spirit,
and that always these so tiny and so thin-voiced tricksters, these
highly tinted miracles of iniquity, so gracious in demeanor and so
starry-eyed—"
    Then he turned and pointed, no longer the orotund zealot but the
expectant captain now. "Look, my Princess!" In the pathway from which he
had recently emerged stood a man in full armor like a sentinel. "Mort de
Dieu, we can but try to get out of this," Sire Edward said.
    "You should have tried without talking so much," replied Meregrett. She
followed him. And presently, in a big splash of moonlight, the armed
man's falchion glittered across their way. "Back," he bade them, "for by
the King's orders, I can let no man pass."
    "It would be very easy now to strangle this herring," Sire Edward
reflected.
    "But it is not easy to strangle a whole school of herring," the fellow
retorted. "Hoh, Messire d'Aquitaine, the bushes of Ermenoueil are alive
with my associates. The hut yonder, in effect, is girdled by them,—and
we have our orders to let no man pass."
    "Have you any orders concerning women?" the King said.
    The man deliberated. Sire Edward handed him three gold pieces. "There
was assuredly no specific mention of petticoats," the soldier now
recollected, "and in consequence I dare to pass the Princess, against
whom certainly nothing can be planned."
    "Why, in that event," Sire Edward said, "we two had as well bid each
other adieu."
    But Meregrett only said, "You bid me go?"
    He waved his hand. "Since there is no choice. For that which you have
done—however tardily—I thank you. Meantime I return to Rigon's hut to
rearrange my toga as King Caesar did when the assassins fell upon him,
and to encounter with due decorum whatever Dame Luck may prefer."
    She said, "You go to your death."
    He shrugged his broad shoulders. "In the end we necessarily die."
    Dame Meregrett turned, and without faltering passed back into the hut.
    When he had lighted the inefficient lamp which he found there, Sire
Edward wheeled upon her in half-humorous vexation. "Presently come your
brother and his tattling lords. To be discovered here with me at night,
alone, means trouble for you. If Philippe chances to fall into one of
his Capetian rages it means death."
    She answered, as though she were thinking about other matters, "Yes."
    Now, for the first time, Sire Edward regarded her with profound
consideration. To the finger-tips this so-little lady showed a
descendant of the holy Lewis whom he had known and loved in old years.
Small and thinnish she was, with soft and profuse hair that, for all its
blackness, gleamed in the lamplight with stray ripples of brilliancy, as
you may see sparks shudder to extinction over