Read Ebook: Under King Constantine by Trask Katrina

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Ebook has 217 lines and 18790 words, and 5 pages

He laughed a loud and taunting laugh, and turned And kissed her with a loud resounding kiss.

"I think the King is safe for you, and well For me in my advancement. Other knights May serve you at a distance, but had best Not seek your side too often."

Her sweet head Lay like a lily on his mailed breast, While she toyed lightly with the yellow scarf That floated from his helmet.

"Goes Sanpeur To the great tournament to-day?" he asked.

"I think not, Torm; it never is his wont To tilt in tourneys like to-day's."

"Think not! I want an honest answer. Do you know?"

"No more than I have told you, my Sir Torm; It scarce becomes his chivalry to fight In these new tourneys of such savage guise."

"His chivalry! Now God defend! Methinks You are too daring. What of mine, forsooth?"

"Kiss you I will, if you can tell me true You will not see that coward knight to-day."

Back drew she from his breast, and said in scorn, "I know not whom you mean, my lord Sir Torm."

"Tell me no lies," said Torm; "I mean Sanpeur."

Torm laughed a quick and scornful laugh, that made The heart of Gwendolaine beat fast and fierce Against its sound in spirit of revolt.

"Pray who was coward when Sanpeur refused In open court to joust with Dinadan?"

"You know, my, lord, the reason that he gave."

"Ha, ha! some empty boast of holy day, And prayers, and fasting, and such foolery."

"And who, my lord," she said in sudden scorn, "Unhorsed once, years ago, the brave Sir Torm, Who never was unhorsed by knight before?"

The hot blood flushed his heavy-bearded face; His loud voice vibrated with rising wrath.

"It did not need, Sir Torm, that he should tell The story that was waiting for your bride In every prattling mouth about the court. Had it been so, she never would have heard; It lies with petty souls alone to boast, Not with the royal soul of Sir Sanpeur."

"Now, by the blessed Mother of our Lord! Methinks you love this valiant knight, Sanpeur."

"And if I did," she cried, her soul aglow With exultation of defense of him, "It well might be my glory; for there lives No knight so stainless and so pure as he."

"Peace, wanton!" said Sir Torm. "It is your shame!"

And lifting his strong heavy mailed hand, He struck the lovely face of Gwendolaine, And went out cursing.

Half dazed, she swiftly to her chamber went, Stopped not to wipe the blood from her pale cheek; Dropped off, in haste, her brilliant robe, and donned A russet gown she kept for merry plays, And, wrapping o'er her head a wimple, dark As her dark gown, crept down the castle steps. The vassals looked at her askance; she drew Her wimple closer, and deceived their gaze, Until the gate of Tormalot was passed, And she was out upon the lonely moor. Onward she went, too wrenched with pain and wrath To fear, or wonder at her fearlessness.

The knight Sanpeur was on his battlements, Silvered with light from the full summer moon, And heard his seneschal with loud replies Denying entrance, as his orders were; He would be left alone and undisturbed With memory and thought of Gwendolaine. "What sweetness infinite beneath the ebb And flow of moods," he said, half audibly; "What truth beneath her laughter and her mirth! I ask but that her nature be fulfilled, That is enough for me; it matters not If I may only see her from afar. My love was sent to vivify her life, Not to imperil, and to make no claim Of her but her unfolding; to remind Her soul of its immortal heritage, And teach her joy,--she knew but merriment. And this, meseems, it hath done, Christ be praised. Her soul asserts itself through her gay life, And joy pervades her,--she is radiant. How wonderful she looked, last night, at Camelot! She moved in glowing beauty like a star."

And with the vision of her in his heart, In all the splendour of her state and pride, In golden-threaded samite strewn with pearls, He turned, in the quick pacing of his walk, And faced her in her simple russet gown, Her hair unbound, and blowing in the wind, Her cheeks as colourless as white May flowers, Save on the one a deep and crimson stain. "My God!" he cried, and caught her as she fell.

He took her hands, full tenderly, and said,-- His eyes alone embracing her the while,-- "Beloved Gwendolaine, loved far above All women on the earth, loved with a love That words would but conceal, were they essayed, Soul of my soul, and spirit of myself, If I am cold, you know it is in truth A cold that burns more deeply than all fire. Deep-stirred am I that you could trust me so, And you will trust me yet, dear, when I say You must go back to your brave lord, Sir Torm."

"Back to Sir Torm!" she said, in a half dream. "O Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Christ! Save me and keep me from the bitter shame Of such humiliation to my soul."

"No deed done for the right, my Gwendolaine, Can bring humiliation to a soul. Sir Torm has loved you long and loyally--"

"He knows not how to love," she said in scorn.

"To live with him, Sanpeur, would now be death."

"Naught can bring death to immortality But sin,--and life with me, my Gwendolaine, Would be the death of all we hold most high."

"Jesu have mercy! Sanpeur casts me off; He does not love me! I have dreamed it all."

Sanpeur said almost sternly, "Gwendolaine, Unsay that; it is false! You know full well How far I love you above thought of self; If I half loved you, I would fold you close."

"It is unsaid, Sanpeur; but woe is me That I should fall so far from my estate To plead in vain with any man, howe'er He love; where is my pride, my boasted pride?"

"'Tis in my heart, if anywhere, my love."

"I can not go, Sanpeur. Torm forfeited His right to loyalty by cruelty."

"The debt of loyalty is due to self, And we must well fulfil it, Gwendolaine, No matter how another may have failed."

A sudden horror crossed her thought,--"Sanpeur; You do not love me less that I have come?"

"Ah! my beloved woman-child, I know Your many-sided nature far too well To judge you or condemn you by one act, Born of a frenzied moment of despair; When the true Gwendolaine has time to think, Naught I could urge would keep her, though she came."

"But Torm would kill me if I did return"--

"Leave that to me; but if he should, my love, Your soul would then be free,--what ask you more? Now you are weary, very weary, sweet; Go in the castle, let me call my dames To tend and serve you until morning light; And on the morrow you will choose to go With me, I am full sure, and make your peace With Torm, as worthy of your better self."

"With you? O God! Sanpeur, if I return, I go alone as I have come! Think you That I would take you with me to your death?"

"My life is yours,--how use it better, dear, Than winning peace and happiness for you?"

"But it would be keen misery for life"--

"It leadeth unto happiness and peace In the far future, if we fail not now. This life is but the filling of a trust, To prove us worthy of the life beyond, And happiness is never to be sought. If it comes,--well; if not, we shall know why. When we are happy in the sight of God."

Then there was silence on the battlements; No sound was heard but the slow measured clang Of feet that paced the stony path below;-- Gwendolaine pushed aside the wind-blown hair From her wild eyes, and gazed into Sanpeur's. As the slow minutes passed the frenzied mood Faded away from her like fevered dream; With hands clasped in a passion of devout, Complete surrender, falling at his feet She whispered, brokenly, between her sobs;

"Sanpeur, I will go back to Torm,--for you,-- Go back and live my life as best I may, If he forgive me;--and if not, receive The condemnation of my fault as meet. Your love has done what love should ever do,-- Illumined duty's path, and its far goal, Hid for a moment by a dark despair. I thought I loved you perfectly before, But my soul tells me, deep below the pain, I love you more than if you bade me stay."

He took her hands and kissed them tenderly With quiet kisses, long and calm, which held Sure promise of the strength he fain would give; Then, bending o'er her yearningly, he said In tones that stilled her spirit into rest, "God guard you, my beloved, evermore." A new force flowed into her soul from his.

She rose and left him.

He gave orders strict For her best comfort; then walked out alone, To meet and wrestle with his passion, held So long in leash by honour, free at last With overmastering and giant strength. The subtle fragrance of her hands pervades His senses; in his veins he feels the flow Of her warm breath, which entered into them That moment he had caught her as she fell; Her words of love sweep like a surging tide Across the quiet of his self-control. When she was there, his love for her had kept His passion from uprising, though against His pleading heart, so long her pleading seemed. Now she is gone, all calm and thought are lost In the impassioned wish for her, the thirst To drink the sweetness of her deep, rich soul, Without a thought of Torm, or all the world. Sanpeur's well-rounded nature is triune, And flesh and sense as much a part of him As his clear brain and spirit consecrate. Passion for once asserts itself; he starts, And towards the castle strides with rapid steps; "She is my own, Fate sent her here to me; I cannot war against it any more; I will go in and fold her to myself."

He clasps his empty arms upon his breast, In the abandonment of wild desire, And feels, beneath the pressure of his hands, The sacred Order of the Holy Ghost. "Good Lord, deliver me from sin," he cries, And bows his knightly head in silent prayer.

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