Part 3

Alis jumped up, ran to the table where the book lay, and came back to her mistress, who, for all her sadness, could scarce keep from laughing at the sight of the young girl counterfeiting the clerk. Then Flamenca, tilting the book a trifle, as in the church, and pretending to kiss it, said: “Why do you complain?”

“There, did you hear me?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes indeed,” they both cried. “If you spoke like that, there can be no doubt.”

Next week, Guillem, this time having prepared his answer, came straight towards his lady, who loosened her wimple that she might hear the more clearly. As she took the pax, he said: “I die.”

“Nay, he must not die, my lady!” cried Margarida, when Flamenca had repeated this response. “I swear I have never seen so handsome a young clerk.”

“What can I do?” asked her mistress, weakly.

“Ask him: ‘Of what?’ since that is what we wish to know.”

This same Sunday the workmen came from Chatillon. They marvelled greatly at the oath Guillem required of them before making known the task they were to accomplish. This was to dig a passage under the ground between the baths and his own room. They were skilful and worked rapidly, in such wise that in short space the passage was completed and so cunningly contrived at both ends that not a sign of it showed.

When, on the eighth day, Guillem gave the pax, Flamenca whispered: “Of what?” then drew back quickly.

“My little Margarida, I said it,” she exclaimed when they were back in the tower.

“Thank God for that, my lady! I only hope he heard you this time, too.”

“You may set your mind at rest, my dear. He moved away so slowly that he could not have helped hearing me. Now we shall know the answer on Thursday, for that is the feast of the Ascension.”

“Madam, methinks these feasts come far less often now than at any other season,” pouted Alis. “The rest of the year, when we have no need of them, there is one nearly every day. While here, this summer, we have had five full weeks with nothing but Sundays!”

On his side, Guillem repeated Flamenca’s question and pondered it.

“‘Of what?’ she asked me. Well, it will not be hard to tell her that, for I know only too well whereof I suffer.”

Thursday, therefore, at tierce, he said: “Of love.”

That night Flamenca lay on her bed, more pensive than ever, and with something resembling distress at her heart.

“Well, what did he say, my lady?” asked Alis at last.

“Ah, my friend, you could never guess. It is quite different from anything we might have imagined. He says it is love of which he suffers. Did anyone ever hear of a stranger coming thus to complain of love?”

“Faith, madam,” laughed Alis, with a sly look at Margarida, “of what evil did you think he came here to complain? Surely, had he been beaten or robbed, he would not have sought to lay his complaint before you.”

“But for whom is this love? pursued Flamenca, still puzzled.

“Why my lady, I can guess readily enough,” replied Margarida, also laughing; “but since you would have sure knowledge, ask him that, too.”

“Good God! Is it a jest?” cried Guillem on Sunday, when she had asked him: “For whom?” “Is it possible she does not suspect my love? How can she help knowing that I love her with all my heart? But, since she asks me, I will gladly tell her.”

So on the day of Pentecost, Guillem, trembling, answered: “For you.”

Then was Flamenca sore troubled.

“What!” she exclaimed. “Can it be for me he cherishes an amorous desire? Then he must needs seek another mistress, for my love is no love at all, but sorrow and anguish. Sobs and sighs, troubles and tears, bitterness and sadness of heart—these are my near neighbors, my privy companions. What shall I do, what shall I say?”

“My lady,” exclaimed Margarida, “whatever you do or say, you will surely not let that gallant young man love you and entreat you in vain! Who knows but God Himself has sent him to deliver you from prison?”

“Even were I to return his love, I do not see how that would advantage him in aught,” said Flamenca.

“Ask him, my lady. He has done so well already, he will surely know.”

So, the following Sunday Flamenca said: “What can I do?” and the eighth day after Pentecost, on the feast of Saint Barnaby—a little feast for which Flamenca would no more have set foot out of doors than for that of a simple martyr not in the calendar—Guillem answered “Cure.”

“How can I cure his ills, who am without remedy for my own?” pondered Flamenca, and her damsels counselled her to ask: “How?”

“Trust him. He will easily find a way to compass your happiness at the same time as his own.”

“May God in His mercy will it so,” sighed Flamenca, “for at present I do not see how we shall ever be able to do more for each other than we do now.”

“In little space God works,” replied Alis devoutly, “and brave effort overcomes all obstacles.”

The following Sunday was the feast of Saint John. It was not a day lost for Guillem, whose lady, in taking the psalter, and whispering: “How?” brushed his finger with her hand. When he was alone again, he sang for joy.

“O God,” he cried, “I swear by the apostles and the prophets, I will give all my rents from France for the building of churches and bridges, if you will but let me see my lady face to face!”

The next time, drawing near with a high heart, he said: “I have found a way!”

“He has already found a way!” exclaimed Alis, gleefully. “Were this the olden time, lady dear, and there came such a friend to me, I should think ’twas Jupiter or some other God, who was in love with me.” Answer him boldly, then: “Take it.”

Flamenca sighed, her colour came and went, she still hesitated. Suddenly Alis sneezed.

“Bless you!” the damsel exclaimed. “Now everything is bound to come out right. We could not have a better omen.”

“God bless you both,” cried Flamenca, deeply touched, “for all the hope and courage you have given me. I will do as you say, though I know not if, in thus accepting his love so readily, I shall not be dishonoured.”

“My Lady,” Alis assured her, “there can be no dishonour, since Love wills it so.”

Thursday was the feast of the passion of the two glorious apostles, who hold the first place after Saint Michael, in Paradise. That day, then, by her answer, Flamenca confirmed Guillem’s every hope. How shall I tell his delight? Now he was sure that Love wished to exalt him above all other lovers, and the next time he said to his lady: “I have taken it.” At the same moment their eyes met and their hearts embraced.

“Can it be possible,” wondered Flamenca, “that in three days’ time, he has found a way whereby I may heal him? How wanting in faith was I! It was a sin even to doubt him. I promise now, before God, that if he can bring us together, I shall be his, and his alone, forever more.”

“Small love do I owe the knights of my country! Two whole years have I dwelt in bitter grief, and not one has given a thought to me. And the knights of this country! Scarcely do they merit the renown of true knighthood, who permit a poor stranger lady to perish thus miserably! But this knight has a right to all my love, who, for my sake, has placed his own life in jeopardy.”

So Flamenca hesitated no longer but next time asked him boldly: “What shall I do?” and eight days later Guillem, in his turn, answered: “You will go,” but did not say where. So, on the feast of the Magdalen, Flamenca inquired: “Where?” and the day following Guillem said: “To the baths,” whereat Flamenca divined he had found some way of coming to her in the baths, and prayed God and His saints that there might not thereby come to her any dishonour.

On Tuesday, which was the feast of Saint James of Compostella, she demanded resolutely: “When?”

Great was Guillem’s joy, and it would not have been hard for him to answer at once; but he would rather have let himself be tonsured with a cross like a thief, or branded with a red-hot iron, than speak a word which might have betrayed them.

The fifth day thereafter he replied: “Soon.”

Then again was Flamenca sorely distressed.

“Fear, shame and love, draw me in different directions,” she cried. “Fear chides me and warns that, if he caught me, my husband would burn me alive. Shame bids me beware of the world’s dispraise. Love says, on the other hand, that Fear and Shame have never made a brave heart, and that she can never be called a true lover who, through them, lets herself be turned aside.

“Yet, O Love, how grievous are thy darts! Never could I have guessed that to love meant to suffer so sorely! But, since I am at thy mercy, naught remains for me but to receive thee. Enter then into this dwelling which is thine own. My heart shall be thy chamber. Naught shall avail to oppose thy will, for I belong to thee only.

“And to him who comes to claim that which I hold from thee, as thy vassal, I shall answer, without longer delaying, ‘With all my heart!’”

At these words she fell into a swoon and remained without consciousness till Archambaut’s return.

“Madam, here is our master,” cried Alis, fearful lest her mistress, awaking, might let fall some word to arouse his suspicions. She cried so loudly that Flamenca recovered her senses; but, before opening her eyes, she lay still a moment, to prepare what she should say to her husband.

Archambaut was all disturbed. Bringing water, he dashed it in her face. Then at last, opening her eyes, and looking up, she drew a deep sigh.

“My lady,” he inquired anxiously, “what ails you?”

“My lord, a pain at my heart is killing me.”

“I believe if you took a little nutmeg every day it would cure you.”

“No, sire, the baths alone can bring me any relief. Lead me there on Wednesday, I beseech you.”

It did not please lord Archambaut to have his wife go to the baths. He took her there as seldom as possible, and always examined each corner carefully before leaving her, for fear some man might be lurking in the corner; but he could not refuse her now.

“Very well, I am willing,” he grumbled, going out in a bad humour to find Pierre Gui and to tell him to make ready the baths.

Tuesday Flamenca, who found herself well enough to go to the church, said: “With all my heart,” and, with her left hand, lightly brushed Guillem’s right. He returned home in a state of rapture, and that evening he heard his host say to two servants:

“Cleanse the baths and empty them so that they will fill up afresh for our lady, who will come tomorrow at an early hour.”

Wednesday, at daybreak, Flamenca, feigning a return of her malady, made great dole, as well she might, for she had not slept a wink. She called feebly to her husband:

“Never in all my life have I suffered as I do now. Hasten, I beseech you, and be not too vexed, for you will soon be rid of me. Indeed, rather would I die than endure my present pain; and, if the baths restore me not, already I hold myself to be no better than one dead.”

The damsels were already up and dressed. They went first, taking with them their basins and unguents, while Archambaut followed reluctantly, leading his wife to her lover.

When he had looked well in all the corners, as was his wont, he went out, locking the door. Quickly the damsels sprang to bar it on the inside. Then, looking at each other, they said:

“What shall we do? We know not where or how he will enter, who has given us this tryst.”

“I am no wiser than you,” replied Flamenca. “I see nothing changed in the appearance of the place. Yet I have no thought to undress, since I did not come here to bathe.”

Scarcely had she spoken, when they heard a little noise. The next instant Guillem lifted a stone in the floor, and entered.

In his hand he held a candle. His shirt and his breeches were of fine linen from Rheims. His shoes were of silk embroidered with flowers. His well-cut doublet was fashioned of some costly stuff, and he wore, on his head, a little cloth cap, sewn with silk. Love had lent him somewhat of his pallor, but he was only the handsomer for that. Kneeling before Flamenca, he said:

“My lady, may He Who created you, and Whose will it is that you should be without peer for beauty and graciousness, save you—you and yours!”

And he bowed low at her feet.

“Fair sir,” replied Flamenca, “may He Who never lies and Who willed you to come hither, protect you, and permit you to accomplish all your desire.”

“All my desire, sweet lady, all my thought, all my trouble and my pain, are for you, to whom I have given myself. And, if you, in turn, will give yourself to me, all my wishes will be fulfilled.”

“Fear not. Since God has granted us to come together, you will have naught to complain of in me. Besides, since long time, my heart has been yours.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly and embraced her, then said:

“If it be your pleasure, we can seek, by the safe way I have made, the room where I have so often gazed upon your tower.”

“As you will, sweet friend. I shall go whithersoever you lead me, sure that you will bring me back again in all security.”

The passage was not dark, for it was lighted with candles, and, before they knew it, they were in the chamber, which was richly furnished with tapestries, with benches, with precious stuffs of all sorts, and strewn with green rushes.

Guillem and Flamenca seated themselves upon a couch raised a little above the level of the floor, while Alis and Margarida took cushions at their feet.

Flamenca looked at them fondly.

“Dear friend,” she said, “never have these damsels grown weary in pleading your suit. And, had it not been for their wise counsels and good sense, never would you have had your desire.”

Guillem thanked them warmly, begging them to accept of him girdles, diadems, ribbons, bracelets, brooches, rings, little bags of musk, and still other trinkets. Then, turning to Flamenca, he said:

“Sweet love, a boon, I beseech you.”

“Name it, dear friend. I think no wish of yours could prove displeasing to me.”

“I have two cousins,” he answered, “Otho and Clari, who follow me that they, too, one day, may be made knights. It would please me were they to have some share in our happiness.”

“How mean you?”

“My squires are young and debonair, like your two damsels, in whose company they would not want whereof to speak. And, if they found it in their hearts to love one another, they would but love us the more.”

[Illustration: Man and woman holding hands]

“It shall be even as you say,” assented Flamenca gladly, and Guillem, opening the door, told his squires to enter.

They marvelled greatly at seeing Flamenca, and when their eyes fell upon the two damsels, they believed they were under some spell. Quickly they fell to their knees.

“Here am I, lady, to do your bidding,” said each of them in turn.

Flamenca was well pleased, and welcomed the young men graciously. Then, turning to her young women:

“Come hither, both of you,” she addressed them. “Here are two young men, and you are two, also. It is my wish that each should have her friend. Wait not to be entreated. ’Tis I, your mistress, who entreat, who tell, who command you, to do all their desire. Go to the baths. Pleasure awaits you there.”

Then Alis chose Otho, and Margarida had Clari. Together all four went to the baths, where there were pleasant chambers, from which Alis and Margarida had no need to come forth as they went in, unless they so desired.

When they were alone, Guillem, turning to Flamenca, said:

“Long have I suffered for your sweet sake a martyr’s pains. Now that we have come together at last, I thank you for these; but you know not yet who I am, unless it be that Love has told you I am your man.”

“My friend,” said Flamenca, “I doubt not you are of some high estate. This I know by the knightly soul you have shown in wishing to be my lover.”

Then Guillem recounted to her, word by word, who he was, how he had come, and all he had done since he had been at Bourbon.

When Flamenca knew what manner of man her Guillem was, she was so full of joy she gave herself to him without stint. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him with all her heart.

Many times did they kiss each other on the eyes and on the mouth and on the hands and on the neck, and many times did they do for each other all those things without which joy in love is incomplete. Each sought to appease the heavy burden and the long desire that each for the other had suffered.

They took pleasure too, in rehearsing the words they had spoken, and so lovely was their delight, that man would not know how to record, or mouth to speak, or mind to conceive it.

When it came time to part, Guillem called his squires and the damsels. These, their eyes wet with tears, thanked him for the happiness that had been theirs in the company of the young men.

Guillem, too, wept when he took leave of his lady, for it seemed to him he would never see her more. He was, however, to see her again, and that many times; for, henceforth, Flamenca would return to the baths as often as she pleased.

The season of sorrow and sadness was over at last for this lady and her two damsels. No longer did they remember their prison, or the jealous husband who kept them there in vain; for, from this sad trial, had sprung, for them, joy and happiness.

Transcriber’s Notes

pg 28 Changed: a desire that has taken fast hold of my heat to: a desire that has taken fast hold of my heart