# The Chronicle of Clemendy/The Rubrican's Second Tale

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE
ONE FINE morning in July, just as the shadows were equal all round the world (or at all events in Gwent, and that is sufficient for our purposes) and the clocks of our holy faith were confessing in a variety of manners that it was noonday; the Fair Folk of Wentwood Chase were amusing themselves by the spectacle of a young knight, wandering about under the greenwood in a perplexed and vagrant fashion, as if he did not exactly know whitherwards to go or what to do with himself. What the Fair Folk thought of him, I can't tell you, because I am unhappily unlearned in the language of Færy, and have read none of their Chronicles, Memorabilia, Annals, or Commentaries; but I have reason to think they approved of him because he chanced to wear a green surcoat and was a proper man besides. On this green vestment were blazed three golden stags in pale; and to speak the truth they paced through herbage of a faded and autumnal sort, which bore the russet vestiges of many a storm of wine, and had undoubtedly done good service in its day. From my mention of the knight's coat you will have guessed, of course, that he was of the d'Espalions of Gascony, and this is indeed the fact; and he of whom I tell you bore the name of Sir Symon d'Espalion and thus was the son of a ​right illustrious house forced to wander through the forests of a foreign land. Is not this shocking? But there was no help for it, since he had been so unfortunate as to get mixed up in disputes with the High Sheriff of Gascony, who grew violent and desired to hang Sir Symon by the neck; but the knight thought it would be foolhardy to try the experiment, and left France suddenly. Never enter into arguments with these Sheriffs, because they are testy fellows, and have friends who are rather fond of trying how long one can live without any breath. However Symon was young and somewhat untried in the wickedness of the world, so it is not admirable that he made a few mistakes at the beginning—some men do nothing else from beginning to end, and are it is plain themselves mere incarnate fallacies. It needs not to enquire concerning the matter of the discussion between the Sheriff and the Knight; but I am pretty certain that in this case as in all others love was at the bottom of the mischief. Possibly it was love of black eyes, red lips, and a neat figure, or maybe of curiosities such as coins, jewells, bracelets and gauds of that description, or perchance merely a love of a complete vengeance—it's of no importance. But I incline to think it was the last item that sent Sir Symon abroad; from certain hints and dark sayings in the Chronicle; and certainly Vengeance was the mistress of many in that age; whereby she is proven to be a notorious slut and wanton as well as an ill-tempered harridan. But however that may be, here was the knight a good many miles away from ​his native castle, with very few nobles in his pocket, and not too much victual or drink in his stomach, wandering on this fine July morrow through the wet glades of Wentwood Chase. For it had rained without ceasing a whole week, and even now the great white clouds were slowly rolling away to westward like tall ships in full sail, and leaving behind them a deep blue firmament and a hot sun, which made everything smoke and steam. You will suppose perhaps that the warmth and light and pleasant air caused the exile to cheer up and sing snatches of ballads and rondels; but I assure you it was not so. For what good is an azure heaven to a man when his heart is shrouded in sable and thick darkness; or do you think a joyous dancing air that sets the boughs a-tremble and the fairy-bells a-chiming can rejoice him whose soul is driven across a wilderness of sorrow without hope? Nay these things do but increase our grief (unless we be thoroughly indoctrinated and inebriated with the subtlest and mellowest knowledge of Siluria) and only made Sir Symon regret with sharper anguish the misfortune that had reft him from the bluer sky of his own country. But as it happened he was one of those persons who are well taken care of, and somehow or other, set upon their legs. People fortunate in the same way declare the cause to be a keen wit and a skill in untying tangles; others who are poor all their days and leave no money for wax tapers or masses, say it's all luck and impudence. I don't pretend to decide which of the two opinions be the verity; and I really don't think ​it matters a pin's head, for our business is to take whatever comes without noise of rejoicing or lamentation, since neither will last for very long. As for the wandering knight he chanced upon a road leading through the forest to a castle built there by the Lord Marcher of Estrighoil, both for the defence of his lordship and for his pleasure when he would leave his halls above Wye water, and go a-hunting in Wentwood. This castle was at first only one great round tower, but afterwards it had been made larger and furnished with an eight-sided tower and a hall, and surrounded by a pool of water; and it was on a high place looking over the greeny billows of the forest and many a hill and valley and long level of the beloved Gwentian land. As for the name I am in some difficulty for some call it Taroggy, some Strogul, and others Struggle, which has made learned men mix things up and confound this forest fort with the great castle of Estrighoil above the Wye and the Severn and Chepstow town. But I believe Struggle will suit us best, for it means something, and this is more than can be said of Taroggy, unless one happens to understand the niceties, contractions, mutations and amplifications of the tongue of the Terrestrial Paradise. And so it fell out that Sir Symon d'Espalion found himself about half-a-mile from this place, and as he stood musing and doubting whether to toil up or shamble down, the faint notes of a horn wound afar off were borne unto his ears; and looking to the quarter whence this music came, he saw in the valley below a goodly company on horseback, ​knights in glittering steel, with bannerets; and as he rightly judged ladies also, and men following a-foot; all coming leisurely in brave array toward him, and sounding the horn by turns. And again Sir Symon was in doubt, namely as to whether he should run into the deep hollows of the wood and hide himself; or rather run to meet this gallant band; and his difficulty he solved by sitting down on the roots of a beech-tree as being a less troublesome method than either of the other two. This was certainly a moderate and contemplative conclusion and was perhaps the best he could have made; and to be short it served his occasions. For two knights rode on in front of the main body, whose business it was to keep a sharp look out for cut-throats, high and low tobies, banded robbers and other bad characters who are to be met with in large woods; I must crave pardon for calling these artists bad, but in fact they are not salutary for travellers. And the two knights spying out Sir Symon rode up to him cautiously, for there might possibly be more in him than met the eye, and more of him behind the trees; however no cross-bolts rapped their armour, and they halted opposite to the knight and began to ask him questions, in order to find out whether he were a rogue or an honest man; or, to be more precise, Silurian, and philosophical, whether there were more of roguery or of honesty ni him. But when he answered them courteously in fine phrases of Paris town, that he was of the d'Espalions, pointing to the blazon of his surcoat; they perceived at once that he was a good ​Christian and a virtuous gentleman; and if a due and melodious accent, a pleasant smile, and a good coat are not sufficient evidences of virtue and a good heart underneath, I profess I know not what are. In fine Sir Symon prayed the knights to take him before their lord, who they let him know was no less than Ivo Fitz-Baderon, Earl of Estrighoil, and Lord of Netherwent on the Marches of Wales. And when he drew near to and met this nobleman as he rode at the head of his band, Symon perceived that this was indeed a great lord and worshipful, for, in the words of the old poem, there was:
A ramping lyon on his breast; Five golden lilies gay About it were, and for his crest He bore a raven aye.
And beside him rode his daughter Bertha, of whom I will speak more hereafter, and behind him ladies, knights, esquires, pages, men-at-arms, and serving men, and, to be short, it was a right brave array glittering with gold and silken stuff and stronger steel and dark eyes of maidens strongest of all. And when Sir Symon came before the Lord Ivo Fitz-Baderon, he bowed low and craved leave to address him: which being granted he thus began. "You see before you, my lord, a poor, banished, and luckless knight, whom envy and severity have driven away from his country and who is now forced to lie like a robber in ​woods and mountains and secret places, and to live like a wild-beast rather than a gentleman; and all this to his great hurt, sorrow, and ennuy. Wherefore I humbly crave your help and aid, and for ever I will be your liege man and warray against all your enemies." And the Earl, a noble of a large heart and some sense, seeing that Sir Symon was a well made man whose arm might come useful, replied by bidding one of the men at arms give the knight his horse, and then made him ride at his side, while he asked him a few questions and made sure that he wore his own coat and that his genealogy was a tolerably long one. As to the reasons which brought Sir Symon across the water the Earl left them alone, knowing that knights of the best kind sometimes have to leave their homes rapidly and pick up a living roughly in odd places. Soon they reached the utmost height of the hill and came before the gate of Struggle where was the Ranger of Wentwood and his men bowing low; for you must understand that Earl Ivo intended to lie here some weeks and to kill a good many fat bucks or whatever he could find even if it chanced to be a marten or a fox. And since I have said that there had been great rains for some time before, I will tell you that things had been terribly dull at Estrighoil; there had been yawning from dawn to dusk and melancholy listening to the plash of the rain and the rattle of the vanes as they swung round from south to west and from west to south. Some people, I know, think Dullness a young deity born late and in our own days, and conceive that the lords of the old ​time had so many battles, sieges, storms, rebellions, jousts and tournaments to attend to that they never were idle; but this is not the truth. Some of them amused themselves in dull times by looking after the morals of their subjects and hanging folks by the neck, but this made them unpopular because the common people have no patience with anybody who tells them they are doing wrong and tries to raise them heaven-ward. Earl Ivo certainly, an easy-going, merry, old lord who knew he was made of clay himself, was not the sort of man to take advantage of others' flaws and cracks, and never strangled anyone unless he was obliged to, even in rainy weather. But his temper, it must be confessed, used to get terribly short, and his odd profane expressions in which he mixed up all sorts of things, made the gargoyles laugh; but then they had plenty to do and spouted water all day and all night. And Bertha his daughter and her ladies were in not much better case; being bored and ready to say yes to anything, or to anybody that would invent some new entertainment for them. The which is a very dangerous state for maidens to be in; and if I were master of a house of them, I would myself draw my mouth into queer shapes, squint, and play the fool to make them laugh: but I hope I shall never have very many to look after. Some of the knights and pages did their best to amuse the poor girls by making love to them; but somehow they were not in the humour for it, and only yawned at the very finest speeches and the most passionate orations. The fool also had done his best and was more suc​cessful for a while, since he was no ordinary jester or concocter of stale jokes; but a man of subtle and curious wit who played with a merry sadness on the black keys of this our Mortal Life, and drew therefrom quaint harmony that made one cry and laugh at the same time. But the lords and ladies grew weary of him also and called him hard names, since they were all in that cheerful humour which tires and grows sick of everything, and conceives the worst torment of Hell to be an everlasting Dullness. On the whole therefore, it was rather fortunate, when the drip, drip, drip of the rain ceased and the sun shone down through the high windows of the hall casting many a glorious tincture of blazonry on the floor and on the arras. Without much consideration or brow-knitting Earl Ivo determined to hold a hunting month at Struggle, and told Bertha to gather her gear together, which she did very willingly, loving the greenwood and the woodland air. Perhaps you would like to know what Bertha was like, and if this be so I will endeavour to satisfy you; though in my own opinion all young maids are just like—that is, to them that like them. However this was the fashion of her, and this is the kind of girl that makes a Silurian's lips pucker up into an O, his right arm bend into a curve, his heart beat fast, and his mouth water. Understand then that her hair (to begin where one should begin) was like an old bronze medal that has been dipped a moment into aqua fortis, and shows here like red gold, there well-nigh black, and here, there and everywhere all man​ner of glints and shadows between the two extremes. Of forehead there was not much, for forehead we ask not, and shall not cry "gra'merci" if you exhibit to us one never so lofty and well compacted; but what eyebrows and lashes, and below what eyes—black, or say rather, like two deep wells at noonday, with stars shining in them, and in these wells many were drowned, and all swore there's none such pleasant death as drowning. Her nose was a special nose, neither too long nor too short, too flat nor too high, too thin nor too thick, but had just that little turn at the end which virtuosi in noses declare to be desirable. For these gentlemen aver that this dainty button says as much as "I'm a woman and not an angel," and is a sure sign of those charming imperfections which make ladies perfect. As for Bertha's mouth it was (to be honest with you) the only member of her that could be taxed or censured. Why? For that it was incomplete and not perfect nor sufficient in itself, being so choicely and rarely contrived with concave and convex parts that it was evidently devised to fit into another piece of like workmanship, if nature had turned out any at all comparable with it. Of her chin I must maintain that it was a chin dear, delicate, and intolerably precious, with dimples playing at Barley Break across it, as sunshine quivers across the rippling water of a pebbly brook, when it has to pass through many leaves, and lights now here, now there, according as the breeze stirs the boughs high or low, to right or left. And what a figure had this noble maiden! One must not go closely into these ​matters, but know that Bertha was of a most exquisite taille, which matched her face in every respect, and would have made Madam Phryne feel spiteful. But now I have said all these nice things about this nice girl, I am compelled in common honesty to tell you that those fine eyes of hers were roving eyes which glanced here, there and everywhere, and when joined to her smile, were known to have made Canons and Archdeacons stutter and lose their places. And while Earl Ivo, and Bertha, knights, esquires, pages, and Sir Symon d'Espalion were nourishing themselves and irrigating their throats in the hall at Struggle, my lady looked once or twice so sweetly and shyly on the stranger that he forgot all his troubles in a moment, and understood that he was in for a pretty sharp attack of love. He resigned himself to the disease quietly, knowing that on the whole love is an amusing affair enough, full of various experiences and novelties, and sometimes not without solid profit, if it be judiciously conducted. As for Bertha she dropped her lashes once too often; since Sir Symon was a blade of keener metal than any she had dealt with, and she found him before long to be a doctor in that science of which all profess to know a piece; and they that talk least of it often know most. However Sir Symon had other things to think of that evening, for Earl Ivo proposed to take him into his service, to give him a new surcoat twice a year and as much meat and drink as a gentleman ought to have— e a sustenir le devant dit Symon taunt come il vivera en manager e en beovere avenaunte​ment come a gental homme a peut—as it stands in the indenture drawn up by Master David, the Earl's scrivener. I do not think it necessary to tell you all the particulars of this document; because you might grow rather weary, and besides, (to speak the truth) the learned disagree as to the quantity of oats that Sir Symon's horses were to eat a day, and I should be sorry to put any false notions into your heads on this important point. But you may depend on it that the knight agreed pretty quickly to this offer, as he would have done in any case, but now all the more since he had farsed the indenture in his own mind with another item, namely "e en amur," for a gentleman requires something more besides meat and drink and two robes yearly. This agreement dated, witnessed, signed and sealed, Sir Symon made himself very agreeable to everybody by telling the newest tales that were being relished in Gascony; regular candle-time relations, the which raised such deep roars of laughter that the oak-trees of Wentwood heard the sound and have been laughing among themselves ever since, though silly people call it sighing. As if a stout old oak, sound to the heart, and devoid of care, ever did anything so foolish as to sigh! But these numskulls think the whole world is in the dumps as they themselves are. And from that day began the pleasantest time Sir Symon had in his life; for the sun, that puissant Lord Marcher, swept the clouds right away into Severn Sea and ruled in a Lordship of perpetual azure. Then was it pleasant to ride beneath the branches beside ​Bertha and her ladies, and to study the sweet varieties of maidenhood, the which is indeed an enchanting thing—when it happens to be in a good temper. But we may be sure Sir Symon had changed his dress and smartened himself up, for he knew that ladies have almost as much liking for a surcoat rightly embroidered and cut to the fashion as for the Theological Virtues, and much more than for the first two Evangelical Counsels, though they think that the third, Obedience, is becoming in a husband. But while Sir Symon made good cheer for all the girls, he kept his choicest fare for Bertha, and little by little wove his incantations round her till her girlish soul was quite hushed and submissive under the sweetest and strangest of all spells on earth. There are many methods and systems in this curious magic, and I suppose everybody puts some little originality into his love-making; but one thing is very certain, namely that love is a thing which does not grow stale: a doctrine which is clearly proved by the persistence and obstinacy of the human race in this pursuit. I suppose it is more than five thousand years since the first kiss came off; concerning which you may read in the books written by the Rosy Cross Fraternity, and therein you will find the Ubi and Quando, and Relatio of it. But it is wonderful to think how much kissing has been going on ever since, and not a sign, so far, of its going out of fashion. And after Bertha and her knight had ridden a good many times side by side and he had said a number of pretty things which she had answered with glances that slid out of her ​eyes like summer lightning from an ebon sky; it fell out that they rode one day before all the rest, and roamed even farther, till the sound of voices and laughing was broken and died into silence. And now the only sounds were a gentle rustling as the boughs above swayed to and fro in the southern wind, and that continual murmur of summer time, which tells us of the labour of the bees. And the voices of Bertha and Sir Symon were hushed also, but they rode very close together and seemed to lean toward one another; so that Gwyn-ap-Neath the King of Færy who happened to be going the same way, held his little sides for laughing and poked his little Prothonotary hard in the ribs, to make him understand there was a joke. You will wonder perhaps that the knight did not set about his business in earnest, finding himself thus alone with his dear lady; but the reason is that love is fearful; though at the same time it is most hardy; the which is a dogma to be believed without any questions, cavils, or argumentations. But before long, finding they were far away from their fellows he leant toward Bertha and kissed her on the cheek, without asking leave or license, whence we may perceive that the field was ready for the crop, the fagots for the torch, the bread for the oven, and, in effect, Bertha's cheek for her lover's lips. For indeed she made no remonstrance whatever, only a crimson dawn of Very Love flushed from her breast to her forehead; and since she had been anxiously expecting some such pleasant occurrence for the last mile, it would have been foolish to scream ​when it came about. But it is really impossible to talk to one's sweetheart, as she should be talked to, on horseback (unless you are both on the same horse) wherefore Sir Symon presently jumped down, and laying his arm delicately round Bertha's waist, had her most exquisite arms twined about his neck and so brought her to the ground. Then did he spread her a soft throne of ferns on the roots of a tree, and kneeling at her feet, began to intone the Hours of Paphos in a mellow and passionate voice, for they had said the secreta some time before. Perhaps you do not understand me and have never heard of these offices, and indeed they are no longer sung in the flaming old-fashioned manner; for the times are degenerate. Well this is how Sir Symon began—"Darling, when the sun ariseth he shines in through my window and finds me awake and pale for thinking of thee; and when he sinketh below the western hills he leaves me still enlightened with the rarer glories of thine eyes." "Las, dear love," answered Bertha, "far away below us are the level moors; but we are in a greeny dell of Wentwood Chase; so was my life before thou camest compared to what it now is. O my sweetheart how shall I love thee aright?" "Love me and the kisses of my mouth even as the meadows love the dew in August, as the stones love the ripple of the brook, as the cornfields love the harvest moon ruddily ascending or shaped in sickle wise." "Thou art my mighty glorious sun and I thine earth yearning for the rays of thy love." "Thou art mine evening star, shining in the glow of sun​set; my rose-garden and my paradise wherein I take my pleasure." The King of Færy heard all this and a great deal more; but he found a little of it go a long way and moved on with his train to hold a speech-court under a great oak, whither all the Fair Folk of Wentwood assembled. And after Bertha and Sir Symon d'Espalion had brought their service to an end, had kissed and colled and looked into one another's eyes, had spoken and remained silent; they began to consider that it would be as well to mount and make their way to Struggle without delay, since folks are apt to be suspicious and say nasty things of a knight and a lady who get lost in the woods together. The general lack of charity indeed, was and is, a most sorrowful thing; one has only to be seen going by the same road once or twice in a week and they say directly "What wench is he after?" "Who lives on the other side of the hill?" And if a young gentleman is seen alone with a lady there are seldom wanting malicious personages who declare they are lovers. I hope you will always avoid these courses and if you see me at any time rather close to a girl with black eyes; say presently "They are discussing philosophical questions," in the which statement you cannot fail to be right and accurate. But the two lovers of Wentwood, in mortal fear of busybodies and unkind observations rode swiftly, or as swiftly as the undergrowth would let them, to Struggle and found the knights and hunting men in the court slicing up a few bucks and drinking as much as gentlemen ought to drink. Here Sir Symon handed Ber​tha down with such a complete and icy courtesy that several knowing winks were nipped short, and mouths were opened instead of eyes being shut; for they were simple men and unversed in stratagems and deceits. And all the evening Sir Symon clung to the skirts of a nice girl with yellow hair and long fingers, whom he entertained with ballads, canzonets, little stories, and odd questions, and, I am afraid, rather turned her head; for his manners, it must be confessed, were extremely pleasing. And using some caution and looking out for brambles in his path Sir Symon contrived to live as joyously as any knight could desire for the next week or two; for how pleasant are the beginnings of love and the various wandering byways which all lead to the same place. Byways, do I say? Rather ladders, graduals to the Mount Marvellous and the Castle beyond Conceit, mounting through deep blossoming orchards, flowery closes, and boskages of solemn scent; and the way now illuminate and radiant, now dim and mystical; but all most lovely, sweet, unearthly, quite passing all compare. Here we cannot climb alone, to the solitary the gate is barred, and the bridge drawn up across the deep blackness of the moat of melancholy; but hither maiden hands do guide us, red lips entice, and a girl's eyes are lamps before us. From what I have said before of my Bertha, you know that she was one whom the stars had shapen marvellously, and choicely well, and Sir Symon found that she led him by sweeter paths to bliss than any that his dreaming soul had trodden; or any that he had fashioned ​formerly in the bygone ballad of his life. Let us no more say that they rode through Wentwood, or looked on Severn Sea and the waving cornfields of Gwent; but rather wandering they went among the mazes of a Forest of Phansy; rested beneath trees of might unimaginable; and saw below them golden clouds, shining water, and glittering vanes, high turrets, and pinnacles now lifted merely above a silver misty sea, and now rising from tower and gateway and stony wall. And oh! the pomps and glorious shows they beheld (when their hands were clasped) in the courts of the castle; for thither all ancient noble lovers did resort as the old poet tells us. For he says—
They that have truly kept the ordinance The King has made, which is our Lord Royall, With perfect love and leal observance; When that the doom of death do on them fall Then do they win their bliss and maintenance And joyous pleasure in a wondrous hall. It is so fair, I guess it passeth thought. And by no rhyming may at all be sought.
Hither then did Bertha and Symon look from the greeny lattices that the hazel and the rose and honeysuckle twisted; since they had vowed, either to other, a perfect and enduring love, and so had fellowship with the true lovers of the old time, who for their King's sake had endured pain and sorrow, shame, death and dishonour rather ​than transgress their faith and law. But one day as these two sweethearts were busily engaged in their favourite occupations; that is to say the business and quidditative investigation of searching for the soul of a kiss; pursuing that queer, subtle, and undoubtedly delicious entity through all its transformations; a sudden thought came into Bertha's depositary of notions, and this thought made her knit her brows. "Do you think my Father would like to see us thus?" asked she, stroking Sir Symon's curly hair in a meditative kind of way. "Hardly I suppose," answered the knight, "seeing that I am an exiled man, living only from his board: but it isn't of much consequence, is it?" "Only that my Father is Ivo Fitz-Baderon, Lord of Estrighoil, and master here of all men's lives and liberties." "Well he could only hang me." "I don't think I should altogether like to see you hanged; besides if that happened you would not be able to marry me, and you would like me to be your wife, wouldn't you?" "Yes, I should certainly like to marry you now you remind me, and as you say, the ecclesiastical law forbids wedlock with ghostly men. But do you think my Lord suspects anything?" "He never suspects, but he sometimes hangs when he thinks he is in danger of being suspicious, for he says this is a very sinful state of mind." "Then shall we ride away together?" "To whitherward?" "Why I don't know exactly, but I suppose there are lords on the Marches, who would willingly buy the sword of a gallant gentleman and shelter him against his enemies." "Ay, there is my lord ​Humphrey de Bohun of Caldicot, to whose son I am promised; and the Baron of Burgavenny my father's brother-in-arms, and the Lord of Uske our cousin: think you that these would have warm sheets ready for us." "Well, yes; but perhaps too warm; and now I think I should like to kiss you." Then they began their game of sweetlips over again, for this was their antiphon which began and ended every thing they did. But for all that, a short time after as Sir Symon was riding with a knight of the company, named Sir Rouf de la Grave; a good natured young fellow with no guile at all in him, the Frenchman began suddenly "What do you conjecture would happen if I were to marry Bertha?" Sir Rouf jerked the reins, rubbed his eyes, and looked into Sir Symon's face, to discover if he were in earnest, but saw about as much expression there as in the face of a man who asks his sweetheart how her mother does to-day. He concluded therefore that the Frenchman being a joker, was playing on him and endeavouring to make his chin fall—that is to say to make a fool of him: and answered with as empty a face as Sir Symon's: "I suppose you would dance." "How?" "With high steps, Sir Symon, most gracefully and wondrously." "This is too deep for me; let me have your meaning plainer." "Why then you would swing." "Swing what?" "A mere trifle, no more than your body; and that to be sure would be a lighter burden than it is now, for it would be relieved of its soul before very long." "It is not possible you mean I should be hanged?" said the French knight, ​laughing all the while to himself at Sir Rouf's poor wit and thick head. "I do not know about being hanged, since that is not a polite expression, nor one used by people of good breeding; but I am quite certain that you would feel it necessary to mount a ladder, tie a scarf rather tightly round your neck; and then begin to foot the mazles of the air, as I have said." "Ah, what would I give to have been nurtured in this land where air and wit are of equal sharpness; but to speak the truth the hot sun of Gascony spoilt my brains when I was quite a little boy." With that Sir Symon talked no more of marrying or hanging, but began to speak of fights and battles he had seen; and Sir Rouf looking at his broad shoulders and thick arms thought to himself "He may not have much to boast of in the way of brains but he would be an awkward customer to meet in a stricken field or joust or tournament." But some years afterwards, Sir Rouf having pondered these matters over in his leisure moments (for he could not eat or fight or drink or make love and think at the same time) all at once smote his head and said so that his wife could not hear him "he was certainly making an ass of me." But Sir Symon, after duly considering this affair, was forced to believe that if he married his dear Bertha, he would come to grief in some way or another, if not by rope than by axe, and to his mind there was not a pin to choose between either, and both were an abomination to him. Altogether he did not like to the look of things and almost wished he had been hanged in France, which was his native country; ​and a true patriot like Sir Symon always chooses to give employment to his countrymen rather than strangers. But this wish seems to me not very sensible, since if he were hanged for carrying off the sweet body and unspeakable charms of Bertha, he would have so to speak, his money's worth; nay I profess it were well worth to be the husband of such a girl for a week and then to swing away. And, in effect, he determined to make her his wife, come what might, and they began to plot together how best to bring their love to its consummation. Then Bertha remembered that below Wentwood not far from the Uske river is a little church called Kemeys; by the which the road from Caerleon to Uske passeth—a small church it is in truth and lowly, being named Inferior to distinguish it from that other Kemeys beyond called Commander. But here Bertha said the parson was an old priest who had once looked after souls at Estrighoil Castle, and had loved her beyond all (as was indeed natural) and she believed that he would knot them together ecclesiastically in the sacrament of matrimony. But it was as well, (they thought), to be sure of this beforehand; because if the parson took it into his head to curse instead of to bless it would be rather awkward. Wherefore Bertha wrote a letter (the which she could do very well) superscribing it "For the hands of Dom. Andrew de Fago, parson of Kemeys: these:" and this she gave to Sir Symon who rode down through the wood and came out on the road to Uske not far from Kemeys Church. He had not, you will sup​pose, much trouble to find the parson; though the good man had taken to call himself Beeche since he had changed the Wye for the Uske, thinking perhaps that his parishioners had quite enough Latin on Sundays and holidays. But Sir Symon soon made out the parsonage and found Master Andrew dogmatising and theologically disporting himself in company with a volume of the "Questions," and a flagon of wine; for he was not ignorant of any philosophy. Hospitably he received the stranger and gave him his best chair, and bore another flagon of wine for refreshment and post-viaticum; and then received his daughter Bertha's letter; which made him stare and disturbed his brain. For he thought within himself "If I don't marry them they will certainly agree to dispense with any service at all; and thus they and I through them shall be guilty of mortal sin; to say nothing of robbing the Church of her dues. But if I do marry them there'll be trouble for me and the Archdeacon of Monmouth will doubtless be moved to interfere and take order in the matter to my no small discomfort and annoy." This, you see, was what is called a dilemma, a dilemma that pushed hard and had sharp horns; but since Father Andrew loved Bertha exceedingly and cared more for her health and pleasure than his own; he concluded affirmative, after subjecting Sir Symon to a short examination to make sure that he had no pestilent notions in him, and believed entirely all the doctrines of our Holy Faith. Here indeed he was on safe ground; since the knight hated hereticks as the devil, and it was ​safer to call him a recreant and a coward than to speak a word in his hearing against the Church or the doctrines thereof. But at the same time the parson warned him that he was putting his body into the dungeon and maybe his neck into the noose; though since Father Andrew de Fago had been young himself once upon a time he did not expect to have much effect. In fine, he agreed to join this fine couple together in three days' time, and he let Sir Symon know that there was a ship that should weigh anchor from Caerleon that very morning and its voyage was to Venice in Italy. And as it seemed certain that it would be a good thing for the knight and his lady to get beyond call of Estrighoil Castle and Earl Ivo Fitz-Baderon it was determined that they should sail in the Torchbearer and hasten to southward ere the stormy weather and troublous time began. And the good old parson promised to agree with the master of the ship (to whom he was akin) so that all should be in readiness for them; and sent Sir Symon away up the hill with his blessing. So was this affair brought to a conclusion, for a man and a woman, the one dressed like a poor clerk and the other as a merchant's daughter, stole away from Struggle and vanished into the mist of the morning, and not a soul of the Earl's company could perceive to whitherward they had gone, when the hue and cry should have been raised after them. But old parson Andrew de Fago joined them in wedlock, and after houselled them at the altar of the little church between the wood and the water; hence ​good Silurians hold Kemeys Church in special reverence and pray there for the souls of the fortunate lovers, who found, either in other, what each desired. And after they were married they sped away to Caerleon and got on board the Torchbearer; and so sailed down the Uske into Severn Sea, following the triumph of the sun. Here dimness closes around them and their happy love, as the ship vanisheth into the flushing clouds of sunset; but we think we can see Bertha and her lover standing upon the deck, hand in hand gazing into the west, and heeding not the rush of water nor the noise of the wind that speeds them. But soon the glory fades and they turn and find no weariness in looking into one another's eyes, for there truly are the torches burning of light celestial and unspeakable, since they were kindled at the altar of Love the Sovereign and Lord Royall.
Thus did close our Rubrican's story; and the fire was burning low, and I heard the wind upon the hill wailing sadly, as it is wont when it calls to the clouds and draweth them from the western sea. So we bade farewell to the Tuscans, and made them for all their denials a little purse for their hour of adversity. Then to their music we rode away once more, and thus did close the Portreeve's Gaudy-Day.
(Here ends the CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY or HISTORY OF THE NINE JOYOUS JOURNEYS.)