The cunning sorcerer made as much haste as he could with his spells and trickeries to make all the rocks sink, or seem to sink, before the eyes of all that looked at them, right underground; at last he succeeded. By his magic arts it really did seem to everybody, for a week or two, that the rocks were all gone.
Aurelius thanked him with joy, and then hastened to the castle, where he knew he should see Dorigene, to remind her of what she had promised.
“My sovereign lady,” he said, saluting her humbly—
Ye wot right wel what ye byhighte me,promised
And in myn hond your trouthe plighte yemy
To love me best; God woot ye sayde so,
Al be that I unworthy am therto.
Madame, I speke it for thonour of yowyou
More than to save myn hertes lif right now:
I have do so as ye comaundede me,
And if ye vouchesauf ye maye go se.vouchsafe
In yow lith al to do me lyve or deye,lieth
But wel I wote the rokkes ben aweye.are
“You know right well what you have promised me,
And hand in mine your fair trouth plighted ye
To love me best; God knoweth you said so,
Although I be unworthy thereunto.
Madam, I speak for th’ honour of the vow
More than to urge my heart’s deep longing now:
For I have done as you commanded me,
And if you please it, you may go and see.
It rests with you, to let me live or die,
But that the rocks have vanish’d, well know I.”
Poor Dorigene had little expected to fall into such a trap! She stood astonished, and her face grew white—all the colour left her cheeks. How bitterly she repented her rash promise! for she did not want to go away with Aurelius. “Alas!” she cried, “that such a thing should be! how could I guess so monstrous a marvel could come to pass?” and her terror made her like one desperate.
Her husband, Arviragus, too, was absent, and there was no one she could tell her trouble to. She cried and lamented for three days, vainly thinking how she could get out of the scrape; and at last she determined to die. So three days passed, and all the time she was weeping and resolving on her death.
However, on the third night, Arviragus came home again; and, when he knew what she was weeping so bitterly for, he said, cheerfully and kindly, “Is that all, Dorigene?”
Is ther aught elles, Dorigen, but this?else
Nay, nay, quod sche, God me so rede and wisreads, knows
This is to moche, and it were Goddes wille!if
Ye, wyf, quod he, let slepe that may be stille,[173]
It may be wel, paraunter, yet to-day.peradventure
Ye schal your trouthe holden, by my fay,faith
For God so wisly have mercy on me,wisely
I hadde wel lever i-stekid for to be,rather, slain
For verray love which that I to you have,
But if ye scholde your trouthe kepe and save,unless
Trouthe is the hiest thing that man may kepe.
And with that word he brast anon to wepe.burst
“Is there aught further, Dorigene, than this?”
“Nay, nay,” cried she, “God help me, for it is
Too much already—were it but His will!”
“Yea, wife,” he answered, “what has been is still,
But yet, perchance, it may be well to-day.
That promise you shall hold to, by my fay,
For as I hope for mercy from on high,
I would more willingly consent to die,
Yea for the love’s sake that I bear to you,
Than you should break the honour of a vow
Faith is the highest thing that can be kept.”
And with that word he broke away and wept.
Poor Arviragus, this brave and just knight, bade Dorigene keep her word at any cost to herself or him, but he could not keep up his cheerful tone. He was too deeply grieved and hurt, and even wept with her for sorrow.
Then he commanded a squire and a maid to attend Dorigene for a part of the way to the garden, where Aurelius would fetch her.