“Lord, oath made I to requite one Sir Agramore of Biename for certain felon blow. Him sought I latterly therefore, and this day met him journeying hither, and so, after some disputation, I left him lying by the way, nor shall he need armour awhile, methinks—wherefore I took it and rode hither seeking what might befall—”
But here, Sir Gui, all heedless of his wound, started up from his couch, raising great outcry:
“Ha—roguery, roguery! Ho, there, seize me yon knave that beareth the cognizance of Tong. Ha—treason, treason!” At this, others took up the cry and divers among the throng, beholding Duke Jocelyn's scarred features, made loud tumults: “The Fool! The Fool! 'Tis the Singing Motley! 'Tis the rogue-Fool that broke prison—seize him! Seize him!” And many, together with the soldiery, came running.
“Lord,” quoth Sir Pertinax, catching up his sword, “here now is like to be a notable, sweet affray!” But even as these twain turned to meet their many assailants was thunder of hoofs, a loud, merry voice reached them, and they saw Robin hard by who held two trampling chargers.
“Mount, brothers—mount!” he cried. “Mount, then spur we for the barriers!” So they sprang to saddle and, spurring the rearing horses, galloped for the barriers, all three, nor was there any who dare stay them or abide the sweep of those long swords. Thus, leaping the barriers, they galloped away and left behind roaring tumult and dire confusion.
And amid all this, hid by the silken curtains of her balcony, the Duchess Benedicta uttered a joyous cry and, clasping Yolande in her arms, kissed her rapturously.
“Yolande!” she cried, “O dear my friend, thou didst see—even as did I—a sorry fool and a poor rogue-soldier at hand-strokes with each other—O wise Fool! O knightly Rogue! Come, let us fly, Yolande, let us to the wild-wood and, lost therein, love, True-love, methinks, shall find us. Nay—ask me nothing, only hear this. Be thou to thine own heart true, be thou brave and Shame shall fly thee since True-love out-faceth Shame! How say'st thou, Mopsa, thou wise witch-mother?”
“Ah, sweet children!” croaked the Witch, touching each with claw-like hand yet hand wondrous gentle. “True-love shall indeed find ye, hide where ye will. For True-love, though blind, they say, hath eyes to see all that is good and sweet and true. A poor man-at-arms in rusty mail may yet be true man and a fool, for all his motley, wise. To love such seemeth great folly, yet to the old, love is but folly. Nath'less, being old I do love ye, and being wise I charge ye:
“Follow Folly and be wise,
In such folly wisdom lies;
Love's blind, they say, but Love hath eyes,
So follow Folly—follow!”
My daughter GILLIAN animadverteth: