“Once upon a time,” said Méllisande, “there dwelt at the Castle of Argouges a noble lord who was famous not only for his bravery, but for the extreme beauty of his dark features and slender form. All women loved him, but though he served them with chivalry, as became a knight, he sought his pleasure in the woods and fields rather than in their company. He knew what the brook was humming as it gurgled over the stones, and the wind told him all its secrets as it rustled among the pines. Sometimes he wrote these things on a sheet of paper and read them to himself aloud as he lay on the green sward. The Fées in the forest drew near to listen, for the voice of this lord of Argouges was sweet as the lute of Orpheus, and their lovely Queen lost her heart to him. Day after day she hovered by his side, sighing when he was sad, and rejoicing when the words he sought came quickly to his pen.
Once when he looked up suddenly he saw her as in a vision. A silvery veil of misty gauze half hid her exquisite form; and out of this her face looked down upon him, pure as an angel’s, but with the love of a woman in her lustrous eyes. As he sprang to his feet, she melted away in a white cloud, and close to his ear he heard a mournful sigh, as if her spirit grieved to part from his. And he wrote no longer of flowing water or whispering wind, but of the Lady of the Woods.
For many a day he saw her no more, for Henry I of England coveted Normandy, the ancient patrimony of his house, and sent his armies to take possession of it. When the city of Bayeux was besieged, the Lord of Argouges was amongst its most gallant defenders, and his resource and daring were the talk of all. None who crossed swords with him lived to tell the tale, for his courage was equalled by his skill.
One morn a giant sprang from the enemy’s ranks—a lusty German, well over seven feet, with the limbs of a prize-fed ox.
‘I dare you to fight me singly, Lord of Argouges!’ he cried, for he knew with whom he had to deal. The soldiers near stayed their hands to watch; the hearts of the Normans almost stood still, but the English exulted, for surely now would the Lord of Argouges bite the dust, and his fiery sword no more work havoc in their ranks! Their dismay was great when he proved himself victor, though they would not have wondered had they had vision to see how ever beside him moved the shadowy form of his Lady of the Woods, directing his arm that his aim might be swift and sure, and oft-times interposing her tender body between him and the German’s thrusts. Later on, when the gallant knight fainted from his wounds and was left for dead, she tended him pitifully as he lay on the blood-stained earth, moistening his lips with the dew of heaven, and whispering such sweet thoughts to him that the weary hours were eased by blissful dreams. He was still alive when morning dawned, and was found by his friends and carried into camp. Though visible to him alone, the Lady of the Woods was there beside his couch, and the terrible sights and sounds that accompanied the merciful efforts of those who tended the wounded could not scare her away from him. When his suffering was over, and he could raise himself to eat and drink, she came to him no more, and as his strength slowly returned he was consumed with a passionate desire to find her.
At length he was able to go home to his castle, and once more he roamed the forest. The songs of the birds were hushed by now, and the trees under which he used to rest were almost bare. It was autumn, for he had been long absent, and even yet his step was slow and his proud head bent with weakness. He was sick with longing for his gentle lady; ‘If I do not find her, I shall die!’ he cried.