The Fortunes of Garin

by Mary Johnston

He slept that night, stirred in the early morning, rose, and, dressing, called to Sicart’s son in the courtyard to bring his horse. Old Pierre gave him wheaten bread and a bowl of milk. Foulque, wrapped in his furred mantle, came from the hall and talked with him while he ate and drank. The sun at the hill-tops, he rode down the narrow way from the black tower and was lost to sight in the fir wood. He rode until he reached a certain craggy height of earth from which might be viewed the road by which the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne must approach Our Lady in Egypt. The height was shaggy with tree and bush, it overhung the way, commanding long stretches to either hand. Dismounting, he tied his horse in a small, thick wood at the back of the hill, then climbed afoot to the rough and broken miniature plateau atop. Even as he came to this he saw upon the western stretch of the road two horsemen, and presently made out that they were men of Beauvoisin’s sent ahead. They passed beneath him, cantered on, faces set for Our Lady in Egypt.

Garin found a couch of rock, a hollow, sandstrewn cleft where, lying at length, small bushes hid him from all observation. Here he stretched himself, pillowed his head upon his arms, and waited to see the princess pass. Time went by, and the morning air brought him sound from the other hand. He parted the bushes and looking east saw approaching a great and gallant troop—lords and knights of Roche-de-Frêne, coming to greet their princess close within the boundaries of her own land.... They came on with banners—a goodly column and a joyful. Close at hand, he began to single out forms and faces that he knew, and first he saw Stephen the Marshal riding at the head, and then Raimon of Les Arbres, and beside this lord, Aimar de Panemonde. Garin’s heart rejoiced that Aimar lived. He looked fondly upon his brother-in-arms, riding beneath the craggy hill. Many another that he knew he saw. Others he missed, and feared that they did not live or that they lay hurt, for else they would have been here.

The great troop, for all it rode with a singing heart, with exultation and laughter and triumph, had a war-worn look. The men and the horses were gaunt. The men’s eyes seemed yet to be looking on battle sights. Their gestures were angular, energetic and final, their speech short, not flowing. The colour of bronze, the hardness of iron, the edge of steel were yet in presence. It was to be seen that they had known hunger and weariness and desperation, and had withstood with courage. The man stretched upon the rock-edge above the passing numbers felt his communion with them. They were his brothers....

Not only these. As they rode by he saw in vision all the lands of Roche-de-Frêne and those who peopled them, men and women and children. And the town of Roche-de-Frêne and its citizens, men and women and children, and all who had defended it. And all the hills and vales of life.... He saw the slain and the hurt and the impoverished and the hearts that bled with loss—the waste fields and the broken walls. He saw work to be done—long work. And when that work was done and there were only scars that did not throb, yet was there work—building and building, though it could not be weighed. He saw as he knew that she saw—and the land became deep and dear to him, and the people became father and mother and child, brother and sister and friend.... “It is a baptism,” said Garin, and covered his eyes with his hands.

The great company went by, lessened in apparent bulk, lessened still upon the westward running road. Its trumpeters sounded their trumpets. Out of the distance came to Garin’s ear an answering fanfare, delicate and far like fairy trumpets. Rising ground and purple wood hid the meeting between the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and her barons and valiant knights.

The sun climbed toward the summit. The troubadour lay in the high cleft of the rock, felt the beams, breathed the clear, pure air, hearkened to the sough of the breeze in sere grass and bush. All earth and air were his, and the golden home of warmth and light, the great middle orb whose touch he felt. He waited for sound or sight that should tell him that the princess and her doubled train were coming. It was not long to wait. In the night a light rain had fallen—there was no dust, and the road was softened beneath the horses’ hoofs. The great company appeared now, like a vision, brightened and heightened to the outer eye by strength of the inner. Beauty and might, and sadness and joy, all lights and all shadows, gained a firmer recognition.

Garin, concentrated, watched the company come toward him. Again there echoed the eve of his knighthood, when through the darkness he had kept vigil. But he kept vigil now a more awakened being, with a wider reach and a richer knowledge.

The train came toward him, and now he heard the sound of it, the tread of horses, metallic noises, the human voice, all subdued to a deep murmur as of an incoming sea. This increased until single notes were distinguishable. The form grew larger, then he could see component forms. Music was being made, he saw the great blue banners.... And still he knew that all was a mightier and a brighter thing than yesterday he had known.... Now he saw the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne riding between Beauvoisin and Stephen the Marshal.

She passed the rock whereon he lay, and he saw a great and high and bright soul.... It passed—all passed. He felt the darkness, but then the starlight.

He stayed yet an hour there in the cleft, with the brown grass about him and overhead the sky like sapphire. Then, descending the crag, he sought his horse in the wood and, mounting, turned his face toward Castel-Noir.