[CHAPTER X]
GARIN TAKES THE CROSS
The bells of a neighbouring religious house were ringing with a mellow sound. People passed this way and that before the church porch. The doors were opened, and one and another entered the building. Garin paid them no attention; he sat sunk in thought. What now? What next?
He was twenty years old—strong, of a sound body, not without education in matters that the time thought needful. He could do what another esquire of gentle blood could do. Moreover, he felt in himself further powers. He was not crassly confident; he turned toward those bright shoots and buds an inner regard half shy and wistful. He was capable of longing and melancholy.... Danger from Savaric of Montmaure and his son Jaufre he held to be fairly passed. Accident might renew it, to-day, to-morrow, or ten years hence, but accident only took its chance with other chances. He was out of Savaric’s grasp, being out of his territory and into that of Toulouse, with intention to wander yet farther afield. Extradition and detectives had their rough-hewn equivalents in Garin’s day. But he was assured that there was no spy upon his track, and he did not brood over the possibility of a summons to Toulouse to deliver him or be warred against. He had his share of common sense. He was an offender too obscure and slight for such weightiness of persecution. Did they find him, they would wring his neck, but they would not dislocate their usual life to find him. He thought that, with common precaution, he was at present safe enough from Montmaure. He could not go back to Raimbaut or to Castel-Noir—perhaps not for many years ... though if he became a famous knight he might ride back, his esquires behind him, and challenge that false knight, Jaufre de Montmaure! To become that knight—that was his problem, or rather, one great problem. He must change his name, he must seek a lord, he must win back, first, to squirehood. On the road yesterday, one had asked him his name. He had replied with the first thing that came into his head. “Garin Rogier,” he had said. He thought now that this would still answer. For his country, he proposed to say that he was of Limousin.
It might take years to become a knight. His own merit would have to do with that, but Fortune, also, would have to do with it. He knew not if Fortune would be kind to him, or the reverse. He sat bent forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes upon the sunshine-gilded stones. Find knighthood—And how should he find his lady?
He took into his hand a corner of his mantle. The stuff was simple, far from costly, but the colour was that blue, deep but not harsh, dark but silvery too, which had been worn by that form in the stone chair beneath the cedar tree, by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt. He had bought it because it was of that hue. Now the sunshine at his feet seemed of the very tissue of that day. He sat in a dream, his mind now a floating mist of colour and fragrance, now an aching vision of a woman’s form whose face he could not see. He drew and coloured the face, now this way and now that, but never to his satisfaction.... Would ever he meet her face to face? He knew not. Where did she live? He knew not. East, west, north, south—beyond the mountains or across the sea? He knew not. It would be in some court. There were many courts. His strong fancy was that she had come from far away. He knew not if in this world he would again enter her presence.
An exaltation came upon Garin. And if he did not, still could he uphold to the stars that dreamy passion! Still could he serve, worship, sing! The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Music seemed to possess him and a loveliness of words, and of rich and lofty images. The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Garin stretched forth his arms. “O Love, my wingèd Lord! Let me never swerve from the love of that lady!”
From the church behind him came a drift of music and chanting. A woman, mounting the steps, caught his words and paused to look at him. She was between youth and age, with a pale, ecstatic face. “Now all the violets bloom,” she said, “and the leaves shiver on the trees as the flowers come up between them! But earthly spring, fair brother, is but a fourth part of Time, and in Eternity a grain, a wind-blown petal! Choose thou Religion and find her the true love!”
She passed into the church. Garin, rising from the steps, looked about him. While he sat there the space around had become peopled. Many folk were entering the doors. As he looked, there turned a corner eight or ten men walking in procession, behind and about them a throng. All mounted the steps, pressing toward the entrance. The most had pale faces of enthusiasm. Of the crowd some were weeping, some uttering exclamations of praise and ecstasy. Garin touched a bystander on the sleeve. “What takes place?”