I
“’Tis not so,” quoth she, “and you know it”; and with that she fetched me a buffet on the ear.
Now, when the other pages saw me bested like that by a damsel, even though she were my Lady, they roared and girded at me so loud that I liked to have choked with rage.
I ran forward a step; but she cried out,—
“An you touch me I’ll have you whipped, sir”; and, truth, she would, which well I knew, for I’d felt ere this old Raoul’s whip curling about my shoulders, all on her charges too. But that was some years since. ’Twas this wise that the present pother came about.
Of a joyous afternoon in May, my Lady Eleonore took it into her head to go into the court to see her hawk. For these many months I’d been training of it for her, and in all the mews there was not another flew so true, aimed so swift, and brought back her quarry so little torn.
My Lady knew right well that the hawk was for her, but she knew not that I thought to give it her on her fête day, which fell on the morrow. The bird was in fine feather, not a pinion ruffed, her russet colour showing redly in the sun,—it was a Barberry bird,—and a new hood of fine leather on her head. On her feet, fastened by bewits of deer’s hide, hung two Milan bells of gold,—the one, as is ever the way with choicest bells, a semi-tone below the other. These bells I had begged from Comte Gaston, who gave willingly enough when he knew that they were to pleasure my Lady.
Now ’twas not my purpose that she should see the bird till next day, but womenfolk ever contrive to mix matters up. I thought but to stay her, to keep her jesting for a while; but her anger rose and was greater than I knew.
She was down in the broad hall on her way to the mews, and I following behind, before my wits, which work ever a thought slow, had conjured up something to say.