A Wanted Man Linda Lael Miller download
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, Garin touched his lute. As he did so he came near to the count.
He stood and sang the song of Garin of the Golden Island. “Ah, ah!”
said the Count of Beauvoisin. “The Saints fed you with honey in your
cradle!” A coin gleamed between his outstretched fingers. Garin
came very near to receive it. “Lord,” he whispered as he bent, “much
hangs upon my speaking to you alone.”
A jongleur upon an embassy was never an unheard-of
phenomenon. The Count moved so as to let the light fall upon this
present jongleur’s face. The eyes of the two men met, the one in an
enquiring, the other in a beseeching and compelling gaze. The count
leaned back in his chair, the jongleur, when he had bowed low,
moved to his original station. “He sings well indeed!” said the Count.
“Give him place among his fellows, and when there is listening-space
I will hear him again.”
Ere long he rose and was attended from the hall. The knights,
too, left the place, each bent upon his own concerns. Only the
troubadour Robert de Mercœur remained, and he came and, seating
himself on the same bench with Garin, asked if he would be taught a
just-composed alba or morning song, and upon the other’s word of
assent forthwith repeated the first stanza. Garin said it over after
him. “Ha, jongleur!” quoth Robert, “you are worthy to be a
troubadour! Not all can give values value! The second goes thus—”
But before the alba was wholly learned came a page, summoning
the jongleur. Garin, following the boy, came into the count’s
chamber. Here was that lord, none with him but a chamberlain
whom he sent away. “Now, jongleur,” said the count, “what errand
and by whom despatched?”
Garin drew the letter from his tunic and gave it, his hand into the
other’s hand. The count looked at the writing. “What is here?” he
said. “Does the Abbess Madeleine choose a jongleur for a
messenger?” He broke the seal, read the first few lines, glanced at
the body of the letter, then with a startled look, followed by a knit
brow, laid it upon the table beside him but kept his hand over it. He
stood in a brown study. Garin, watching him, divined that mind and
heart and memory were busied elsewhere than in just this house in
, Angoulême. At last he moved, turned his head and spoke to the
page. “Ammonet!” Ammonet came from the door. “Take this jongleur
to some chamber where he may rest. Have food and wine sent to
him there.” He spoke to Garin, “Go! but I shall send for you here
again!”
The day descended to evening, the evening to night. Darkness
had prevailed for a length of time when Ammonet returned to the
small, bare room where Garin rested, stretched upon a bench.
“Come, jongleur!” said the page. “My lord is ready for bed and
would, methinks, be sung to sleep.”
Rising, he followed, and came again to the Count’s chamber,
where now was firelight and candle-light, and the Count of
Beauvoisin in a furred robe, pacing the room from side to side. “Wait
without,” he said to Ammonet, and the two men were alone
together. The count paced the floor, Garin stood by the hooded
fireplace. He had seen in the afternoon that he and this lord might
understand each other.
The count spoke. “No marvel that we liked your singing! What if
there had been in hall knight and crusader who had heard you
beyond the sea?”
“Chance, risk, and brambles grow in every land.”
“Garin of the Golden Island.—I know not who, in Angoulême,
may know that you fight with Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard, who
knows somewhat of all troubadours, knows it.”
“I do not mean to cry it aloud.—Few in this country know my
face, and my name stays hidden.—May we speak, my lord count, of
another presence in Angoulême?”
The other ceased his pacing, flung himself down on a seat before
the fire, and leaned forward with clasped hands and bent head. He
sat thus for an appreciable time, then with a deep breath
straightened himself. “When she was the Lady Madeleine the Abbess
Madeleine ruled a great realm in my life. God knoweth, in much she
is still my helm!... Sit you down and let us talk.”
https://ebookmeta.com/product/a-wanted-man-linda-lael-miller/
Download full version ebook from https://ebookmeta.com
,Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
, Garin touched his lute. As he did so he came near to the count.
He stood and sang the song of Garin of the Golden Island. “Ah, ah!”
said the Count of Beauvoisin. “The Saints fed you with honey in your
cradle!” A coin gleamed between his outstretched fingers. Garin
came very near to receive it. “Lord,” he whispered as he bent, “much
hangs upon my speaking to you alone.”
A jongleur upon an embassy was never an unheard-of
phenomenon. The Count moved so as to let the light fall upon this
present jongleur’s face. The eyes of the two men met, the one in an
enquiring, the other in a beseeching and compelling gaze. The count
leaned back in his chair, the jongleur, when he had bowed low,
moved to his original station. “He sings well indeed!” said the Count.
“Give him place among his fellows, and when there is listening-space
I will hear him again.”
Ere long he rose and was attended from the hall. The knights,
too, left the place, each bent upon his own concerns. Only the
troubadour Robert de Mercœur remained, and he came and, seating
himself on the same bench with Garin, asked if he would be taught a
just-composed alba or morning song, and upon the other’s word of
assent forthwith repeated the first stanza. Garin said it over after
him. “Ha, jongleur!” quoth Robert, “you are worthy to be a
troubadour! Not all can give values value! The second goes thus—”
But before the alba was wholly learned came a page, summoning
the jongleur. Garin, following the boy, came into the count’s
chamber. Here was that lord, none with him but a chamberlain
whom he sent away. “Now, jongleur,” said the count, “what errand
and by whom despatched?”
Garin drew the letter from his tunic and gave it, his hand into the
other’s hand. The count looked at the writing. “What is here?” he
said. “Does the Abbess Madeleine choose a jongleur for a
messenger?” He broke the seal, read the first few lines, glanced at
the body of the letter, then with a startled look, followed by a knit
brow, laid it upon the table beside him but kept his hand over it. He
stood in a brown study. Garin, watching him, divined that mind and
heart and memory were busied elsewhere than in just this house in
, Angoulême. At last he moved, turned his head and spoke to the
page. “Ammonet!” Ammonet came from the door. “Take this jongleur
to some chamber where he may rest. Have food and wine sent to
him there.” He spoke to Garin, “Go! but I shall send for you here
again!”
The day descended to evening, the evening to night. Darkness
had prevailed for a length of time when Ammonet returned to the
small, bare room where Garin rested, stretched upon a bench.
“Come, jongleur!” said the page. “My lord is ready for bed and
would, methinks, be sung to sleep.”
Rising, he followed, and came again to the Count’s chamber,
where now was firelight and candle-light, and the Count of
Beauvoisin in a furred robe, pacing the room from side to side. “Wait
without,” he said to Ammonet, and the two men were alone
together. The count paced the floor, Garin stood by the hooded
fireplace. He had seen in the afternoon that he and this lord might
understand each other.
The count spoke. “No marvel that we liked your singing! What if
there had been in hall knight and crusader who had heard you
beyond the sea?”
“Chance, risk, and brambles grow in every land.”
“Garin of the Golden Island.—I know not who, in Angoulême,
may know that you fight with Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard, who
knows somewhat of all troubadours, knows it.”
“I do not mean to cry it aloud.—Few in this country know my
face, and my name stays hidden.—May we speak, my lord count, of
another presence in Angoulême?”
The other ceased his pacing, flung himself down on a seat before
the fire, and leaned forward with clasped hands and bent head. He
sat thus for an appreciable time, then with a deep breath
straightened himself. “When she was the Lady Madeleine the Abbess
Madeleine ruled a great realm in my life. God knoweth, in much she
is still my helm!... Sit you down and let us talk.”
