Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/272

. 31, 1861.] One day it chanced Saladin rode a-field

With shawled and turbaned Emirs, and his hawks,

Barbary-bred, and mewed as princes lodge,

Flew foul, forgot their feather, hung at wrist,

And slighted call. The Soldan, quick of wrath,

Bade slay the cravens, scourge the falconer,

And seek some wight that knew the heart of hawks,

To keep it hot and true. Then spake a Sheikh:

There is a Frank in prison by the sea,

Far-seen therein.” “Give word that he be brought,”

Quoth Saladin, “and bid him set a cast:

If he hath skill, it shall go well for him.”

Thus by the winding path of circumstance

One palace held, as prisoner and prince,

Torello and his guest. Unwitting each,

Nay and unwitting, though they met and spake

Of this goshawk and this—Signors in serge—

And Chapmen crowned, who knows?—till on a time

Some trick of face, the manner of some smile,

A gleam of sunset from the glad days gone

Caught the king’s eye, and held it. “Nazarene!

What nation art thou?” asked he. “Lombard I,

A man of Pavia.” “And thy name?” “Torel,

Messer Torello known in happier times,

Now best unknown.” “Come hither, Christian!”

The Soldan said, and led the way, by court,

And hall, and fountain, to an inner room,

Rich with kings’ robes: therefrom he reached a gown,

And “Know’st thou this?” he asked. “High lord! I might

Elsewhere,” quoth Torel, “here ’twere mad to say

Yon gown my wife unto a trader gave

That shared our board.” “Nay, but that gown is this,

And she the giver, and the trader I,”

Quoth Saladin; “I, thrice a king to-day,

Owing a kingly debt and paying it.”

Then Torel, sore amazed, “Great lord, I blush,

Remembering the Master of the East

Lodged sorrily.” “It’sIts [sic] master’s master thou!”

Gave answer Saladin. “Come now and see

What wares the Cyprus traders keep at home;

Come now and take thy place, Saladin’s Friend.”

Therewith into the circle of his lords,

With gracious mien the Soldan led his slave,

And while the dark eyes glittered, seated him

First of the full divan. “Orient lords,”

So said he,—“let the one who loves his king

Honour this Frank, whose house sheltered your king,

He is my brother:” then the night-black beards

Swept the stone floor in ready reverence,

Agas and Emirs welcoming Torel:

And a great feast was set; the Soldan’s friend

Royally garbed, upon the Soldan’s hand

Shining, the one star of the banquetters.

All which, and the abounding grace and love

Shown him of Saladin, a little held

The heart of Torel from its Lombard home

With Dame Adalieta: but it chanced

He sat beside the king in audience,

And there came one who said: “My lord the king,

That galley of the Genovese which sailed

With Frankish prisoners is gone down at sea.”

Gone down!” cried Torel. “Ay! what recks it, friend,

To fall thy visage for?” quoth Saladin,

A galley less to ship-stuffed Genoa!”

Good, my lord!” Torel said, “It bore a scroll

Inscribed to Pavia, saying that I lived;

For in a year, a month, and day, not come,

I bade them hold me dead—and dead I am,

Albeit living, if my lady wed

Perforce constrained.” “Certes,” spake Saladin,

A noble dame—the like not won, once lost—

How many days remain?” “Two days, my prince,

And twelve-score leagues between my heart and me:

Alas! how to be passed?” Then Saladin:

Lo! I am loath to loose thee—wilt thou swear

To come again if all go well with thee,

Or come ill speeding?” “Yea, I swear, my king,

Out of true love,” quoth Torel, heartfully.

Then Saladin: "Take here my signet-seal;

My admiral will loose his swiftest sail

Upon its sight, and cleave the seas, and go

And clip thy dame, and say the Trader sends

A gift, remindful of her courtesies.”

Passed were the year, and month, and day; and passed

Out of all hearts but one Sir Torel’s name,

Long given for dead by ransomed Pavians.

And Pavia, thoughtless of her Eastern graves,

A lovely widow, all too gay for grief,

Made peals from half a hundred campaniles

To ring a wedding in. The seven bells

Of San Piero from the nones to noon,

Boomed with bronze throats the happy tidings out;

Till the great tenor, overswelled with sound,

Cracked himself dumb. Thereat the sacristan,

Leading his swinkèd ringers down the stairs,

Came blinking into sunlight—all his keys

Jingling their little peal about his belt.

Whom, as he tarried, locking up the porch,

A foreign signor, browned with southern suns,

Turbaned and slippered, as the Moslems use,

Plucked by the cope. “Friend,” quoth he—’twas a tongue

Italian true, but in a Moslem mouth—

Why are your belfries busy—is it peace

Or victory, that so ye din the ears

Of Pavian lieges?” “Truly, no liege thou!”

Grunted the sacristan, “who knowest not

That Dame Adalieta weds to-night

Her fore-betrothed,—Sir Torel’s widow she,

That died i’ the chain?” “To-night!” the stranger said.

Aye, sir, to-night!—why not to-night?—to-night!

And you may see a goodly Christian feast

If so you pass their gates at even-song,

For all are asked.”

No more the questioner,

But folded on his face the Eastern hood,

Lest idle eyes should mark how idle words

Had struck him home. “So quite forgot!—so soon!—

And this the square wherein I gave the joust,

And that the loggia, where I fed the poor;

And yon my palace, where—oh, fair! oh, false!—

They robe her for a bridal. May it be?

Clean out of heart, with twice six changeful moons,

The heart that beat on mine as it would break,

That faltered forty oaths. Forced! forced!—not false—

Yea, I will sit, Wife, at thy wedding feast,

And let mine eyes give my fond faith the lie.”

So in the stream of gallant guests that flowed

Feast-ward at eve, went Torel—passed with them

The outer gates—crossed the great courts with them

A stranger in the walls that called him lord.

Cressets and coloured lamps made the way bright,

And rose-leaves strewed to where, within the doors

The master of the feast, the bridegroom, stood,

A—glitter from his forehead to his foot,

Giving fair welcomes. He, a courtly lord,

Marking the Eastern guest, bespoke him fair,