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The Token
by Samuel Shellabarger
Chapter 1
The Silver Girdle
Gervais, the abbot, waited on Lord Stephen, who was called the Wolf, in his castle of Sarzeau. This Stephen was a man of good family, for he was son of Stephen Broadaxe, the son of Eric, an earl from the North who had come down with long ships by the coast, and won lands for himself. Stephen was of great courage and of a strength more than human, so that men wondered at it. He was short of speech, but just in his dealings. He had a red beard and eyes like a wolf’s.
Abbot Gervais had come on the part of Count Raoul of Roche-Bernard to learn if marriage could be brought about between the count and Lady Blanche, Stephen’s daughter, for it was known that the wide manor of Seaubois would follow her in dowry. The abbot spoke fully on this matter, showing that good would come both to Sarzeau and Roche-Bernard from the bargain.
The two sat alone, and my Lord Stephen answered little, only hacking at the table before him with his knife. When the abbot ended, he said they must ask counsel of his son in this affair, and sent forth to fetch in Lady Blanche’s eldest brother, John of Sarzeau. He was an upstanding, silent man like his father, good both in war and peace. When the offer of Count Raoul was made known to him, he answered after a time that he thought well of it, as there was much to gain from the friendship of Count Raoul and his kin.
Then Lord Stephen put the knife back in its sheath and said: “Holy father, I am of equal mind with my son, yet loath I am to grant your asking. God has favored me in life. I have added to the lands of my father and grandsire; I have had strength of body; three sons are mine, who will increase our holdings after me. But this is not all. My good wife, dying, left in her stead this daughter, who is dear to me. She is wise and bold, rides well, and has fair hair, befitting our blood, and gray eyes that please me. Twenty years have I loved her, and when she is gone little will there be to cherish in Sarzeau.” Lord Stephen walked up and down, and twisted his beard between his fingers. “But I love her, and this is woman’s talk. Let her live free of me. Say then to Count Raoul that he come hither, and if he find favor with her, it shall be according to his wish.”
When Abbot Gervais carried back these tidings to Roche-Bernard, it was said that Count Raoul laughed because so weighty a matter should hang upon the liking of a girl.
Count Raoul was a tall and handsome man with hair that curled on his shoulders. He had a ready tongue and courtly manners with women. He was much loved by them, but men cared less for him. He was brave and skilled in arms, yet he praised himself overmuch.
He now made rich provision in dress and equipment for his wooing at Sarzeau — more than his purse warranted: the best of horses, ermine and velvet, gold chains and new armor. Thus he set forward in Maytime with his men. A goodlier company could not be found in the land. And Lord Stephen, on his part, when he heard of their coming, rode out to meet them with his sons.
When they reached the castle, and Stephen Wolf had drunk their welcome, Lady Blanche was brought into the hall. A very lily she seemed by reason of her grace, and Count Raoul spoke many fair words to her. There was feasting that night at Sarzeau and those of Roche-Bernard drank deep, but the sons of Stephen held back from the cup. Then Count Raoul chid them for their carefulness, and John, Stephen’s son, answered that there was a saying in the North that where wine entered, wit went forth. Count Raoul was angry at this and spoke in heat, but the men of Sarzeau held their peace.
Next day they rode out hunting, and Count Raoul was at the side of Lady Blanche. After a while, when the dogs gave tongue, he drew her aside from the rest into the forest, for he said to her that he hunted a lordlier quarry than the stag. Then, riding, my Lord spoke to her of love, as he so well could, saying among the rest: “Until yesterday, I laughed at love. I sought your father’s daughter and kinship with him. But now the sweet pain I bear teaches me undreamed of things — that your beauty, Lady, is more than name, a glance of your eyes worthier than all pride. Give me grace, then, that my life to the end may be full of your charity.”
Lady Blanche said little to all this, for she was unskilled in words of the kind, but her eyes were glad. At last she answered softly: “Oh, dear my Lord, for all my love can be or do, it is yours indeed, and I will love you until I die.”
Count Raoul hung his gold chain about her neck for a token and kissed her lips. After a time, they rode back to the castle.
But when Lord Stephen saw the token and the face of his daughter, he strode forth alone in silence from the hall, and men said he had grown old overnight. As for Count Raoul, he laughed with his men at the ease of his wooing.
So Lady Blanche was married at Sarzeau, and Stephen Wolf bade guests from far and near; nor was there lack of meat and drink, or gifts for all who came, whether rich or poor. And gleemen were hired for dance and mirth. Seven days there was festival at the castle. Then Count Raoul made ready to ride back with his bride to Roche-Bernard, and Lord Stephen gave them rich gifts, one and all; but of his daughter he asked word apart.
When he had led her to his own chamber, Lady Blanche threw her arms about the neck of her father and wept long. Stephen drew her close to him and bowed his face. At last he said:
“Do not weep, daughter. Do not weep. We of Eric’s race never turn back from what must be, but meet it with steady eyes; and, having spoken, shrink not from the bargain.”
She answered: “There is no thought of this, my father, but I weep at missing the sight of you and your strong love.”
“That last,” said Stephen, “you shall have always, here or elsewhere, if God wills. But there are some things I must say to you, and there is a gift to be given.”
Then he went to his chest and drew forth a girdle of silver, cunningly wrought with figures of men and beasts. He placed it in her hands, and it was heavy to hold.
“Daughter,” he said, “this is a token between you and me. I have watched Count Raoul of Roche-Bernard with these eyes which have seen many men, and I like him not — no, nor your brothers with me. Except for my word to his messenger, this wedlock should not have been.”
Lady Blanche answered: “Father, I am now Blanche of Roche-Bernard. I will not hear these words.”
“Well spoken,” said Stephen. “Cleave to your oath and your lord. But hearken. He has told you of love — this love of Maytime and kisses — that it endures. I tell you, no. It is wine soon poured. “What then remains? In one case, nothing; in another, true deeds befitting comrades; in another, steadfastness and pride. These things are true. Now, touching that girdle in your hands. It was given long since to Eric the Viking by a Northern woman when they parted. And she laid a charm upon it that remains. “Who clasps it on shall taste lonely sorrow and the pain of toil, but shall have strength to endure and the right of lordship. Take it then, but think well of the curse and the blessing if the time should come to wear it.”
Lord Stephen raised his daughter up in his arms and kissed her, but he would not stay for longer speech. So they went back to the others. Yet, when they asked of my Lady what had been given her, she would not answer.
Count Raoul and Lady Blanche rode forth from Sarzeau with their following, and her brothers bore them company for a time; but Stephen Wolf remained alone in the hall of the castle.
At Roche-Bernard the folk made ready a worthy welcome at the return of their master and mistress. Bonfires they made, and bells were tolled through the villages. Also, at night, there was drinking and dance in the outer court, while my Lord and his Lady looked on. But Count Raoul, being flushed with wine, seized in his arms a dark-haired girl, lithe and shapely, who was forward among the rest, and danced with her. Lady Blanche asked her name, and they said it was Nicollette, daughter of Antoine the miller. The castle of Roche-Bernard is but a grim place, lying apart from the road to Vannes, so there are few who come there, either fine company or those with new tidings. And for this reason Count Raoul was often away, guesting with friends or kindred, for he was bent on pleasure. Thus, Lady Blanche was overmuch alone for a bride, and the women who had followed her from Sarzeau talked among themselves, though she said nothing. Also, the rich broad lands that should have yielded full measure gave only a tithe, and there was want and idleness among the people. At this she wondered, since on the lands of her father men toiled from dawn to night, and the thriftless were whipped as a warning. Yet when she spoke of this to my Lord, he laughed and bade her look to her needle.
The year passed from summer to winter, and my Lady saw ever less of Count Raoul, but her great joy was in his return to the castle. Men said that she would watch hour-long from the tower, and hurry forth to meet him in the court. (At night also, she would hold his mantle on her knees when she was alone by the fire. But Jehanne, bowermaid, told others that once she had asked my Lady why she did not wear that goodly girdle of silver which was in her chest, and she began to weep, bidding the girl hide it away so that she might not see it.)
No fox can run too long but there is wind of him; and so it was with the doings of Count Raoul at Vannes and other places that the people in Roche-Bernard knew of them, and the girls in the spinning room tossed their heads and laughed. But they learned better, for on a time there came in to them Lady Blanche.
“I have heard there is chatter among you,” she said, “touching the honor of your lord and mine, a gentleman — shameful words. Look to it, then, and keep your foolish tongues quiet between the teeth, or there will be the whip for each of you and bitter fare.”
Scant red was in their cheeks when she left them. But that evening she stayed alone, and not even her woman could come in to her.
So also, by reason of Count Raoul’s absence, gossip spread abroad the report that a gracious lady was much alone at Roche-Bernard.
But one day there came as guest my Lord’s cousin, a young man, Sir Christopher Saint-Pré, whom she received well as of kin. This one, when he had marked her kindness to him, grew bolder. At last he overreached himself, when they were in the hall. Then Lady Blanche rose from her chair, tall and white.
“Beau sire,” she said, “is there rust, do you think, upon the swords of Stephen Wolf and his sons? Answer me.”
He said, “No,” wondering.
“And is there rust upon their honor?”
“No,” he said.
“Whose daughter think you I am, and of what race?”
He answered: “The daughter of Stephen, of the Barons of Sarzeau.”
“You are a foolish man, beau sire, who can answer thus and know nothing more concerning me.”
After this, she left the hall.
Next day, Count Raoul entered Roche-Bernard, and his cousin, who was a weak, sly man, complained of my Lady’s harsh bearing to him, so that my Lord chid her for one who was ignorant of courtly manner. “Love words,” said he, “are empty as the wind, meaning nothing.” Then Lady Blanche could no longer shut from her mind the words of her father at their parting. Thereafter, it was said, she wept much in her loneliness, but she still watched for the coming of Count Raoul from his journeys and went to meet him gladly.
At last cruel winter, hateful to man and beast, was at end, and May returned to the land. There came also the day when a year had passed since the betrothal of Lady Blanche, and it chanced also that on this day Lord Raoul was in Roche-Bernard, but rode forth early into the nearby forest.
So, when he was gone, my Lady smiled, as with pleasant thoughts, and put on the gown she had worn at the hunting in Sarzeau. Around her neck was also the golden token he had given her, and she had her horse brought out into the court. She asked the gatesman which way my Lord had gone, and when he had told her, rode singing along that path. Thus she went through the forest, gay at heart with hope of their meeting.
A half league on, there was a woodsman at work near the path.
“Have you seen my Lord of Roche-Bernard?” she asked.
“Yes,” answered the fellow, “for he rode by to his hunting lodge in the dell.”
My Lady was all the happier at this, because it was a sweet, green place, deep in the woods. When she came near it, she leaped down from her horse and tethered him, stealing forward as a girl will to come unawares upon her sweetheart. So at last she drew to the clearing and looked between the trees down at the lodge. There she saw Count Raoul indeed, and he held Nicollette, the miller’s daughter, in his arms.
Those who knew my Lady in afteryears, when she rode with her men among the fields at sowing time and harvest, or when, seated in the hall, she passed judgment upon serf and freeman, will scarce believe that she once had the face of a girl, with tender eyes. For later she was firm in government, and there were none more able to hold their own; proud she was, and carried her head high. The line of her mouth was hard, and it was said she was most like Stephen the Wolf of Sarzeau.
Now, after she had stared down for a space at Count Raoul and that other by the lodge, she turned and walked blindly to her horse, and pressed her face against the saddle. Then she mounted and rode back along the path. The woodsman was still working with his ax. His name was François.
“Fellow,” she said, reining up, “you told me truly that Count Raoul was in the dell, and here is pay for the tidings.”
Whereat, she drew off the gold chain from her neck, that was her lovetoken, and tossed it to him. He clutched it in his hands and gazed after her.
In the court of the castle, she bade them bring out fresh horses for herself and her servants: “For I am minded to ride shortly for Sarzeau.” Men wondered at her face, and Jehanne, bowermaid, knocked in vain at the door of her room.
Lady Blanche, when she was alone, walked back and forth; and at times she looked out over the fields of Roche-Bernard. But at last she went forward to her bridal chest and drew out the silver girdle of Eric. She raised it to her lips, kissing it, and with tears. Then carefully, paying heed to the clasps, she drew it on, heavy about her waist, and called in her woman.
“I shall not use today the horses for Sarzeau, but will send a message to my father.”
And this is the letter she wrote to Lord Stephen:
That time has come, my father, for the wearing of the girdle which was a token between you and me. At first I yearned for you and my brothers, to seek comfort in your arms. But it is borne in on me that those of our blood flinch not from their chosen path, be it good or ill. I have chosen and will bide the end with courage. Also the thought comes that we of good blood are bound as serfs to our place, in grief and joy. I will remember my vow to Raoul of Roche-Bernard, and will keep it with God’s help, as befits a wife. I will strive for good to him and his folk. You also I will remember, and the pride of our honor.
From that day forward, Lady Blanche wore always the girdle of silver — and no other ornament, whether jewel or gold.
