PAGE 8
The Tenson
by
De Gatinais turned and took up his sword. “Since you will have it,” he rather regretfully said; “yet I reiterate that you play an absurd part. Your wife has deserted you, has fled in abhorrence of you. For three weeks she has been tramping God knows whither or in what company–“
He was here interrupted. “What the Lady Ellinor has done,” Prince Edward crisply said, “was at my request. We were wedded at Burgos; it was most natural that we should desire our reunion to take place at Burgos; and she came to Burgos with an escort which I provided.”
De Gatinais sneered. “So that is the tale you will deliver to the world?”
“When I have slain you,” the Prince said, “yes. Yes, since she is a woman, and woman is the weaker vessel.”
“The reservation is wise. For once I am dead, Messire Edward, there will be none to know that you risk all for a drained goblet, for an orange already squeezed–quite dry, messire.”
“Face of God!” the Prince said.
But de Gatinais flung back both arms in a great gesture, so that he knocked a flask of claret from the table at his rear. “I am candid, my Prince. I would not see any brave gentleman slain in a cause so foolish. And in consequence I kiss and tell. In effect, I was eloquent, I was magnificent–so that in the end her reserve was shattered like the wooden flask yonder at our feet. Is it worth while, think you, that our blood flow like this flagon’s contents?”
“Liar!” Prince Edward said, very softly. “O hideous liar! Already your eyes shift!” He drew near and struck the Frenchman. “Talk and talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you.”
De Gatinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak, the head of it striking one leg of the table.
“A candle!” de Gatinais cried, and he panted now–“a hundred candles to the Virgin of Beaujolais!” He shortened his sword to stab the Prince of England.
And now the eavesdropper understood. She flung open the door and fell upon Prince Edward, embracing him. The sword dug deep into her shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound. Then she rose, all ashen.
“Liar!” she said. “Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you!”
In silence de Gatinais regarded her. There was a long interval before he said, “Ellinor!” and then again, “Ellinor!” like a man bewildered.
“I was eloquent, I was magnificent,” she said, “so that in the end her reserve was shattered! Certainly, messire, it is not your death which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for you–I know not what I desire for you!” the girl wailed.
“You desire that I should endure this present moment,” de Gatinais said; “for as God reigns, I love you, and now am I shamed past death.”
She said: “And I, too, loved you. It is strange to think of that.”
“I was afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid before. But I was afraid of this terrible and fair and righteous man. I saw all hope of you vanish, all hope of Sicily–in effect, I lied as a cornered beast spits out his venom,” de Gatinais said.