Artemis Rising

By Cheri Lasota

Award-winning Historical Fantasy by USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Cheri Lasota. An unforgettable tale weaving myth, history, and romance... 

Rejected by her father and yet determined to be her mother's daughter, Eva takes on the tragic destiny of her namesake: the mythological Arethusa.

Shipwrecked on foreign shores, Eva finds herself torn between the dark and dangerous shipowner's son and the kind-hearted orphan boy who rescues her.

Faced with an impossible choice, Eva must heed the troubling warnings of her goddess-touched visions before her fated destiny destroys them all.

Set against the lush backdrop of 1890s Azores Islands, this Historical Fantasy Romance won First Place in the Chanticleer Cygnus Awards and was a finalist in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards. 

**** 

"Wish I could give it 10 stars. Love it. The story grabs you and puts you in such suspense and over the edge until the end." - Lunanima 

"Left me breathless and spellbound. I wanted to live inside its pages." - Karen Hooper, Author of Tangled Tides

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheri Lasota
• Release date: Jan 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524218676

Book preview

Praise for Artemis Rising

"Artemis Rising left me breathless and spellbound. I wanted to live inside its pages."

—Karen Hooper, Author of Tangled Tides

Compelling, original and lyrically written … unlike anything I’ve ever read before.

—Jessie Harrell, Author of Destined

"Arethusa is a unique hero­ine of uncom­mon strength who will have you root­ing for her all the way. It’s a love story unlike any other, making Artemis Rising even more memorable."

—N. Gemini Sasson, Author of The Crown in the Heather and Isabeau

In mad throes of desperation, we see Arethusa/​Eva/​Isolde lose sight of what she was doing not just a moment before, and O God, we cringe at the thought of her foolishness, her girlishness. We love her for it, but oh how it hurts to watch sometimes!!!

—Brent Lightwood, MindBucks and Media

I love how you weave the storyteller’s spell, on a great ocean journey introducing the threads of legend, mythology, setting…and then one by one, the warp and weft of your characters—archetypes all. There is such power in names.

—Toby Neal, Author of Blood Orchids (The Lei Crime Series)

Artemis Rising

A Novel

By

Cheri Lasota

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Artemis Rising Copyright © 2011 by Cheri Lasota. All rights reserved by Cheri Lasota, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

To book the author for engagements, gain permission for reprints and excerpts, or ask about acquiring ebook cards for Artemis Rising, contact:

Cheri Lasota

www.CheriLasota.com

[e-mail]

Cover image by Fernanda Brussi.

Cover design by Cheri Lasota.

Glyph design by Lance Ganey.

ISBN: 978-0-9838373-5-0

Acknowledgments

To the keeper of all myths and stories: you hold my pen.

Thank you, Mãe and Pai, for being my sounding board on all writing matters since the moment I first began to dream in story.

And my deepest thanks goes to the brilliant members of all my writers groups whose advice and encouragement were my guiding lights on a storm-tossed sea.

Author’s Note

You’ll find a glossary of foreign words in the novel’s back matter. Just click on any of the Portuguese or Latin words underlined in blue and it will take you to the word in the glossary.

If you click on the back button of your e-reader or e-reader app, you’ll go back to the page you were on. Enjoy!

24 August 1893

STRANGE HOW OUR NAMES BECOME OUR FATE. No matter my fate, given a choice, still I would choose that name: Arethusa , nymph of the old world, daughter of the moon. Is the name a curse or a blessing? Perhaps neither. Perhaps my mother has merely destined me for a love of watery things. It is true. The sea is in my blood, slipping quicksilver through my veins. And the Moon Goddess is to be my mistress. No more Eva now. No more a daughter of God.

Eva’s fingers shook as she held the match to the candlewick. The chill night air seeped through her thin shift. Even in deep summer, Massachusetts still clung to the remnants of spring when the sun sank below the foothills. But it was not the wind that gave her shivers.

Calm down, Mãe said, laying her hand over Eva’s to still them. Your Pai will be gone for hours and Artemis will rise soon enough.

Eva held the match closer to the candle. The wind snatched out the flame with a huff. Her hand trembled when she drew another match, and she hated that her mother saw it.

With the changing of her name, she would deny her father’s faith and embrace her mother’s. A simple choice. And a dangerous one. A pagan in a Catholic world had need of secrecy and courage. But for her it was more than a question of faith. This choice would direct her destiny. Her namesake was a nymph devoted to Artemis, Goddess of the Moon. A nymph who was chased by the obsessive river god Alpheus into the depths of the sea and back. Yet in the end, Alpheus found Arethusa and merged his waters with hers until they became one.

She knew that this would be her fate. But it was not the Catholic fate of heaven or hell. It was a kind of immortality. A deathless death. She feared this most of all. When she was joined to Alpheus, would she cease to exist? Would her soul be lost?

For many years, she had known this day was coming. Her mother had taught her the old sabbats and rites and, for Mãe’s sake, had practiced these secret rituals over and over. At first, Eva felt torn—it was so different from Pai’s strict Catholic sacraments of the Eucharist and Confirmation—but over time, Mãe’s beliefs had become her own. Despite her fleeting doubts, she knew she would not hesitate when it came time to give her promise. It was not in her nature to falter. And she dared not falter now.

Mãe laid the matches next to the other items on the makeshift altar, a boulder hidden in a copse behind the farmhouse, and took Eva’s hands in hers. Her mother’s fingers were warm despite the sharp coil of the night wind.

What is it? Mãe’s eyes penetrated hers even in the murky hour before moonrise. When you come before Artemis, you cannot doubt her.

Mãe knows me so well. Eva glanced down at their clasped hands, unable to look at her mother.

You have to stay strong. The Goddess has very few followers left in the world. Certainly none that I know of among the Azoreans, save my mother, and she herself was guided into the old ways by a pagan traveler from Europe.

Eva considered this. What will it feel like when I make my vow?

It will be a sea-change. You think that you understand, that you believe. But when you give your promise, when you change your name, your belief will be just the beginning. You will be transformed. You will see with new eyes.

I will turn to water?

Yes, in a way. I, myself, do not fully understand how the goddess’s powers work.

And this river god… Who is he?

He is both a god and a man. And he will be someone different for you than he was for me.

Were you afraid of him?

At first. Mãe smiled and shook her head. But I grew to love him and I love him still.

What about Pai?—

You hush about Eduardo. He… Mãe didn’t finish, but smoothed her nightgown absently.

Eva peered at her mother. She could only wonder at her mother’s marriage to such a cold, disagreeable man.

I’m not sure I understand—

Take your vow, Eva. Mãe stopped her with a squeeze of the hand. Take your new name. We’ll soon be sailing back to the Azores Islands, and there—where I was born, where you were conceived, where all of this began—your fears will pass into understanding.

This was some comfort. The doubt in Eva’s heart seemed to bend now, allowing her space to breathe and think and let go. And she did breathe, deep and full. Then she struck a new match. The spark kindled a bit of hope in her heart as she lit the candle. Yes, she would take her name, her vow. She would accept and follow.

She felt Mãe’s hand on her shoulder.

Look.

Eva glanced up. Though she hadn’t broken the tree line yet, the Goddess had already fired the tops of the distant maples and pines with the spindly orange flames of her moonlight.

Artemis is rising, Eva whispered.

It’s time, Mãe said. She bowed her head and held up to the light her most prized possession, her moonstone pendant. She never told Eva where it had come from, but she never let it out of her sight. Close your eyes and fix your thoughts on Artemis’s light as it fills the circle, as it fills the moonstone, giving it power.

With her eyes shut tight, Eva’s other senses were heightened. She smelled the warm smoke of the candle flame, touched the grit of the boulder’s rough surface, pictured Artemis’s light descending on their small circle like a cataract. The beam poured into the moonstone, and when Eva felt the Goddess’s pale touch on her face, she wondered how she could ever have doubted. She need only turn toward this palpable light and let go of her fear. She did so, knowing that within this circle she was safe. She was home.

A touch on her arm.

Do you hear that? Mãe whispered.

A rustling in the corn stalks came from the direction of the farmhouse. Eva’s breath came quick.

Pai.

No, her father would be at the shipyard in New Bedford for hours yet, drowning another day in a pitcher of beer.

It’s nothing. Just a vole or a red fox, Eva reassured her.

"No, querida, Mãe said, glancing toward the corn stalks. It’s him."

Mãe, he wouldn’t be— Eva began. Then she heard them. Footsteps. Through the garden. The angry thump-thump of heavy boots resounded in the soil.

The candlelight was dim, but it couldn’t mask the dread passing over her mother’s tense face. Eva prayed for the Goddess to surround her mother with protection. She knew Pai had long held his suspicions, but when he saw the candlelit circle and the ritual objects of incense, rose, water, moonstone, and salt, when he saw them kneeling before the moon in the deep of night, he would know beyond doubt that the rumors were true.

Stay quiet, Mãe whispered. Promise me: no matter what happens, you will not interfere.

Eva shook her head, tried to speak, tried to tell her mother that she would somehow protect her, but her tongue felt like lead. She had nowhere to hide, no way to run. The familiar fear made her mouth go dry and her breath come in hollow bursts, as if her ribcage would fall right through her chest.

Her father burst through the last of the garden’s corn stalks. Eva jumped to her feet. She smelled the workday sweat on his body as he advanced. The rising shadow at his back threw his thick muscles into relief against the corn stalks. The moonlight encased him in silver, but the candlelight exposed the horror in his eyes and the saddle latigo swinging at his side. When his wild gaze swept the circle, a flash of alarm crossed his face. But Eva knew his anger would master him soon. It always did.

A witch. His voice cracked as the word filled his mouth. A pagan. Is that why your father gave you to me? So he wouldn’t have to live with the shame? He shook his head, closed his eyes, and breathed in heavy gasps. When he opened his eyes again, the horror had passed into accusation. And all the rumors around town… I would have loved you, Maria, but you’ve betrayed me— He broke off into a cry of frustration and turned away. It was then that he noticed Eva in the shadows.

You poisoned my daughter with this—he stepped back, jabbed a finger in the air toward the circle—this witchcraft. The priests will excommunicate her. The people will shun her. You would sentence your own flesh and blood to hell?

Mãe said nothing, only stared at him, unblinking. But Eva listened to his words. The words hell and excommunicate hung thick in the smoky air of Artemis’s circle, reminding her again of her buried doubts.

Get up, Pai said to her mother, his voice low like the growl of a dog. When she did not, he touched the latigo at his belt loop. Eva’s breath caught as she eyed the wide leather strap. He cracked it against his leg. I’ll not say it again.

Still, Mãe did not move.

He narrowed his eyes and stamped around the circle, taking care not to step inside the light. I’ll not harbor a witch in my house. And you won’t be making one of my child. You’ll sail with us to Terceira, Maria, just as we planned. Do you hear me? You’ll sail, but you won’t be coming back. Eva will stay with me. She will be a Catholic, Maria. Do you hear?

When his voice rose with the last words, her mother’s eyes flared with fury. Yet when she spoke, every word was slow and deliberate.

Take my daughter from me, and you’ll not live out the year. I swear it by the Goddess. I swear it on my own life.

Her father fumbled for the latigo at his waist and lunged across the circle for Mãe. He pushed her up against the altar, knocking over the bowls of salt and water, sticking the rose’s thorns deep into her elbow. Her mother cried out, as much in pain as in anger. Eva saw the pain, the humiliation crossing her mother’s face. She remembered her mother’s words. You will not interfere.

And if he kills you, Mãe, what then? she wanted to say. No, she would not—could not stand by and watch. Eva stretched out a hand to grasp the latigo as he reached back to strike. The strap pulled tight, jerking Eva off her feet.

Pai leaned back, caught off-guard. He did not seem to see her at first. He and Mãe had always had an unspoken rule that she should not come between them. And she never had. Until now.

When his eyes cleared, she saw the workings of his mind playing out on his face. He saw her now as he saw her mother: evil, pagan, to be feared, to be shunned.

Without a word, he made a fist and struck her across the cheek. She saw a flash of light in a whirl of darkness, and, when next she could see and feel, she was staring up at him from the dirt, ears ringing, his image blurring into two. The fire of pain swept over the left side of her face, and the realization of her father’s violence overtook her in an uncontrollable tremor. She had never known true hatred for him until this moment. The revulsion that rocked her body was mirrored in his eyes.

You are no daughter of mine, he said, spitting out the words like a curse.

Then he turned back to her mother and showed her the meaning of obedience.

7 September 1893

THE HOLLOW TANG-TANG OF THE SHIP’S BELL marked the hour of nine, but nothing could drown out the deafening click of the tumblers as Pai turned the key in the stateroom’s lock. At the sound, Eva saw her mother flinch.

She crossed the cramped length of the stateroom to where Mãe stood by the tiny berth.

He destroys everything, her mother said, her blue eyes flashing with cold fury.

Eva touched her mother’s sleeve and felt a tremor. The arms that had fought him were tender still.

Mãe pulled away. It’s over now. This was your last chance. Without the stone, we cannot finish the moon rite. Out of habit, Mãe reached for the moonstone that she had always kept on a chain around her neck. But Pai had it now.

Eva decided she would steal it back. The moonstone was valuable, and he would not take it out on deck. He would lock it up in his room.

Maybe I can get it back, Eva said.

Her mother wasn’t listening. I will leave him, she said, her voice hoarse with conviction. As soon as we get there. As soon as we drop anchor—

Yes, Eva said. We’re almost there.

She turned away from her mother and stared hard out to sea, determined to focus on the porthole before her, the tiny window that gazed like a lantern eye on a world she could not touch.

After two weeks at sea, the Azores Islands lay in wait. Before dawn, the clipper Sea Nymph would drop anchor in the deep waters that lay aside Angra do Heroísmo, Terceira Island’s finest city. Eva wiped the damp from the porthole’s thick glass. The Sea Nymph sliced smooth chasms through the Atlantic waves, her hull creaking at soothing intervals in the stiff breeze. The storm that had chased them all day still threatened from the west, gaining on the old clipper ship with every nautical mile.

Why couldn’t she be up with the sailors, touching that swift wind with her own hands? She longed for the freedom of the deck, wanting to hear the clear bells of the watches, the sanding scratch of the holystones on the planks, the rhythm of the sea. She’d have more strength of will if she could face this night head-on, without a barrier of glass and wood between her and the Goddess, between her and the sea. In New Bedford, Eva knew only earth and cows and the cloistered world of sheltered ladies: home, church, market, and back again. Here she could taste the sea in her mouth and feel it cradle her from below.

Eva ran a hand over her eyes, anxiety itching through her like a pox. Everything was against them. Without the moonstone, they could not complete the ceremony. If the storm caught the ship, Artemis would be hidden behind clouds and rain. And if Pai came back to find them lighting the candles again he might not stop with a beating.

If the storm blocks out the moon, can we complete the rite? Eva said. She didn’t think Mãe had heard her. When she opened her mouth to repeat the question, her mother’s eyes darted up at last.

No, Mãe said, resignation softening her tone.

Eva caught the low hum of voices out in the Great Cabin.

Diogo Cheia.

And she also heard the voice of his father, Marquês Gonçalo Cheia, owner of the Sea Nymph. She didn’t want to think about Diogo now. Not when everything rested on a clear mind and a clear conscious. He muddled her thoughts, made her want things she was afraid of, things she was not allowed to have. But she wanted to see him again.

It came to her mind that she knew exactly how she might gain the stone back. Pai had the first watch tonight. He’d be out on deck for another three hours unless he had to come back down for his foul weather gear. Artemis would rise soon, without fail. They had successfully smuggled in the ritual objects for the ceremony right under Pai’s nose. Yes, all the elements were in place. All save the stone. And soon she might have that too.

As she calculated, Eva gazed at Mãe. It was hard to look at her mother now. The yellowed bruises on her cheeks and jaw still lingered and her eye was not yet healed. It was a month to the day that Pai had come home early, cutting short the moon rite and accusing them of witchcraft. She still remembered his bulk towering over her as she cowered in the dirt. She felt again his fist across the bone of her cheek. She brought her own fist up to touch it now. She had waited fifteen years for this day, this name, this legacy. No more waiting. No more fear.

Not this time, Pai. This time you can’t stop us.

*

Eva pressed her ear to the keyhole.

But why did he lock them up in there? she heard Diogo Cheia say.

Heat rose in Eva’s cheeks. She peeked at her mother to see if she had heard, but her mother’s gaze was fixed on the porthole, so she turned back to listen.

"First Mate Maré can do what he wants with his own women, Marquês Cheia said. If they need punishing, that’s for him to decide."

But you own this ship—

You aren’t marquês yet, boy, so stay out of things that don’t concern you. And by God if I hear one more word about it, you’ll feel the back of my hand.

She heard a mumbled reply and one set of rapid footfalls up to the portico that straddled the poop and weather decks. Certain that Diogo was now alone in the Great Cabin, she glanced around, hunting for anything breakable. Her eyes lit on the tiny ritual salt bowl—just a bit of pottery, but it would be enough.

Eva threw the bowl as hard as she could. It cracked against the door and jagged pieces clattered to the boards.

Eva!— Her mother’s sharp cry rang out behind her.

Eva held up a hand for silence. The scuff of expensive shoes on wood came to her ears. She caught her mother’s look of surprise and put a finger to her lips.

"Senhora Maré, are you well?" he called to her mother.

"Senhor Cheia, Eva said, please unlock the door. I need your help."

She had expected hesitation since his father had told him to stay out of it, but a moment later she heard the turn of the key that her father had left in the lock.

She whirled around to her mother, whispering, I will ask him to find the master key. I’ll snatch the moonstone from Pai’s stateroom without anyone noticing.

Eva, you must be careful that your father doesn’t find you, Mãe whispered. If he catches you—

He won’t. I promise you.

"Senhorita Maré?" Diogo said through the door.

Eva tidied her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Senhorita Maré. He bowed formally. When he rose to his full height, a foot above her own diminutive size, his smile left her in no doubt that he was pleased to see her. He cut a serious figure in a grey waistcoat and pants and a white linen shirt. They would come into port sometime during the night, so she supposed he had dressed for the disembarking.

Seems you’ve been breaking things again, he added.

She smiled at the memory of the wine glass she had spilled at supper two nights ago when the ship dipped into a trough. Yes, well. She turned away to her mother, so he couldn’t see the embarrassment creep up her neck to her cheeks.

I’ll be back soon, she told Mãe.

Find a new bowl, Eva. We must have another.

When Eva turned back, Diogo was staring at Mãe’s bruised face.

She had forgotten he had never seen her mother before. Pai had kept her hidden from everyone and even stole her aboard at night when the ship was deserted.

Eva beat a path around Diogo, closing the door before he noticed anything else.

He didn’t move. What happened to her face? he whispered.

His blunt question made her pull back. It’s…

Is that why he keeps her locked in there? he said, an incongruous mix of bravado and concern edging his voice. So no one can see what he did to her?

Empathy flooded his gaze, but she was afraid to speak to him of such things, not when he could easily let it slip to his father. She dodged by him into the Great Cabin. No one lingered there. The lanterns were lowered and all lay quiet. Eva stole past the dining table and chairs with barely a whisper of her skirts. The window framed the deepening twilight and gathering storm. The clouds were swallowing the stars one by one, but Artemis had not yet crested the horizon.

Pai took something from my mother, Eva said, glancing over her shoulder as he followed her into the cabin. Something that means a great deal to her. Something she needs right now. And I know it’s in his stateroom.

He came around in front of her as she moved past the dining table. His hands were at his sides but she still would have felt better if she had some distance from him. Eva had seen him every day for two weeks, but they had always been chaperoned by the adults. Diogo had watched her, talked with her when he could, but even this was unusual in her limited experience. She had seen young men back home calling up to their sweethearts on balconies, unable to touch, not even allowed to be in the same room together. If Pai found her with Diogo, her punishment would be severe.

Will you help me? Eva swallowed hard, a knot of rising panic in her throat.

She knew she wouldn’t have to explain further. Diogo was always getting into trouble with his father, always exploring where he didn’t belong. He knew every corner of the ship, including where the keys were kept.

He smirked. You want the master key.

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room in an unhurried pattern, watching her with glinting eyes. And what would you do for me in return, Eva?

She started at this. What?

This is a dangerous errand, and discovery is quite possible.

Eva stared at him, unsure how to react. I know of nothing I can offer you in return, Senhor Cheia, she said with much formality.

It’s Diogo, Eva. He fingered his jeweled rings, suddenly awkward and silent. Then he waved a hand dismissively and stepped back. Wait here. I will find your key.

But Diogo did not leave yet. He took up her fingers, caught her gaze long enough to make her realize his eyes were so brown they were near-black and then bent to kiss her hand. It was what she imagined a marquês would do when he met a titled lady at a ball. For a split-second, she saw herself as that grand lady, admired and desirable. A smile escaped her lips.

If I don’t come back, they will have found me out. And then, querida, I will show you no mercy. He flashed her a brilliant smile and strutted out of the room like a matador at the praça de touros.

She brought her fingers to her lips so that when she blew out her breath, she could be certain it was steady and sure. But it wasn’t. Diogo had seen to that. She shook her head, tried to think. Where to find a replacement for the broken bowl?

Eva moved to the sideboard and opened a drawer to find nothing but linens and the china settings. She opened the next one and found the chess set. Diogo had asked his father to play on that chess set with him in the afternoons. It was easy to see why. Diogo always won. It was the one game at which he could best his father. Eva was surprised the severe marquês would even bother to play. She suspected he persisted only for the enticing prospect of beating his son. He hadn’t yet succeeded, but it didn’t matter. The marquês could beat Diogo in other ways. Eva pursed her lips at the thought. As much as she disliked her father, she did not envy Diogo his.

When her gaze moved beyond the chess pieces, she found what she was looking for: a small wooden salt bowl. But the chess pieces stood sentinel in front, miniature prison guards. There were too many to move, so she reached over them, steadying herself against the sway of the ship. When she grabbed the bowl, she knocked over the white queen. She shoved the little bowl into her dress pocket and then moved to put the piece back in its place. A hand was already there, holding the queen, a ruby ring on the forefinger giving it an amber glow. She knew that ring—Diogo. How long had he been back?

His voice streamed over her shoulder, perilously close. So the virgin queen waited for me after all. And out past two bells, no less. He clucked his tongue.

Please— Taking a shallow breath, she stepped to the side.

He stepped with her, his lips still at her ear. And how will you repay me for my kindness then?

Diogo. She kept her voice even.

"Beija-me," he said.

He leaned closer and his warm lips brushed her cheek. The sudden contact sent shockwaves through her skin. He was much too close. She turned around to face him, touched the velvet of his frock coat, begged him with her eyes.

The key?

Though a curl of annoyance touched his smile, his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. If you wish it, Senhorita, then you shall have it.

Diogo tilted his head, cocked his ear. Then the noise beyond the portal of the Great Cabin caught her attention as well. Voices and footsteps. Diogo pressed his hand to the small of her back and nudged her toward Pai’s stateroom, which lay on the opposite side of the Great Cabin.

Without a word, he fingered for the key in his pocket and unlocked the door. The stateroom was tidy but cramped, with very few places to hide valuables. Diogo lit the lantern in the corner and Eva stepped toward the built-in cabinet below Pai’s berth, trying to push down the feelings of guilt as she glanced at his rumpled blanket and worn shoes neglected at the foot of the bed. She found nothing there, though, and rose to look for another hiding spot. She felt Diogo’s unnerving gaze following her as she snooped. He leaned against the bulkhead, his foot bracing against the motion of the waves below. She avoided his eyes and stepped past him toward the traveling trunk in the corner.

Thankful the trunk was not locked, she rummaged through heavy weather gear and several changes of clothing. At last she found a box at the bottom with a Porto wine label burnt onto its wooden slats. She lifted the lid. A flask, a pocket watch, and a substantial quantity of ten reis coins lay in a haphazard pile inside.

I see you’ve found what you were seeking. Diogo narrowed his eyes. Stealing a bit of coin for dresses and such?

No, she said, glaring at him. She moved the money aside, and there it was. The moonstone glowed a faint blue in the low light. She tried to slip it around her neck but Diogo caught her wrist. The pendant dangled loose in her fist.

What have you there?

It’s my mother’s. An old heirloom.

He wrinkled his nose and let go of her wrist. If it is, then why would he take it from her?

They had a fight. It was the truth, but somehow it felt like a lie.

Diogo’s perplexed frown told her that he only half-believed her. She shut the lid of the box and the trunk and then moved to rise. He held out his hand, a chivalrous