Long Will Part 33

"And if once sought, wherefore not again?--Wherefore not again?" he asked with a cunning grin, wagging his head.

His three daughters had drawn close together at one side of the hearth; there was anger, astonishment, and fear in their faces.

Suddenly the old man turned on them roughly:--

"Get ye gone!" he said. "Off!--To bed!--I 've a delicate business with this--ha, ha--this lady."

"'T is shameful!" cried G.o.diyeva. "I 'll not budge,--a common wench, a stroller."

"Oh, father, wilt thou so shame us?" moaned Eleyne.

"'T is but another jest, dear father; say 't is thy sport," Custance pleaded.

But for answer he took up his riding-whip and laid it about their shoulders so smartly that they fled from the hall shrieking and cursing him.

A page thrust his head in at the door, but quickly drew it forth again. An old woman that had been asleep in a corner got up and hobbled out in haste. The dogs put tail between their legs and slunk under the settle. Calote, in the firelight, waited. Her knees shook, yet she was not afraid.

When he had cleared the hall the knight threw away his whip, came back to the fire, took the remainder of his piment at one gulp, and hurled the goblet to the far end of the hall.

"So, my lady; wilt have me on my knees, for the more honour?" said he; and she let him grunt, and crack his old joints, for that she knew he could not readily get up if he were once kneeling.

"Now, hearken!" he bade her. "Wilt dwell here and tame yon proud damsels, and shame 'em? I 'm sick o' daughters; I 'd have a son to lean on in mine age. Come,--I 'll marry thee honest. Thou shalt be the envy of all York. Thou shalt wear silken gowns. Here 's a happy life,--no sleeping under hedge nor in the open. So thou do my pleasure I 'll never harm thee. The one that 's gone had never a harsh word from me till the third daughter came, and that was past any man's patience t' endure. By Holy Cuthbert, I swear thou art lovelier than any court lady ever I saw,--and I 've been in Edward's court,--yea, and in France likewise. Kiss me, wench!--By Saint Thomas, but I will kiss thee whether or no!"

He stumbled and staggered to his feet and came at her with a lurch, for his head was dizzy with wine and pleasure.

"Sir, I will not marry no knight,--nor lord of a manor,--unless he set free all his villeins," she said, and slipped aside. "Neither will I kiss any man for love, till we be promised together."

"Free my villeins, parde," he cried. "Do I not take quit-rent of the half of them even now? They be as good as freed."

"But I will have them altogether freed."

He sat down in the chimney corner and wiped his brow:--

"Pis.h.!.+ Here 's not a matter to be decided without law and lawyers. I must think on 't. Come hither, my lady; give me good-night."

But when he saw that she moved away to the door, he sprang up heavily and caught her about the middle.

"Sir," she panted, "methought 't was thy mood to shame thy daughters; yet this shameth only me."

"True!" he said; "my daughters!"--and let her go. "But I 'll not be so patient another night. We 'll have a priest on the morrow."

"First, free thy villeins!" she made answer, and slipped through the door.

Above stairs she found the three damsels crouched on one bed, their heads together. G.o.diyeva hurled a foul name upon her as she entered.

"Peace!" said she. "Your father hath consented to wait till the morrow morn. Now, if ye are not minded to have a step-dame ruling here, make haste to strip me of these fine clothes, and show me a way to depart softly while 't is yet dark."

"Thou wilt go!" queried G.o.diyeva.

For answer, Calote took off the bright cap from her head and kicked away the crimson shoes. Then distance set to work hastily to undo the gown, and the dagger fell out and rattled to the floor. G.o.diyeva carried it to the light, looked at it, and brought it back, but asked no question.

"Why dost thou wear this bag under thy gown?" said Custance.

"For safety, madame," Calote replied, and thrust her arms into the sleeves of her old russet.

Custance still held the bag, but no one dared ask further.

"I will take her down the other stair to the water-gate and put her in the boat," said G.o.diyeva.

"G.o.d and Saint Mary bless thee!" whispered Eleyne, and would have pressed silver into her hand, but Calote shook her head and smiled.

Custance kissed her.

At the water-gate there floated a little boat, and G.o.diyeva got into this with her and sent it across the moat in three strong shoves of a pole.

"Which way is the shepherd's way, where the flock is?" asked Calote.

"To southward of here," G.o.diyeva answered; and then, "I repent me of that name I called thee."

"Dear lady," said Calote, "I 'll pray Christ Jesus and Mary his mother, that they send thee happiness."

So she went away into the night, beneath the pale s.h.i.+ne of a waning moon, and G.o.diyeva crossed the moat, and climbed the stair.

"'T was a hunting horn she had in her bag," whispered Custance. "I felt the form of it under the flannel. Dost believe she 's that chaste fairy lady, Dian, the poets sing?"

"Nay, she 's a woman, like to us," said G.o.diyeva, and lay down on her bed.

Out on the wolds Diggon and the peddler had built a fire to warm a new-born lamb. The while they sat with their arms about their knees, looking into the fire, they spoke of Christ's Pa.s.sion, and death. Said the peddler, out of the Vision:--

"'One like to the Samaritan and a little like to Piers the Plowman, Barefoot on an a.s.se's back, bootless, came riding, Without spurs or spear, sprightly he looked, As is the manner of a knight that cometh to be dubbed.

"This Jesus, of his n.o.ble birth, will joust in Piers' arms, In his helm and his habergeon--_humana natura_; In Piers Plowman's jacket this p.r.i.c.ker shall ride."'"

"Poor men been greatly honoured, 't is true," said Diggon. "Behoves us do best, that Christ be not shamed to ride in our armour. Natheless, I find it hard to believe as how Sir Austin will clip me and kiss me and call me brother. Sir Austin 's a proud man,--lord o' the manor,--and I a silly shepherd. Christ knoweth us poor,--for that he came to earth a poor man. He put our garb upon him. Till Sir Austin and his ilk do put them in poor men's weeds and ploughman's weeds and shepherd's weeds, how shall they know what 't is I suffer, or that rejoiceth me? Men know that they live. Small blame to Sir Austin, or to the King."

"O Diggon,--my brother! This is a true word," cried the peddler. "Let them don thy russet, and labour with thee, and starve with thee, and they 'll love thee and give thee the kiss of a friend,--even as I do,--O Diggon,--even as I do!" And the peddler cast his arms about the shepherd, and kissed him on each cheek, and they two smiled happily the one upon the other in the firelight.

Then the peddler took up the tale of how Christ Jesus was crucified, and two thieves with him, and after, he began to speak of the harrowing of h.e.l.l, and of Mercy and Peace that kissed each other.

"'And there I saw surely Out of the west coast a wench as me thought, Came walking in the way--to--'"

said he, and when he had said it he felt Diggon's hand on his arm.

"She cometh," whispered Diggon.

And there, on the other side of the fire, stood a maiden.

"I go to Londonward," she said. "I came hither, for that I knew 't would grieve thee if I set forth secretly. Natheless, is no need that thou follow. I am not afeared of the night, nor no other thing."

"Wilt thou not w-wait for the day?" asked the peddler, rising up.