Beltane the Smith Part 1

Beltane The Smith.

by Jeffery Farnol.

CHAPTER I

HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD

In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.

Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.

A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek, having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake not.

Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green had need of.

Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities, and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering, Beltane had said:

"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men called 'Desire of the World.'"

But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:

"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and pa.s.sionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."

"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"

Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night, lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and broken dreams and ideals.

"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the l.u.s.t of life; the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and sighing, fell asleep.

Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right l.u.s.ty knocks; or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the gra.s.s, chin on fist, poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours, illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree, near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal, he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush again:

"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"

"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you a-dabbing colour with a little brus.h.!.+"

Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."

"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight with thee."

"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.

"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil, in the sunset.

"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee, good fellow."

"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?

Doth a man eat only when famis.h.i.+ng, or drink but to quench his thirst?

Out upon thee, messire smith!"

"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight with thee, where would be the reason?"

"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."

"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."

"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my duty--"

"How thy duty?"

"I am so commanded."

"By whom?"

"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black usurper's heel, all the sins of h.e.l.l are loose, murder and riot, l.u.s.t and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried thy mettle."

Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:

"You speak me riddles, sir."

"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous a.s.s, a slave, a nincomp.o.o.p, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit at thee!"

Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.

"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A mighty arm, a n.o.ble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the blade and gave its ma.s.sy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:

"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er behold its equal!"

So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this word:

RESURGAM.

"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now what it doth signify."

And Beltane answered:

"'I shall arise!'"

"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look you, and the motto of a great and n.o.ble house, and, by the Rood, I think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."

Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and so they engaged.

And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile, mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and loud, taunting him on this wise:

"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush, belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a n.o.ble sword, thou daubing boy!"

Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then, with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment, as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat he but laughed again, saying: