Beltane the Smith Part 63

CHAPTER XLIX

HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW

It had been an evening of cloud, but now the sky was clear and the moon shone bright and round as they reached that desolate, wind-swept heath that went by the name of Hangstone Waste, a solitary place at all times but more especially wild and awful 'neath the ghostly moon; wherefore Roger went wide-eyed and fearful, and kept fast hold of Beltane's stirrup.

"Ha--master, master!" cried he 'twixt chattering teeth, "did'st not hear it, master?"

"Nay," answered Beltane, checking his horse, "what was it? where away?"

"'Twas a cry, master--beyond the marsh yonder. 'Tis there again!"

"'Twas an owl, Roger."

"'Twas a soul, master, a poor d.a.m.ned soul and desolate! We shall see dire and dreadful sights on Hangstone Waste this night, master--holy Saint Cuthbert! What was yon?"

"Nought but a bat, Roger."

"A bat, lord? Never think so. Here was, belike, a n.o.ble knight or a l.u.s.ty fellow be-devilled into a bat. Good master, let us go no further --if thou hast no thought for thyself, have a little heed for poor Roger."

"Why look ye, good Roger, canst go where thou wilt, but, as for me, I ride for the White Morte-stone."

"Nay then, an thou'rt blasted this night, master, needs must I be blasted with thee--yonder lieth the Morte-stone, across the waste. And now, may Saint Cuthbert and Saint Bede have us in their blessed care, Amen!"

So they began to cross the rolling desolation of the heath and presently espied a great boulder, huge and solitary, gleaming white and ghostly 'neath the moon.

Being come very nigh, Beltane checked his horse and was about to dismount, when Roger, uttering a sudden gasping cry, cowered to his knees, for in the air about them was a sound very sweet to hear--the whisper of lute-strings softly plucked by skilled and cunning fingers, and thereafter a man's voice, rich and melodious, brake forth into tender singing: and the words were these:--

"O moon! O gentle moon, to-night Unveil thy softest, tend'rest light Where feet I love, so small and white, Do bear my love to me!"

"Stand up, Roger, here is nought to harm us, methinks," quoth Beltane softly, "stand up, and hold my bridle."

"But see now, master, there be devil-goblins a many that do pipe like very angels."

"Nathless here's one that I must speak with," said Beltane, slipping to earth and looking about him with wondering eyes, for the voice had seemed to come from the gra.s.s at his feet. And while he yet sought to and fro in frowning perplexity the melodious voice brake forth anew:

"O little feet, more white than snow, If through the th.o.r.n.y brake ye go, My loving heart I'll set below To take the hurt for thee."

Now as the voice sank and the lute-strings quivered to silence, Beltane, coming behind the great rock, beheld a glow, very faint and feeble, that shone through thick-cl.u.s.tering leaves; and, putting aside a whin-bush that grew against the rock, perceived a low and narrow alley or pa.s.sage-way leading downwards into the earth, lighted by a soft, mellow beam that brightened as he advanced and presently showed him a fair-sized chamber cunningly hollowed within the rock and adorned with rich furs and skins. And behold one who reclined upon a couch of skins, a slender, youthful figure with one foot wondrously be-wrapped and swathed, who, beholding Beltane's gleaming mail, sprang up very nimbly and fronted him with naked sword advanced.

"Nay, hast forgot thy friend, Sir Jocelyn?"

Incontinent the sword was tossed aside, and with a joyous cry Sir Jocelyn sprang and caught him in close embrace.

"Now by sweet Venus her downy dove--'tis Beltane!" he cried. "Now welcome and thrice welcome, my lordly smith, thou mighty son of n.o.ble father. Ah, lord Duke, I loved thee that day thou didst outmatch Gefroi the wrestler in the green. Since then much have I learned of thee and thy valiant doings, more especially of Barham Broom--how thou didst slay the vile Sir Gilles 'neath the eyes of Ivo and all his powers and thereby didst s.n.a.t.c.h from shame and cruel death one that is become the very heart of me, so needs must I love and honour and cherish thee so long as I be Jocelyn and thou thy n.o.ble self. Come, sit ye--sit ye here, for fain am I to question thee--"

"But," said Beltane, wrinkling puzzled brow, "how came you hither--and art wounded, Jocelyn?"

"Aye, my lord, to desperation--O direly, Beltane. I do languish night and day, sleep doth bring me no surcease and music, alack, abatement none. Food--base food repelleth me and wine no savour hath. Verily, verily, wounded deep am I."

"Forsooth," said Beltane, "thy foot doth wear bandages a many, but--"

"Bandages?" cried Jocelyn, staring. "Foot? Nay, nay, my torment is not here," and he flourished his beswathed foot in an airy, dancing step.

"Indeed, Beltane, herein do I confess me some small artifice, yet, mark me, to a sweet and worthy end. For my hurt lieth here,--sore smit am I within this heart o' mine."

"Thy heart again, Jocelyn?"

"Again?" said the young knight, wrinkling slender brows.

"Aye, thou did'st sing thy heart's woe to me not so long since--in an hundred and seventy and eight cantos, and I mind thy motto: 'Ardeo'."

"Nay, Beltane, in faith--indeed, these were folly and youthful folly, the tide hath ebbed full oft since then and I, being older, am wiser.

Love hath found me out at last--man's love. List now, I pray thee and mark me, friend. Wounded was I at the ford you wot of beside the mill, and, thereafter, lost within the forest, a woeful wight! Whereon my charger, curst beast, did run off and leave me. So was I in unholy plight, when, whereas I lay sighful and distressed, there dawned upon my sight one beyond all beauty beautiful. Y-clad in ragged garb was she, yet by her loveliness her very rags were glorified. To me, shy as startled doe, came she and, with saintly pity sweet, did tend my hurt, which done, with much ado she did hither bring me. Each day, at morn and eve, came she with cates rare and delicate, and her gentle hands did woo my wound to health, the which indeed so swift grew well that I did feign divers pains betimes lest she should vanish from me quite--so grew my love. At the first loved I her something basely, for the beauty of her body fair, whereat she grieved and sorrowed and fled from my regard, and for an eternity of days came not again until yestere'en.

And, Beltane, though base her birth, though friendless, poor and lonely, yet did my heart know her far 'bove my base self for worthiness. So did I, yestere'en, upon my knightly word, pledge her my troth, so shall she be henceforth my lady of Alain and chatelaine of divers goodly castles, manors, and demesnes. To-night she cometh to me in her rags, and to-night we set forth, she and I, to Mortain, hand in hand--nor shall my lips touch hers, Beltane, until Holy Church hath made us one. How think ye of my doing, friend?"

"I do think thee true and worthy knight, Sir Jocelyn, and moreover--"

But of a sudden, Roger's voice reached them from without, hoa.r.s.e with terror.

"Master--O master, beware! 'Tis the witch, lord--O beware!"

And with the cry, lo! a hurry of feet running swift and light, a rustle of flying garments, and there, flushed and panting, stood the witch-- the witch Mellent that was the lady Winfrida. Now, beholding Beltane, her eyes grew wide with swift and sudden fear--she quailed, and sank to her knees before him; and when Sir Jocelyn, smitten to mute wonder, would have raised her, she brake forth into bitter weeping and crouched away.

"Nay, touch me not my lord, lest thou repent hereafter--for now do I see that happiness is not for me--now must I say such words as shall slay thy love for me, so touch me not."

"Ha, never say so!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "not touch thee? art not mine own beloved Mellent?"

"Nay, I am the lady Winfrida--"

"Thou--Winfrida the rich and proud--in these rags? Thou, Winfrida the Fair?--thy raven hair--"

"O, my hair, my lord? 'twas gold, 'tis black and shall be gold again, but I am that same Winfrida."

"But--but I have seen Winfrida betimes in Mortain ere now."

"Nay, then, didst but look at her, my lord, for thine eyes saw only the n.o.ble Helen's beauty. Alas! that ever I was born, for that I am that Winfrida who, for ambition's sake and wicked pride, did a most vile thing--O my lord Beltane, as thou art strong, be pitiful--as thou art deeply wronged, be greatly merciful."

"How--how--mean you?" said Beltane, slow-speaking and breathing deep.

"Lord--'twas I--O, how may I tell it? My lord Beltane, upon thy wedding night did I, with traitorous hand, infuse a potent drug within the loving-cup, whereby our lady d.u.c.h.ess fell into a swoon nigh unto death.

And--while she lay thus, I took from her the marriage-robe--the gown of blue and silver. Thereafter came I, with my henchman Ulf the Strong and--found thee sleeping in the chapel. So Ulf--at my command--smote thee and--bound thee fast, and, ere the dawn, I brought thee--to Garthlaxton--O my lord!"

"Thou--? It was--thou?"

"I do confess it, my lord Beltane--traitor to thee, and base traitor to her--"

"Why, verily--here was treachery--" quoth Beltane speaking slow and soft, "truly here--methinks--was treachery--and wherefore?"