The Ward of King Canute Part 32

"Certainly, if they speak the truth, I know it," she answered wonderingly. "How should Danes--why, Sebert, what ails you?"

For he had let go her shoulders as abruptly as he had seized them, and walked away to the window that looked out upon the rain-washed garden.

After a moment's hesitation, she stole after him. "Sebert, my love, what is it? Trouble is in your mind, there is little use to deny it. Dearwyn says it concerns me, but I know that it is no less than the King. Dear one, it seems strange that you cannot disclose your mind to me as well as to--Fridtjof."

It was the first time, in their brief meetings together, that she had spoken that name, and his smile answered. Even while his lips admitted a trouble, his manner put it aside. "You are right that it concerns the King, my elf. Sometimes the work he a.s.signs me is neither easy nor pleasant to accomplish. Yet without any blame to him, most warlike maiden, for--"

But she would not be prevented from saying stern things of her royal guardian, so at last he let her finish the subject, and stood pressing her hands upon his breast, his eyes resting dreamily on her face.

When she had finished, he said slowly, "Sweeting, because my mind is laboring under so many burdens that my wits are even duller than they are wont, will you not have the patience to answer one question that is not clear to me? Do you think it troublesome to tell me why it was that you said, that day in the garden--Now shake off that look, dearest; never will we speak of it again if it is not to your wis.h.!.+ Tell me what you meant by saying that you came into Canute's camp because you had too much faith in Rothgar, if you despise him--since you despise him so?"

Her eyes met his wonderingly. "By no means could I have said that, lord.

When I left home, I knew not that Rothgar lived. The one in whom I had too much faith was the King. Because I was young and little experienced, I thought him a G.o.d; and when I came to his camp and found him a man, I thought only to escape from him. That was why I wore those clothes, Sebert--not because I liked so wild a life. That is clear to you, is it not?"

He did not appear to hear her last words at all. He was repeating over and over, "The King, the King!" Suddenly he said, "Then I got that right, that it was he who summoned me to Gloucester to make sure that you had kept your secret from me also?--that he was angry with you for deceiving him?"

"Yes," she said. But as he opened his lips to put another question, she laid her finger-tip beseechingly upon them, "Sebert, my love, I beg of you let us talk no more of those days. Sometime, when we have a long time to be together, I will tell you everything that I have had in my breast and you shall show me everything that you have had in yours, but--but let us wait, sweetheart, until our happiness seems more real than our sorrow. Even yet I do not like the thought of the 'sun-browned boy-bred wench.'" She laughed a little unsteadily at the sudden crimsoning of his face. "And I am still ashamed--and ashamed of being ashamed--that I showed you so plainly what my heart held for you...

Elfgiva's tongue has stabbed me sore... Beloved, can you not be content, for now, with knowing that I have loved no man before you and shall love none after you?"

Bending, he kissed her lips with the utmost tenderness. "I am well content," he said. And after that they spoke only of the future, when the first period of his Marshals.h.i.+p should be over and he should be free to take his bride back to the fields and woods of Ivarsdale, and the gray old Tower on the hill.

Chapter x.x.x. When The King Takes a Queen

Moderately wise Should each one be, But never over-wise; For a wise man's heart Is seldom glad If he is all-wise who owns it.

Ha'vama'l.

Out under the garden's spreading fruit trees, the little gentlewomen of Elfgiva's household were amusing themselves with the flock of peac.o.c.ks that were the Abbey's pets. In a s.h.i.+fting dazzling ma.s.s of color--blended blue and green and golden fire--all but one of the brilliant birds were pressing around Candida, who scattered largess from a quaint bronze vase, while the one whose vanity was greater even than its appet.i.te was furnis.h.i.+ng sport for Dearwyn as she strutted after him in merry mimicry, lifting her satin-shod feet mincingly and trailing her rosy robes far behind her on the gra.s.s. The old cellarer, to whose care the birds fell except during those hours when the brethren were free for such indulgences, watched the scene in grinning delight; and Leonorine laughed gaily at them over the armful of tiny bobbing lap-dogs, whose valiant charges she was engaged in restraining. The only person who seemed out of tune with the chiming mirth was the Lady Elfgiva herself.

Among the blooming bushes she was moving listlessly and yet restlessly, and each rose she plucked was speedily pulled to pieces in her nervous fingers. A particularly furious outburst from the dogs, followed by peals of ringing laughter, brought her foot down in a stamp of utter exasperation.

"Will you not observe my feelings, if you have none of your own?" she demanded. "Leonorine, take those wretched dogs out of my hearing.

Dearwyn, lay aside your nonsense and go ask Gurth if he has heard anything yet of Teboen." She stamped again, angrily, as her eye went from one to another of the merry-makers. "I suppose it would gladden all of you to feel safe from her hand, but I will plainly tell you that if harm has happened to her, you will find a lair-bear pleasanter company than I shall be."

The dull red that mottled her face and neck was a danger signal whose warning her attendants had learned to heed, and they scattered precipitately. Only the old cellarer, herding his gorgeous flock with waving arms, ventured to address her.

"Is it the British woman you are enquiring after, lady? The woman who comes to the lane-gate, of a morning, to get new milk for your drinking?"

Elfgiva turned quickly. "Yes,--Teboen my nurse. Have you seen her?" "I saw her between c.o.c.kcrowing and dawn, n.o.ble one, when I let down the bars for the cattle to come in to the milking. The herd-boy who drives them said something to her,--it seemed to me that he named a Danish name and said that person was waiting in the wood to speak with her,--whereat she set down her pitcher and went up the lane. I have not seen her since."

The lady's little white hands beat the air like a frightened child's.

"Three candles have burned out since then; it is certain that evil has befallen her. Never since I was born has she left me for so long. I--"

She paused to gaze eagerly toward a figure that at this moment appeared in the low arch of the door-way. "Tata! do you bring me news of her?"

Though she shook her head, Randalin's manner was full of suppressed excitement as she advanced. "Not of her, lady, yet tidings, great tidings! The King has sent--"

"His Marshal again? I will not see him."

"Nay, the Marshal but accompanies the messenger. In truth, lady, it is my belief that the token has accomplished its mission. The message is brought by Thorkel Jarl, as this has not been done before."

"Earl Thorkel?" Elfgiva cried. "By the Saints, it can be nothing less than the token!" She dropped down upon the rustic seat that stood under the green canopy of the old apple tree and sat there a long time, staring at the gra.s.s, her cheeks paling and flus.h.i.+ng by turns.

Presently, she drew a deep breath of relief. "I was foolish to fret myself over Teboen. Since she is clever enough to bring this to pa.s.s, she is clever enough to take care of herself. Without doubt it was the Danish wizard, and he informed her of some new herb, and she has gone to fetch it."

After a while, an enchanting smile touched her lips. "Surely, a rose garden is a fitting place to receive the amba.s.sadors of a lover,"

she said, and straightened herself on her rustic throne, sweeping her draperies into more graceful folds. "Bring them to me here, ladybird.

Candida, fetch hither the lace veil from my bower, and call the other maids as you go, and all the pages you can find. Since Teboen is not by, I want all of you behind me. I cannot help it that the Tall One always gives me the feeling of a lamb before a wolf."

Even had the likeness never occurred to her before, it would not have been strange if she had thought of it to-day as, followed by the Marshal and preceded by their fair usher, the old warrior came across the gra.s.s to the little court under the apple tree. The keenness of the hooded eyes that looked out at her from his grizzled locks, the gleam of the white teeth between his bearded lips as he greeted her, was unmistakably wolfish. She relapsed into a kind of lamb-like tremor as she invited them to be seated and commanded the attendance of her cup-bearer. When she caught sight of the misery of discomfort in Sebert's frank face, she lost her voice entirely and waited in utter silence while they drank their wine.

Yet Thorkel's manner was unwontedly genial when at last he broached his errand. "You lack the eagerness that is to be expected, lady," he said as he gave his mouth a last polish with the delicate napkin. "How comes it that you have not guessed I bring you a message from the King?"

She answered doubtfully that the King had not behaved to her so that his messages were apt to be antic.i.p.ated with much pleasure.

"But it has never occurred that I brought you this kind of news before,"

he tempted her. "Will it not interest you to hear that at last the Palace is ready for a Queen?"

That startled her a little out of her wariness, crying the last two words after him with an eagerness of inflection that was as pathetic as though her heart were concerned.

His lips gave out a flash as he nodded. "A Queen. Canute is going to give the Angles a 'gift of the elves.'"

For an instant, she was betrayed into believing him, and bent forward, her flus.h.i.+ng face transfigured with delight. She was starting to speak when the Etheling rose abruptly from his seat.

"Lord Thorkel," he said angrily, "this cat-play would bring you little thanks from your King, nor will I longer endure it. I pray you to explain without delay that the name of 'Elfgiva' is borne also by Emma of Normandy."

Then the old man snarled as a wolf does whose bone has been seized.

"Lord of Ivarsdale, you act in the thoughtless way of youth. I was bringing the matter gently--"

But the young man accomplished his purpose in spite of the elder. He did not address the King's wife--indeed, he refrained even from looking at her--but he spoke swiftly to the dark-haired girl who stood beside the seat. "Randalin, I beg you to tell your lady that Elfgiva Emma, who is Ethelred's widow and the Lady of Normandy, arrives at Dover to-morrow to be made Queen of the English."

As all expected, the Lady of Northampton started up shrieking defiance, screaming that it should not be so, that the King was her husband and the soldiers would support her if the monks would not, that he was hers, hers,-and more to that effect, until the plunging words ran into each other and tears and laughter blotted out the last semblance of speech.

That she would end by swooning or attacking them with her hands those who knew her best felt sure, and maids and pages crept out of her reach as hunters stand off from a wounded boar. But at the point where her voice gave out and she whirled to do one or perhaps both of these, her eyes fell on the house-door, and her expression changed from rage to amazement and from amazement to horror. Catching Randalin's arm in fear, not anger, she began to gasp over and over the name of Teboen the nurse.

Those whose glance had not followed hers, thought her mad and shrank farther; but the eyes of those who saw what she did reflected her look.

In the doorway the British woman was standing, wagging her head in time to a silly quavering song that she was singing with lips so distorted as to be almost unrecognizable. Her once florid face was ashen gray, and now as she quitted the door post and came toward them she reeled in her walk, stumbling over stones and groping blindly with her huge bony hands. But still she kept on singing, with twisted lips that strove to simper, and once she tried to sway her ungainly body into an uncouth dancing-step that brought her floundering to her knees.

"A devil has possession of her," Elfgiva shrieked. "Take her out of my sight, or I shall go mad! Take her away--take her away!" Shrieking in wildest terror she fled before her, and for a moment the garden seemed given over to a grotesque game of blind-man's buff as women and boys scattered with renewed screaming at each approach of the ghastly face.

It did not stop until the two soldiers who had been made keepers of the wretched creature came running out of the house and led her away.

Then it was Thorkel's sardonic voice that brought the Lady of Northampton back to herself. "Now, is this how you take the sight of your own handiwork? Or is it because you regret that the King is not in this plight? One mouthful and no more has she had of the blood of the coiled snake."

Stopping where she was, Elfgiva gazed at him, and with a dawning comprehension came back her interrupted fury. "The coiled snake," she repeated slowly; and after that, in a rush of words, "Then it was you who enticed her away and mistreated her? But what does it concern _you_ that I sent a snake? Where saw you it? How knew you it had blood?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned upon the Marshal, her lids contracted into narrow slits behind which her eyes raged like prisoned animals. "It is you who are to blame for this! You who miscarried my message. You have betrayed me, and I tell you--" Hysterical tears broke her voice, but she pieced it together with her temper and went on telling him all the bitter things she could think of, while he stood before her in the grim silence of one who has long foreseen the disagreeable aspects of his undertaking and made up his mind to endurance.

When she stopped for breath, he said steadily, "I declare with truth that you cannot dislike what I have done much more than I, Lady of Northampton. I hope it will be an excuse with you, as it is a comfort to me, that instead of fetching you into trouble--"

Thorkel took the words from his lips, and no longer with sinister deliberation but with a ferocity that showed itself in the gathering swiftness of his speech. "Trouble--yes! By the Hammer of Thor, I think you deserve to have trouble! Had any of your witches' brew done harm to the King, I can tell you that you would not have lived much longer.

What! Are the plans of men to be upset by your baby face, and a king-dom lost because a little fool chooses to play with poison as a child with fire?"