CHAPTER VIII
THE SALLY AT DAWN
On the morning after his strange wedding Prosper rose up early, quitehimself. He left Isoult asleep in the bed, but could see neither oldman, old woman, nor friar; so far as he could tell, he and his wifewere alone in the cottage. Now he must think what to do. He admittedfreely enough to himself that he had not been in a condition for thisovernight; the girl's mood had exalted him; he had acted, and rightlyacted (he was clear about this); now he must think what to do. Thefirst duty was plain: he went out into the air and bathed in a pool; hetook a quick run and set his blood galloping; then he groomed and fedhis horse; put on his armour, and said his prayers. In the course ofthis last exercise he again remembered his wife, on whose account hehad determined to make up his mind. He rose from his knees at once andwalked about the heath, thinking it out.
"It is clear enough," he said to himself, "that neither my wife nor Idesired marriage. We are not of the same condition; we have not--Ispeak for myself and by implication for her also--we have not thosedesires which draw men and women towards each other. Love, no doubt, isa strange and terrible thing: it may lead a man to the writing ofverses and a most fatiguing search for words, but it will not allow himto be happy in anything except its own satisfaction; and in that itseems absurd to be happy. Marriage is in the same plight: it may be agood or a bad thing; without love it is a ridiculous thing.Nevertheless my wife and I are of agreement in this, that we thinkmarriage better than being hanged. I do not understand thealternatives, but I accept them, and am married. My wife will not behanged. For the rest, I shall take her to Gracedieu. The devout ladiesthere will no doubt make a nun of her; she will be out of harm's way,and all will be well."
He said another prayer, and rose up much comforted. And then as he gotup Isoult came out of the cottage.
She ran towards him quickly, knelt down before he could prevent her,took his hand and kissed it. She was very shy of him, and when heraised her up and kissed her forehead, suffered the caress with loweredeyes and a face all rosy. Prosper found her very different from thetattered bride of over-night. She had changed her rags for a cottongown of dark blue, her clouds of hair were now drawn back over her earsinto a knot and covered with a silk hood of Indian work. On her feet,then bare, he now saw sandals, round her waist a leather belt with athin dagger attached to it in a silver sheath. She looked very timidly,even humbly up at him whenever he spoke to her--with the longfaithfulness of a dog shining in her big eyes: but she looked like agirl who was to be respected, and even Prosper could not but perceivewhat a dark beauty she was. Pale she was, no doubt, except when sheblushed; but this she did as freely as hill-side clouds in March.
"Where is your wedding-ring, my child?" he asked her, when he hadnoticed that it was not where he had put it.
"Lord, it is here," said she, blushing again. She drew from her neck afine gold chain whereon were the ring and another trinket which beamedlike glass.
"Is that where you would have it, Isoult?"
"Yes, lord," she answered. "For this present it must be there."
"As you will," said Prosper. "Let us break our fast and make ready, forwe must be on our journey before we see the sun." Isoult went into thecottage as Brother Bonaccord came out with good-morning all over hispuckered face.
Isoult brought bread and goats'-milk cheese, and they broke their fastsitting on the threshold, while the sun slowly rose behind the houseand lit up the ground before them--a broken moorland withheather-clumps islanded in pools of black water. The white forest misthid every distance and the air was shrewdly cold; but Prosper and thefriar gossiped cheerfully as they munched.
"We friars," said Brother Bonaccord, "have been accused of a foible forwedding-rings. I grant you I had rather marry a healthy couple thanleave them aching, and that the sooner there's a christening the betterI am pleased. Another soul for Christ to save; another point againstthe devil, thinks I! I have heard priests say otherwise: they willchristen if they must, and marry if it is not too late; but they wouldsooner bury you any day. Go to! They live in the world (which I vow isan excellent place), and eat and drink of it; yet they shut their eyes,pretending all the time that they are not there, but rather in skyeymansions. If this is not a fit and proper place for us men, why did GodAlmighty take six days a-thinking before He bid it out of the cookingpot? For a gift to the devil? Not He! 'Stop bubbling, you rogue,' saysHe; 'out of the pot with you and on to the platter, that thesegentlemen and ladies of mine may cease sucking their fingers and dip inthe dish!' Pooh! Look at your mother Mary and your little brotherGesulino. There was a wedding for you, there was a sacring! Belovedsons are ye all, young men; full of grace are ye, young women! God begood, who told me to couple ye and keep the game a-going! Take myblessing, brother, and the sleek and tidy maid you have gotten to wife;I must be on the road. I am for Hauterive out of the hanging Abbot'scountry. He'll be itching about that new gallows of his, thinking how Ishould look up there."
He kissed them both very heartily and trudged out into the mist, wavinghis hand.
"There goes a good soul," said Prosper. "Give me something to drink,child, I beseech you."
Isoult brought a great bowl of milk and gave it into his hands,afterwards (though he never saw her) she drank of it from the placewhere he had put his lips. Then it was time for them also to take theroad. Isoult went away again, and returned leading Prosper's horse andshield; she brought an ass for herself to ride on. Curtseying to himshe asked--
"Is my lord ready?"
"Ready for anything in life, my child," said he as he took her up andput her on the ass. Then he mounted his horse. They set off at onceover the heath, striking north. None watched them go.
The sky was now without cloud. White all about, it swam into clear blueoverhead. A light breeze, brisk and fresh, blew the land clear, onlylittle patches of the morning mist hung torn and ragged about thefurze-bushes. The forest was still densely veiled, but the sun was up,the larks afloat; the rains of over-night crisped and sparkled on thegrass: there was promise of great weather. Presently with its slantroofs shining, its gilded spires and cross, Prosper saw on his left thegreat Abbey of Holy Thorn. He saw the river with a boat's sail, thevillage of Malbank Saint Thorn on the further bank and the cloud ofthin blue smoke over it; far across the heath came the roar of theweirs. Behind it and on all sides began to rise before him the darkrampart of trees--Morgraunt.
Prosper's heart grew merry within him at the sight of all thisfreshness, the splendour of the morning. He was disposed to be wellcontented with everything, even with Isoult, upon whom he looked downonce or twice, to see her pacing gently beside him, a guarded andgraceful possession. "Well, friend," he said to himself, "you have aproper-seeming wife, it appears, of whom it would be well to knowsomething."
He began to question her, and this time she told him everything heasked her, except why she was called Isoult la Desirous. As to this,she persisted that she could not tell him. He took it good-temperedly,with a shrug.
"I see something mysterious in all this, child," said he, "and am notfond of mysteries. But I married thee to draw thee from the hangman andnot thy secrets from thee. Keep thy counsel therefore."
She hung her head.
To all other questions she was as open as he could wish. From herearliest childhood, he learned, she had known servitude, and beenfamiliar with scorn and reproach. She had been swineherd, goose-girl,scare-crow, laundress, scullery-wench, and what not, as her mothercould win for her. She could never better herself, because of the taintof witchcraft and all the unholiness it brought upon her. As laundressand scullery-maid she had been at the Abbey; that had been her happiesttime but for one circumstance, of which she told him later. Of herfather she spoke little, save that he had often beaten her; of hermother more tenderly--it seemed they loved each other--but with an airof constraint. Her parents were undoubtedly in ill-savour throughoutthe tithing; her father, a rogue who would cut a throat as easily as apurse, her mother, a wise woman patent
ly in league with the devil. Butshe said that, although she could not tell the reason of it, the Abbothad protected them from judgment many a time--whether it was her fatherfor breaking the forest-law, deer-stealing, wood-cutting, or keepingrunning dogs; or her mother from the hatred and suspicion of theMalbank people, on account of her sorceries and enchantments. Moreespecially did the Abbot take notice of her, and, while he neverhesitated to expose her to every infamous reproach or report, and(apparently) to take a delight in them, yet guarded her from the directconsequences as if she had been sacred. This her parents knew verywell, and never scrupled to turn to their advantage. For when hard putto it they would bring her forward between them, set her before theAbbot, and say, "For the sake of the child, my lord, let us go." Whichthe Abbot always did.
Cried Prosper here, "What did he want, this fatherly Abbot?"
"My lord," said Isoult, "he sought to have me put away."
"Well, child," Prosper chuckled, "he has got his wish."
"He wished it long ago, lord," she said; "before I was marriageable."
"And it was not to thy taste?"
"No, lord."
"It was not of that then that thou wert La Desirous?"
"No, lord," said Isoult in a low voice.
"So I thought," was Prosper's comment to himself. "The friar was out."
She went on to tell him of her service with the Abbey as laundry-maid,then as scullery-girl; then she spoke of Galors. She told him how thismonk had seen her by chance in the Abbey kitchen; how he sought to gettoo well acquainted with her; how she had fled the service and refusedto go back. Nevertheless, and in spite of that, she had had no peacebecause of him. He chanced upon her again when she was among the crowdat the Alms Gate waiting for the dole, had kept her to the end, andspoken with her then and there, telling her all his desire, opening allhis wicked heart. She fled from him again for the time; but every dayshe must needs go up for the dole, so every day she saw him and enduredhis importunities. This had lasted up to the very day she saw Prosper:at that time he had nearly prevailed upon her by his own frenzy and herterror of the Abbot's, threat. She never doubted the truth of what hetold her, for the Abbot's privy mind had been declared to much the samepurpose to Mald her mother.
"But this privy mind of his," said Prosper, "must have swung wide fromits first leaning, which seems to have been to preserve thee. Could henot have ruined thee without a charter? An Abbot and a cook-maid! Couldhe not have ruined thee without a rope?"
"My lord," she replied, "I think he was merciful. I was to be hanged byhis desire; but there was worse with Galors."
"Ah, I had forgotten him," Prosper said.
She had spoken all this in a low voice through which ran a trembling,as when a great string on a harp is touched and thrills all the music.Prosper thought she would have said more if she dared. Although shespoke great scorn of herself and hid nothing, yet he knew withoutasking that she had been truthful when she told him she was pure. Helooked at her again and made assurance double; yet he wondered how itcould be.
"Tell me, Isoult," he said presently, "when thou sawest me come intothe quarry, didst thou know that I should take thee away?"
"Yes, lord," said she, "when I saw your face I knew it."
"What of my face, child? Hadst thou seen me before that day?"
She did not answer this.
"It is likely enough," he went on. "For in my father's day we oftenrode, I and my brothers, with him in the Abbey fees, hawking or huntingthe deer. And if thou wert gooseherd or shepherdess thou mightesteasily have seen us."
Isoult said, "My lord, if I had seen thee twenty times before or none,I had trusted thee when I saw thy face."
"How so, child?" asked he.
For answer to this she looked quickly up at him for a moment, and thenhung her head, blushing. He had had time to see that dog's look oftrust again in her eyes.
"My wife takes kindly to me!" he thought. "Let us hope she will findGracedieu even more to her mind."
They rode on, being now very near the actual forest. Prosper beganagain with his questions.
"What enmity," he said, "the Abbot had for thee, Isoult, or whatlurking pity, or what grain of doubt, I cannot understand. It seemsthat he wished thy ruin most devoutly, but that being a Christian and aman of honour he sought to compass it in a Christian and gentlemanlyway. Might not marriage have appeared to him the appointed means? Andshould I not tell him that thou art ruined according to hisaspirations?"
"Lord," said she, "he will know it."
"Saints and angels!" Prosper cried, "who will tell him? Not BrotherBonaccord, who loves no monks."
"Nay, lord, but my mother will tell him for the ruin of Galors, whohates her and is hated again. Moreover, there are many in Malbank whowill find it out soon enough."
"How is that, child?"
"Lord, many of them sought to have me."
"I can well believe it," said Prosper; and after a pause he saidagain--"I would like to meet this Galors of thine out of his frock. Helooked a long-armed, burly rogue; it seemed that there might be somefighting in him. Further, some chastisement of him, if it couldconveniently be done, would seem to be my duty, since he has touched atthy honour, which is now mine. I should certainly like to meet himunfrocked."
"Lord,"' answered the girl, "that will come soon enough. I pray thatthine arm be strong, for he is very fierce, and a terrible man inMalbank, more often armed than in his robe."
"He must be an indifferent monk," Prosper said; "God seems not wellserved in such a man's life. Holy Church would be holier without him."
"He is a great hunter, my lord," said Isoult.
"It would certainly seem so," said Prosper grimly. "Where should I findhim likeliest?"
"Lord, look for him in Martle Brush."
"Ah! And where is that?"
"Lord, it is here by," said Isoult.
Prosper looked about him sharply. He found that they had left theheath, and were riding down a smooth grassy place into a deep valley.The decline was dotted with young oak-trees, sparse at the top butthickening in clusters and ranks lower down. Between the stems, but atsome distance, he could see a herd of deer feeding on the rank grass bya brook at the bottom. Beyond the brook again the wood grew stillthicker with holly trees and yews interspersed with the oaks: the landhe could see rose more abruptly on that side, and was densely wooded tothe top of another ridge as high as that which he and Isoult descended.The ridge itself was impenetrably dark with a forest gloom which neverleft it at this season of the year. As he studied the place, MartleBrush as he supposed it to be, he saw a hart in the herd stop feedingand lift his head to snuff the air, then with his antlers thrown back,trot off along the brook, and all the herd behind him. This set himthinking; he knew the deer had not winded him. The breeze set from themrather, over the valley, from the north-east. He said nothing to hiscompanion, but kept his eyes open as they began to descend deeper intothe gorge. Presently he saw three or four crows which had been wheelingover the tops of the trees come and settle on a dead oak by thebrook-side. Still there was no sign of a man. Again he glanced down atIsoult; this time she too was alert, with a little flush in her cheeks,but no words on her lips to break the silence they kept. So theydescended the steep place, picking their way as best they could amongthe loose rocks and boulders, with eyes painfully at gaze, yet with noreward, until they reached a place where the track went narrowlybetween great rooted rocks with holly trees thick on either side.Immediately before them was the brook, shallow and fordable, with muddybanks; the track ran on across it and steeply up the opposite ridge.Midway of this Prosper now saw a knight fully armed in black (but witha white plume to his helmet), sitting a great black horse, his spearerect and his shield before him. He could even make out the cognizanceupon it--three white wicket-gates argent on a field sable--but not themotto. The shield set him thinking where he could have seen it before,for he knew it perfectly well. Then suddenly Isoult said, "Lord, thisis Galors the Monk."
"Ho, ho
!" said Prosper, "is this Galors? I like him better than I did."
"Lord," she asked in a tremble, "what wilt thou do?"
"Do!" he cried; "are there so many things to do? You are not afraid,child?"
"No, lord, I am not afraid," she replied, and looked down at her belt.
"Now, Isoult," said Prosper, "you are to stay here on your beast whileI go down and clear the road."
She obeyed him at once, and sat very still looking at Galors and atProsper, who rode forward to the level ground by the ford. There hestopped to see what the other man would be at. Galors played theimpenetrable part which had served him so well with the Abbot Richard,in other words, did nothing but sit where he was with his spear erect,like a bronze figure on a bridge. Impassivity had always been thestrength of Galors; women had bruised themselves against it: butProsper had little to do with women's ways.
"Sir, why do you bar my passage?" he sang out, irrepressibly cheerfulat present. Galors never answered him a word. Prosper divined him atthis; he was to climb the hill, and so be at the double disadvantage ofhaving no spear and of being below him that had one. "The pale rascalmeans to make this a game of skittles," he thought to himself. "Weshall see, my man. In the mean time I wish I knew your shield." Sosaying he forded the brook, stayed, called out again, "Whose shield isthat, Galors?" and again got no reply. "Black dog!" cried he in a rage,"take your vantage and expect no more." Whereupon he set his horse atthe hill and rode up with his shield before him.
The black knight feutred his spear, clapped spurs to his horse'sflanks, and bore down the hill. He rode magnificently: horse and manhad the impetus of a charging bull, and it looked ill for the manbelow. But Prosper had learned a trick from his father, which he inturn had had at Acre from the Moslems in one of the intervals of thebusiness there. In those days men fought like heroes, but betweenwhiles remembered that they were gentlemen and good fellows pittedagainst others equally happy in these respects.
The consequence was that many a throat was cut by many a hand which theday before had poured out wine for its delight, and nobody was any theworse. The infidels loved Mahomet, but they loved a horse too, andBaron Jocelyn was not the man to forget a lesson in riding. So soon,therefore, as Galors was upon him, Prosper slid his left foot from thestirrup and slipt round his horse almost to the belly, clinging withhis shield arm to the bow of the saddle. The spear struck his shield ata tangent and glanced off. It was a bad miss for Galors, since horseand man drove down the incline and were floundering in the brook beforethey could stay. Prosper whipped round to see Galors mired, was closeon his quarter and had cut through the shank of the spear, close to theguard, in a trice.
"Fight equal, my friend, and you will fight more at ease in the longrun," was all he said. Galors let fly an oath at him, furious. He drewhis great sword and cut at him with all his force; Prosper parried andlet out at his shoulder. He got in between the armour plates; firstblow went to him. This did not improve Galors' temper or mend hisfighting. There was a sharp rally in the brook, some shrewd knockspassed. The lighter man and horse had all the advantage; Galors neverreached his enemy fairly. He set himself to draw Prosper out of theslush of mud and water, and once on firmer ground went more warily towork. Then a chance blow from Prosper struck his horse on the crest andwent deep. The beast stumbled and fell with his rider upon him both laystill.
"A broken neck," thought Prosper, cursing his luck. Galors never moved."What an impassive rogue it is!" Prosper cried, with all his angerclean gone from him. He dismounted and went to where his man lay, threwhis sword on the grass beside him, and proceeded to unlace Galors'shauberk. Galors sprang up and sent Prosper flying; he set his heel onthe sword blade and broke it short. Then he turned his own upon theunarmed man. "By God, the man is for a murder!" Prosper grew white witha cold rage: he was on his feet, the flame of his anger licked up hispoverty: Galors had little chance. Prosper made a quick rush and droveat the monk with his shield arm, using the shield like an axe; he brokedown his guard, got at close quarters, dropt his shield and caughtGalors under the arms. They swayed and rocked together likestorm-driven trees, Prosper transported with his new-lighted rage,Galors struggling to justify his treachery by its only excuse. Belowhis armpits he felt Prosper's grip upon him; he was encumbered withshield and sword, both useless--the sword, in fact, sawing the air.Then they fell together, Prosper above; and that was the end of thebout. Prosper slipped out his poniard and drove it in between thejoints of the gorget. Then he got up, breathing hard, and looked at hisenemy as he lay jerking on the grass, and at the bright stream comingfrom his neck.
"The price of treachery is heavy," said he. "I ought to kill him. Andthere are villainies behind that to be reckoned with, to say nothing ofall the villainies to do when that hole shall be stuffed. Theshield--ah, the shield! No, monk, on second thoughts, I will not killyou yet. It would be dealing as you dealt, it would prevent our meetingagain; it would cut me off all chance of learning the history of yourarms. White wicket-gates! Where, under heaven's eye, have I beenbrought up against three white wicket-gates? Ha! there is a motto too."_Entra per me_, he read, and was no wiser. "This man and I will meetagain," he said. "Meantime I will remember _Entra per me_." He raisedhis voice to call to Isoult--"Come, child; the way is clear enough."
She came over the brook at once, alighted on the further side, and camecreeping up to her husband to kneel before him as once before thatmorning; but he put his hand on her shoulder to stay her. "Come," hesaid, smiling, "no more ceremony between you and me, my dear. Ratherlet us get forward out of the reach of hue-and-cry. For when theforesters find him that will be the next move in the game." To Galorshe turned with a "By your leave, my friend," and took his sword; thenhaving put Isoult upon her donkey and mounted his own beast, he led theway up the ridge wondering where they had best turn to avoidhue-and-cry. Isoult, who guessed his thoughts, told him of the minsterat Gracedieu.
Sanctuary attached to the Church, she said, as all the woodlanders knew.
"Excellent indeed," Prosper cried; "that jumps with what I haddetermined on before. Moreover, I suppose that Gracedieu is outside theMalbank fee?"
"Yes, lord, it is far beyond that."
"And how far is it to Gracedieu?"
"It is the journey of two days and nights, my lord."
"Well," said he, "then those nights we must sleep in the forest. Howwill that suit you, child?"
"Ah, my lord," breathed the girl, "I have very often slept there."
"And what shall we do for food, Isoult?"
"I will provide for that, my lord."
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