The Forest Lovers

by Maurice Hewlett

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FALVE THE CHARCOAL-BURNER

  While Prosper is galloping after Dom Galors, and Dom Galors isgalloping after Isoult, let us turn to that unconscious lady who hidesher limbs in a pair of ragged breeches, and her bloom under the grimeof coal-dust. Her cloud of hair, long now and lustrous, out of allmeasure to her pretence, she was accustomed to shorten by doubling itunder her cap. An odd fancy had taken her which prevented a secondshearing. If Prosper loved her she dared not go unlovely any more. Herhair curtained her when she bathed in the brook and the sun. Beyonddoubt it was beautiful; it was Prosper's; she must keep it untouched.This gave her an infinity of bother, but at the same time an infinityof delight. She took pride in it, observed its rate of growth veryminutely; another fancy was, that before it reached her knees sheshould give it with all herself to its master. It is so easy to confusedesires with gratifications, and hopes with accomplishments, that youwill not be surprised if I go on to say, that she soon made the growthof her hair _data_ by which to calculate her restoration to his side.She was to have a rude awakening, as you shall judge.

  The July heats lay over the forest like a pall, stilled all the leavesand beat upon the parched ground. Isoult, seduced by the water and herjoy to be alone with her ring, audacious too by use, took longer leave.So long leave she took one day that it became a question of dinner. Theone solemn hour of the twenty-four was in peril. Falve was sent to findher, and took his stick. But he never used it; for he found, not Royindeed, but Roy's rags on the brookside, and over the brook on the highbank a lady, veiled only in her hair, singing to herself. He stoodtransported, Actaeon in his own despite, then softly withdrew. Roy gotback in his time, cooked the dinner, and had no drubbing. Then came themeal, with an ominous innovation.

  They sat in a ring on the grass round an iron pot. Each had a fork withwhich he fished for himself. Down came Falve smirking, and sat himselfby Isoult. He had a flower in his hand.

  "I plucked this for my mistress," says he, "but failing her I give itto my master."

  She had to take it, with a sick smile. She had a sicker heart.

  The horrid play went on. Falve grinned and shrugged like a Frenchman.He fed her with his fork--"Eat of this, my minion;" forced his cup toher lips--"Drink, honey, where I have drunk." He drank deep and,blinking like a night-bird, said solemnly--

  "We have called you Jack, to our shame. Your name shall properly becalled Roy, for you should be a king."

  The men made merry over this comedy, finding appetite for it; but tothe girl came back that elfin look she had almost lost since she hadknown Prosper. She had worn it the night she came plump on Galors, butnever since. Now again hers were a hare's eyes, wide and quaking.

  From that hour her peace left her, for Falve never did. Escape wasimpossible; the man eyed her as a cat a mouse, and seemed to play uponher nerve as if she had been a fine instrument. He became astonishinglysubtle, dealt in images like a modern poet, had the same art of meaningmore than he said to those who had the misfortune to understand him. Henever declared what he knew, though she could not but guess it; did notbetray her to the others; seemed to enjoy the equivoque, content towait. So he kept her on tenterhooks; she felt a cheat, and what isworse, a detected cheat. This filled her deep with shame. It made hermore coy and more a prude than she had ever need to be had she goneamong them kirtled and coifed. At last came the day when that happenedwhich she had darkly dreaded. A load of coals went off to MarketBasing; to dinner came herself only, and Falve.

  She trembled, and could neither eat nor drink. Falve made amends, atefor three and drank for a dozen. He grew sportive anon. He sang tavernsongs, ventured on heavy play, would pinch her ear or her cheek, musthave her sit on his knee. But at this her fortitude gave way; shejumped up to shake herself free. There was a short tussle. Her cap felloff, and all the dusky curtain of her hair about her shoulders ranrippling to her middle. No concealment could avail between them now.She stood a maid confessed, by her looks confessing, who watched himguardedly with lips a-quiver.

  Falve did not hesitate to take her hand. "Come and see," he said, andled her away. Across the brook he showed her a but newly made, coveredwith green boughs--his work, it appeared, under the cover of a week ofsweating nights. He led her in, she saw all his simple preparations:the new-stamped floor, the new-joisted roof, a great bed in the corner.Then he turned to her and said--

  "Your name is not Roy, but Royne. And you shall be queen of me, and ofthe green wood, and of this bed."

  Isoult began to shake so violently that she could hardly stand.

  "How! does not the prospect please you?" said Falve. She could onlyplead for time.

  "Time?" asked he, "time for what? There is time for all in the forest.Moreover, you have had time."

  "Would you have me wed you, Falve?" she faltered.

  "Why, I set no store by your church-music, myself," rejoined Falve.

  "But I set great store by Holy Church. You would never dishonour me,Falve?"

  "My dear," said Falve, "you will have guessed by now that I am a lady'sman. I am wax in their pretty hands--red wax or white wax. According asyou squeeze me, my dear, you make me a Golias or a bishop, as you wish.You would have me a bishop, eh?"

  "I do not understand, Falve."

  "The husband of one wife, my lass, as the Scripture saith. Is that yourfancy?"

  "I would like to be a wife."

  "Then a wife you shall be, my honey, though a friend or a bondmaid isequally good Scripture, to say nothing of simplicity. Now that beingsettled, and a bargain a bargain, let us seal."

  She escaped with his tarnish on her hand; but he respected her promise,and troubled her no more by contact. Nevertheless she had to pay. Hisdwarfish propensity to wit led him the wildest lengths. The rogue beganto sigh and gesture and slap his ribs. He affected the loverpreposterously; he was over weary of his rough life, he would say; hemust marry and settle down in the hut by the brook.

  "And then," he ran on, "thou, Roy, shalt come and live there, servingme and my wife. For I love thee, boy, and will not leave thee. And Iwarrant that she will not be jealous when I play with thee; nor shall Igrudge thy love of her--nay, not if thou shouldst love her as myself.For thus Moses bade us in the Commandments." And so on. "By SaintChristopher, that long man of God," he swore at another bout, "thou andmy wife shall sleep in one bed, and I not be dishonoured!"

  The other men began to prick up their ears at these speeches, andlooked shrewdly at their boy more than once. As for Isoult, she knewnot where to turn. She seemed to be quavering over an abyss.

  Meantime the hour of her wedding, as Falve had appointed it, drew near.In middle July the whole gang were to go to Hauterive with coal for theCastle. Falve's mother, I have told you, lived there in a littlehuckster's shop she had. Falve's plan was to harbour Isoult there forthe night, and wed her on the morrow as early as might be. But he toldthe girl nothing of all this.

  They set out, then, betimes in the morning, and by travelling late andearly reached Hauterive in two days. And this in spite of the weather,which was cold and stormy. The town stands high on the hither shoulderof that ridge which ends at Wanmeeting, but by reason of the densegrowth of timber in that walk of the forest you do not get a view of itfrom below until you are actually under the walls. Isoult, who had noreason to be interested in any but her own affairs just then, and was,moreover, wet through and shivering, did not notice the flag flyingover the Castle--_Party per pale argent and sable._ It was not till thewhole caravan stood within the drawbridge that she saw over theportcullis an escutcheon whereon were the redoubtable three whitewicket-gates, with the legend, _Entra per me._ She realized then thatshe was being drawn into the trap-teeth of her grim enemy, and wentrather grey. There was nothing for it, she must trust to her disguise.It had deceived the colliers, it might deceive Galors. Ah! but therewas Maulfry. It would never deceive her. All the comfort she could takewas that Galors was lord of the town, and she collier's knave. Nowcolliers' knaves do not s
ee much of their lords paramount, nor rulersof cities look into the love-affairs of colliers or seek for such amongthem. If Maulfry were there, Heaven help her! But she began to thinkshe might cope with Galors.

  When the asses were unloaded in the inn-yard, and the coal stackedunder cover, Falve took his prisoner by the hand and led her by manywinding lanes to his mother's shop. This was in Litany Row, a crazydark entry over against the Dominican convent. The streets and alleyswere empty, the rain coursed down all the gutters of the steep littletown; its music and their own plashy steps were all they could hear.Knocking at a little barred door in Litany Row, they were admitted by awrinkled old woman with wet eyes.

  "Mother," said the fellow, "this boy is no boy, but a maid with whom Iintend to marry at cockcrow. Let her sleep with thee this night, and inthe morning dress her in a good gown against I come to fetch her."

  The old woman looked her up and down in a way that made the girl blush.

  "Well," she said, "thou art a proper boy enough, I see, and I will makethee a proper girl, if God hath done His part."

  "That He hath done, mother," says Falve with a grin. "See here, then."

  With that he pulls off Isoult's green cap. All her hair tumbled abouther shoulders in a fan.

  "Mother of God," cried the old woman, "this is a proper girl indeed, ifother things are as they should be, to accord with these tresses."

  "Never fear for that, mother," said Falve. "Trust me, she will be agood wife out and in. For, let alone the good looks of the girl, she isvery meek and doeth all things well, even to speaking little."

  "And what is she named, this pretty miss?" asked the crone.

  "Tell her your fancy name, wife," said Falve, giving her a nudge; "showher that you have a tongue in your round head."

  "I am called Isoult la Desirous, ma'am," said the girl.

  "La, la, la!" cried the old dame, "say you so? The name hath promise ofplenty; but for whose good I say not. And who gave you such a name asthat, pray?"

  "I have never known any other, ma'am."

  "Hum, hum," mumbled the dame. "I've heard more Christian names andnames less Christian, but never one that went better on a bride."

  "Mother, a word in your ear," said Falve.

  The couple drew apart and the man whispered--

  "Keep her close; let her never out of your sight, that I may marry herto-morrow, for since I set eyes on her as a maiden whom I first took tobe a boy, I have had no peace for longing after her."

  "Have no fear, my son Falve," said his mother, "she shall be as safewith me as the stone in a peach. I'll get her dry and her natural shapeto begin with, and come morning light, if you have not the comeliestbride in the Nor'-West Walk, 'twill be the Church's doing or yours, butnone o' mine. Have ye feed a priest, boy?"

  "Why, no," said the fellow.

  "Seek out Father Bonaccord of the new Grey Friars. 'Tis thehappiest-go-lucky, ruddiest rogue of a priest that ever hand-fasted acouple. He'll wed ye and housel ye for a couple of roses. [Footnote:Silver coins of those parts, worth about three shillings a-piece.] TheBlack Friars 'ull take three off ye and tie ye with a sour face atthat. Bonaccord's the man, Brother Bonaccord of the Grey Brothers, hardby Botchergate."

  "Bonaccord for ever!" roared Falve. He blew a kiss to his wife and wentoff on his errand.