The Forest Lovers

by Maurice Hewlett

  CHAPTER XXXI

  'ENTRA PER ME'

  When Galors overshot his mark in Thornyhold he flew very wide. It iswell known there are no roads. Thornyhold is but the beginning of thedensest patch of timber in all the forest. Malbank is your nearesthabitation; Spenshaw, Heckaby, Dunsholt Thicket, Hartshold, Deerleapare forest names, not names of the necessities of men. You may wander amonth if you choose, telling one green hollow from another; or you maygo to Holy Thorn at Malbank, or endure unto Wanmouth and the sea. Ifyou were Galors and needed counsel you would not choose the wood;naturally you would avoid Malbank. There would remain to you Wanmouth.

  Galors went to Wanmouth. It was the Countess's country of course; buthis disguise was good enough. People read the arms and hailed a le Gaior one of that house. It was at Wanmouth that he learned what hewanted. Malise, after one of his interminable chafferings with theAbbot Richard, took it on his way to the east.

  "My Lord Baron of Starning," said the Vice-Admiral of the port, "wehave had a friend of your house here a week or more."

  "Eh, eh!" said Malise, feeling his pocket, "what does the rogue wantwith his friendship? I'm as poor as a rat. Who is he?"

  "Oh, for that," replied the other, "he seems a great lord in his way,wears your blazon, is free with his money, and he swears like aFleming."

  "Bring him to me, Admiral, bring him to me. I shall like this man."

  So Galors was brought in, to be graciously received by the head of thehouse of Gai. His blunt manner deceived Malise at once. In hisexperience people who wanted to borrow dealt differently. Here was alofty soul, who might, on the other hand, be guided to lend! In thecourse of a long conversation Melise unbosomed. He was newly a loverand liked the part. The Baron ended his confession thus--

  "So, my dear friend, you see how it is with me. I have never met youbefore--the more's the pity. I accept your civilities, but I make nopromises--you know our legend? Well, I bide my time--he--he! Noboasting, but upon my honour, my reputation does not make me outungrateful. I say to you, go to Malbank; observe, watch, judge, thenreport to me. The detail I leave to you. I should recommend a disguise.The place has become one of pilgrimage--go as a pilgrim! You will seewhether the prize is worth my while. I am sure you have taste--I knowit. Observe, report. Then we will act."

  "Ravishment of ward?" asked Galors dryly.

  "Ward! She is not his ward. How can she be? Who is she? Nobody knows.The thing is a crying scandal, my dear friend. A woman in an abbeyparlour! An alcove at Holy Thorn! Are we Mohammedans, infidels, Jews ofthe Old Law? Fie!"

  "You do not know her name, Baron?"

  "She is the Chained Virgin of Saint Thorn, I tell you. She has no othername. She sits in a throne in choir, pale as milk, with burning greyeyes as big as passion-flowers! She is a chained Andromeda on the rockof Peter. Be my Perseus!"

  "Hum," said Galors, half to himself, "hum! Yes, I will go at once."

  "My dear friend----"

  "Not a word more, Baron. Go home to Starning, go where you like, andwait. If you see me again the lady will be with me."

  "You shall not find me ungrateful, I promise," cried Malise, going out.

  "Damn your gratitude," said Galors, when the door was shut.

  A mortified Perseus in drab cloak and slouch hat, he went to Malbanknext day and verified his prognosis. The Abbot sang Mass, his oldcolleagues huddled in choir; the place echoed with the chastenedsnuffling he knew so well. Galors had no sentiment to pour over them.Standing, bowing, genuflecting, signing himself at the bidding of thebell, he had no eyes for any but the frail apparition whose crown ofblack seemed to weigh her toward the pavement. The change wrought inher by a year's traffic might have shocked, as the eyes might havehaunted him; but she was nothing but a symbol by now. A frayed ensign,she stood for an earldom and a fee. The time had been when her beautyhad bewitched him; that was when she went flesh and blood, sun-browned,full of the sap of untamed desires. Now she was a ghost with a dowry;stricken, but holding a fief.

  He judged the chain, the time, the place, the chances. He had threemen. It was enough. Next Sunday he would act. Then for the forest roadsand High March!

  That next Sunday was Lammas Day and a solemn feast. All Malbank was inthe nave, a beaten and weather-scarred bundle of drabs packed in onecorner under the great vaulting ribs. Within the dark aisles thechapels gloomed, here and there a red lamp made darkness darker; butthe high altar was a blaze of lights. The faces, scared or sharp-set,of the worshippers fronted the glory open-mouthed, but all dull. Hungermakes a bad altar-flame; when it burns not sootily it fires the fabric.

  Afterwards came something which they understood--Isoult between her twowomen, the monk behind. A girl chained by the middle to a monk--Oh,miracle! She sat very still in her carved chair, folding her patienthands. So thin, so frail, so transparent she was, they thought her purespirit, a whisp of gossamered breath, or one of those gauzysublimations which the winter will make of a dead leaf. The cowedaudience watched her wonderfully; some of the women snivelled. Thewhite monks, the singing boys, the banners and tapers, Ceremoniar,Deacon, Subdeacon, the vested Abbot himself, passed like a shiningcloud through the nave. All their light came from the Chained Virgin ofSaint Thorn. And then the Mass began.

  There was a ring of hoofs outside, but no one looked round, and nonecame in. A shadow fell across the open door. At a _Dominus Vobiscum_you might have seen the ministrant falter; there might have been asecond or two of check in his chant, but he mastered it without effort,and turned again with displayed hands to his affair. The choir of whitehoods, however, watched the shadow at the west door. Isoult saw nothingand heard nothing; she was kneeling at prayer. It may be doubted if anyprayed but the girl and the priest.

  The holy office proceeded; the Sanctus bell shrilled for the firsttime. Hoofs shattered scandalously on the flags, and Galors, with anarmed man on either hand of him, rode into the nave. The choir rose ina body, the nave huddled; Isoult, as she believed, saw Prosper, spear,crest, and shield. Her heart gave a great leap, then stood still.Perhaps there was a flicker in the Abbot's undertone; his lips may havebeen dry; but his courage was beyond proof. He held on.

  Isoult was blanched as a cloth; lips, fingers and ears, the tongue inher open mouth--all creeks for the blood were ebbed dry. Her awfuleyes, fixed and sombre stars, threatened to gulf her in their dark.Love was drowned in such horror as this.

  Galors swung out of the saddle. In the breathless place the din of thatact came like a thunder-peal, crackling and crashing, like to wreck thechurch. He drew his sword, with none to stay him, and strode forward.If the Abbot Richard heard his step up the choir the man is worthy ofall memory, for he went on with his manual acts, and his murmur ofprayer never ceased. He may have heard nothing--who knows what hismotions were? He was a brave man.

  The bell rang--rang again--God beamed in the Host. The people wavered,but use held. They bowed prone before God in His flake of new flesh.

  "_Deus in adjutorium_," muttered the Abbot to himself.

  "_Entra per me!_" thundered Galors, and ran him through the body.

  After the first shudder had swept through the church there was no soundat all, until some woman hidden began a low moan, and keened the AbbotRichard. No one dared to stir while those grim horsemen in the nave satlike rocks.

  Galors turned to Isoult where she froze rigid in her throne, severedthe chain at a blow, and went to take her. Some sudden thought struckhim; he turned her quickly round to the light and without ceremonyfumbled at her neck. She grew sick to feel him touch her.

  "The Abbot hath it." Her lips formed the words. Galors went back to thedead priest and pulled off chain and locket.

  "Oh, my ring, my ring!" whined the girl as he slipt the chain over her.He did not seem to hear her, but snatched her up in his arms as if shehad been a doll and set her on his horse. He swung himself into thesaddle behind her as he had swung himself out of it, reined up shortand turned. The three men rode out with their burden. When they hadgone the Deacon
(who got a mitre for it) solemnly laid the fallen hostbetween his lord's lips. The act, at once pious and sensible, broughtup the congregation from hell to earth again. At such times routine isthe only saving thing.

  Once free of the Abbey precincts the three horsemen forded Wan. At asignal pre-arranged one of them fell back to keep watch over the river.Galors went forward with one in his company on to the heath, droppedhim after three or four hours' steady going, and rode on still. Histhird man was to meet him at the edge of Martle Brush. Never a word hadhe spoken since his great "_Entra per me!_" but without that the acthad been enough to tell his prize, that whatever her chains had beenbefore, the sword-stroke had riveted them closer. There had been nochain like his mailed arm round her body.

  Nothing could be done. Indeed she was as yet paralyzed; for wild workas had been done in her sight, this was savagery undreamed. She couldget no comfort, she never thought of Prosper. Even Prosper, her lord,could not stand before such a force as this. As for good Saint Isidore,the pious man became a shade, and vanished with his Creator into thedark.

  Night came on, but a low yellow moon burnt the fringe of the risingwoods. They were retracing almost the very stones of the track she andProsper had followed a year before.

  Matt's intake they passed, she saw a light in the window. The heathloomed ghostly before them, with the dark bank of trees rising steadilyas they neared. Athwart them rose also the moon; there was promise of afine still night. They entered the trees, heading for Martle Brush.

  Suddenly Galors pulled up, listening intently. There was no sound savethat strange murmur the night has (as if the whole concave of heavenwere the hollow of a shell), and the secret rustling of the trees.Still Galors listened. It was so quiet you might almost have heard twohearts beating.

  As an underchant, sinister accompaniment to the voices of the night,there came to them the muffled pulsing of a horse's hoofs; a quick andregular sound--a horse galloping evenly with plenty in hand.

  Both heard it. Galors drove in the spurs, and the chase began. Theywere yet a mile away from Martle Brush. If they could cross the brookand gain the ridgeway, it was long odds on their being overtaken thatnight.