Thistle and Thyme

by Sorche Nic Leodhas

  The man made a forked sign with his fingers and looked terribly frighted. “Eist!” he said. “Do not let her be hearing you!” Then he whispered, “They do be saying she’s a witch and has the evil eye!”

  Well, maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. The beekeeper wouldn’t know about that. But in any case he was going to do what she told him to do as she ran away over the moor. He’d be sure to look well to himself and his hare. He’d grown that fond of it that he’d have grieved sorely had anything harmed it. He knew the bees would watch over it by day, but he took to barring the doors and the windows at night. And he kept a wary eye out for strangers coming by.

  Summer went by and autumn came. The first frosts lay on the ground at morn. There were berries on the brambles for the picking. And now the bees were seeking their hives for the winter and seldom did one see more than a stray one or two, for there was no more honey to be gathered from the hedgerows or the moor.

  The singing birds had flown south and, like the birds, the gypsy caravans were flitting southward too. Few of the vans came over the moor, for although it was much shorter than the road through the towns, it was barely more than a rough track, and there were few trees to offer shelter or wood for kindling. So when the beekeeper saw a van coming across the moor one chill October day, it surprised him. He came out to the doorstep as it passed by in the road beyond his gate. Being a friendly, civil soul, the beekeeper raised a hand in greeting to the young gypsy man who sat on the seat of the van, driving the horse. The driver saluted with his whip as they passed by and the lad watched him out of sight. The beekeeper went on with his morning’s work, and it wasn’t till after he’d had his dinner at noon that he had reason to come to the door again. When he did, he saw that something was lying in the road just past the gate. He walked down to look at it and found that it was a sack of grain. He knew at once that it had dropped from the gypsy van. They’d lost it from under the wagon bed where they usually carried such things.

  “Och, they’ll never miss it before they make camp for the night,” he said. He was troubled in his mind because he knew that it would be too late and too dark for them to come back for it then. He did not like to think of the poor gypsy horse going without its evening meal. So as he could well spare the time, he got out his market cart and hitched his own wee nag to it, and took off after the gypsy van with the sack of grain.

  His horse was used to the road, and his cart much lighter than their loaded van, so in an hour or so he caught up with them. He hailed them and when they stopped, he pulled up alongside of the van. He handed the gypsy driver the sack of grain. “You dropped this in the road by my place,” he said. “I brought it along because I thought you might be needing it bad tonight.”

  The gypsy took the sack with a look of surprise.

  “I take it kindly,” said he. “You mean to say you fetched it all the way from the house back yonder by the moor?”

  “That I did,” said the beekeeper. “And why not?”

  “We’re travelers,” the gypsy told him. “Folks don’t have no use for travelers as a rule.”

  “Is that a reason why a horse should be going without the dinner he’s earned?” asked the lad hotly.

  “’Tis more than many would do,” the gypsy returned.

  “Then they should feel shame for themselves!” the beekeeper told him, and he started to back his horse to get ready to turn and go homeward.

  “Thank you kindly,” said the gypsy lad. “I’d be glad if I——” then he broke off and asked, “What’s that you have?”

  The beekeeper had brought the hare along with him, tucked inside his jacket. It had popped its head out and was looking at the gypsy man.

  “’Tis a hare,” said the lad, bringing it out and setting it on his knee for the gypsy to see.

  “There aren’t any blue-eyed hares!” said the gypsy.

  “Och, now, there are indeed, for you see one here before you,” the beekeeper told him good-naturedly.

  “Grandam!” shouted the gypsy. When a voice from inside the van answered, the gypsy called, “Come out and tell this gentleman there are no blue-eyed hares.”

  An old woman climbed down from the back of the van and came up to the side of the beekeeper’s cart. She leaned over and looked at the hair with her old watery eyes.

  “’Tis no hare,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What would it be then if not a hare?” asked the bewildered beekeeper.

  The old woman took the hare from his knee and felt it over gently. “’Tis a lassie, sir!” she said, “’Tis a lassie, and somebody’s bewitched her and turned her into a hare.”

  “Och!” said the lad. “Then I can say who it was! ’Twas that old besom that came o’er the moor seeking to buy her from me. She was just trying to get her back again, and maybe she might have, only the bees wouldn’t let her.”

  “Are you friends with the bees?” asked the old woman.

  “I love them well,” said the lad simply.

  “Do you know their language?” she asked.

  “Och, I can’t say that I do,” the beekeeper replied. “What they say when they are buzzing around is beyond me, though they do seem to understand what I say well enough.”

  “Well, if they understand you,” said the gypsy woman, “’twill be good enough. Now, heed what I say! The old woman will try again. She’s afraid of the bees and is only waiting until she thinks they’ve taken to their hives for the winter. The time you have to fear most is All Hallows’ Eve. That’s when the witches are at the top of their power and no doubt she’ll be after the hare that night.”

  “Tell the gentleman what he’s to do, Grandam,” said the gypsy man impatiently.

  “Give me a bit of time,” the old woman said. “I’d not like to be paying for the gentleman’s kindness by telling him wrong. Go slow and go thorough. ’Tis the best way.”

  She turned back to the beekeeper and said, “When you get home, you must go to your bees and tell them you’re in trouble and need their help. Tell them all that I have told you. If the bees are willing to help you when All Hallows’ Eve comes round, leave your house door open, but get yourself and the hare away from the house and away from the moor as far as you can go. Tie the hare by the neck to your arm with a good stout cord and hold her fast in your arm, for when midnight comes, she’ll try to get away from you because of the witch’s spells. No matter how she twists and turns, you must hold on to her. It may go well and it may go ill for you. I can do no more for you.”

  She handed the hare back to the lad and climbed into the van again. The driver thanked the lad again for bringing the grain, and the lad thanked him for the help he’d got from the gypsies. Then they parted and went their separate ways.

  The lad went back to his house and went from hive to hive, telling his bees what the old gypsy woman had told him, and asking them for their help on All Hallows’ Eve.

  He could hear a great commotion in the hives. “Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz!” said the bees, over and over again. What they were saying he didn’t know at all except that they sounded uncommonly angry and upset.

  When the day of All Hallows’ Eve came, the beekeeper harnessed his horse to the market cart. He tied the blue-eyed hare to his arm with a good stout cord and took her on his arm. He got into the cart, turned away from the moor and took the rough road over which the gypsy van had gone. And he left the house door open wide behind him.

  On and on and on he drove, through wood and past meadow and bog and glen. Day passed and twilight fell and gave away to night. But the way was clear, for the moon was bright, so the beekeeper and the blue-eyed hare went on and on and on.

  Suddenly, the hare gave a spring in his arms as if it would leap from the cart. The beekeeper knew that midnight had come, so he stopped the cart and clasped the hare tight.

  A cloud came over the moon and he could not see, for all was dark around him. The hare writhed and twisted and turned in his arms, and once he thought he’d lost her. But the g
ood stout cord held fast and he got her back into his arms again, and this time she didn’t get away. All at once she stopped struggling and he could feel that there was something bigger than a hare that he held in his arms. At that moment the moon shone out again and all was bright as day. What he saw in his arms was a blue-eyed lass and the bonniest he’d ever seen! There was a good stout cord around her neck and the other end of it was tied to his arm. He took the cord from her neck and from his arm, and set her beside him.

  Nobody needed to tell them that the spell had been lifted from the lass. They could see that for themselves! So he took up the reins, and away they went to find a town where they could be married.

  It took them a week to get back home, for they went the long way round by the market town, instead of going back the way they had come.

  As they were coming through the town, whom should they meet but the man who had told the beekeeper that the old woman was a witch. He ran up to their cart and said to the beekeeper, “Do you mind that old woman you asked me about that I told you was a witch? Och, well! They found her the morn after All Hallows’ Eve lying dead out on the moor! The strange part of it is that the doctors all say she was stung to death by bees. Now how can that be, with never a bee out at this time o’ the year?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said the beekeeper. “But strange things do happen.” And he smiled down at his blue-eyed wife.

  Then the beekeeper and his wife drove back across the moor, and came safe home. The first thing they did was to go out to the hives and tell the bees that they were married and to thank them for their help.

  And the bees said, “Bzzz-zzz. Bzzz-zzz. Bzzz-zzz.” in a sleepy satisfied way.

  The Fisherlad

  and the Mermaid’s Ring

  ONCE THERE WAS A LAD WHO OFFERED HIS HEART TO A bonny lass. She smiled at him kindly and spoke to him softly, but she would not have his heart at all, because she loved somebody else. So she told the lad that he must take his heart and find another lass to give it to.

  “It will be a long long day and I shall go a long long way ere I do that!” said he. And he stomped away from her, sure that he’d never find a lass that could ever take her place.

  He was a fisherman, but when she would not have him, he would go no more to the shore with the other lads, lest they put shame upon him for having misgiven his heart. So he took up his nets and sailed away, until he came to a cove where no one save himself ever came. There on the shore he built himself a hut to bide in. From the cove he sailed each day alone to set his nets and draw up his fish. The fish he caught he took to market at a port where he was a stranger, for he would not show his face again in a place where he was known.

  So day in and day out he set his nets and drew up his fish and nursed his sorrow. When he had been away for a year and a day, as he drew up his nets from the sea he saw there was something strange among the fish in one of them. He thought at first that it was only a great fish, but when he had the net clear of the water he looked closer. Then he saw that it was a mermaid.

  Quick as a wink he caught it by the arm through the mesh of the net and, though it struggled hard, he held it fast. He tipped the fish out, but he kept hold of the mermaid all the while. Then he wrapped the folds of the net tight about it so that it wouldn’t be getting away from him. He set the creature up before him on one of the thwarts of the boat, and looked it over to see what it was like. What he saw was a lass like any other lass as far down as her waist. But from there she was like a fish, all covered with shining bright scales.

  The mermaid set to weeping and begged him to let her go, but the fisherman shook his head. “Nay, I’ll not do that!” he said.

  “On the floor of the sea are many great ships that have foundered in the storms,” the mermaid said. “Let me go and I’ll fetch you a kist of gold from one of them.”

  “What good is gold to me?” asked the fisherman. “’Twill not give me what I want.”

  “My father is one of the kings of the sea,” said the mermaid. “His castle is made of the pearls of the sea and he has rich treasures of precious gems. Set me free and he will send you a ransom of gold from his store.”

  “What good are jewels to me? They will not give me what I want,” said the lad.

  “What is it that you want then?” asked the mermaid.

  “I want the lass I love best in all the world,” said the lad. “She’s not to be had for gold nor jewels, nor will a true heart win her. For I offered her my own and she would not take it. But there’s not a lass her equal in all the weary world.”

  “What is she like then that makes her so different?”

  “She has two blue eyes,” said the lad.

  “So has many another lass,” said the mermaid.

  “But not the like of hers,” said he.

  The mermaid smiled. “And what more?” she asked.

  “She has hair the gold of the midday sun,” said the lad.

  “So has many another lass,” said the mermaid.

  “But not the like of hers,” said he.

  “Eyes of blue and golden hair,” said the mermaid. “Well—and what more?”

  “She is tall and straight and supple as a young ash tree,” said the lad.

  “So is many another lass,” said the mermaid. “To me she does not seem greatly different. But what more?”

  “Och, what does it matter?” cried the lad. “What I want above all in the world is the lass I love and if I can’t have her, I want naught else!”

  “The lass you love,” said the mermaid thoughtfully. “I think we could give you even that, if you will but let me go free.”

  “Nay,” said the lad. “You’ll ne’er do that. I doubt that she’ll be wedded by now.”

  “She’ll not be,” promised the mermaid. “But you will have to come with me to my father. He is the one who can give you what you wish. Do you dare come with me into the sea?”

  “I dare!” said the lad. Hope had cast out all fear from his heart.

  So he cut the net from the mermaid and she took him by the hand and drew him down under the sea to her father’s castle.

  The sea king sat on a throne of pearl in his great hall. He greeted his daughter with joy, for the fishes had brought him word that she had been caught in the fisherlad’s net. When his daughter told him her story, he was not pleased that she should be bargained for like a catch of fish in the market. But a promise was a promise and her word was as good as his own. Besides, she was so dear to him and he was so glad to have her safe that he was ready to give the lad what he asked.

  “So, you want the lass you love best in all the world?” said the sea king. “Well! ’Twill take a bit of doing to get you that. Could you bear to wait a bit longer if you got what you wanted in the end?”

  It could be borne, the lad said, if it had to be.

  “For another year and a day,” said the sea king, “you must bide in your cove and do as you have done day in and night out. Though the time seem long and you grow weary of waiting, ’tis what you must do.”

  “I’ll do so then!” said the lad.

  Then the sea king sent for a casket of jewels, and from it he took a ring of gold all set round with pearls.

  “You did well,” said the king, “to refuse to take gold or jewels for my daughter’s freedom, for neither of them ever gives true happiness. When the year and the day are over, if you go to the lass you love best in all the world, you’ll find her waiting for you. Take this ring and keep it carefully, and when you find her, put it on her finger and wed her with it.”

  The lad took the ring and thanked the king for it. Then the king had a great fish carry him back to his cove. There, everything was just as he left it except that his boat was drawn up on the shore. The sails were furled and the nets within it were mended where he had cut them. The sea king had taken care of all that, too.

  The lad went up to his hut and laid off his wet clothes to dry. The ring he laid on the chimney shelf against the time when he’d b
e needing it.

  So he started out to serve his time, setting his nets and drawing up his fish and taking them to be sold. It was not sorrow that he nursed now, but hope for the day when he’d be claiming his own true love.

  No more than a week had gone by when he came home one night in the gloaming, and as he drew his boat up out of the sea, he saw what he took to be a heap of seaweed lying upon the stone of his doorstep. He wondered how it came to be there, and hurried up from the shore to see.

  When he got there, he found that it was not seaweed, but a lass who crouched on the doorstone. Her face was hidden in her lap and her hair streamed down around her. It was her hair that he had taken for seaweed because it was brown and so thick and long that it covered her to the ground.

  When she heard his footstep, she sat up and her hair fell away from her face. Then he saw that her face was wet and her eyes were red with weeping. He was in no mood for anybody’s troubles but his own, so he asked her roughly, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve run off from my father’s house,” she told him. “There’s a new stepmother there and she no older than myself. There’s no place for me there because she can’t abide me, and I came away lest she do me some harm.”

  “Then you’d best run back again,” said the lad. “For there’s no place for you here, either.”

  “Och, do not drive me away,” begged the lass. “I’ve wandered many a weary mile and found no place where they’d take me in. Let me stay, and I’ll keep your house and cook your food and do for you all I can.”

  “I can do for myself,” said the lad.

  At that the lass burst into tears again. “I can go no farther,” she wept in despair. “If I cannot bide here, I must just go down and jump into the sea!”

  The lad could no longer bear the sight and sound of her grief. His heart filled with pity for her and he said more gently, “Whisht, lass! Bide here then, if you like. Only keep out of my way.”