The Return of Fursey
Page 24
Fursey was at a loss to understand this military jargon, so he tried again, hoping to get a plain answer.
“In brief, how should one set about engaging a woman’s affections?”
For some moments Magnus did not answer, but gazed dully between his feet at the water wrinkling in between the stones.
“The matter is very recondite,” he said with an effort. “I knew nothing about women when I fell in love with her ladyship beyond in the cottage, so, being a practical man, I consulted an aged female soothsayer who lived in a hole in a hill a long distance from here. She was very aged and had the reputation of knowing everything. I often doubt now whether she did. If she was so very knowledgeable, it doesn’t seem to have done her much good in life. I had to climb halfway up a cliff face to get to the rockery in which she had set up residence. I found her huddled in rags and filth, gnawing a crust and trying to warm herself over a spark.”
“She must have been an interesting old lady,” said Fursey breathlessly. “What did she say about love?”
“She said that the whole matter resolved itself into a very simple formula, that every woman wants a man to be at the same time sweetheart, father, companion and child to her.”
“I see,” said Fursey.
“She said that if a man designs to engage a woman’s affections, he must first be masterful, then he must chase her, metaphorically of course——”
“Of course,” agreed Fursey.
“——then he must pay homage to her elusiveness. He mustn’t press the chase too hard, but must seem to tire and be on the point of giving up in despair. Then he must show fresh determination and chase her again until she surrenders. After that he must never again assert his superiority in word or deed.”
The light in the sky had changed, and Fursey frowned at the merry sleekness of the water.
“Did I understand you to say that the aged soothsayer held the operation to be a simple one?”
“She did.”
“It doesn’t seem simple to me.”
“Nor to me,” agreed Magnus.
“If only I could read,” said Fursey, “I’d like to have it down in writing. Did you try this simple formula with Maeve?”
“No.”
“Yet you won her.”
“Yes.”
“Would you recommend me to plan my future conquests on those lines?”
“No, unless you’re some class of an acrobat. In my opinion life is too short. I’d rather fight a battle any day. At least you know who hits you.”
Fursey threw a rueful glance at his companion and began to experience great depression of spirit.
“I don’t know,” declared Magnus, “why a man who longs for adventure should wish to weight himself down with the heart and hand of a lady.”
“I’ve never seen a woman swoon for love of me,” confided Fursey. “I freely admit it. I feel that their coldness in my regard is a challenge to me. I suppose that’s why the subject interests me—the fascination of the unachieved.”
“I expect that’s what’s at the bottom of it,” agreed Magnus, “but it’s crazy. Marriage corks the adventure spirit. Thereafter we merely wait in comfort for death.”
The two men sat staring gloomily at the black ooze of water.
“I wish you wouldn’t go away,” said Magnus suddenly. There was a huskiness in his voice which affected Fursey powerfully. “If you go I’ll have no one to talk to. You can stay with us as long as you wish. You don’t eat much anyway, and you can make yourself useful about the house and farm. Will you not change your mind and remain?”
Fursey said nothing. A little smile came about the corners of his mouth, half sad, half bitter. He drew the poisoned bodkin from his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and then with a flick of his wrist sent it spinning into the dark waters below.
“What was that?” asked Magnus, startled by the sudden movement.
“I’ve told you a host of lies,” said Fursey. “I don’t want to go away to-morrow. I hate adventure. I’m afraid of the roads and what may lie in wait round the corner. I’m terrified of hunger and hardship. Ah I want from life is a small house with strong walls to keep adventure away from me. That and something else.”
He could hear Magnus’ heavy breathing, but he did not raise his eyes. He sat, a pathetic little figure, crouched on the slab of rock, staring ahead of him, his two hands clasped between his knees.
“What was that you flung away?” came Magnus’ voice.
“A poisoned bodkin. One scratch would have meant death. I coaxed you here this morning so as to kill you. That has been my intention all the while I was in your cottage. When I had killed you, my design was to take Maeve, who to my mind excels all other women.”
He was conscious of a choking sound proceeding from his companion, but still he did not look round. He expected to feel himself seized and flung into the tarn in the wake of the bodkin, but nothing happened. When he turned his eyes at last to look at Magnus, the big soldier was staring at him round-eyed.
“Well, aren’t you the frisky fellow!” gasped Magnus. “And why didn’t you do it instead of throwing away your weapon?”
“I’ve learnt,” said Fursey mournfully, “that it’s no use trying to be wicked unless it’s already in a man’s nature to be so.”
“Philosophy now, by the powers above!”
“It’s a great truth,” said Fursey gravely. “It took me a long time to learn it.”
“And all the time you were thinking of giving me a dig with that thing?”
“A nick would have been enough,” explained Fursey. “It was smeared with a most potent poison.”
“It’s a good thing for you that you didn’t try it,” snorted Magnus. “I’d have mangled you.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” said Fursey patiently. “You would scarcely have had time to retaliate. One scratch would have put you into paroxysms.”
Magnus stared at him with unbelieving eyes; then he gave a sudden shout of laughter.
“By God, you’ve more manhood than I credited you with. Aren’t you the hardy rogue? And were you really planning to murder me all the time you were eating my bread and salt?”
“Yes,” admitted Fursey sheepishly, “that was my damnable intent. Did you never suspect me?”
“Not at all. I was convinced that you were a harmless, poor slob.”
Fursey puffed out his chest, well satisfied that his manhood was vindicated.
“But,” said Magnus suddenly, “if you’re in love with Maeve, why didn’t you carry her off when I gave you the chance? You can’t say opportunity was lacking. I gave you three days.”
“You don’t mean to say,” said Fursey incredulously, “that you wanted her carried off?”
“Well,” admitted Magnus somewhat shamefacedly, “I had a sort of hope. After all, there was a broomstick handy behind the door.”
“In other words,” said Fursey stiffly, “you’re telling me to my face that I’m a liar. You didn’t believe me when I told you that I was cured of sorcery.”
“I did indeed,” replied Magnus hastily. “Please don’t take it that way. Of course I believed you; but, situated as I was, I couldn’t help hoping that a little of the old magic still clung to your person, just enough to raise a broomstick into the air. I’m sorry if what I’ve said seems to imply a deviation from the truth on your part. I really didn’t mean it that way.”
Fursey stared haughtily at his companion until a sudden realisation of the turn the conversation had taken made him slide all at once from his attitude of injured pride.
“What’s that?” he gasped. “Do I understand you to say that you want to get rid of Maeve?”
Magnus nodded dumbly.
“Why?”
“Have you not noticed about her a sharp, shrewish look?”
“I have not,” retorted Fursey indignantly. “The most I’ll admit to, is that there is in her air a certain self-sufficiency.”
Magnus shook his head gloo
mily. “There’s more than that.”
“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you’re talking about her,” said Fursey hotly. “You seem to forget that I’m in love with her.”
Magnus began to stutter an apology; then he stopped and hung his head. He glanced up at Fursey shyly. Some moments passed. Very slowly the soldier’s face cleared as his mental machinery began to stir. The apologetic look made room for a look of surprise. His countenance slowly flushed and his brow darkened.
“Look here,” he said angrily. “That woman is my wife, and I’m not going to listen to her being insulted.”
“It’s you who insulted her,” snapped Fursey.
Magnus emitted a sudden roar. “What are we talking about? You have me all confused. What right have you to be indignant about anything? You’re nothing but a stygian villain, eating my bread and all the time resolved on the incivility of prodding me with a poisoned bodkin!”
“I see that you’re determined to hurt my feelings,” said Fursey. “That’s all the thanks I get for saving your life.”
“Saving my what?” howled Magnus.
“Oblige me by not raising your voice. I decline to continue the discussion unless it is carried on in the key usual to gentlemen when they meet to discuss their affairs. There is nothing so vulgar as raucous howling.”
“Tell me how you saved my life?” repeated Magnus weakly.
“By not prodding you with the lethal blade, of course. Only for my laudable restraint in the matter you’d now be lying here, completely black in all probability, with a dozen vultures squatting around you in a ring. Am I to get no thanks for that?”
“I’m sorry,” said Magnus humbly. “Will you take my hand and we’ll be friends.”
Fursey took the soldier’s proffered palm and gave it a dignified shake.
“Where did we get to in the discussion?” asked Magnus uncertainly.
“I admitted that I loved your wife, and you on your part admitted that you wanted to get rid of her,” replied Fursey primly. “We got that far and no further. You expressed surprise that I hadn’t already abducted her during your misguided efforts to have me lodged in a monastery. We may as well dispose of that idea at once. I’m not prepared to attempt her abduction for two excellent reasons: Firstly, I don’t think the use of force a good initial basis for a subsequent happy union of heart and mind; and secondly, I don’t think I’d succeed. She’s a muscular woman and might inflict an injury on me. Do you think there’s any possibility of her going with me voluntarily if you turned your back for a moment?”
“No,” replied Magnus dolefully. “Unfortunately she’s sore assotted on me, and she thinks you’re a horrible little hop-o’-my-thumb.”
“Oh, does she?” replied Fursey huffily. “If she’s not careful, I’ll take my affections elsewhere.”
“No, don’t do that,” put in Magnus hastily. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. I have been hoping that you would at least consent to remain in the house for a month or two, so that I’ll be able to slip away to the war in the north. After all, a husband has certain obligations to his wife, and one of them is not to leave her alone and unprotected. Maeve, like all women, is subject to astounding fancies if left alone at night. She begins to be afraid that there are bandits in the cupboard and that every noise outside is a demon creeping up on the house. Women are very dependent on us.”
“Are they?” muttered Fursey.
“Yes,” said Magnus, surprised. “I thought everyone knew that. Well, the position is that I’ve grown weary of that woman’s apron strings. I can’t go out and pick a quarrel with a friend in a tavern but I feel those apron strings tightening. I feel all the time that I’m being played like a fish. When I pull hard she lets out the line a little, but she never lets go. I’m sick and tired of it, and I’m determined not to spend my life sitting at her feet. You can be her pet and warm yourself before the fire for the rest of your life for all I care. I have a solution which is in the highest degree watertight. I’ll go across to Britain. When we were in Britain last summer the King of Mercia felt my muscles and offered me service in his army any time I wanted it. I undertake to have a message sent home within a month to the effect that on a well-fought field my body was dug out from beneath a heap of slain and subsequently buried with martial pomp and circumstance. Maeve will fall in a swoon, and both you and she will go into mourning. In a half-year’s time she’ll have got used to the look of you about the house, and eventually she’ll consent to marry you. I assure you that it is merely a matter of habit with women. They get used to men just the same as they get used to the furniture. Never fear, she’ll accept you in the long run in spite of your looks.”
Fursey was conscious of the liveliest emotion. He clutched Magnus’ fist again and shook it warmly.
“It’s a most brilliant idea,” he said excitedly, “and it has the advantage of being highly respectable. I was always against irregular unions. After all, one has a duty to society to preserve appearances.”
“You’ll stay then?” asked Magnus eagerly, “and look after Maeve until you receive intelligence of my demise?”
“Of course I will,” responded Fursey; “and after it, too, if she’ll have me.”
Magnus’ honest face glowed with satisfaction as he rose and began to lead the way back towards the cottage. The peaty soil under Fursey’s feet was soft and springy, the lark which soared overhead seemed to pour down its congratulations. Fursey walked with his face raised to catch every playful breeze. His whole being was suffused with a strange, uneasy feeling of happiness. As they neared the cottage he spoke in a loud whisper to his companion.
“When do you plan to leave?”
“In a few days,” muttered the second conspirator.
As they passed through the wicket in the thorn fence, Fursey began to wax nervous.
“Will you tell her now that I’m not leaving to-morrow after all?”
“Yes, of course,” replied Magnus roughly. He turned on Fursey a piercing eye as he noticed that the latter had begun to lag behind. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of a woman.”
“Oh, no,” lisped Fursey. “Of course not.”
They ducked their heads in the low doorway and entered the cottage. Magnus kicked a chair out of his way and took his stand near the fire. Maeve seemed to sense that something was afoot. She put down a bowl of buttermilk which she held in her hand and turned to look at them across the fire. Through the drifting smoke Fursey could see that she was quite calm and self-possessed.
“We men have been talking,” said Magnus. “I’m riding north to the war in a few days’ time.”
Maeve glanced calmly from her burly husband to Fursey quaking in the background. She said nothing. Magnus went to the corner and picked up his spear. He tested the stout ash between his great fists. When he spoke again, he avoided looking at her.
“I won’t be gone for long,” he lied; “perhaps for a few weeks. In the meantime Fursey will stay here to guard the house,”
Maeve turned and picked up the bowl of buttermilk as if nothing had happened.
“Fursey is our guest,” she said quietly. “He is welcome to stay as long as he wishes.”
Fursey stumbled out of the cottage in Magnus’ wake, scarcely conscious of where he was going. He stood outside trembling in every limb.
“A very formidable woman,” he said shakily.
Magnus’ brow was set in hard, firm lines. He walked to the corner of the cottage, while Fursey trailed along in his rear. Then he weighed the spear carefully in his hand, raised and flung it so that it stuck quivering in the palisade. Two startled cows went scampering across the field.
“Mark my words,” said Magnus darkly, “she’s up to some devilment.”
On the evening of the following day Fursey was sitting at the base of the tree, his mind blank, gazing at the sun’s afterglow in the west, when Magnus emerged from the cottage and took his arm in a grip which made him squeal. The soldi
er led him some distance from the cottage before he spoke.
“There’s a complication,” he hissed.
“What?” asked Fursey blankly, not knowing what his companion was talking about.
“She says that she’s going to present me with a pledge of our love.”
Fursey gawked at Magnus with his mouth open.
“Don’t you understand, you clodpoll? She’s going to present me with a squawker.”
“Oh,” said Fursey.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all on purpose. This is a woeful complication.”
“I don’t mind,” said Fursey brightly. “I’ll adopt it.”
Magnus scowled at him. “Do you think that I’d entrust my child to a ninnyhammer like you?”
He stalked away. Fursey gaped after him, and then went over and sat down once more beneath the tree.
For two days Magnus moved about morosely. Fursey tiptoed in and out of the cottage, fearful of attracting attention. The soldier, when he spoke to his wife, addressed her with a rough kindliness. Maeve paid little attention to either of them. She seemed to live in a world of her own, remote from mundane things. Fursey watched her anxiously as she sat for hours on end by the fire, smiling slightly to herself.
“She despises us both,” Magnus confided to Fursey a couple of days later as he sat on the grass outside the door savagely polishing his sword. It was already dusk, but the soldier had sat there since sunset. “She hasn’t told me so, but I know it. She finds herself on the level of creation, and for all she cares the two of us may go and drown ourselves. She has another allegiance now. She is complete.”
Fursey could not think of anything to say.
“She knows what we have been planning,” continued Magnus fiercely. “She hasn’t said so, but I feel it. And the curse of the thirteen orphans on her, instead of telling the two of us what she thinks of us and blistering the hides off us as we deserve, she chooses to be soft-spoken and gentle! Why doesn’t she let fly at us? Why?”
“I suppose,” said Fursey miserably, “it’s not in her nature.”
Magnus flung down his sword on the grass.
“I’m remaining here,” he declared. “You’ll have to go. Now and forever my legs are entangled in this house. I should have known that marriage is the end of adventure. Here, help me to gather up my weapons.”