The Wild Cry of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  There were a number of dishes over and above what had been served on the previous morning.

  “I have left my clothes in Arles,” Roydon remarked as if he was following the train of his own thoughts.

  “Your clothes?” Valda questioned.

  “I don’t think your relatives would be very impressed with me as I appear at the moment,” he answered with a smile. “I will come to meet them looking, I promise you, very much more prepossessing and, I hope, responsible!”

  “I think you look handsome whatever you wear,” Valda said impulsively.

  Then, as he raised his eyebrows, she blushed and added, “That sounds very – forward. I spoke without – thinking.”

  “I am flattered, Valda, and may I tell you in return that you look very lovely today, lovelier, I think, than you have ever looked. But then they tell me that love is a great beautifier!”

  She blushed again and felt shy at the deep note in his voice.

  When they had finished breakfast they went outside and Valda took photographs of Monsieur and Madame Porquier, the horses and several of the Mas itself.

  “I will send you copies,” she promised. “And also of the pictures we took yesterday of the wild horses and the flamingos.”

  “We shall treasure them, mademoiselle,” Madame Porquier said, “and when you come back you shall see them in my album.”

  “I hope very much I shall be coming back,” Valda answered.

  Her linen bag was fastened behind the high saddle on one horse and Roydon’s clothes, which were rolled up in what appeared to be a light blanket, were attached behind the other.

  Only the camera seemed likely to be somewhat of an encumbrance until Roydon managed to fix it rather skilfully in the leather pouch on the front of his saddle. These were made for carrying the small items of guardian equipment.

  Then, with many expressions of goodwill, they said goodbye to the Porquiers and rode away from the yard.

  To Valda’s surprise, on leaving the Mas, they turned away from the road which led over the Étang de Vaccarès and went instead directly Northwards.

  She looked at him for an explanation and he said,

  “I wanted you to see some more of the Camargue before we leave. You will even have a glimpse a little later of the plains of La Crau on the other side of the Rhône.”

  “I should like that,” Valda said. “I have seen it in the distance from the ramparts of the Citadel at Les Baux.” “Then you know it is flat and desolate?” Roydon asked. “That is what it looks like!” “La Crau is a very strange place,” he said. “It is like the Sahara compared with the rest of the Camargue, but I expect you know the legend of why the flat plains are covered with stones.”

  “No, tell me,” Valda enquired.

  “La Crau was once believed to be the home of the Ancient Ligurians,” he answered, “and the legends tell us that, when Hercules was on his return from Spain, he encountered them in battle. When his soldiers had exhausted their supplies of arrows and were at the mercy of the enemy, Hercules prayed to Zeus for help.”

  “And the God helped him?” Valda asked.

  “Zeus sent a hail of stones that rained down from Heaven on the hapless Ligurians.”

  Roydon smiled, “Hercules won his battle, but the plains have remained a sea of stones to this day!”

  They rode on through the étangs, the canals, the marshes and the reed-beds.

  Now, as they were travelling North, the Camargue became richer. There were more taureaux and more guardians supervising them.

  The flowers were lovelier than ever and the birds rose in front of them protesting at their intrusion into their secret wilderness.

  But Valda was vividly conscious only of the joy of riding beside Roydon and at the same time savouring every moment they were together. However optimistic she tried to be, she could not help feeling afraid of what might happen when she returned home.

  They had started early and by noon it was very hot and they had ridden a long way.

  Now the great silver Rhône, magnificent, wide, full and heavy was on their right with the barges on their way to Arles and Lyons looking like toys on the restless waters.

  Across on the far bank they could see the beginning of the flat plains with no sign of life except an occasional isolated flock of sheep.

  Far in the distance, purple against the blue sky, were the Alpilles mountains.

  It was very beautiful and, when Roydon said it was time to stop for luncheon, Valda found he had chosen a place in the shade of some plane trees high above the river so that they could look across it onto La Crau.

  In the pouches of their saddles Madame Porquier had placed various neatly done up packages of food and a bottle of wine.

  Valda opened the packets and found pasties, freshly baked bread, several different sorts of cold meats, besides the wonderful pâté which tasted quite different from any Valda had ever eaten before.

  There was of course a multitude of different vegetables, including cold asparagus wrapped up in fresh lettuce leaves, tomatoes, aubergines and inevitably plenty of olives.

  When she had spread it all out, Valda laughed.

  “If we eat all this,” she said, “the horses will buckle under us!”

  “The expression ‘as strong as a horse’ was invented for those bred in the Camargue!” Roydon said. “But I agree, Madame is determined we shall not be hungry!”

  He brought yet another package from his saddle as he spoke, which contained figs that had ripened on the side of the house and small sweet strawberries which having grown unattended had turned from cultivated plants back to being nearly wild.

  They ate until Valda said she could not manage another mouthful. Meanwhile, as glasses had been forgotten, they both drank the wine from the same bottle.

  “I am so happy!” Valda said as Roydon stretched himself out beside her and looked at the river glittering in the sunshine.

  “I can hardly believe it is true that all this has happened so quickly,” he replied.

  “Yet if I feel as if I have known you all my life,” Valda told him, “it is because you have always been there in my heart.”

  “Just as you have been in mine,” he said.

  She slipped her hand into his.

  “Will you promise me something?”

  There was a serious note in her voice that he did not miss. “What is it?”

  “Promise me first!”

  “I promise on one condition, that it is not something which might hurt you.”

  “It is something which concerns my happiness.”

  “Then I promise,” he replied, “without reservation.”

  Valda’s fingers tightened on his.

  “That is what I wanted you to say.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I want you to swear by everything you believe in – by everything you consider holy, that whatever the difficulties, whatever the problems that lie ahead – you will still – marry me.”

  The tone in her voice made him look at her sharply.

  “What is making you afraid, my sweet?”

  “I think I am afraid that what the Gods have – given the Gods may – take away.”

  “I promise that I intend to marry you,” Roydon insisted.

  “Whatever the difficulties?” Valda insisted.

  He did not answer and she said quickly,

  “It may mean that I shall have to run away with you. Are you prepared to do that?”

  “It is something which for your own sake, I should regret doing,” he answered. “Do you really believe that your mother and stepfather will take such an aversion to me?”

  “Not to you personally,” Valda answered. “It would be impossible for them to do that. But they expect me to make what they think of as a – suitable marriage.”

  “And a man without money is not suitable?”

  “Only in their eyes,” Valda said desperately. “You and I know money is not important. It must never be important w
here we are concerned. Other people don’t think the same.”

  “I can understand their feelings,” Roydon remarked. “You are very beautiful and already, although you are so young, there must be many men who would wish to marry you.”

  “You know it is not like that in France,” Valda said. “Marriage is arranged because both parties have something to offer each other.”

  “And what have you to offer besides your very lovely face?” Roydon asked.

  Valda hesitated for a moment and then chose her words with care.

  “My stepfather belongs to an ancient family, which is greatly respected.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Merlimont.”

  She realised with a sense of relief that the name meant nothing to Roydon.

  Her hand was still in his and he raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers one by one. Then his lips were on her palm, warm, insistent and compelling.

  She felt a little thrill go through her and now she turned to him, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

  “Promise – whatever he says to you – that you will not – give up. I am yours. I belong to you. Oh, Roydon, darling – let’s be married in Arles before I go home.”

  “You are not to tempt me,” he answered. “But I promise, my precious, that if doing what is right fails, then we shall have to consider other ways by which we can be together.”

  “That is what I want to be sure you will – do,” she said.

  Roydon was still kissing her hand.

  “I love you! It is going to take me all my life to tell you how much!”

  “And I want to spend the – rest of my life with you.”

  She looked round her at the sunshine glinting on the water, the trees rustling softly overhead. Then she said passionately,

  “Why can we not stay here? Why must we go back at all? No one knows where I am. After a time they will cease looking for me and we could save so much worry and disagreeableness.”

  “Do you really think you would be happy living in the Camargue? Alone in the wilderness with me?”

  “I can imagine nothing more wonderful! You could be a guardian and I could cook for you and we could have a little Mas of our own where the world would never intrude.”

  “You make it sound very alluring, my darling!” Roydon smiled. “But in the winter when the winds blow in from the sea, it can be very cold and bleak.”

  “It would still be wild and wonderful!”

  “Like you!” he answered. “But my darling, in the future I shall be there to prevent your being wild, except of course with me!”

  As he spoke, he pulled her down beside him and his lips were on hers.

  He kissed her gently, his lips lingering on the softness of her skin.

  “I would like to keep you alone with me forever,” he sighed. “But I have an idea that we both have things to do in the world, eventually perhaps some sort of service that we must give to other people. Besides, you are too beautiful to be shut up in a cage, even if it is a wilderness!”

  “The Camargue could never be a cage!” Valda retorted. “It is people and houses which confine me. It is the rules of Society that make life miserable. I want to be like the wild horses, roaming at will – except of course you must be with me!”

  “We will be together!” Roydon said. “I am sure of it.” He gave a little sigh.

  “If only you were older.”

  Valda was still.

  “Do you think my stepfather might make us wait until I am of age?”

  “He might insist on a long engagement or even perhaps a separation so that you can learn your own mind.”

  “I know it now. You know that I belong to you and nobody and nothing – can separate us.”

  She spoke passionately, but she knew instinctively that Roydon was still apprehensive.

  Her head was against his shoulder and she looked up at him.

  “You will fight for me?” she asked.

  “I promise you I will fight with my mind and body, my heart and soul for what I want more than life itself!”

  His words made Valda think of the Knights of Les Baux and she put her arm around his neck and drew his lips closer to hers.

  “That is what I wanted you to say,” she whispered.

  Her lips were almost against his as she went on,

  “I swear to you that whatever anyone may say or do – I would never marry anyone – else. I am yours – yours for all eternity!”

  The words were lost against Roydon’s mouth and now he kissed her with a passion that revealed the fire rising in him.

  It ignited the flame within Valda too and he kissed her until at length she made a little murmur at the wonder of it and hid her face against his neck.

  Her breath was coming quickly between her lips and her heart was thumping wildly in her breast.

  “I love you! I adore you!” she cried. “Oh – Roydon – I love you!”

  He held her very close and then he said quietly,

  “We must go on, my precious. The sooner we face what lies ahead, the better it will be for both of us.”

  “I am so desperately – afraid of losing – you.”

  “You will never do that.”

  It was in the nature of a vow and Valda found it comforting as they packed up what was left of their luncheon. Mounting their horses they started off again along the path that ran beside the river.

  *

  All too soon it seemed to her that they were within sight of Arles, and, as she looked at it in the distance, it appeared dark and ominous.

  Its towers and spires warned her that she was stepping from the wilderness back into civilisation and she had no idea what civilisation might mean for her!

  She felt desperately that there was so much she wanted to say to Roydon, so much they had not discussed – so much that she might regret when they were not together.

  “Let’s stop for a little while,” she pleaded. “I have a terrifying feeling that we are leaving our – happiness behind.”

  She drew in her horse as she spoke and looked back the way they had come.

  “Why should we be hidebound?” she asked. “Why must we always be conventional and think of what is supposed to be right? Let’s go back to the Camargue. It is there, waiting for us. If we spend another month – or perhaps even a year there – when we come here again we will find things just the same as they are now.” “Would you really come back with me if I asked you to do so?” Roydon asked.

  “You know that is what I want,” Valda replied and her blue eyes were very sincere under the brim of her straw hat.

  “Sooner or later we would have to leave,” he answered, “and do you think it would make it any easier?”

  “At least we would have had that perfect time together,” she said. “A time to remember.”

  “You are talking as if you believe we will have to separate,” he said accusingly. “As if you think it inevitable that we shall be parted.”

  “I am praying that everything will – happen as we want it to,” Valda persisted. “At the same time I am afraid – of course I am afraid! What we are doing is throwing away the substance for the shadow.”

  Roydon did not reply and she went on,

  “We are here, we are together and there is no one to argue about it. If we go on now, we are risking our happiness for some mistaken ideal you have about what is right and what is wrong.”

  Valda put out her hand to touch his arm.

  “This is right as far as I am concerned,” she said. “Right that I should be with you. Right that I should belong to you. Right that we should love each other. Why do we have to convince anybody else of what we know is the truth?”

  He covered her hand with his own as it lay on his arm and she felt the strength of his fingers.

  “I want you for my wife,” he said quietly, “and being married involves other people and the blessing of the Church.”

  “You were prepared to – make love to me – withou
t it,” Valda said in a small voice.

  “That was before I was properly aware of our love and how tremendous it is,” he answered. “You bemused and beguiled me, as you well know – with your pretence of being a modern girl – of being sophisticated and experienced.”

  He gave a little sigh.

  “I suppose all the time I knew that it was untrue and yet you were so persuasive and at the same time so inexpressibly desirable, that I could think of nothing except that I wanted you.”

  “And you don’t – want me now?”

  Roydon smiled.

  “You know the answer to that,” he said, “but I want you in a very different way. I want you as my wife to belong to me always! And I want you one day as the mother of my children.”

  He spoke very gravely and to that Valda knew she had no answer.

  She looked at him and there was no need for further words. Instead he lifted her hand from his arm and kissed it very tenderly.

  Then, still without speaking, they spurred their horses and moved on towards Arles.

  The place that Monsieur Porquier had described to them was not far inside the town. There were shady places and little squares, tall narrow houses with grey shutters, until they came to a yard where other horses were stabled. There were several carriages of different styles in the centre of it.

  “It’s a livery stable!” Valda exclaimed.

  “And, according to Monsieur Porquier, the best in Arles! The owner is good to his horses and has a reputation for being a judge of them too.”

  A groom came out to greet them and, when Roydon explained whom he wanted, went in search of his Master. There was a great deal of talk, explanations as to why the horses had been brought several weeks earlier than he had expected and finally Valda was shown ceremoniously into a small salon with plush-covered furniture.

  She was offered coffee and a glass of wine while the carriage was prepared that was to carry her on to her home.

  Only when the owner of the stables had bowed himself from the room did Roydon look at the unhappiness in Valda’s eyes and say gently,

  “Don’t be afraid, my darling. I have a feeling that your mother and stepfather will be so glad to have you home safe and sound that they will be in a good mood to listen to what you have to tell them.”