Beltane the Smith Part 90

"Aye, verily," he answered, "of the wonder of our love and thee, beloved, as I did see thee first within the thicket at Mortain, beautiful as now, though then was thy glorious hair unbound. I dream of thine eyes beneath thy nun's veil when I did bear thee in my arms from Thornaby--but most do I dream of thee as Fidelis, and the clasp of thy dear arms within the dark."

"But thou didst leave me in Mortain thicket despite my hair, Beltane!

And thou didst tell me mine eyes were not--a nun's eyes, Beltane--"

"Wherefore this night do I thank G.o.d!" said he, drawing her close beside him on the bench.

"And for my arms, Beltane, thou didst think them man's arms--because they went bedight in mail, forsooth!"

"So this night shall they go bedight in kisses of my mouth! loose me this sleeve, I pray--"

"Nay, Beltane,--I do beseech thee--"

"Art not my wife?"

"Aye, my lord."

"Then loose me thy sleeve, Helen."

So blus.h.i.+ng, trembling, needs must she obey and yield her soft arms to his caresses and hide her face because of their round, white nakedness.

But in a while she spake, low and very humble.

"Dear my lord, the moon doth set already, methinks!"

"Aye, but there is no cloud to dim her glory to-night, Helen!"

"But the hour waxeth--very late, my lord and I--must away."

"Aye, beloved, let us go."

"Nay my lord, I--O dear Beltane--"

"Wife!" said he, "dear my love and wife, have I not waited long enough?"

Hand in hand they walked amid the flowers with eyes only for each other until came they to a stair and up the stair to a chamber, rich with silk and arras and sweet with spicy odours, a chamber dim-lighted by a silver lamp pendent from carven roof-beam, whose soft glow filled the place with shadow. Yet even in this tender dimness, or because of it, her colour ebbed and flowed, her breath came apace and she stood before him voiceless and very still save for the sweet tumult of her bosom.

Then Beltane loosed off his sword and laid it upon the silken couch, but perceiving how she trembled, he set his arm about her and drew her to the open lattice where the moon made a pool of glory at their feet.

"Dost fear me, Helen?"

"Nay, my lord, I--think not."

"Then wherefore dost tremble?"

"Ah, Beltane, thou methinks dost--tremble also?"

Then Beltane knelt him at her feet and looked upon her loveliness with yearning eyes, yet touched her not:

"O beloved maid!" said he, "this is, methinks, because of thy sweet virgin eyes! For I do so love thee, Helen, that, an it be thy will, e'en now will I leave thee until thy heart doth call me!"

Now stooped she and set her white arms about him and her soft cheek to his hot brow.

"Dear my lord and--husband," she whispered, "'tis for this so sweet tenderness in thee that I do love thee best, methinks!"

"And fear me no more?"

"Aye, my lord, I do fear thee when--when thou dost look on me so, but-- when thou dost look on me so--'tis then I do love thee most, my Beltane!"

Up to his feet sprang Beltane and caught her to him, breast to breast and lip to lip.

The great sword clattered to the floor; but now, even as she sank in his embrace, she held him off to stare with eyes of sudden terror as, upon the stilly night broke a thunderous rumble, a shock, and thereafter sudden roar and outcry from afar, that swelled to a wild hubbub of distant voices and cries, lost, all at once, in the raving clamour of the tocsin.

Locked thus within each other's arms, eye questioned eye, while ever the bell beat out its fierce alarm. And presently, within the garden below, was the sound of running feet and, coming to the cas.e.m.e.nt, Beltane beheld a light that hovered to and fro, growing ever nearer and brighter, until he saw that he who bore it was Black Roger; and Roger's face shone with sweat and his breath laboured with his running.

"Master!" he panted, "O master--a mine! a mine! They have breached the wall beside the gate--hark, where they storm the city! Come, master, O come ere it be too late!"

Now Beltane clenched his fists and scowled on pale-faced Roger and from him to the radiant sky, yet when he spake his voice was low and even:

"I thank thee, faithful Roger! Go you and summon such of our foresters as ye may, muster them in the market-square, there will I come to thee."

Now when Roger's flickering light had vanished he turned, and found Helen close beside him; her cheeks were pale, but in her hand she held his sword.

"'Tis well thou wert not all unarmed, my lord!" she sighed, and forthwith belted the weapon about him. "Kneel down, I prithee, that I may lace for thee thy hood of mail." And when it was done she knelt also, and taking his hand pressed it to her throbbing heart, and holding him thus fell to prayer:

"O G.o.d of mercy, have in care those that fight in our defence this night, in especial guard and s.h.i.+eld this man of mine that I do love beyond all men--O G.o.d of mercy, hear us!"

So they arose, and as he looked on her so looked she on him, and of a sudden clasped him in close and pa.s.sionate embrace:

"Beltane--Beltane!" she sobbed, "G.o.d knoweth I do so love thee that thy dear flesh is mine, methinks, and the steel that woundeth thee shall hurt me also. And--O love--an thou should'st die to-night, then surely will this heart of mine die with thee--no man shall have my love other than thou--so to my grave will I go thy virgin wife for thy dear sake.

Fare thee well Beltane, O dear my husband, fare thee well. Tarry no longer, lest I pray thee on my knees to go not to the battle."

So Beltane kissed her once and went forth of the chamber, looking not back. She heard the ring of his armour a-down the stair, the quick tread of his feet, and leaning from the cas.e.m.e.nt watched him go; and he, knowing her there, looked not up, but with teeth hard shut and iron hands clenched, strode fast upon his way.

And now, since he looked not up, it seemed to her she was out of his thoughts already, for his face was stern and set, and in his eyes was the fierce light of battle.

And she, kneeling alone in the failing glory of the moon, hid her face within yearning, desolate arms and wept long and bitterly.

CHAPTER LXVIII

FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY

Now as Beltane hasted along he heard the tread of mailed feet, and looking round beheld the white friar, and 'neath his white frock mail gleamed, while in his hand he grasped a heavy sword. Close on his heels came many men, old men these for the most part, grey of beard and white of head, and their armour, even as they, was ancient and rusty; but the faces that stared from casque and mail-hood were grim and sorrow-lined, stern faces and purposeful, and the eyes that gleamed 'neath s.h.a.ggy brows ere now had looked on sons and brothers done to death by fire and gallows, and wives and daughters shamed and ravished. And ever as they came Friar Martin smote, sword in hand, on door and shuttered window, and cried hoa.r.s.e and loud:

"Ye men of Belsaye--fathers and husbands, arm ye, arm ye! Ye greybeards that have seen Duke Ivo's mercy, arm ye! Your foes be in, to burn, to loot again and ravis.h.!.+ O ye husbands and fathers, arise, arise--arm, arm and follow me to smite for wife and children!"