Beltane the Smith Part 85

"Not so, master, her hair is red, look'ee--"

"And each day she do bring us flowers, master--"

"And suckets, look'ee, very sweet and delicate, master."

In a while Beltane arose and going from bed to bed spake with each and every, and went his way, leaving Orson and Jenkyn to their recriminations.

Being come back into the refectory, he found Friar Martin yet busied with the preparations of his cooking, and seating himself upon the great table hard by, fell to a profound meditation, watched ever and anon by the friar's kindly eyes: so very silent and thoughtful was he that the friar presently looked up from slicing and cutting his vegetables and spake with smile wondrous tender:

"Wherefore so pensive, my son?"

"Good father, I think and dream of--red roses!"

Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white cowl.

"A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!" quoth he.

"As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!"

"'She,' my son?"

"As Helen, good friar, as Helen the Beautiful, d.u.c.h.ess of Mortain!"

"Ah!" sighed the friar, and forthwith popped the leek into the pot. "I prithee, n.o.ble son, reach me the salt-box yonder!"

CHAPTER LXVI

CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK

Next morning, ere the sun was up, came Beltane into the minster and hiding within the deeper gloom of the choir, sat there hushing his breath to listen, trembling in eager antic.i.p.ation. Slowly amid the dimness above came a glimmer from the great window, a pale beam that grew with dawn until up rose the sun and the window glowed in many-hued splendour.

And in a while to Beltane's straining senses came the faint creak of a door, a soft rustle, the swift light tread of feet, and starting forth of his lurking place he stepped forward with yearning arms outstretched--then paused of a sudden beholding her who stood at gaze, one slender foot advanced and white hands full of roses and lilies, one as fair, as sweet and pure as the fragrant blooms she bore. Small was she and slender, and of a radiant loveliness, red of lip and grey-eyed: now beholding Beltane thus suddenly, she shrank and uttered a soft cry.

"Nay," quoth he, "fear me not, sweet maid, methought thee other than thou art--I grieve that I did fright thee--forgive me, I pray," so saying, he sighed and bowing full humbly, turned, but even so paused again: "Thou art methinks the Reeve's fair daughter--thou art the lady Genevra?" he questioned.

"Aye, my lord."

"Then, an thou dost love, gentle maid, heaven send thee happier in thy love than I." At the which Genevra's gentle eyes grew softer yet and her sweet mouth full pitiful and tender.

"Art thou so unhappy, lord Beltane?"

"Aye, truly!" he sighed, and drooped mournful head.

"Ah, messire, then fain would I aid thee an I might!" said she, soft-voiced.

"Then where, I pray you, is she that came here yesterday?"

"Nay, lord, how may I tell thee this? There be many women in Belsaye town."

"For me," quoth Beltane, "in all the world there is but one and to this one, alas! thou canst not aid me, yet for thy kind intent I thank thee, and so farewell, sweet maid." Thus saying, he took three steps away from her, then turning, came back in two. "Stay," quoth he, slipping hand in wallet, "know you this shoe?"

Now beholding this, Genevra's red lips quivered roguishly, and she bowed her little, shapely head:

"Indeed, my lord, 'tis mine!" said she.

"Then pray you, who was she did wear it yesterday--?"

"Aye, messire, 'twas yesterday I--missed it, wilt not give it me therefore? One shoe can avail thee nothing and--and 'tis too small for thee to wear methinks--"

"Did she--she that lost this yesterday, send thee to-day in her stead?"

"Wilt not give a poor maid her shoe again, messire?"

"O Genevra, beseech thee, who was she did wear it yesterday--speak!"

"Nay, this--this I may not tell thee, lord Beltane."

"And wherefore?"

"For that I did so promise--and yet--what seek you of her, my lord?"

"Forgiveness," said Beltane, hot and eager, "I would woo her sweet clemency on one that hath wrought her grievous wrong. O sweet Genevra, wilt not say where I may find her?"

A while stood the maid Genevra with bowed head as one in doubt, then looked on him with sweet maiden eyes and of a sudden smiled compa.s.sionate and tender.

"Ah, messire," said she, "surely thine are the eyes of one who loveth greatly and well! And I do so love her that fain would I have her greatly loved--so will I tell thee despite my word--hearken!" And drawing him near she laid white finger to rosy lip and thereafter spake in whispers. "Go you to the green door where yesterday thou didst meet with Gi--with the captain of the archers--O verily we--she and I, my lord, did see and hear all that pa.s.sed betwixt you--and upon this door knock you softly three times. Go--yet, O prithee say not 'twas Genevra told thee this!" and again she laid white finger to roguish, pouting lip.

Then Beltane stooped, and catching that little hand kissed it, and thereafter hasted blithely on his way.

Swift of foot went he and with eyes a-dance, nor paused in his long stride until he was come to a certain high wall wherein was set the small, green door, whereon he knocked three times. And presently he heard the bar softly raised, the door was opened slow and cautiously, and stooping, Beltane stepped beneath the lintel and stood suddenly still, staring into the face of Black Roger. And even as Beltane stared thus amazed, so stared Roger.

"Why, master--" quoth he, pushing back his mail-coif to rumple his black hair, "why, master, you--you be early abroad--though forsooth 'tis a fair morning and--"

"Roger," quoth Beltane, looking round upon a fair garden a-bloom with flowers, "Roger, where is the d.u.c.h.ess Helen?"

"Ha, so ye do know, master--who hath discovered it--?"

"Where is she, Roger?"

"Lord," quoth Roger, giving a sudden sideways jerk of his head, "how should Roger tell thee this?" Now even as he spake, Roger must needs gesture again with his head and therewith close one bright, black eye, and with stealthy finger point to a certain tall hedge hard by; all of which was seen by one who stood beyond the hedge, watching Beltane with eyes that missed nought of him, from golden spur to golden head; quick to note his flushing cheek, his parted lips and the eager light of his blue eyes; one who perceiving him turn whither Roger's sly finger pointed, gathered up her flowing robe in both white hands that she might flee the faster, and who, speeding swift and light, came to a certain leafy bower where stood a tambour frame, and sitting there, with draperies well ordered, caught up silk and needle, yet paused to close her eyes and set one hand upon rounded bosom what time a quick, firm step drew near and ever nearer with clash and ring of heavy mail until Beltane stood before her. And how was he to know of the eyes that had watched him through the hedge, or that the hand that held the needle had paused lest he should see how direfully it trembled: how should my Beltane know all this, who was but a very man?

A while stood he, viewing her with eyes aglow with yearning tenderness, and she, knowing this, kept her face down-bent, therefore. Now beholding all the beauty of her, because of her gracious loveliness, his breath caught, then hurried thick and fast, insomuch that when he would have spoken he could not; thus he worshipped her in a look and she, content to be so worshipped, sat with head down-bent, as sweetly demure, as proud and stately as if--as if she ne'er in all her days had fled with hampering draperies caught up so high!

So Beltane stood worshipping her as she had been some young G.o.ddess in whose immortal beauty all beauty was embodied.