Part 60 (1/2)
It was Black Roger, praying in the dawn, his broadsword set upright in the ling, his hands devoutly crossed and his black head stooped full low; thus he saw not Beltane's eyes upon him until his prayer was ended.
Quoth Beltane then:
”May heaven grant thee thy prayer, Roger--'twas a good prayer and I the better for it.”
”Why, look now, master,” says Roger, somewhat abashed, ”I am a something better prayer than I was, and I pray in good Saxon English; thus do I call on Saint Cuthbert, that was a l.u.s.ty Saxon ere that he was a saint.”
”But, Roger, what need to supplicate lest I forget thee? Think you I should forget my faithful Roger?”
”Why, lord,” says Roger, busily preparing wherewith to break their fast, ”when a man marrieth, see you, and thereafter proceedeth forthwith to get him children, as the custom is--”
”Nay, dost talk folly, Roger!” quoth Beltane, his pale cheek flus.h.i.+ng.
”Yet folly thou dost dream of, master, and she also--else wherefore love--”
”Nay, Roger, doth Belsaye lie secure yet? What of Walkyn and our comrades? Marched they to Belsaye as I did command?”
”Why, see you now, master, when our foes came not, and you came not, we sent word to Belsaye that, within two days we would march thither, according to thy word, and forthwith Giles sends word back that he was very well and wanted no long-legged Walkyn or surly Roger to share authority with him yet a while, and bid us twirl our thumbs within the green until he commanded our presence--with divers other ribald j.a.pes and wanton toys--whereon Walkyn and I waxed something wroth.
Therefore, when ye came not, our comrades fell to factions and riot, whereat I, perforce, smote me one or two and Walkyn three or four and so brought peace among them. But when we would have tarried yet for thee, these rogue-fellows clamoured for Walkyn to lead them into the wild, back to their ancient outlawry; so loud they clamoured and so oft, that, in the end, Walkyn smiled--a strange thing in him, master-- but he agreed, whereon we came nigh to cutting each other's throats, he and I. Howbeit, in the end he went, he and all the other rogues. So bided I alone in the Hollow, day and night, waiting thee, master, and at the last, cometh Sir Fidelis--and so all's said and behold thy breakfast--a coney, see you, lord, that I snared but yest're'en.”
”Our company gone--outlaws, spending their lives to no purpose--here is evil news, Roger!”
”Here is tender meat, master, and delicate!”
”Back to outlawry! And Walkyn too!”
”Aye--but he smiled, master! Walkyn, methinks, is not a jovial soul, lord, and when he smileth it behoveth others to frown and--beware. So prithee eat hearty, lord, for, in a while the sun will stand above yon whin-bush, and then 'twill be the eleventh hour, and at the eleventh hour must I wash thy hurt and be-plaster it with this good ointment.”
”What then?”
”Then shalt thou sleep, master, and I to the woods with my bow to get us meat--sweet juicy venison, an the saints be kind!”
”And wherefore at the eleventh hour?”
”For that--She did so command me, master.”
”She?” sighed Beltane.
”Aye, forsooth, master. She that the good Saint Cuthbert shall give to thy close embracements one day.”
”Think you so?” spake Beltane beneath his breath, and staring across the sunny glade with eyes of yearning, ”think you so indeed, Roger?”
”Of a surety, lord,” nodded Roger, ”seeing that I do plague the good saint on the matter continually--for, master, when I pray, I do pray right l.u.s.tily.”
So, in a while, the meal done and crock and pannikin washed and set aside, Beltane's leg is bathed and dressed right skilfully with hands, for all their strength and hardness, wondrous light and gentle.
Thereafter, stretched upon his bed of heather, Beltane watches Black Roger gird on belt and quiver, and, bow in hand, stride blithely into the green, and, ere he knows it, is asleep. And in his sleep, beholds one who bends to kiss him, white hands outstretched and all heaven in her eyes; and with her voice thrilling in his ears, wakes, to find the sun already westering and Black Roger near by, who, squatting before a rough table he has contrived set close beside the fire whereon a cooking pot seethes and bubbles, is busied with certain brewings, infusings and mixings in pipkin and pannikin, and all with brow of frowning portent.