Part 81 (1/2)

His wounds healed apace but his soul had taken a deeper hurt, and day and night he sorrowed fiercely for his n.o.ble mother, wherefore he lay thus, heeding nought but his great grief. But upon the seventh night, he dreamed she stood beside his couch, tall and fair and gracious, and looked down on him, the mother-love alight within her sweet, sad eyes.

Now within her hand she bare his sword and showed him the legend graven upon the bright steel:

RESURGAM

And therewith she smiled wondrous tender and put the great weapon into his grasp; then stooped and kissed him, and, pointing upward with her finger, was gone.

And now within his sleep his anguished heart found solacement in slow and burning tears, and, sleeping yet, he wept full bitterly, insomuch that, sobbing, he awoke. And lo! beneath his right hand was the touch of cold steel and his fingers clenched tight upon the hilt of his great sword.

Then my Beltane arose forthwith, and finding his clothes near by, clad himself and did on his mail, and, soft-treading, went forth of his narrow chamber. Thus came he where Friar Martin lay, deep-breathing in his slumber, and waking him not, he pa.s.sed out into the dawn. And in the dawn was a gentle wind, very cool and grateful, that touched his burning brow and eyes like a caress; now looking up to heaven, where stars were paling to the dawn, Beltane raised the hilt of his sword and pressed it to his lips.

”O blessed mother!” he whispered, ”G.o.d hath surely found thee worthy to be one of His holy angels, so hast thou stooped from heaven to teach to me my duty. Thus now will I set by my idle grieving for thee, sweet saint, and strive to live thy worthy son--O dear my mother, who, being dead, yet liveth!”

Then Beltane sheathed his sword and went softly up the narrow stair that led to the battlements.

It was a bleak dawn, full of a thick, low-lying mist beyond the walls, but within this mist, to north and south and east and west, was a faint stir, while, ever and anon, rose the distant cry of some sentinel within Duke Ivo's sleeping camp, a mighty camp whose unseen powers held the fair city in deadly grip. In Belsaye nothing stirred and none waked at this dead hour save where, high on the bartizan above the square and mighty keep, the watchman paced to and fro, while here and there from curtain wall and ma.s.sy tower, spear-head and bascinet gleamed.

Slow and light of foot Beltane climbed the narrow stair that led up to one of the two square towers that flanked the main gate, but, being come thither, he paused to behold Giles, who chancing to be captain of the watch, sat upon a pile of great stones beside a powerful mangonel or catapult and stared him dolefully upon the lightening east: full oft sighed he, and therewith shook despondent head and even thus fell he to soft and doleful singing, groaning to himself 'twixt each verse, on this wise:

”She will not heed her lover's moan, His moped tear, his deep-fetched groan, So doth he sit, and here alone Sing willow!

(”With three curses on this foul mist!)

”The little fishes fishes woo, Birds blithe on bough do bill and coo, But lonely I, with sad ado Sing willow!”

(”And may Saint Anthony's fire consume Bernard, the merchant's round, plump son!)

”'Tis sure a maid was made for man, 'Twas e'en so since the world began, Yet doleful here, I only can Sing willow!”

(”And may the blessed saints have an eye upon her tender slumbers!”)

Here Giles paused to sigh amain, to fold his arms, to cross his legs, to frown and shake gloomy head; having done the which, he took breath and sang again as followeth:--

”Alack-a-day, alas and woe!

Would that Genevra fair might know 'Tis for her love Giles of the Bow Sings willow!”

But now, chancing to turn and espy Beltane, Giles fell suddenly abashed, his comely face grew ruddy 'neath its tan and he sprang very nimbly to his feet:

”Ha, tall brother--good brother,” he stammered, ”n.o.ble lord, G.o.d den to ye--hail and good morrow! Verily and in faith, by Saint Giles (my patron saint, brother) I do rejoice to see thee abroad again, as will our surly Rogerkin that doth gloom and glower for thee and hath hung about thy chamber door morn and noon and night, and our n.o.ble Sir Benedict and Walkyn--but none more unfeignedly than Giles that doth grow glad because of thee--”

”That is well,” quoth Beltane, seating himself upon the battlement, ”for verily thy song was vastly doleful, Giles!”

”My song, lord, my song? Ha--hum! O verily, my song is a foolish song or the song of a fool, for fool am I, forsooth--a love-lorn fool; a doleful fool, a very fool of fools, that in my foolish folly hath set his foolish heart on thing beyond reach of such base fool as I. In a word, tall brother, I'm a fool, _videlicet_--a lover!”

”Truly, hast the speech and outward seeming of your approved lover, Giles,” nodded Beltane.

”Aye, verily!” sighed Giles, ”aye, verily--behold my beard, I have had no heart to trim it this sennight! Alack, I--I that was so point-de-vice am like to become a second Diogenes (a filthy fellow that never washed and lived in a foul tub!). As for food, I eat no more than the chameleon that doth fill its belly with air and nought else, foolish beast! I, that was wont to be a fair figure of a man do fall away to skin and bone, daily, hourly, minute by minute--behold this leg, tall brother!” And Giles thrust out a l.u.s.ty, mailed limb. ”Here was a leg once--a proper shapely leg to catch a woman's eye--see how it hath shrunk, nay, faith, 'tis hidden in mine armour! But verily, my shanks will soon be no thicker than my bowstave! Lastly I--I that loved company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and there make much ado--and such is love, O me!”

”Doth the maid know of thy love?”