The Wood Beyond the World by William Morris (novel24 txt) 📖

the Lady fell a-talking with Walter concerning the parts of the earth, and the manners of men, and of his journeyings to and fro.

At last she said: “Thou hast told me much and answered all my questions wisely, and as my good Squire should, and that pleaseth me.  But now tell me of the city wherein thou wert born and bred; a city whereof thou hast hitherto told me nought.”

“Lady,” he said, “it is a fair and a great city, and to many it seemeth lovely.  But I have left it, and now it is nothing to me.”

“Hast thou not kindred there?” said she.

“Yea,” said he, “and foemen withal; and a false woman waylayeth my life there.”

“And what was she?” said the Lady.

Said Walter: “She was but my wife.”

“Was she fair?” said the Lady.

Walter looked on her a while, and then said: “I was going to say that she was wellnigh as fair as thou; but that may scarce be.  Yet was she very fair.  But now, kind and gracious Lady, I will say this word to thee: I marvel that thou askest so many things concerning the city of Langton on Holm, where I was born, and where are my kindred yet; for meseemeth that thou knowest it thyself.”

“I know it, I?” said the Lady.

“What, then! thou knowest it not?” said Walter.

Spake the Lady, and some of her old disdain was in her words: “Dost thou deem that I wander about the world and its cheaping-steads like one of the chap-men?  Nay, I dwell in the Wood beyond the World, and nowhere else.  What hath put this word into thy mouth?”

He said: “Pardon me, Lady, if I have misdone; but thus it was: Mine own eyes beheld thee going down the quays of our city, and thence a ship-board, and the ship sailed out of the haven.  And first of all went a strange dwarf, whom I have seen here, and then thy Maid; and then went thy gracious and lovely body.”

The Lady’s face changed as he spoke, and she turned red and then pale, and set her teeth; but she refrained her, and said: “Squire, I see of thee that thou art no liar, nor light of wit, therefore I suppose that thou hast verily seen some appearance of me; but never have I been in Langton, nor thought thereof, nor known that such a stead there was until thou namedst it e’en now.  Wherefore, I deem that an enemy hath cast the shadow of me on the air of that land.”

“Yea, my Lady,” said Walter; “and what enemy mightest thou have to have done this?”

She was slow of answer, but spake at last from a quivering mouth of anger: “Knowest thou not the saw, that a man’s foes are they of his own house?  If I find out for a truth who hath done this, the said enemy shall have an evil hour with me.”

Again she was silent, and she clenched her hands and strained her limbs in the heat of her anger; so that Walter was afraid of her, and all his misgivings came back to his heart again, and he repented that he had told her so much.  But in a little while all that trouble and wrath seemed to flow off her, and again was she of good cheer, and kind and sweet to him and she said: “But in sooth, however it may be, I thank thee, my Squire and friend, for telling me hereof.  And surely no wyte do I lay on thee.  And, moreover, is it not this vision which hath brought thee hither?”

“So it is, Lady,” said he.

“Then have we to thank it,” said the Lady, “and thou art welcome to our land.”

And therewith she held out her hand to him, and he took it on his knees and kissed it: and then it was as if a red-hot iron had run through his heart, and he felt faint, and bowed down his head.  But he held her hand yet, and kissed it many times, and the wrist and the arm, and knew not where he was.

But she drew a little away from him, and arose and said: “Now is the day wearing, and if we are to bear back any venison we must buckle to the work.  So arise, Squire, and take the hounds and come with me; for not far off is a little thicket which mostly harbours foison of deer, great and small.  Let us come our ways.”

CHAPTER XV: THE SLAYING OF THE QUARRY

So they walked on quietly thence some half a mile, and ever the Lady would have Walter to walk by her side, and not follow a little behind her, as was meet for a servant to do; and she touched his hand at whiles as she showed him beast and fowl and tree, and the sweetness of her body overcame him, so that for a while he thought of nothing save her.

Now when they were come to the thicket-side, she turned to him and said: “Squire, I am no ill woodman, so that thou mayst trust me that we shall not be brought to shame the second time; and I shall do sagely; so nock an arrow to thy bow, and abide me here, and stir not hence; for I shall enter this thicket without the hounds, and arouse the quarry for thee; and see that thou be brisk and clean-shooting, and then shalt thou have a reward of me.”

Therewith she drew up her skirts through her girdle again, took her bent bow in her hand, and drew an arrow out of the quiver, and stepped lightly into the thicket, leaving him longing for the sight of her, as he hearkened to the tread of her feet on the dry leaves, and the rustling of the brake as she thrust through it.

Thus he stood for a few minutes, and then he heard a kind of gibbering cry without words, yet as of a woman, coming from the thicket, and while his heart was yet gathering the thought that something had gone amiss, he glided swiftly, but with little stir, into the brake.

He had gone but a little way ere he saw the Lady standing there in a narrow clearing, her face pale as death, her knees cleaving together, her body swaying and tottering, her hands hanging down, and the bow and arrow fallen to the ground; and ten yards before her a great-headed yellow creature crouching flat to the earth and slowly drawing nigher.

He stopped short; one arrow was already notched to the string, and another hung loose to the lesser fingers of his string-hand.  He raised his right hand, and drew and loosed in a twinkling; the shaft flew close to the Lady’s side, and straightway all the wood rung with a huge roar, as the yellow lion turned about to bite at the shaft which had sunk deep into him behind the shoulder, as if a bolt out of the heavens had smitten him.  But straightway had Walter loosed again, and then, throwing down his bow, he ran forward with his drawn sword gleaming in his hand, while the lion weltered and rolled, but had no might to move forward.  Then Walter went up to him warily and thrust him through to the heart, and leapt aback, lest the beast might yet have life in him to smite; but he left his struggling, his huge voice died out, and he lay there moveless before the hunter.

Walter abode a little, facing him, and then turned about to the Lady, and she had fallen down in a heap whereas she stood, and lay there all huddled up and voiceless.  So he knelt down by her, and lifted up her head, and bade her arise, for the foe was slain.  And after a little she stretched out her limbs, and turned about on the grass, and seemed to sleep, and the colour came into her face again, and it grew soft and a little smiling.  Thus she lay awhile, and Walter sat by her watching her, till at last she opened her eyes and sat up, and knew him, and smiling on him said: “What hath befallen, Squire, that I have slept and dreamed?”

He answered nothing, till her memory came back to her, and then she arose, trembling and pale, and said: “Let us leave this wood, for the Enemy is therein.”

And she hastened away before him till they came out at the thicket-side whereas the hounds had been left, and they were standing there uneasy and whining; so Walter coupled them, while the Lady stayed not, but went away swiftly homeward, and Walter followed.

At last she stayed her swift feet, and turned round on Walter, and said: “Squire, come hither.”

So did he, and she said: “I am weary again; let us sit under this quicken-tree, and rest us.”

So they sat down, and she sat looking between her knees a while; and at last she said: “Why didst thou not bring the lion’s hide?”

He said: “Lady, I will go back and flay the beast, and bring on the hide.”

And he arose therewith, but she caught him by the skirts and drew him down, and said: “Nay, thou shalt not go; abide with me.  Sit down again.”

He did so, and she said: “Thou shalt not go from me; for I am afraid: I am not used to looking on the face of death.”

She grew pale as she spoke, and set a hand to her breast, and sat so a while without speaking.  At last she turned to him smiling, and said: “How was it with the aspect of me when I stood before the peril of the Enemy?”  And she laid a hand upon his.

“O gracious one,” quoth he, “thou wert, as ever, full lovely, but I feared for thee.”

She moved not her hand from his, and she said: “Good and true Squire, I said ere I entered the thicket e’en now that I would reward thee if thou slewest the quarry.  He is dead, though thou hast left the skin behind upon the carcase.  Ask now thy reward, but take time to think what it shall be.”

He felt her hand warm upon his, and drew in the sweet odour of her mingled with the woodland scents under the hot sun of the afternoon, and his heart was clouded with manlike desire of her.  And it was a near thing but he had spoken, and craved of her the reward of the freedom of her Maid, and that he might depart with her into other lands; but as his mind wavered betwixt this and that, the Lady, who had been eyeing him keenly, drew her hand away from him; and therewith doubt and fear flowed into his mind, and he refrained him of speech.

Then she laughed merrily and said: “The good Squire is shamefaced; he feareth a lady more than a lion.  Will it be a reward to thee if I bid thee to kiss my cheek?”

Therewith she leaned her face toward him, and he kissed her well-favouredly, and then sat gazing on her, wondering what should betide to him on the morrow.

Then she arose and said: “Come, Squire, and let us home; be not abashed, there shall be other rewards hereafter.”

So they went their ways quietly; and it was nigh sunset against they entered the house again.  Walter looked round for the Maid, but beheld her not; and the Lady said to him: “I go to my chamber, and now is thy service over for this day.”

Then she nodded to him friendly and went her ways.

CHAPTER XVI: OF THE KING’S SON AND THE MAID

But as for Walter, he went out of the house again, and fared slowly over the woodlawns till he came to another close thicket or brake; he entered from mere wantonness, or that he might be the more apart and hidden, so as to think over his case.  There he lay down under the thick boughs, but could not so herd his thoughts that they would dwell steady in looking into what might come to him within the next