Complete works of willia.., p.216
Complete Works of William Morris, page 216
That saw Sir Aymeris the castellan; and when they had broken fast and were getting to horse, he came to her and said: Lady, the day is yet young, and if we fetch a compass by a way that I wot of we shall see places new to thee, and mayhappen somewhat wonderful, and yet come home timely to the castle. Wilt thou?
Birdalone was still somewhat distraught, but she knew not how to naysay him, though at heart she would liefer have gone back to the castle by the shortest way. So folk brought her her palfrey, and they rode their ways, the castellan ever by her side. And by fair ways indeed they went, and so joyous was all about them, that little by little Birdalone’s gladness came back to her, and she made the most of it to be as merry of seeming as she might be.
Now they rode fair and softly by thicket and copse and glade of the woodland, following up the stream aforesaid for the more part, till at last the trees failed them suddenly, and they came forth on to a wide green plain, all unbuilded, so far as their eyes could see, and beyond it the ridges of the hills and blue mountains rising high beyond them.
When Birdalone’s eyes beheld this new thing, of a sudden all care left her, and she dropped her rein, and smote her palms together, and cried out: Oh! but thou art beautiful, O earth, thou art beautiful! Then she sat gazing on it, while the greyhead turned and smiled on her, well pleased of her pleasure.
After a while she said: And might we go nigher? Yea, certes, said he, yet I doubt if thou wilt like it the better, the nigher thou art. Ah! she said, but if I were only amidst it, and a part of it, as once I was of the woodland!
So thitherward they rode over the unharvested mead, and saw hart and hind thereon, and wild kine, and of smaller deer great plenty, but of tame beasts none; and the hills were before them like a wall. But as they drew nigher, they saw where the said wall of the hills was cloven by a valley narrow and steep-sided, that went right athwart the lie of the hills; the said valley was but little grassed, and the bare rocks were crow-black. When they had gone a little further, they could see that the ground near the foot of the hills rose in little knolls and ridges, but these were lower and fewer about the entry into that valley. Also presently they came upon a stream which ran out of the said valley, and Sir Aymeris said that this was the water whereby they had lain last night; albeit here it was little indeed.
Now when they had ridden some five miles over the plain, they came amongst those knolls at the mouth of the valley, and Sir Aymeris led Birdalone up to the top of one of the highest of them, and thence they could look into that dale and see how it winded away up toward the mountains, like to a dismal street; for not only was it but little grassed, but withal there was neither tree nor bush therein. Moreover, scattered all about the bottom of the dale were great stones, which looked as if they had once been set in some kind of order; and that the more whereas they were not black like the rocks of the dale-side, but pale grey of hue, so that they looked even as huge sheep of the giants feeding down the dale.
Then spake Birdalone: Verily, sir knight, thou saidst but sooth that I should see things new and strange. But shall we go a little way into this valley to-day? Nay, lady, said Sir Aymeris, nor to-morrow, nor any day uncompelled; neither shall we go nigher unto it than now we be. Wherefore not? said Birdalone, for meseemeth it is as the gate of the mountains; and fain were I in the mountains.
Lady, said the castellan, overmuch perilous it were to ride the valley, which, as thou sayest, is the very gate of the mountains. For the said dale, which hight the Black Valley of the Greywethers, hath a bad name for the haunting of unmanlike wights, against which even our men-at-arms might make no defence. And if any might escape them, and win through the gates and up into the mountains, I wot not if suchlike devils and things unkent be there in the mountain-land, but of a sooth there be fierce and wild men, like enough to devils, who know no peace, and slay whatsoever cometh unto them, but if they themselves be slain of them.
Well, said Birdalone, then to-day, at least, we go not into the dale; but knowest thou any tales of these wild places? Many have I heard, said he, but I am an ill minstrel and should spoil them in the telling. Ask them of Sir Leonard our priest, he knoweth of them better than others, and hath a tongue duly shapen for telling them.
Birdalone answered nought thereto; she but turned her horse’s head and rode down the knoll; and so they came unto their company, and all went their ways toward the Castle of the Quest.
Nought befell them on their way home; but the nigher they came to the castle the more pensive waxed Birdalone, and, though she hid it, when they were come to the gate she scarce had her wit; for it was as if she thought to have one rushing out and crying: Tidings, tidings! they are come.
Nowise it so befell; they were no more come than was the Day of Doom. And a little after they were within gates; it was night, and Birdalone crept wearily up to her chamber, and gat to bed, and so tired was she that she fell asleep at once and dreamed not.
CHAPTER VI. BIRDALONE HEARETH TELL TALES OF THE BLACK VALLEY OF THE GREYWETHERS.
On the morrow was Birdalone heavier of heart than ever yet, and wearier for tidings; and she wondered how she could have been so joyous that day in the wildwood. Yet she thought much of the Valley of the Greywethers, and that solaced her somewhat after a while, so sore she longed to go thither; and, as ’tis said, one nail knocks out the other. So that morning, when she had had her lesson of priest Leonard, she spake thereof to him, and told him what Sir Aymeris had said concerning his knowledge thereof; and she asked him what he knew.
I have been there, said he. She started at that word and said: Did aught of evil befall thee?
Nay, said he, but a great fear and dread hung about me; and ’tis said that they try their luck overmuch who go thither twice.
Birdalone said: Tell me now of the tales that be told of that valley. Quoth Leonard: They be many; but the main of them is this: that those Greywethers be giants of yore agone, or landwights, carles, and queans, who have been turned into stone by I wot not what deed; but that whiles they come alive again, and can walk and talk as erst they did; and that if any man may be so bold as to abide the time of their awakening, and in the first moment of their change may frame words that crave the fulfilment of his desire, and if therewith he be both wise and constant, then shall he have his desire fulfilled of these wights, and bear his life back again from out the dale. And thus must he speak and no otherwise: O Earth, thou and thy first children, I crave of you such and such a thing, whatsoever it may be. And if he speak more than this, then is he undone. He shall answer no question of them; and if they threaten him he shall not pray them mercy, nor quail before their uplifted weapons; nor, to be short, shall he heed them more than if they still were stones unchanged. Moreover, when he hath said his say, then shall these wights throng about him and offer him gold and gems, and all the wealth of the earth; and if that be not enough, they shall bring him the goodliest of women, with nought lacking in her shape, but lacking all raiment, so that he shall see her as she is verily shapen. But whoso shall take any one of all these gifts is lost for ever, and shall become one of that Stony People; and whoso naysayeth them all until the cock crow, and abideth steady by his one craving, shall win fulfilment thereof, and, as some say, all those gifts aforesaid; for that the Stony People may not abide the day to take them back again.
He was silent therewith, and nought spake Birdalone, but looked down on the ground, and longing encompassed her soul. Then the priest spake again: This were a fair adventure, lady, for a hapless one, but for the happy it were a fool’s errand. She answered not, and they parted for that time.
But the next week, there being yet no tidings come to hand, Birdalone prayed the castellan to take her out-a-gates again, that she might once more behold the mountains, and the gates thereof; and he yeasaid her asking, and went with her, well accompanied, as before; but this time, by Birdalone’s will, they rode straight to the plain aforesaid, and again she looked into that dale of the Greywethers from the knoll. Somewhat belated they were, so that they might not get back to the castle before dusk, wherefore again they lay out in the wildwood, but there lacked somewhat of the triumph and joyance which they had had that other day. They came back to the castle on the morrow somewhat after noon, and found no news there; nor, to say sooth, did Birdalone look for any; and her heart was heavy.
CHAPTER VII. BIRDALONE BEGUILETH THE PRIEST TO HELP HER TO OUTGOING.
Now had the time so worn that the season was in the first days of August, and weariness and heartsickness increased on Birdalone again, and she began to look pined and pale. Yet when she spake of the tarrying of the Champions both to the castellan and Sir Leonard the priest (who was the wiser man of the two), each said the same thing, to wit, that it was no marvel if they were not yet come, seeing whatlike the adventure was; and neither of those two seemed in anywise to have lost hope.
Thrice in these last days did Birdalone go out-a-gates with Sir Aymeris and his company; and the last of the three times the journey was to the knoll that looked into the Black Valley; but now was Birdalone’s pleasure of the sight of it afar off marred by her longing to be amidst thereof; yet she did not show that she was irked by the refraining of her desire to enter therein, and they turned, and came home safely to the castle.
On the morrow she sat with Sir Leonard the priest over the writing lesson, and she let it be long, and oft he touched her hand, so that the sweetness of unfulfilled desire went deep to his heart.
At last Birdalone looked up and said: Friend, I would ask thee if thou seest any peril in my entering the Black Valley of the Greywethers by daylight if I leave it by daylight? Alone? quoth he. Yea, she said, alone. He pondered a little, and then said: Sooth to say I deem the peril little in the valley itself, if thou be not overcome by terror there. Yea, for my part I am not all so sure that thou shalt see the wonder of the Stony Folk coming alive; for ’tis not said that they quicken save on certain nights, and chiefly on Midsummer Night; unless it be that the trier of the adventure is some one fated above others thereto; as forsooth thou mayst be. And as for peril of evil men, there are few who be like to be as venturesome as thou or I. They durst not enter that black street, save sore need compel them. But forsooth, going thither, and coming back again, some peril there may be therein. And yet for weeks past there has been no word of any unpeace; and the Red Knight it is said for certain is not riding.
Birdalone was silent a while; then she said: Fair and kind friend, I am eating my heart out in longing for the coming back of my friends, and it is like, that unless I take to some remedy, I shall fall sick thereby, and then when they come back there shall be in me but sorry cheer for them. Now the remedy I know, and it is that I betake me alone to this adventure of the Black Valley; for meseemeth that I shall gain health and strength by my going thither. Wherefore, to be short, if thou wilt help me, I will go to-morrow. What sayest thou, wilt thou help me?
He turned very red and spake: Lady, why shouldest thou go, as thy name is, birdalone? Thou hast called me just now thy kind friend, so kind as it was of thee; now therefore why should not thy friend go with thee?
Kindly indeed she smiled on him, but shook her head: I call thee trusty and dear friend again, said she; but what I would do I must do myself. Moreover to what end shouldst thou go? If I fall in with ghosts, a score of men would help me nought; and if I happen on weaponed men who would do me scathe, of what avail were one man against them? And look thou, Sir Leonard, there is this avail in thine abiding behind; if I come not back in two days’ space, or three at the most, thou wilt wot that I have fared amiss, and then mayst thou let it be known whither I went, and men will seek me and deliver me maybe.
Therewith she stayed her words suddenly, and turned very pale, and laid her hand on her bosom, and said faintly: But O my heart, my heart! If they should come while I am away! And she seemed like to swoon.
Leonard was afraid thereat, and knew not what to do; but presently the colour came into her face again, and in a little while she smiled, and said: Seest thou not, friend, how weak I am gotten to be, and that I must now beyond doubt have the remedy? Wilt thou not help me do it?
Yea verily, said he; but in what wise wilt thou have it? He spake as a man distraught and redeless; but she smiled on him pleasantly, and said: Now by this time shouldst thou have devised what was to do, and spared me the pain thereof. Two things I need of thee: the first and most, to be put out of the castle privily betimes in the morning when nought is stirring; the second, to have my palfrey awaiting me somewhat anigh the gate, so that I may not have to go afoot: for I am become soft and feeble with all this house-life.
Leonard seemed to wake up with that word, and said: I have the key of the priest’s door of the chapel, and the postern beyond it; that shall be thine out-gate, lady. I will come and scratch at thy chamber-door much betimes, and I will see to it that thy palfrey is bestowed in the bower wherein thou didst rest the first night thou camest amongst us. She said: I trust thee, friend. And she thanked him sweetly, and then rose up and fell to pacing the hall up and down. Leonard hung about watching her a while, she nought forbidding him, for her thoughts were elsewhere, and she had forgotten him; and at last he went his ways to set about doing what she would.
CHAPTER VIII. BIRDALONE FARES ON HER ADVENTURE.
Dawn was but just beginning when Birdalone awoke, and though she had not heard Leonard at the door, she sprang out of bed and clad herself, doing on her black gown; and she had a scrip with some bread therein, and a sharp knife at her girdle. Then even as she had done she heard the priest’s nail on the door, and she turned thereto; but as she went, her eye caught her bow and quiver of arrows where they hung on the wall, so she took the bow in her hand and slung the quiver over her shoulder ere she opened the door and found Leonard standing there. Neither of them spake aught, but they stole downstairs, and so to the chapel and out by the priest’s door and the postern in the wall-nook, and were presently out in the fresh morning air; and Birdalone was joyous and lightfoot, and scarce felt the earth beneath her soles for pleasure of her hope, whereas she deemed she had a thing to crave of the Stony Folk, if they should come alive before her. Fain were she, if she might withal, to give a joy to some other; so that when they were gone but a little way from the castle she reached out her hand to Leonard and took his, and said: Hand in hand we walked when first I went this way, and I deemed thee kind and friendly then, and even so hast thou been sithence.
He was dumbfoundered at first for joy of the touch of her hand and the sweetness of her words; but presently he spake to her confused and stammering, and praised her that she had thought to take her bow and arrows; for, said he, that they might stand her in stead for defence or for getting of food, or for an excuse for wending the woods. She nodded yeasay unto him, and bade him again to bide three days for her, and if she came not again in that time, to make a clean breast of it to Sir Aymeris.
Yea, said the priest, and then . . . Why, what then? He can but shove me out by the shoulders, and then I can seek to the little house of canons that is at Gate Cross on the road to Greenford.
Ah, my friend! said Birdalone, how we women think of nothing at all but ourselves! And wilt thou be thrust out of thine home for helping me herein? Why did I not look to my palfrey myself? And the keys I might have stolen from thee, always with thy good will. But now I see that I have done thee a hurt.
Said Sir Leonard: Lady, a priest hath a home wheresoever is an house of religion. There is no harm done, save Sir Aymeris bethink him of hanging me over the battlements; as I doubt he will not with a priest. Moreover, I pray thee believe, that wert thou gone from the castle, house and home were none for me there. And he looked upon her piteously, as if he were beseeching.
But she knew not what to say, and hung her head adown; and presently they were come to the bower in the copse, which this time was a stable for Birdalone’s palfrey instead of a chamber for herself. So Leonard went in and fetched out the comely beast; and Birdalone stood with him just in the cover of the copse waiting to put her foot in the stirrup; but she might not but abide to look upon the priest, who stood there as if he were striving with his words.
So she said: Now is need of haste to be gone. Yet one word, my friend: Is there aught betwixt us wherein I have done thee wrong? If so it be, I pray thee to say out what it is; for it may be (though I think it not) thou shalt not see me again from henceforth.
He caught his breath, as if he had much ado to refrain the sobbing; but he mastered it, and said: Lady and dear friend, if I see thee not again, I heed not what shall befall me. Thou hast done me no wrong. There is this only betwixt us, that I love thee, and thou lovest not me.
She looked on him sweetly and pitifully, and said: I may not choose but understand thy word, to wit, that thy love for me is the desire of a man toward a woman; and that is unhappy; for I love thee indeed, but not as a woman loveth a man. It is best to say thus much to thee downright. But I feel in my heart that when I have said it, it is as much as to say that I cannot help thee, and therefore am I sorry indeed.
He stood before her abashed, but he said at last: Now art thou so sweet, and so kind, and so true, that I must perforce love thee yet more; and this maketh me bold to say that thou mayst help me a little, or so meseemeth. How so? said Birdalone. Quoth he: If thou wouldst suffer me to kiss thy face this once. She shook her head, and spake: How may it avail thee, when it is for once, and once only, as forsooth it must be? Yet it is thy choice, not mine, and I will not naysay thee.
