Complete works of willia.., p.221
Complete Works of William Morris, page 221
So she spake, gazing earnestly on Arthur; and so troubled and grieved, that she might well have died but for her woodland breeding, and the toil of the days she had won through in the House under the Wood.
But Hugh spake gently to her and said: Keep up thine heart yet, maiden; for the hand of Fate it is that led thee, and none doeth grievously amiss but if he mean wrong-doing in his heart; and we know thee for true; and thou hast been our helper, and brought our lovelings unto us to make us happy.
But she brake out weeping afresh, and said: O no, no! it is but woe and weariness I have brought unto my friends; and to myself woe and weariness yet more.
And she looked piteously into Arthur’s face, and hard and stern it seemed unto her; and she writhed and wrung her hands for anguish. But he spake and said: This will we look into when we be safe behind our walls, and see what she hath done amiss and what not amiss. But now is there but one thing to do, and that is to get us speedily on our way to the Castle of the Quest, and bind our fellow’s body on his horse that he also may ride with us, and the lady shall ride the horse of the accursed thief. Then they turned to go toward their horses; but therewith Birdalone smote her foot against the slain knight’s head, and shrank aback from it, and pointed down toward it and spake no word; and Hugh said: Friends, the lady is right, this at least we will cover with earth. Do ye go fetch hither our horses, since we be on the road, and I will do here what need is meanwhile.
So they went on that errand, and then Hugh and Birdalone between them dug a hole with the swords and laid the head of the captain of the Red Knight therein. And forsooth, somewhat would Birdalone have wept for him had she had a tear to spare.
Then they fell to and bound the dead Baudoin on the Red Knight’s mighty bay steed, so that no time might be wasted; and when that was done, and the others had not come back with their horses, Hugh took Birdalone’s hand and led her down to the stream and washed the gore off her bosom, and she washed her face and her hands and let him lead her back again in such wise that now she could hearken to the words of comfort he spake to her, and piteous kind he seemed unto her; so that at last she plucked up heart, and asked him how Viridis did. Quoth he: They be all safe at home in the castle, and Viridis is well and loveth thee well. And Aurea was well, woe worth the while for her now! As for Atra, she has not been so glad as the other twain, I wot not wherefore.
Even as he spake were the others come up with the horses, and Arthur nodded yeasay when he saw what had been done with Baudoin dead; and so they gat to horse, and Birdalone it was that rode Baudoin’s steed. Then they went their ways, crossing the river into the wood; and the sergeant was ever way-leader, but the squire led the horse which bore the sorrowful burden of the dead Knight of the Quest.
CHAPTER V. THEY COME HOME TO THE CASTLE OF THE QUEST.
Now they had gone but some three hours, riding dreary and nigh speechless all of them, ere they began to know the land they were in, and that they were coming to the place where they might look presently to fall in with Sir Aymeris and his company; and even so the meeting betid, that they saw men standing and going about their horses beside a little wood, and knew them presently for their folk, who mounted at once and spurred forward to meet them, spears aloft. Speedily then was the joy of those abiders turned into sorrow, nor may the grief of Sir Aymeris be told, so great it was; and Birdalone looked on and saw the mourning and lamentation of the warriors, and eked was her anguish of mind; and she beheld Arthur the Black Squire, how he sat still upon his horse with a hard and dreary countenance, and looked on those mourners almost as if he contemned them. But Sir Aymeris came up to Birdalone, and knelt before her and kissed her hand, and said: If my heart might rejoice in aught, as some day it will, it would rejoice in seeing thee safe and sound, lady; here at least is gain to set beside the loss.
She thanked him, but looked askance toward Arthur, who said: If that be gain, yet is there more, for the Red Knight lieth in the green plain for a supper to the wolf and the crow. Vengeance there hath been, and belike more yet may come. But now, if ye have lamented as much as ye deem befitteth warriors, let us tarry here no longer; for even yet meseemeth shall we be safer behind walls, now that our chief and captain is slain, I scarce know in what quarrel.
None naysaid it, so they all rode forth together, and the sergeant and the squire and Sir Hugh told of their tale what they might to Sir Aymeris and the others; but Arthur held his peace, and rode aloof from Birdalone, whereas Sir Aymeris and Hugh rode on either side of her, and did not spare to comfort her what they might.
They rode straight on, and made no stay for nightfall, and thus came home to the Castle of the Quest before the day was full; and woeful was their entry as they went in the dawn underneath the gate of the said castle, and soon was the whole house astir and lamenting.
As for Birdalone, when she got down from her horse in the gateway, and was stiff and weary of body, and all dazed and confused of mind, there was but little life in her; nor could she so much as think of the new day and Aurea’s awakening, but crept up unto her own chamber, so long as it seemed since she had left it, though it was but a little while; and she cast herself upon the bed and fell asleep whether she would or not, and so forgat her much sorrow and her little hope.
CHAPTER VI. OF THE TALK BETWIXT BIRDALONE AND VIRIDIS.
When she woke again, she had slept the night away, and it was broad day, and for a moment she lay wondering what was the burden upon her; but presently she called it all to mind, and deemed it were well might she forget it all again. Anon she became aware of someone moving about the chamber, and she looked about unhappily; and lo! a woman, fair and dainty, clad all in green, and it was Viridis that had come there. But when she saw Birdalone stirring, she came up to her and kissed her sweetly and kindly, and wept over her, so that Birdalone might nowise refrain her tears. But when she might cease weeping, she said to Viridis: Tell me, art thou weeping for thy friend who is lost, and who shall be thy friend no more; or thy friend whom thou hast found? Said Viridis: Forsooth I have wept for Baudoin plenteously, and he is worthy of it, for he was valiant and true and kind. Said Birdalone: True is that; but I meant not my question so; but rather I would ask thee if thou weepest because thine heart must needs cast me away, or because thou hast found me again? Quoth Viridis: Whoso may be dead, or whoso alive, but if it were Hugh, my loveling, I were rejoiced beyond measure to find thee, my friend. And again she kissed her as one who was glad and kind. But for new rest of soul and for joy, Birdalone fell a-weeping afresh.
Again she spake: And what mind have the others about me? For thou art but one, though the dearest, save . . . And would they punish me for my fault and folly that has slain the best man in the world? If the punishment be short of putting me forth of their fellowship, I were fain thereof.
Viridis laughed: Forsooth, she said, they have much to punish thee for! whereas it was by thy doing and thy valiance that we all came together again and the Quest was accomplished. Nay, but tell me, said Birdalone, what do they say of me, each one of them?
Viridis reddened; she said: Hugh, my mate, saith all good of thee; though no one of carl-folk may be sorrier of the loss of his fellow. Aurea layeth not the death of her man upon thee; and she saith: When the fountain of tears is dried up in me, I will see her and comfort her, as she me. Atra saith: she saith but little, yet she saith: So is it fated. I had done belike no better, but worse than she.
Now turned Birdalone red and then pale again, and she said, but in a quavering voice: And the Black Squire, Arthur, what sayeth he? Said Viridis: He sayeth nought of thee, but that he would hear all the tale of what befell thee in the Black Valley. Sweet friend, said Birdalone, I pray thee of thy kindness and sweetness that thou go unto him presently and bring him in hither, and then I will tell him all; and he and thou and I together.
Viridis said: There is this to be said, that when a man loveth a woman he coveteth her, to have her all wholly to himself, and hard and evil he groweth for the time that he misdoubteth her whom he loveth. And I will tell thee that this man is jealous lest thou wert never so little kind to the slain stranger knight whose head the tyrant hung about thee. Furthermore, I fear there is no help for it that thou wilt undo the happiness of one of us, that is Atra; yet were it better that that befell later than sooner. And if Sir Arthur come in here to thee, and hath thy tale with none beside save me, meseems the poor Atra will feel a bitter smart because of it. Were it not better that we all meet presently in the solar, and that there thou tell thy tale to us all? and thereafter shall we tell the tale of our deliverance and our coming hither. And thus doing, it will seem less like to the breaking up of our fellowship.
Said Birdalone: It will be hard for me to tell my tale before Atra and before him. Might it not be that thou hearken to it here and now, and tell it to the others hereafter? Nay, nay, said Viridis, I am not a proper minstrel to take the word out of thy mouth. Never shall I be able to tell it so that they shall trow it as if they had seen it all. Besides, when all is told, then shall we be more bound together again. I pray thee, and I pray thee, sweet, do so much for me as to tell thy tale to the fellowship of us. And if it be hard to thee, look upon it as my share of the punishment which is due to thee for falling into that mishap.
Smiled Birdalone ruefully, and said: So be it; and may the share of the others be as light as thine, sister. Yet soothly were I liefer that my body and my skin should pay the forfeit. But now, since I must needs do this, the sooner is the better meseemeth.
In a little half hour, said Viridis, will I bring what is left of our fellowship into the solar to hearken thee. So come thou there unto us when thou art clad. And hear thou! be not too meek and humble, and bow thyself to us in fear of our sorrow. For whereas thou didst speak of our punishing thee, there will be one there whom thou mayst easily punish to thy pleasure; forsooth, friend, I rue that so it is; but since it will not better be, what may I do but wish thee happy and him also.
Therewith she turned and went out of the chamber, and Birdalone, left to herself, felt a secret joy in her soul that she might not master, despite the sorrow of her friends, whatever it might be.
CHAPTER VII. BIRDALONE TELLETH THE TALE OF HER WANDERING UP THE VALLEY OF THE GREYWETHERS.
Now Viridis did as she said, and brought them all in to the solar; there was none lacking save Baudoin, and they sat silently in a half ring, till the door opened and Birdalone came in to them, clad all simply in but a black coat; and she made obeisance to them, and stood there with her head bent down as if they were her judges, for so in sooth she deemed them. Then Hugh bade her sit down amongst them; but she said: Nay, I will not sit amongst you till ye have heard my story, and ye have told me that I am yet of your fellowship. None said aught; Atra looked straight before her, and her eyes met not Birdalone’s eyes; Arthur looked down on the ground; but Hugh and Viridis looked kindly on Birdalone, and to Viridis’ eyes the tears were come.
Then spake Birdalone and said: I am here as one that hath done amiss; but I will tell you, so that ye may not think worse of me than ye should, that when ye were gone, ye Champions, and the time wore long that ye came not again, it lay heavy on my heart, and hope waned and fear waxed, and my soul so grieved my body that I thought to fall sick thereof, and I knew that it would be ill for you to come home hither and find me sick; so that I longed sore to do somewhat which should make me whole again. Then weird would that I should hear all the tale of the Black Valley of the Greywethers, and of how therein is whiles granted fulfilment of desire; and methought how well it were if I might seek the adventure there and accomplish it. Thereof, doubtless, hath the chaplain, Sir Leonard, told you; but this furthermore would I say, that his doing herein was nought; all was done by my doing and by my bidding, and he might not choose but do it. Wherefore I do pray you all earnestly that ye keep no grudge against him, but pardon him all. Tell me, then, will ye do thus much?
Said Hugh: Let him be pardoned, if he can take pardon. But Arthur spake not, and Birdalone looked on him anxiously, and her face was moved, and it was with her throat as if she had swallowed something down. Then she spake again, and fell to tell them all that had betid to her when she went to the Black Valley, even as is hereafore writ, hiding nought that had been done and said; and freely she told it, without fear or shame, and with such clearness and sweetness of words that no one of them doubted her aught; and Arthur lifted up his head, and once and again his eyes met hers, and there was nought of hardness in them, though they turned away at once.
So at last fell Birdalone to telling what betid after they two, the stranger knight and she, left the valley of the force and fell to riding the wildwood with their heads turned toward the Castle of the Quest; and she said:
When we turned into the wood away from the said valley it lacked some four hours of noon; and we rode till noon was, and rested by a stream-side and ate, for we knew no cause wherefore we should hasten overmuch; but my fellow the strange knight was downcast and heavy, and some might have called him sullen. But I strove to make him of better cheer, and spake to him kindly, as to one who of an enemy had become a friend; but he answered me: Lady, it availeth not; I grieve that I am no better company than thou seest me, and I have striven to be merrier; but apart from all that I wot and that thou wottest which should make me of evil cheer, there is now a weight upon my heart which I cannot lift, such as never have I felt erst. So by thy leave we will to horse at once, that we may the speedier come to the Castle of the Quest and Sir Aymeris’ prison.
So I arose, but smiled on him and said: Hold up thine heart, friend! for thee shall be no prison at the Castle of the Quest, but the fair welcome of friends. He said nought, and mended not his cheer; and in this plight we gat to horse and rode on for some three hours more, till we came out of the thick forest into a long clearing, which went like a wide highway of greensward between the thicket, and it seemed as if the hand of man had cleared that said green road. Thereto we had come, following a little river which came out on to the clearing with us, and then, turning, ran well-nigh amidst it toward the north.
Now when we were come thither, and were betwixt the thicket and the water’s edge, we drew rein, and it seemed to me as fair a stead as might be in the woodland, and I looked thereon well pleased and with a happy heart. But the knight said: Lady, art thou not exceeding weary? Nay, said I, not in any wise. Said he: It is strange then, for so weary am I, that I must in any case get off my horse and lay me down on the grass here, or I shall drop from the saddle. And therewith he lighted down and stood by me a little, as to help me off my horse; but I said to him: Knight, I pray thee, even if ye be weary, to struggle forward a little, lest we be in peril here. In peril? quoth he; yea, that might be if the Red Knight knew of our whereabouts; but how should that be? He spoke this heavily, as one scarce awake; and then he said: I pray thee pardon me, lady, but for nought may I hold my head up; suffer me to sleep but a little, and then will I arise and lead thee straight to thy journey’s end. Therewithal he laid him down on the grass and was presently asleep, and I sat down by him all dismayed. At first, indeed, I doubted some treachery in him, for how might I trust him wholly after all that had come and gone? but when I saw that there was no feigning in his sleep, I set that doubt aside, and knew not what to make of it.
Thus passed an hour, and from time to time I shook him and strove to waken him, but it was all in vain; so I knew none other rede than to abide his awakening; for I knew not the way to take toward this castle; and, moreover, though he were a knight, and armed, yet might it be perilous for him if he were left there alone and unguarded; so I abode.
But now came new tidings. Methought I heard the sound of the tinkling of weapons and armour; the green highway so turned that a wood neb about an hundred yards to the north hid it from my sight, so that a man might have drawn somewhat near to us without being seen, came he on the hither side of the river. So I stood up hastily, and strung my bow, and took a shaft in my fingers, and no sooner was it done than there came a rider round about the aforesaid wood neb. He was all-armed and had a red surcoat, and rode a great shining bay horse. I kept my eye upon him while I stirred the sleeping knight with my foot, and cried to him to wake, but he scarce moved, and but uttered words without sense.
Now the new-comer drew rein for a moment when he saw us, and then moved on a little toward me, but I nocked a shaft and pointed it at him, and cried out to him to stay. Then I heard a great rattling laugh come from him, and he shouted: Nay, do thou stay, fair wood-wife, and I will risk thy shafts to come at thee. But why doth not the sluggard at thy feet rise up and stand before me, if he be thy loveling? Or is he dead? His voice was harsh and big, and I feared him sore; and it was as much because of fear as of hardihood, that I drew and loosed straightway; and doubtless it was because of fear that I saw my shaft fly an inch or so over his right shoulder. I heard his rattling laugh again, and saw him bend forward as he spurred; I knew that time lacked for drawing another shaft, so I caught up my skirts and ran all I might; but swift-foot as I be, it availed me nought, for I was cumbered with my gown, and moreover I was confused with not knowing whither to run, since I wotted that in the water the horse would do better than I.
