"The husband of one wife, my la.s.s, as the Scripture saith. Is that your fancy?"
"I would like to be a wife."
"Then a wife you shall be, my honey, though a friend or a bondmaid is equally good Scripture, to say nothing of simplicity. Now that being settled, and a bargain a bargain, let us seal."
She escaped with his tarnish on her hand; but he respected her promise, and troubled her no more by contact. Nevertheless she had to pay. His dwarfish propensity to wit led him the wildest lengths. The rogue began to sigh and gesture and slap his ribs. He affected the lover preposterously; he was over weary of his rough life, he would say; he must marry and settle down in the hut by the brook.
"And then," he ran on, "thou, Roy, shalt come and live there, serving me and my wife. For I love thee, boy, and will not leave thee. And I warrant that she will not be jealous when I play with thee; nor shall I grudge thy love of her--nay, not if thou shouldst love her as myself. For thus Moses bade us in the Commandments." And so on. "By Saint Christopher, that long man of G.o.d," he swore at another bout, "thou and my wife shall sleep in one bed, and I not be dishonoured!"
The other men began to p.r.i.c.k up their ears at these speeches, and looked shrewdly at their boy more than once. As for Isoult, she knew not where to turn. She seemed to be quavering over an abyss.
Meantime the hour of her wedding, as Falve had appointed it, drew near. In middle July the whole gang were to go to Hauterive with coal for the Castle. Falve"s mother, I have told you, lived there in a little huckster"s shop she had. Falve"s plan was to harbour Isoult there for the night, and wed her on the morrow as early as might be.
But he told the girl nothing of all this.
They set out, then, betimes in the morning, and by travelling late and early reached Hauterive in two days. And this in spite of the weather, which was cold and stormy. The town stands high on the hither shoulder of that ridge which ends at Wanmeeting, but by reason of the dense growth of timber in that walk of the forest you do not get a view of it from below until you are actually under the walls. Isoult, who had no reason to be interested in any but her own affairs just then, and was, moreover, wet through and shivering, did not notice the flag flying over the Castle--_Party per pale argent and sable._ It was not till the whole caravan stood within the drawbridge that she saw over the portcullis an escutcheon whereon were the redoubtable three white wicket-gates, with the legend, _Entra per me._ She realized then that she was being drawn into the trap-teeth of her grim enemy, and went rather grey. There was nothing for it, she must trust to her disguise. It had deceived the colliers, it might deceive Galors. Ah!
but there was Maulfry. It would never deceive her. All the comfort she could take was that Galors was lord of the town, and she collier"s knave. Now colliers" knaves do not see much of their lords paramount, nor rulers of cities look into the love-affairs of colliers or seek for such among them. If Maulfry were there, Heaven help her! But she began to think she might cope with Galors.
When the a.s.ses were unloaded in the inn-yard, and the coal stacked under cover, Falve took his prisoner by the hand and led her by many winding lanes to his mother"s shop. This was in Litany Row, a crazy dark entry over against the Dominican convent. The streets and alleys were empty, the rain coursed down all the gutters of the steep little town; its music and their own plashy steps were all they could hear.
Knocking at a little barred door in Litany Row, they were admitted by a wrinkled old woman with wet eyes.
"Mother," said the fellow, "this boy is no boy, but a maid with whom I intend to marry at c.o.c.kcrow. Let her sleep with thee this night, and in the morning dress her in a good gown against I come to fetch her."
The old woman looked her up and down in a way that made the girl blush.
"Well," she said, "thou art a proper boy enough, I see, and I will make thee a proper girl, if G.o.d hath done His part."
"That He hath done, mother," says Falve with a grin. "See here, then."
With that he pulls off Isoult"s green cap. All her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a fan.
"Mother of G.o.d," cried the old woman, "this is a proper girl indeed, if other things are as they should be, to accord with these tresses."
"Never fear for that, mother," said Falve. "Trust me, she will be a good wife out and in. For, let alone the good looks of the girl, she is very meek and doeth all things well, even to speaking little."
"And what is she named, this pretty miss?" asked the crone.
"Tell her your fancy name, wife," said Falve, giving her a nudge; "show her that you have a tongue in your round head."
"I am called Isoult la Desirous, ma"am," said the girl.
"La, la, la!" cried the old dame, "say you so? The name hath promise of plenty; but for whose good I say not. And who gave you such a name as that, pray?"
"I have never known any other, ma"am."
"Hum, hum," mumbled the dame. "I"ve heard more Christian names and names less Christian, but never one that went better on a bride."
"Mother, a word in your ear," said Falve.
The couple drew apart and the man whispered--
"Keep her close; let her never out of your sight, that I may marry her to-morrow, for since I set eyes on her as a maiden whom I first took to be a boy, I have had no peace for longing after her."
"Have no fear, my son Falve," said his mother, "she shall be as safe with me as the stone in a peach. I"ll get her dry and her natural shape to begin with, and come morning light, if you have not the comeliest bride in the Nor"-West Walk, "twill be the Church"s doing or yours, but none o" mine. Have ye feed a priest, boy?"
"Why, no," said the fellow.
"Seek out Father Bonaccord of the, new Grey Friars. "Tis the happiest- go-lucky, ruddiest rogue of a priest that ever hand-fasted a couple.
He"ll wed ye and housel ye for a couple of roses. [Footnote: Silver coins of those parts, worth about three shillings a-piece.] The Black Friars "ull take three off ye and tie ye with a sour face at that.
Bonaccord"s the man, Brother Bonaccord of the Grey Brothers, hard by Botchergate."
"Bonaccord for ever!" roared Falve. He blew a kiss to his wife and went off on his errand.
CHAPTER XXIV
SECRET THINGS AT HAUTERIVE
The first thing the old lady did was to go to an oak chest which was in the room, and rummage there. With many grunts and wheezes (for she was eaten with rheumatism) she drew out a bundle done up in an old shawl. This she opened upon the floor.
"I belonged to a great lady once," said she, "though I don"t look like it, my dear. These fal-lals have been over as dainty a body as your own in their day; and that was fifteen years ago to a tick. She gave "em all to me when she took to the black, and now they shall go to my son"s wife. Think of that, you who come from who knows who or where.
If they fit you not like a glove, let me eat "em."
There were silks and damasks and brocades; webbed tissues of the East, Coan gauzes blue and green, Damascus purples, shot gold from Samarcand, crimson stuffs dipped in Syrian vats, rose-coloured silk from Trebizond, and embroidered jackets which smelt of Cairo or Bagdad, and glowed with the hues of Byzantium itself. Out of these she made choice. The girl shed her rags, and stood up at last in a gown of thin red silk, which from throat to ankle clung close about her shape.
The dark beauty went imperially robed.
"Wait a bit," said her dresser; "we"ll look at you presently when you are shod and coifed to fit."
She gave her a pair of red stockings and Moorish slippers for her feet; she ma.s.sed up her black hair into a tower upon her head, and roped it about with a chain of sequins which had served their last chaffer at Venice; she girt a belt of filigree gold and turquoise about her waist, gave her a finishing pat, and stood out to spy at her.
"Eh, eh! there you go for a jolly gentlewoman," she chuckled, and kissed her. "Give you a pair of sloe-black eyes for your violets, tip your nails with henna red, and you"d be a mate for the Soldan of Babylon in his glory. As you stand you"re my bonny Countess Bel warmed in the blood--as she might have been if Bartlemy had had no vigil that one year."
They sat to table and ate together. The old dame grew very friendly, and, as usual with her cla.s.s, showed a spice of malice.
"There is one here, let me tell you," she said as she munched her bacon, "even the lord of this town, who would be glad to know his way to Litany Row before morning." Isoult paled and watched her unconscious host; she knew that much already. "Yes, yes," she went on, the old ruminant, "he hath a rare twist for women, if they speak the truth who know him. There is one he hath hunted high and low, in forest and out, they say, and hath made himself a lord for her sake, whereas he was but a stalled ox in Malbank cloister. He hath made himself a lord, and killed his hundreds of honest men, and now he hath lost her. He--he!"
The good woman chuckled at her thoughts over all this irony of events.
"I might do son Falve a sorry turn," she pursued, "if I would. I should get paid for it in minted money, and Saint Mary knows how little of that has come my way of late. And I dare say that you would not take the exchange for a robbery. A lord for a s.m.u.tty collier." She looked slyly at Isoult as she spoke. The girl"s eyes wide with fear made her change her tune. If the daughter-elect were loyal, loyalty beseemed the mother.
"What!" she quavered, "you are all for love and the man of your heart then? Well, well! I like you for it, child."
Isoult"s heart began to knock at her ribs. "Can I trust her? Can I trust her?" she thought; and her heart beat back, "Trust her, trust her, trust her."
With bed-time came her chance. The old woman, whose geniality never endangered her shrewdness, bid the girl undress and get into bed first. The meek beauty obeyed. She was undressed, but not in bed, when there came a rain of knocks at the door.
"Slip into bed, child, slip into bed," cried the other; "that"s a man at the door."