The Forest Lovers Read online

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  THE FOREST LOVERS

  A ROMANCE

  BY

  MAURICE HEWLETT

  TO

  MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD

  WITH

  THE AUTHOR'S HOMAGE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTERS

  I. PROSPER LE GAI RIDES OUT II. MORGRAUNT, AND A DEAD KNIGHT III. HOLY THORN AND HOLY CHURCH IV. DOM GALORS V. LA DESIROUS VI. THE VIRGIN MARRIAGE VII. GALORS ABJURES VIII. THE SALLY AT DAWN IX. THE BLOOD-CHASE AND THE LOVE CHASE X. FOREST ALMS XI. SANCTUARY XII. BROKEN SANCTUARY XIII. HIGH MARCH, AND A GREAT LADY XIV. A RECORDER XV. THREE AT TORTSENTIER XVI. BOY AND GIRL XVII. ROY XVIII. BOY'S LOVE XIX. LADY'S LOVE XX. HOW PROSPER HELD A REVIEW XXI. HOW THE NARRATIVE SMACKS AGAIN OF THE SOIL XXII GALORS CONQUAESTOR XXIII. FALVE THE CHARCOAL-BURNER XXIV. SECRET THINGS AT HAUTERIVE XXV. THE ROAD TO GOLTRES XXVI. GUESS-WORK AT GOLTRES XXVII. GALORS RIDES HUNTING XXVIII. MERCY WITH THE BEASTS. XXIX. WANMEETING CRIES, 'HA! SAINT JAMES!' XXX. THE CHAINED VIRGIN OF SAINT THORN XXXI. 'ENTRA PER ME' XXXII 'BIDE THE TIME' XXXIII. SALOMON IS DRIVEN HOME XXXIV. LA DESIREE XXXV. FOREST LOVE XXXVI. THE LADY PIETOSA DE BREAUTE

  THE FOREST LOVERS

  CHAPTER I

  PROSPER LE GAI RIDES OUT

  My story will take you into times and spaces alike rude and uncivil.Blood will be spilt, virgins suffer distresses; the horn will soundthrough woodland glades; dogs, wolves, deer, and men, Beauty and theBeasts, will tumble each other, seeking life or death with their propertools. There should be mad work, not devoid of entertainment. When youread the word _Explicit_, if you have laboured so far, you will knowsomething of Morgraunt Forest and the Countess Isabel; the Abbot ofHoly Thorn will have postured and schemed (with you behind the arras);you will have wandered with Isoult and will know why she was called LaDesirous, with Prosper le Gai, and will understand how a man may fallin love with his own wife. Finally, of Galors and his affairs, of thegreat difference there may be between a Christian and the brutes, oflove and hate, grudging and open humour, faith and works, cloisters andthoughts uncloistered--all in the green wood--you will know as much asI do if you have cared to follow the argument. I hope you will not askme what it all means, or what the moral of it is. I rank myself withthe historian in this business of tale-telling, and consider that mysole affair is to hunt the argument dispassionately. Your romancer mustbe neither a lover of his heroine nor (as the fashion now sets) of hischief rascal. He must affect a genial height, that of a jigger ofstrings; and his attitude should be that of the Pulpiteer:--Heaven helpyou, gentlemen, but I know what is best for you! Leave everything to me.

  It is related of Prosper le Gai, that when his brother Malise, Baron ofStarning and Parrox, showed him the door of their father's house, andshowed it with a meaning not to be mistaken, he stuck a sprig of greenholly in his cap. He put on his armour; his horse and sword also hetook: he was for the wilds. Baron Jocelyn's soul, the priests reported,was with God; his body lay indubitably under a black effigy in StarningChurch. Baron Malise was lord of the fee, with a twisted face forProsper whenever they met in the hall: had there been scores no deeperthis was enough. Prosper was a youth to whom life was a very prettything; he could not afford to have tarnish on the glass; he must havepleasant looks about him and a sweet air, or at least scope for themaking of them. Baron Malise blew like a miasma and cramped him like achurch-pew: then Adventure beaconed from far off, and his heart leaptto greet the light. He left at dawn, and alone. Roy, his page, hadbegged as hard as he dared for pillion or a donkey. He was his master'sonly friend, but Prosper's temper needed no props. "Roy," said he,"what I do I will do alone, nor will I imperil any man's bread. Thebread of my brother Malise may be a trifle over-salt to my taste, butto you it is better than none at all. Season your tongue, Roy, enureit. Drink water, dry your eyes, and forget me not."

  He kissed him twice and went his way without any more farewells thanthe boy's snivelling. He never looked behind at Starning demesne, wherehe had been born and bred and might have followed his father to church,nor sideways at the broad oaks, nor over to the well-tilled fields oneither side his road; but rather pricked forward at a nimble pace whichtuned to the running of his blood. The blood of a lad sings sharpest inthe early morning; the air tingles, the light thrills, all the greatday is to come. This lad therefore rode with a song towards the West,following his own shadow, down the deep Starning lanes, through thewoods and pastures of Parrox, over the grassy spaces of the Downs,topping the larks in thought, and shining beam for beam against thenew-risen sun. The time of his going-out was September of the harvest:a fresh wet air was abroad. He looked at the thin blue of the sky, hesaw dew and gossamer lie heavy on the hedge-rows. All his heartlaughed. Prosper was merry.

  Whither he should go, what find, how fare, he knew not at all.Morgraunt was before him, and of Morgraunt all the country spoke in awhisper. It as far, it was deep, it was dark as night, haunted with thewaving of perpetual woods; it lay between the mountains and the sea, amystery as inviolate as either. In it outlaws, men desperate andhungry, ran wild. It was a den of thieves as well as of wolves. Men,young men too, had ridden in, high-hearted, proud of their trappings,horses, curls, and what not; none had ever seen them come out. Theymight be roaming there yet, grown old with roaming, and gaunt with theeverlasting struggle to kill before they were killed: who could tell?Or they might have struck upon the vein of savage life; they might goroaring and loving and robbing with the beasts--why not? Morgraunt hadswallowed them up; who could guess to what wild uses she turned herthralls? That was a place, pardieu! Prosper, very certain that attwenty-three it is a great thing to be hale and astride a horse, feltalso that to grow old without having given Morgraunt a chance ofkilling you young would be an insipid performance. "As soon be apriest!" he would cry, "or, by the Rood, one of those flat-polled monkskept there by the Countess Isabel." Morgraunt then for Prosper, and theWest; beyond that--"One thing at a time," thought he, for he was a wiseyouth in his way, and held to the legend round his arms. Seeing thatsouth of him he could now smell the sea, and beyond him lay Morgraunt,he would look no further till Morgraunt lay below him appeased orsubjugate.

  A tall and lean youth was Prosper le Gai, fair-haired and sanguine,square-built and square-chinned. He smiled at you; you saw two capitalrows of white teeth, two humorous blue eyes; you would think, what asweet-tempered lad! So in the main he was; but you would find out thathe could be dangerous, and that (curiously) the more dangerous he was,the sweeter his temper seemed to be. If you crossed him once, he wouldstare; twice, he would laugh; three times, you would swear he was yourhumble servant; but before you could cross him again he would haveknocked you down. The next moment he would give you a hand up, andapologize; after that, so far as he was concerned, you might count himyour friend for life. The fact is, that he was one of those men who,like kings, require a nominal fealty before they can love you with awhole heart: it is a mere nothing. But somebody, they think, must lead.Prosper always felt so desperately sure it must be he. That was apt tolend a frenzy to his stroke and a cool survey to his eye (as being ableto take so much for granted), which made him a good friend and a nastyenemy.

  It also made him, as you will have occasion to see, a born fighter. Hewent, indeed, through those years of his life on tiptoe, as it were,for a fight. He had a light and springing carriage of the head, enoughto set his forelock nodding; his eye roved like a sea-bird's; his lipsoften parted company, for his breath was eager. He had a trick oflaughing to himself softly as he went about his business; or else hesang, as he was now singing. These qualities, little habits,affectations, whatever you choose to call them,
sound immaterial, butthey really point to the one thing that made him remarkable--thecurious blend of opposites in him. He blent benevolence with savagery,reflectiveness with activity. He could think best when thought and actmight jump together, laugh most quietly when the din of swords andhorses drowned the voice, love his neighbour most sincerely when aboutto cut his throat. The smell of blood, the sight of wounds, or theflicker of blades, made him drunk; but he was one of those who growsteady in their cups. You might count upon him at a pinch. Lastly, hewas no fool, and was disposed to credit other people with a balance ofwit.

  He disliked frippery, yet withal made a brave show in the sun. Hisplain black mail was covered with a surcoat of white and green linen;over this a narrow baldrick of red bore in gold stitches his device ofa hooded falcon, and his legend on a scroll, many times repeated andintercrossed--_I bide my time_. In his helmet were three red feathers,on his shield the blazon of his house of Gai--_On a field sable, afesse dancettee or_, with a mullet for difference. He carried no spear;for a man of his light build the sword was the arm. Thus then, withinand without, was Messire Prosper le Gai, youngest son of old BaronJocelyn, deceased, riding into the heart of the noon, pleased withhimself and the world, light-minded, singing of the movement and theroad.

  Labourers stayed their reaping to listen to him; but there was nothingfor them. He sang of adventure. Girls leaned at cottage doorways towatch him down the way. There was nothing for them either, for all hesang of love.

  "She who now hath my heart is so in every part;" etc., etc.

  The words came tripping as a learnt lesson; but he had never loved agirl, and fancied he never would. Women? Petticoats! For him there wasmore than one adventure in life. Rather, my lady's chamber was the lastplace in which he would have looked for adventure.

  On the second day of his journey--in a country barren and stony, yetwith a hint of the leafy wildernesses to come in the ridges spiked withpines, the cropping of heather here and there, and the ever-increasingsolitude of his way--he was set upon by four foot-pads, who thought tobeat the life out of his body as easily as boys that of a dog. He askednothing better than that they should begin; and he asked so civillythat they very soon did. The fancy of glorious youth transformed theminto knights-at-arms, and their ashen cudgels into blades. The onlypity was that the end came so soon.

  His sword dug its first sod, and might have carved four cowards insteadof one; but he was no vampire, so thereafter laid about him with theflat of the tool. The three survivors claimed quarter. "Quarter, yourogues!" cried he. "Kindly lend me one of your staves for the purpose."He gave them a drubbing as one horsed his brother in turn, and droppedthem, a chapfallen trio, beside their dead. "Now," said he, "take thatlanguid gentleman with you, and be so good for the rest of your journeyas to imitate his indifference to strangers. Thus you will have aprosperous passage. Good day to you."

  He slept on the scene of his exploit, rose early, rode fast, and bynoon was plainly in the selvage of the great woods. The country wassplit into bleak ravines, a pell-mell of rocks and boulders, and asturdy crop of black pines between them. An overgrowth of brambles andbriony ran riot over all. Prosper rode up a dry river-bed, keepingsteadily west, so far as it would serve him; found himself quagged erea dozen painful miles, floundered out as best he might, and by eveningwas making good pace over a rolling bit of moorland through which ran asandy road. It was the highway from Wanmouth to Market Basing and thenorth, if he had known. Ahead of him a solitary wayfarer, a brown bunchof a friar, from whose hood rose a thin neck and a shag of black hairround his tonsure--like storm-clouds gathering about a fullmoon--struck manfully forward on a pair of bare feet.

  "God be with you, brother gentleman," cried the friar, turning acrab-apple face upwards.

  "And with you, my brother, who carry your slippers," Prosper replied.

  "Eh, eh, brother! They go softer than steel for a gouty toe."

  "Poor gout, Master Friar, I hope, for Saint Francis' peace of mind."

  "My gentleman," said the friar, "let me tell you the truth. I am a poordevil out of Lucca, built for matrimony and the chimney corner, asGrandfather Adam was before me. Brother Bonaccord of Outremer they callme in religion, but ill-accord I am in temper, by reason of the air ofthis accursed land, and a most tempestuous blood of my own. For why! Igo to the Dominicans of Wanmouth, supplicating that I am new landed,and have no convent to my name and establishment in the Church. Theytake me in. Ha! they do that. Look now. 'A sop of bread and wine,' Icry, 'for the love of God.' It is a Catholic food, very comfortable forthe stomach. Ha! they give me beer. Beer? Wet death! I am by now asgouty as a cardinal, and my eye is inflamed. I think of theLucchese--those shafts of joy miscalled women--when I should bethinking of my profession. I am ready as ever to admit two vows, butSaint Paul himself cannot reconcile me to the third. Beer, my friend,beer."

  "You will do well enough, friar, if you are going the forest road. Youwill find no Lucchesan ladies thereabouts."

  "I am none so sure, gentleman. There were tales told at the Wanmouthhostel. Do you know anything of a very holy place in these parts, theAbbey of Saint Giles of the Thorn? Black monks, my brother; black asyour stallion."

  "I think they are white monks," said Prosper, "Bernardines."

  "I spoke of the colour of their deeds, young sir," answered BrotherBonaccord.

  "I know as little of them as of any monks in Christendom, friar,"Prosper said. "But I have seen the Abbot and spoken with him. RichardDieudonne is his name, well friended by the Countess."

  "He is well friended by many ladies, some of account, and some of noneat all, by what I hear," said the friar, rather dryly for such atwinkling spirit.

  "Ah, with ladies," Prosper put in, "you have me again; for I know lessof them than of monks, save that both have petticoats. Your pardon,brother."

  "Not a bit, not a bit, brother again," replied the friar. "I admit thehindrance; and could tell you of the advantages if I had the mind. Butas to the ladies, suffer me to predict that you will know more of thembefore you have done."

  "I think not," said Prosper. Brother Bonaccord began to laugh.

  "They will give you no peace yet awhile," said he. "And let me tell youthis, from a man who knows what he is talking about, that if you thinkto escape them by neglecting them, you are going the devil's way towork. If you wish them to let you alone, speak them fair, drop easilyto your knee, be a hand-kisser, a cushion-disposer, a goer on yourtoes. They will think you a lover and shrug you away. Never do a womana service as if to oblige her; do it as if to oblige yourself. Then shewill believe you her slave. Then you are safe. That is your game,brother."

  "You have studied ladies, friar?"

  "Ah, ah! I have indeed. They are a wondrous fair book. I know no other.Why should I?"

  "Oh, why indeed?" Prosper assented. "For my part, I find other studiesmore engrossing."

  With such talk they went until they reached a little wood, and thendisposed of themselves for the night. When Prosper woke next morningthe good man had gone. He had left a written message to the effectthat, petticoats or none, he had stolen a march on steel, and might belooked for at Malbank.

  "I wonder how much stuff for his mind that student of ladies will winat Malbank," laughed Prosper to himself, little knowing, indeed.