Читать книгу John o' the Green - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 10

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She was a goosegirl that drave her cackling flock homeward through a fragrant dusk and sang to herself sweet-voiced; but seeing John approach, she grew dumb and made him demure curtsey with up-glance of bright eyes as he reined in his horse beside her; and because of the gentle smile on his strange, whimsical face, she smiled also and made her reverence with a lowlier grace.

"Sweet child," saith John, "I pray thee point me whither away lieth the Hangstone Waste?"

"Ah, gentle master," she answered, her smile fading, "scarce a bowshot hence is Saint Wynan's hermitage and beyond this, a track shall bring thee thither by Dickerdyke Wood and the Mere. But oh, good master, go not there, for 'tis an evil place, they say!" And she made a cross in the air with one small, sunburned hand.

"Grand merci for thy warning, sweet Pastorella; may good angels go ever with thee."

"And with thee also, good master. But my name is Brynda."

"Then sing on, Brynda, life is sweeter and this world the better for thy song--" But now and even as he spake, up from the fragrant meads came a tall man shrouded in dingy, tattered cloak, who, peering at them from shadowy cowl, passed on with long strides, his sandalled feet silent in the thick dust.

John, yet gazing after this sinister figure, felt a hand tug at his stirrup and, glancing down, beheld the maid Brynda cowering against his horse's flank, staring after that sombre, stealthy shape with eyes of such terror that he reached forth his hand in comfort.

"What now, child?" he questioned.

"The Hermit!" she answered, shivering, "yon goeth the Hermit of St. Wynan's. Three weeks agone he first came thither, none knoweth how or whence and ... oh, good master, he frighteth me...."

"How so?"

"He peereth at me from bushes ... Thrice hath he followed me o' late. He is like spirit of evil!"

"Hum!" quoth John, looking down into the wide innocence of her troubled eyes. "And yet hermits be ever esteemed holy men that pass their days in prayer and fasting."

"Why, this one prayeth by day, for I have spied him. But by night he stealeth abroad, for Nym hath seen him. Nym is oft astir whiles the world doth sleep.... Oh, list ye now, shalt hear his horse's bells where he cometh yonder!"

"And pray, who is Nym?"

"The charcoal burner, master, and my kind foster father,--see, there he is!" Glancing whither she pointed, John beheld a stalwart, grimy fellow who plodded towards them up the slope beside his shaggy horse and who, at sound of Brynda's clear call, looked up and mended his pace.

"Oh, Nym, Nym," said she, as he halted to lean upon his heavy quarterstaff and survey John beneath thick brows, "Nym, tell now what ye do know of St. Wynan's Hermit."

"Nenny, lass," he answered in hoarse, grumbling tone, "I be only Nym the charcoal burner, as burns his coal and minds his business; no talker never be Nym."

"Friend," quoth John, "in friendship speak and fear not."

The man peered up into John's down-bent face and lifting coal-black hand to blackened brow, bent stalwart back in humble salutation.

"Lord!" said he.

"Nay now," laughed John, "an humble gleeman I."

"Howbeit, master, I wit ye well for none o' the common sort, for, years agone ere I crept me, sore stricken, to the strong harbourage of this Duchy, I lived nigh unto Morven Vale."

"Ah ... Morven, sayst thou?" murmured John.

"Ay, lord, but this was long and long since; today I burn me charcoal in Pelynt. But thou? There's that about thee stirs memory!"

"Then let it slumber, friend, and think me no more than I seem, a poor singer of songs, God wot."

"Oh!" cried Brynda, clasping her pretty hands, "good master, fain would I hear thee sing."

"Not so," quoth Nym, "night falleth apace, so get thee home to bed, lass."

"Yet first," saith John, reaching for his little harp, "by thy good leave, friend Nym, sith Brynda must bedward with the flowers, so will I sing her lullaby." And forthwith, striking sweetly murmurous chords, John sang softly these words:

"See how the gentle Night doth creep

To hush and kiss the flowers asleep

Whiles the fond wind with murmurous sigh

Singeth them Lulla-lullaby.

"Come, Sleep, with stealthy, silent tread

Bless with thy kiss each weary head.

Come, blessed Sleep, the day is ending;

Kind Sleep from God himself descending;

Angel of God, come down and bless

God's children with forgetfulness

Of sin and pain and every sorrow,

That these shall lighter seem tomorrow.

Give to us blessed dreams, that we

May so awhile perfected be,

And, thus inspired, shall greet the dawn

With valour high and hope new-born.

So come, thou Angel, hither creep,

Come down to all, Oh, blessed Sleep,

And, whiles we in thy bosom lie,

Sing us soft Lulla-lullaby."

"And so, get thee home to bed, lass," quoth Nym, "and in thy praying, pray thou for me."

"And for me also!" sighed John.

"Oh, I will, I will!" she answered fervently, looking up great-eyed into John's wistful, smiling visage; and so, with graceful reverence, she went her way, the geese cackling before.

"Dwelleth she far hence, Nym?"

"Scarce three arrow flights ... and as for she--hist! There went noble blood to her making; she was begot in Morven Vale--"

"And hereabouts is a hermit that frights her!"

"So shall I crack his sconce an need be.... But now," said Nym in harsh whisper and looking very earnestly on John, "now, by thy singing, do I know thee past all doubt for Aymery John, only son to thy noble father that was Lord of High Morven ere the traitor Fitz-Urse smote and slew him in his slumber--"

"Twelve weary years agone!" murmured John. "And I overseas, learning the wonder of books!"

"Aha, lord, better hadst loved books less and thy sword more. Howbeit, since thy father was my liege lord, so am I thy man today, Lord Aymery, to march with and fight for thee ... an I must."

"Nay," answered John, "better thou burned thy charcoal and I sing my songs than foul the world with more blood. So, to thee and all other, I am poor John a Green and ask no service o' thee, Nym, save words."

"Then speak, noble Lord."

"I pray thee name me not so."

"So be it, master."

"Then what know ye of this Hermit of St. Wynan's?"

"Go 'long wi' me a piece, master, and I'll tell 'ee."

So saying, Nym turned aside down a narrow leafy track and John followed whither he led until they reached the twilight of a little glade. Here John dismounted and tethered his horse, whereat Nym shook shaggy head in gloomy disparagement.

"Alack, master, you that was wont, I mind, to go right proudly horsed, 'tis sorry nag yon!"

"And I call him Apollo, my Nym. Yet he hath his points.... Knowst thou the Hangstone Waste?"

"Like my hand, master."

"Good! But first of this Hermit?"

"Well, first, I've seen him in talk wi' the Witch ere now; ay, master, wi' Mald the fiendly Witch, can cast ye spells so potent can turn a man to cat, or rat, or howling dog, I've heard."

"Hast ever seen any man so transfigured, Nym?"

"Why, no, master, no--yet I've heard tell o' them as hath."

"Troth and so have I. But this Hermit, what of him?"

"Well, master, three nights since, deep i' the woods along by Rakenham Oaks, nigh to Hangstone Waste, I stayed to tend my fires, and heard me stir and flurry wi' sound o' voices and hid me in hollow tree I wot of. And, the moon being full, I spies me men five, four bearing one that was dead, and the fifth man and chief--this Hermit. Now, master, this dead man was very dead and right evil to behold, for he had no face, all ripped and tore it was."

"Ah?" nodded John. "And you saw this very plain?"

"Too plain, master."

"Talked they, these men?"

"Ay, they did so, of a bear somewhat."

"Spake they any names?"

"Ay, by the Rood! 'Fitz-Urse' says one.... Fitz-Urse, Master John, mark ye! Whereon this same Hermit clouts him to silence,--'twas then I spied his face i' the moon. And so they were gone, bearing their dead man ..."

"Went they Hangstone Waste toward?"

"Ay, thither."

"What knowst thou o' this same place, Nym man?"

"Nought but evil, master. 'Twas an ill place aforetime at any time, but worser o' late, by reason o' devils and hellish fires. They tell, too, that 'tis haunted o' the dead and damned. Ay, and moreover I've heard as folks ha' died there o' late right woefully and moreover--" Nym snatched quarterstaff and leapt nimbly afoot as came stealthy rustling hard by and forth of the leafage crept a bowed, misshapen thing that whimpered and spake:

"Harm me not, for I be hurted sore ... dogs and men ..."

"Off, accursed dam!" cried Nym, twirling his quarterstaff so fiercely that the dolorous thing cowered and sank, whimpering upon the sward.

Then up started John and, putting Nym aside, came quick striding, for he saw this woeful creature was an aged, white-haired woman.

"Cog's body!" gasped Nym, in tone of horror. "Back, master, back for thy sweet life's sake! Stand away--'tis Mald the fiendly Witch! Touch her not, lord, lest she blast thee to lewd curdog--ha, beware!"

John crossed himself instinctively but, peering close, saw this dread creature so feeble and distressed that he knelt and lifted her gently within his arm.

"What aileth thee, poor soul?" he questioned, putting by the silvery hair that streamed so long and wild about her. Now at this she stared up at him with eyes large and fiercely bright, set in a face that might once have seemed beautiful; silently she viewed him, an eager searching gaze, and when at last she spake, it was in tone of wonder and voice so strangely soft and clear that John wondered also, for now her speech was not of the common folk.

"Eh, Sire, who art thou dare show mercy on witch accursed?"

And John answered, "One that had a noble mother and would honour all women therefore."

"But yon fool Nym hath named me right. Mald the Witch am I."

"Yet art thou woman also, old and meseemeth desolate. And so, for my gentle mother her sweet sake, how may I aid thee, Mald?"

Now at this, Nym groaned amain, crying:

"Beware, lord! Oh, good master, beware lest she sudden blast thy good flesh, rive thy very bones--"

"Peace, Nym man! See this dread witch fainteth, and how shall witch aswoon work ill to any? Go fetch me water from the rill babbleth yonder."

"Alack, Master John, this I cannot. Lord, I would fight and die for thee, God wot; but succour this foul witch I dare not ... for she hath been banned, accursed, doomed and damned by Holy Church."

"Why, then," said John, lifting the swooning creature on his breast, "needs must I bring her to the water, so fare well to thee, Nym."

"But, good master," groaned Nym, retreating as John advanced, "how an when she wake she cast some black spell on thee--ah, woe!"

John paused and instinctively crossed the fingers of his dexter hand, though furtively, then shook his head.

"Nym," he answered, "no thing of such like evil may touch me, for though I bear accursed witch thus upon my heart--yet aloft there in high heaven is watching an angel that was my mother. So get thee gone, Nym, and leave this woeful witch in my care, and me in the holy care of my angel mother." Then, while Nym stood afar, muttering hoarse prayers, to the brook came John and there ministered to the swooning creature until she sighed, moaned, waked from her faint and seeing John, strove wildly to win free of him, crying:

"The bandogs ... they nigh had me once ... ah, give me not to the dogs!" Now, with voice and touch, John soothed her to such comfort that she lay still a while, staring up at him neath scowling brows with her fierce wild eyes.

"A hound ... bit me!" said she at last.

"Ay, I know, I know," he answered. "So have I tended thy hurt--lo, here!" Now, looking from John's neat bandage to his lean and kindly visage, she very suddenly broke out into a strange fury of weeping, a passion of tears so wild and terrible that he sat all astonished and knowing not how to comfort her, was dumb. And when, hushing her grief, she contrived to speak, it was in sob-broken murmur:

"No hand hath dared touch me, no heart dared comfort me, no soul dared come anigh me, since Dom Gregorius proclaimed me accursed and excommunicate."

Now as she spake, her fierce bright eyes were dimmed again and softened to beauty by slow-gathering tears, but even as they fell she laughed harshly.

"Oh, man," cried she, "thou man that fearing, fears me not, behold a witch that weepeth even as any other old, sad woman might ... 'tis a fount methought long dry and yet welleth now to the sonlike mercy o' thee. So would I bless thee an I might ... but this I dare not for thine own sake ... Ha, stand away, none must see thee come anigh me, for he that comforteth witch accursed must be damned and outcast also."

"Now God and His saints bless thee, Dame Mald!" quoth John. "For I wit well that witch can shed such tears as thine, no witch is but very woman. Come now, yonder is my horse shall bear thee--" He fell dumb as, sudden and near, rose the dreadful, eager whining of a hound and then a man's fierce hunting cry.

"Oh, again! Mother o' Mercy, aid me!" gasped Mald, scrambling afoot. "'Tis Robert of Gysbourne hunteth me yonder ... his hounds nigh had me afore and now ... they ha' winded me again--"

"Nay, comfort thee!" said John, rising. "No man never shall harm thee whiles I may withstand him."

"Fear?" she cried. "I do fear me no man, for these ha' sense to fear me; 'tis the senseless brute dogs I may not abide ..." The words ended in whimper of terror as into the little glade broke two men with a great hound leashed and tugging.

"The scent groweth hot, Tyb!" cried one cheerily.

"Ay, lord," answered the other; "the curst hag should be near--"

"Yet no nearer!" quoth John, stepping forward to peer, for the light was failing.

"Who speaketh?" demanded the first man, fiercely arrogant.

"One that, speaking, bids ye hence forthright," answered John, hitching at his sword belt.

"Fellow, stay me not,--room, I say. Ha, never dare me, rogue; I am Robert, lord of Gysbourne."

"Why then to Gysbourne begone,--avaunt thee, Robert!"

For a moment this so arrogant lord seemed hardly to believe his ears; then:

"By the holy Nails!" cried he. "The fond fool dareth me! Let slip me the hound, Tyb!" But, even while he spake, out flickered John's long sword and, as the powerful animal leapt, his deadly steel met it in full career and the stricken beast, nigh shorn asunder, yelped, snarled and was dead.

"Alack!" quoth John. "So dieth goodly beast at bidding o' fool master."

"Par Dex!" cried Lord Robert in bitter fury. "The base knave hath dared slay my noble hound! Ha, death--death! Thy steel, Tyb ... with me now,--death on him!"

Staying not for their attack, John leapt to meet them with dagger poised and sword whirling; so there amid the shadowy leafage was furious clash of meeting steel.

But as John, thus fiercely beset, plied his weapons, point and edge, into the fray leapt sturdy Nym, so suddenly and smiting with long, heavy quarterstaff so dourly that the assailants, much dismayed by this unexpected onset, quailed and gave back.

"Tyb man ... ha, Tyb ... what's here?" gasped Lord Robert.

"Witchcraft, lord ... fell magic and ... the fiend! Away lord ... away ere we be devil-smit...." And thus, very presently, they were gone.

"And so," panted John, leaning on his sword, "my thanks on thee, Nym."

"Ay ... by Saint Cuthbert," growled Nym, "there shall few abide thy good sword and my staff."

"Nenny, man!" laughed John. "Yon twain, that run so fleetly, run not so much from us as from fear of a witch's magic. By this time tomorrow we shall be very fiends and spirits by their accounts, thou and I, conjured up to her defence by Dame Mald's black arts ... the poor soul!"

So saying, John sheathed his weapons and coming back to the little rippling stream, began to peer about; yet search where and how he might, he saw no one, for Mald the Witch had vanished very witch-like.

Now as he stood thus, glancing hither and yon, from the shadows hard by a vague shape swooped towards them, hovered, wheeled--and was gone; whereat Nym crossed himself devoutly, then grasped at John with shaking hand.

"Saw ye yon fearsome thing, master?" he whispered.

"Ay, an owl, Nym."

"Nay, here was no owl, lord! There went thing that, seeming owl, was she ye would cherish,--yon fiendly haggish Mald. Come away!" Scarce had he spoken than from the gloom, deepening about them, rose a sudden dismal hooting. "There!" gasped Nym. "Holy Saint Cuthbert ... she cometh again! Ha, beseech thee, master, let us away."

Being come where their horses were tethered, John mounted and looking down into his companion's grim face, reached forth his hand, saying:

"Fare thee well, Nym; thou that art faithful to memory of my noble father. Mayhap we shall meet again and then ... perchance, nay,--thou to thy charcoal and I ... to work more black, or--God alone witteth. Howbeit, may the saints have thee in keeping and the sweet maid Brynda." And then, or ever Nym could make reply, he rode suddenly away.