The Fool (Bailey)/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
OF A WITCH
BRAN, left alone, talked no more to the grasshoppers. The thing was not strange to him. All over his world there were scattered, lonely or by little tribes, outcast folk, sprung of old vanished nations or jetsam of conquest and war or wanderers who had lost their way, without part or lot in the common life, hated, feared, hunted by the mass of the people. Never a doubt but the Wisdom of Cahors and her grandchild were such, as his own mother was on the chalk hills of England. What blood might be in them he could not guess. Moor and Roman and Gaul and Greek had mingled in that south land and nameless races in the dark time before. To him woman and girl were of the old folk, born of the very earth even as he, and his heart went out to them and he yearned for the child. He knew his world and he saw her born to suffer, little and gentle and a girl.
The King and Becket, coming like brothers into the great tent, found him wrapped in thoughts and dreams. "Why, Bran, Bran, in what world are you?" Becket called.
"I know not," Bran roused himself. "Master Thomas, if you met the devil a-walking on this earth, how would you do?"
"Take heart and slay him," Becket laughed.
"Yea, yea, and when God came upon earth men did even so."
"Out on you, fool, you talk like an infidel."
"No, by my faith, he says well," the King cried. "He thinks deep, my Bran. What men fear that they kill."
"Good or ill, that they kill," Bran echoed. "But what of that, care killed a cat, eat my Thomas, eat and grow fat, long is your nose but longer your face, oh Thomas, my lord, take heart of grace."
So they went to dinner, and after Bran rode with them round the walls of Cahors, whence men still mocked them with songs and cross-bow bolts. In the evening when the guards were set that no succour or food should steal into the town, they three went walking by the river.
It was in Bran's mind to seek the child's cave and he lingered behind the others searching here and there. He had a hope to play the King. If the old woman would be guided, the child and she might be made safe against any man. That chance never came.
In the cool of the evening, the black flocks were again on the march. He heard the shepherd boys singing and sometimes a dog busy. Then came a clamour of furious shouts and he climbed the bank and saw a flock turned and scattered and the shepherds running together in a rage. "The witch! the witch! Mark the black witch!"
The first of the sheep had plunged down from the green road into a little ravine that brought a brook to the river, and the mass behind rushing upon them filled it with frenzied creatures crushing each other. He saw the cause. The grandmother had come from a thicket into the green road and scared the flock. She stood there alone. She lifted her arm over her head and mocking made the sign against the evil eye and laughed and went on her way.
The King and Becket stood at gaze. "Goody is a brave old wench," said the King.
From the swearing shepherds came now one shout.
"Aye, she has dared too much," Becket said and turned away.
"God's my life," the King cried, "they will course her like a hare. This is foul wrong," and he strode on.
"They know her for a witch," said Becket. "Look what you do, my lord."
The sheep dogs rushed at her yelping. She made no step the faster and when they came close she turned to meet them and they checked and crawled on their bellies and lay watching her. The shepherds ran up and bade them seize and tear her. But they cowered and when they were beaten slunk aside. She stood and laughed.
"By the rood, the dogs will not touch her," the King said.
But as he spoke, the cry rose: "Proven! Proven! A witch she is," and the shepherds, gathering close, came upon her. "Now, old Wisdom, now are you sped. Now we have you bare."
She cried out "Fools! You hold me, you?" and she laughed and spat at them.
They laid hands on her. "Drown if you can, burn if you will. This night you go to your master."
"Fire will not burn nor water drown what I am," she screamed. "Before your fathers were was I, when you are rotten I shall be."
"Foul witch! Steel will stab," said one and drove his knife into her side.
"Splendour of God! Here is merry work," the King came up. "Stand off, knaves, stand off. Who gave you leave to hunt my folk?" They turned upon him, saw him and shrank away and fled. "Look to the woman, Thomas."
But Bran was come. Bran was kneeling beside her already and Becket stood off and drew his cloak about him. Bran raised her head and she looked up at him: "What thing are you? Aye, aye, the fool. It needs but that," and she laughed.
"Here is the King, mother, come to save you," Bran said, making a pillow for her head, and he made busy with the wound where the knife still was.
She peered up through the twilight at Henry: "Hail, King!" she said with a twisted smile. "You have been long a-coming and late you come at last. Hail, King! You have done what you could. Hail and farewell, King of the Earth. To the King of the Dead go I."
"Blaspheme not, woman," Becket cried.
"Ha, is that a priest there?" She raised her head. "You are faint, priest. You go from my eyes. You are naught. Nay, fool, let be, let be," she plucked at his hands. "I am gone this night and all nights ever. I am gone."
"It is a true word, mother," Bran said. "What word is your last word?"
"Who called me mother? None calls me mother on earth. That is good. None but a fool. Bear me down by the river, fool. With the running water I go."
"Help me, brother Thomas," Bran said.
Becket crossed himself and turned away.
"Now God assoil me Thomas, I am not so holy, I," the King cried and lifted her head.
So the fool and the King bore her to the river-side and laid her there in the heavy scent of the meadow sweet and the murmur of the stream was all about them. She breathed deep and sighed. Then, "Where is that priest? Let no priest spy on me in my hour," she said and raised herself to look. But Becket stood afar off. "Aye, aye, he fears," she laughed, "and he shall fear. I shall abide with him,"
"Mother, mother," Bran said gently.
"Yea, I was a mother once, fool. And my child she died on my breast."
"You are a mother still."
"My little one? Na, na, she is not mine."
"You love her well, mother."
"My flower," the woman murmured. "Little one, little one. She is not mine, I say. If I love, I hate. She is not of my soul. There is her father in her." She turned. "Ha, King, are you in Cahors yet?"
"God have mercy, mother, what is this?" Bran cried.
"Peace, woman," the King said. "I hold fast."
"Quoth dog who barked at wall," she laughed. "Na, you do what you can. I know it, I. I thank you while I go. You fear not the old witch, little King of Earth. Shall have a gift for it. Cahors is yours, little King. Seek out my cave, there it lies, there by the water." She pointed with trembling hand. "Go in and on and on and you shall come to the very heart of Cahors, yea, the altar whereon she is built. Dead lives, dead, dead."
"Oh, mother, mother, what of the child?" Bran said.
"Oh fool, fool, no child of mine. She was born to my daughter of Bertrand of Cahors. He forced her. Not mine, not mine. I am the last of my own."
"The little one," Bran said.
"Tell her—tell her—the King of the Dead has taken me."
Some while still Bran knelt beside her.… He closed her eyes. "God receive her. The unknown God," he said.
The King crossed himself. "She had a brave heart," said he. "Come, brother," and he put his arm in the fool's.
"She has left me an inheritance, Henry."
"Nay, brother, I am her heir," the King laughed. "Her cave is mine, free of geld and service and homage and the heart of Cahors and an altar and dead lives withal. A strange lordship, by the rood."
"Yea, yea, to have and to hold. But I think of the child. Bran has a maid in wardship. Bran has a child of his own."
"What like should she be? Some wild wolf's cub. Nay, God's my life, shame it were to leave her for these curs to worry."
"Yea, yea. But she is like a flower, a fairy maid. Bran has a child to his heart."
"Why then, God give you joy, brother," Henry laughed. "I will stand godfather. Nay, but what tale is this? You have seen the child? What, were you hand in glove with the old dame?"
"I have seen the child, yea. But the grandam—she was for no man, she. I know what you know, and know nothing. Only I wonder."
"By my soul, you do well. Go, then, let us seek out your child. In this strange cave does she lie? I have a mind to my new realm."
"Think what you do, my lord," Becket spoke behind him. "That woman was evil, and willing evil she died."
"What ill has she done you, Thomas?"
"She was a proven witch and black magic in her."
"God's my life, man, a priest are you," the King cried. "If you fear, fear then and go your way;" and he strode on, and Becket came heavily after.
The cave was above the river where it flows beneath a limestone cliff as the ground rises to make the hill whereon the town is built. At the mouth of it the child sat, playing with a string of shells and singing to herself, but when she saw men coming through the gloom she fled in.
"Flower, little dark flower," Bran called gently, "it is Bran, the fool, calls."
"Go away, Bran," she cried out of the dark. "My grandmother comes and she will look upon you."
"Nenny, nenny. From your grandam come I, little maid, and she bade me come."
After a moment. "True?" said the little voice out of the dark.
"Bran speaks true."
The child stole forward, a dim little shape. "Your voice is true," she said. "Oh but fear! Here she lets no one come and no one dares."
Bran took her hand and drew her against him. "Time was," he said, "that time is no more. She has no need now of her cave. She is gone, and when she was to go she bade me seek you and tell you the King of the Dead had sent for her at last."
"She is gone!"
"There is none will see her again in this land. Swift it fell. She heard the call on a sudden and ready was she. And us who stood by she bade carry the word to you and we heard her no more, neither saw her."
"And she is a Queen now."
"What said she? She is a Queen with the King of the dead."
"She always knew," the child said.
"And this also she said, that I should take you and be your father, and here is my King come to give you welcome."
"Aye, good cheer, little maid," Henry laughed and laid his great hand on her head.
She trembled and Bran bent over her holding her close. "No man did that ever," she said, and began to cry. "You are kind, you are kind. Are you a King, too?"
"I have a crown o' holidays," Henry laughed. "We will guard you, little maid. Bran and his King."
"Bran, oh Bran is good," she said, and clung to him.
"Little one, little one," Bran took her in his arms. "There is no more fear."
So he bore her away to the camp and laid her in his own tent and for the first night in her life she slept safe.