The Water of the Wondrous Isles by William Morris (love letters to the dead txt) 📗

from hunger and weather henceforward; that is enough for thee to know as now.  Now thou hast to eat and sleep and play and cry out, that thou mayest the sooner wax, and grow into the doing of my will.

Therewith she led her out into the sunshine, and tethered her to an ash sapling which grew anigh the door, that the child might be safe the while she went about her work in acre and mead.

But as for that matter of changing of aspect, the maiden came to know thereafter that the witch durst not go into the wood in the same skin as that which she wore at home, wherefore she had changed it for the journey to Utterhay, and changed back again in the night-tide before she arose.

p. 12CHAPTER IV.  OF THE WAXING OF THE STOLEN CHILD.

This little one, who is henceforth called Birdalone, though the witch called her but seldom so, nor indeed by any name, dwelt there betwixt the water and the wood, and saw none save the said witch-wife, who, as aforesaid, fed her well, but scarce meddled with her else for a long while; so she wandered well-nigh as she had will, and much in the wood; for she had no fear thereof, nor indeed of aught else save of the dame.  She learned of the ways and the wont of all the creatures round about her, and the very grass and flowers were friends to her, and she made tales of them in her mind; and the wild things feared her in no wise, and the fowl would come to her hand, and play with her and love her.  A lovely child she was, rosy and strong, and as merry as the birds on the bough; and had she trouble, for whiles she came across some ugly mood of the witch-wife, she bore it all as lightly as they.

Wore the years thus, till now she was grown tall and thin, and had seen twelve winters, and was far stronger and handier than at first sight she looked to be.  That found her mistress, and would not forego the using of her deftness.  For indeed the maiden knew all matters of wood and field full well, and somewhat of the water also (though no boat had she ever seen there), for she learned herself swimming, as the ducks do belike.

But now her mistress would learn her swinking, and hard was the lesson, for with twiggen rods and switches was she learned, and was somewhat stubborn with this woman, who she deemed loved her not; and, however it were, there began to grow in her an inkling that all was not well with the dame, and howsoever she might fear her, she trusted her not, nor worshipped her; otherwise she had learned her lesson speedily; for she was not slack nor a sluggard, and hated not the toil, even when it pained and wearied her, but against the anger and malice she hardened her heart.

It is to be said, that though there she dwelt alone with the witch-wife, she had somehow got to know that they two were not alone in the world, and she knew of male and female, and young and old.  Thereof doubtless the witch herself had learned her, would she, would she not; for though she were mostly few-spoken, yet whiles the tongue of her would loosen, and she would tell Birdalone tales of men and women, and kings and warriors and thralls, and the folk of the world beyond them, if it were but to scare the child.  Yea, and when she rated Birdalone, or girded at her, words would come forth which the maiden stored up, and by laying two and two together gat wisdom howso it were.  Moreover, she was of the race of Adam, and her heart conceived of diverse matters from her mother’s milk and her father’s blood, and her heart and her mind grew up along with her body.  Herein also was she wise, to wit, how to give wrath the go-by, so that she oft found the wood a better home than the house: for now she knew that the witch-wife would enter it never; wherefore she loved it much, and haunted it daily if she might.

Amidst all this she lived not unmerrily; for the earth was her friend, and solaced her when she had suffered aught: withal she was soon grown hardy as well as strong; and evil she could thole, nor let it burden her with misery.

p. 15CHAPTER V.  OF BIRDALONE, AND HOW SHE IS GROWN INTO MAIDENHOOD.

Wear the years and the years amidst such days as these, and now is Birdalone grown a dear maiden of seventeen summers; and yet was her life not unhappy; though the mirth of her childhood was somewhat chastened in her, and she walked the earth soberly and measurely, as though deep thoughts were ever in her head: though, forsooth, it is not all so sure that her serious face and solemn eyes were but a part of the beauty which was growing with the coming forth of childhood into youth and maidenhood.  But this at least is sure, that about this time those forebodings which had shown her that she had no call to love and honour her mistress took clearer shape, and became a burden on her, which she might never wholly shake off.  For this she saw, that she was not her own, but a chattel and a tool of one who not only used her as a thrall in the passing day, but had it in her mind to make of her a thing accursed like to herself, and to bait the trap with her for the taking of the sons of Adam.  Forsooth she saw, though dimly, that her mistress was indeed wicked, and that in the bonds of that wickedness was she bound.

One thing, moreover, had she noted now this long while, that once and again, it might be once every two moons, the witch-wife would arise in the dead of night and go forth from the house, and be away for a day, or two or three, or whiles more, and come back again weary and fordone; but never said she any word to Birdalone hereof.  Yet oft when she arose to go this errand, before she left the chamber would she come to Birdalone’s truckle-bed, and stand over her to note if she were asleep or not; and ever at such times did Birdalone feign slumber amidst of sickening dread.  Forsooth in these latter days it whiles entered the maiden’s head that when the dame was gone she would rise and follow her and see whither she went, and what she did; but terror constrained her that she went not.

Now from amidst all these imaginings arose a hope in her that she might one day escape from her thralldom: and whiles, when she was lonely and safe in the wood, to this hope she yielded herself; but thereof came such tumult of her soul for joy of the hope, that she might not master her passion; the earth would seem to rise beneath her, and the woods to whirl about before her eyes, so that she might not keep her feet, but would sink adown to earth, and lie there weeping.  Then most oft would come the cold fit after the hot, and the terror would take her that some day the witch would surprise the joy of that hope in her eyes, and would know what it meant, or that some light word might bewray her; and therewith came imaginings of what would then befall her, nor were that hard to picture, and it would come before her over and over again till she became weary and worn out therewith.

But though they abode ever with her, these troubling thoughts pricked not so oft at the keenest, but were as the dull ache of little import that comes after pain overcome: for in sooth busy and toilsome days did she wear, which irked her in nowise, since it eased her of the torment of those hopes and fears aforesaid, and brought her sound sleep and sweet awaking.  The kine and the goats must she milk, and plough and sow and reap the acre-land according to the seasons, and lead the beasts to the woodland pastures when their own were flooded or burned; she must gather the fruits of the orchard, and the hazel nuts up the woodlands, and beat the walnut-trees in September.  She must make the butter and the cheese, grind the wheat in the quern, make and bake the bread, and in all ways earn her livelihood hard enough.  Moreover, the bowman’s craft had she learned, and at the dame’s bidding must fare alone into the wood now and again to slay big deer and little, and win venison: but neither did that irk her at all, for rest and peace were in the woods for her.

True it is, that as she wended thicket or glade or wood-lawn, she would at whiles grow timorous, and tread light and heedfully, lest rustling leaves or crackling stick should arouse some strange creature in human shape, devil, or god now damned, or woman of the faery.  But if such were there, either they were wise and would not be seen, or kind and had no will to scare the simple maiden; or else maybe there were none such in those days.  Anyhow, nought evil came to her out of Evilshaw.

p. 18CHAPTER VI.  HEREIN IS TOLD OF BIRDALONE’S RAIMENT.

Lank and long is Birdalone the sweet, with legs that come forth bare and browned from under her scant grey coat and scantier smock beneath, which was all her raiment save when the time was bitter, and then, forsooth, it was a cloak of goat-skin that eked her attire: for the dame heeded little the clothing of her; nor did Birdalone give so much heed thereto that she cared to risk the anger of her mistress by asking her for aught.

But on a day of this same spring, when the witch-wife was of sweeter temper than her wont was, and the day was very warm and kindly, though it was but one of the last of February days, Birdalone, blushing and shamefaced, craved timidly some more womanly attire.  But the dame turned gruffly on her and said: Tush, child! what needeth it? here be no men to behold thee.  I shall see to it, that when due time comes thou shalt be whitened and sleeked to the very utmost.  But look thou! thou art a handy wench; take the deer-skin that hangs up yonder and make thee brogues for thy feet, if so thou wilt.

Even so did Birdalone, and shaped the skin to her feet; but as she was sewing them a fancy came into her head; for she had just come across some threads of silk of divers colours; so she took them and her shoon and her needle up into the wood, and there sat down happily under a great spreading oak which much she haunted, and fell to broidering the kindly deer-skin.  And she got to be long about it, and came back to it the next day and the next, and many days, whenso her servitude would suffer it, and yet the shoon were scarce done.

So on a morning the dame looked on her feet as she moved about the chamber, and cried out at her: What! art thou barefoot as an hen yet?  Hast thou spoilt the good deer-skin and art yet but shoeless?  Nay, our lady, said Birdalone, but the shoon are not altogether done.  Show them to me, said the dame.

Birdalone went to her little coffer to fetch them, and brought them somewhat timorously, for she knew not how her mistress would take her working on them so long, if perchance she would blame her, or it might be chastise her, for even in those days the witch-wife’s hand was whiles raised against her.  But now when the dame took the shoes and looked on them, and saw how there were oak-leaves done into them, and flowers, and coneys, and squirrels, she but smiled somewhat grimly on Birdalone, and said: Well, belike thou art a fool to waste thy time and mine in such toys; and to give thee thy due would be to give thee stripes.  But thou doest herein after the nature of earthly women, to adorn thy body, whatsoever else is toward.  And well is that, since I would have thee a woman so soon as may be; and I will help thy mind for finery, since thou art so deft with thy needle.

Therewith she went to the big coffer and drew forth thence a piece of fine green cloth, and another of fine linen, and said to Birdalone: This mayest thou take, and make thee a gown thereof and a new smock, and make them if thou wilt as gay as