Isoult saw Merlin loitering for her among the fir trees, and she could
imagine the smile on his face—that face with its red, libidinous mouth
and hungry, restless eyes. He stood there in a little alley of the wood,
a figure like a grey monolith marking the spot where some king had
fallen.
Isoult’s soul hardened itself against him, and she struck the strings of
her lute and murmured the words of a song.
“Trust a priest to cheat at any game.”
He shrugged.
“I walked in the wood to keep fools from straying upon you, and when I
came close I said my prayers so that you should hear.”
His head poked forward on its long neck like the head of a vulture, and
he seemed to sniff the air.
“What tidings, Isoult; what tidings?”
“The falcon is tamed.”
“What? You have cozened him? May all comely women be praised! I did not
believe that the man lived who could say you nay.”
She caught the leer in his voice, and guessed how he would be looking at
her and licking his red lips. And from that moment she hated Merlin with
all the hot pride of her nature.
“Make no boast of it, for I do not.”
He laughed gloatingly, and she could have struck him in the face with
her knife.
“Are you sure of the fool, Isoult?”
“As sure of him as I am of your piety! No meddling between us; I have
more songs to sing.”
He said nothing for a moment, but she felt his eyes upon her.
“Isoult, I can teach you no subtlety in singing. You will make
sure——?”
Her patience carried her no farther.
“Save your words, and let the night look after its own darkness.”
“I’ll leave youth with youth.”
She heard his beads rattling, and he turned to go.
“Bonds stronger than thongs of leather,” he said. “Fasten them upon him,
Isoult, and I will give you my blessing.”
So strong for the moment was the revulsion of her pride that when Merlin
had gone she walked to and fro under the trees, raging against the
tangle in which she found herself. The fires in the valley were as so
many red eyes watching her in the toils of her dilemma. To have to cheat
such a man as Merlin, lie to him, make a jest of her own honour in order
to blind his eyes! And why? Because that stiffnecked fool down yonder
sat like a Simeon Stylites on the pillar of his pride, and would not
slacken one fibre of his obstinacy in order to save his precious head.
She saw the past, the present, and the future all tangled up in a
strange medley—the ringlets of a river thrown wide across green fields
and orchards, the chattering of aspen leaves, the roses in a garden, the
grey tumbling sea, the singing woman who sang to men with her knife
ready at her girdle, the fierce thrusting back of lustful fools, the
mocking flush of the eyes, the wanderings, dreams, and adventures, the
wrestling match with the man who now lay yonder most damnably determined
to die.
Well, let him throw his raw scorn in Merlin’s face, and suffer for his
stiffneckedness. What was it to her? How did it concern her? Men knew
that Isoult of the Rose was not to be handled or clutched at with greedy
fingers, and that her anger was not a thing to be tempted. And was she
to make herself look an outwitted and shameful fool, a soft-hearted
ninny tricked by a man’s tongue!
She walked to and fro under the trees, and the tangle made her furious.
“By our Lady, let the fool pay for his pride. Why should I meddle?”
The wind of her passion changed just as quickly, and blew her mood to
the other side of the fire. She began to curse like a man, and to snap
discords from the strings of her lute.
“By the blood in hell, I’ll do it; I’ll do it!”
She turned and went back towards the edge of the wood like a leaf caught
up and blown along by a gust of wind.
Fulk was watching the fires in the valley with the little black figures
going to and fro about them. He heard Isoult coming back through the fir
wood, and the sound of her footsteps made him harden his heart. He was
wrath with himself because he saw everywhere the red mouth, the pale
face, and the mysterious eyes.
Isoult sailed down on him over the lip of the dell like a bird with the
wind.
“What had Merlin to say?”
“Leave Merlin with the devil!”
She dropped on her knees close to him, tossed the lute aside, and pulled
out her girdle knife.
“Hold out your hands.”
She spoke and acted like one in a fever of impatience, who could brook
neither argument nor delay.
“Hold out your hands, fool! Don’t sit and stare! Shall I have to push
you and your pride out of death’s way? I have lied and played the jade
for your sake, and I tell you I am out of temper. I’ll cut you out of
these thongs, and say good riddance.”
Her anger was so headlong that he felt driven to breast it as a swimmer
breasts a wave.
“You have been putting Merlin off with lies?”
“That’s right—ask every question you can think of! What can we do with
such a stubborn fool but tell lies on his account? I said I had
persuaded you to play the King. Hold your hands out.”
He did not move.
“Oh—well, I can begin elsewhere.”
She bent forward and cut the thongs that bound his legs and ankles,
severing the leather with vicious jerks of the knife.
“Now—the hands. I want the burden of your pride off my conscience, to
be rid of your heroics. They put one in a tangle.”
He held out his hands, and she cut them free.
“Done. The falcon will find his wings stiff. Fly ten miles before
daybreak. As for me—I may be able to get some sleep.”
She sat back on her heels and began to laugh with a casual inconsequence
that had a touch of mockery. Fulk was stretching his arms, and moving
his wrists and fingers, and all the while a slow and puzzled anger was
gathering in him against Isoult. He could make nothing of her moods and
passions, and this laughter of hers mocked the desire for her that
seemed to have flashed out of nothingness but an hour ago.
“You can set a man free, but you cannot make him walk.”
She still laughed softly as though her whole nature mocked him.
“Am I to drive you like a pig to market? Take up your bed and walk, my
friend, and thank my mouth for deigning to tell a lie.”
He turned on one hand and knee, and stared at her fixedly.
“Have a care how you laugh at me.”
“Threats! Oh, my good comrade, run away and leave me in peace. You know
not what manner of trouble I have had to be rid of you and your pride,
to get your neck out of Merlin’s grip. Be grateful for having made me
laugh a little.”
His hands flashed out and caught her wrists.
“By God’s blood, is it all laughter? What will you say to Merlin
to-morrow?”
She did not try to free herself, but threw her head back and looked him
in the eyes.
“I shall tell him that you made a fool of me and ran away in the night.”
“Isoult!”
His grip tightened upon her wrists.
“No, by God! I’ll not lend myself to that! Speak the truth. You laugh,
that I may not think you too generous, and call me fool—to make it
easier for me to go.”
Her eyes glimmered at him.
“Well—go. I can deal with Merlin.”
“Merlin! What right has that rat to gnaw at your lute strings? Let him
go to his own damnation. Merlin—a grey rat—to say you yea or nay!”
She freed one hand and laid it over his mouth.
“Ssst, you wild forester. Speak softly. Who knows what the wood holds?”
The fingers of her hand were like a spell set upon his lips. He looked
into her eyes and was dumb.
“Now, are you cautious?”
She took her hand away, yet almost with a caress.
“Isoult, what is this hedge priest to you?”
“Nothing—less than nothing.”
“And what are these ditch scrapings and plough-boys?”
“A little more than Merlin.”
“Your pride is as good as mine. I’ll not go, Isoult, unless——”
“Unless?”
“Two falcons soar into the blue.”
She kept him at arm’s length, but her eyes were shining in her dim face.
“Ah, you think well of yourself, Fulk of the Forest. Have you the
strength to fly with me? I tell you I am a flame, a storm, a sunset.”
“I have wings as strong as yours.”
“To fly in the face of the sun?”
“Over the moon—if needs be.”
They were like two flames, flaring and leaping against each other. An
intoxication seized them, though there was a challenge and a defiance in
the rushing together of desire. Their hands gripped hard, yet resisted.
Their mouths provoked each other, yet held apart.
“Isoult, I swear troth.”
“Wait—wait, madman!”
“Troth until death; I swear it.”
She swayed towards him, drew back as suddenly, and started up, dragging
him with her.
“Ssst, see—there!”
She pointed towards the wood, and Fulk saw vague movement in the
darkness, and heard the rustling of bracken and the crackling of dead
wood.