BIRDALONE FINDETH THE ISLE OF NOTHING GREATLY BETTERED, AND IS KINDLY
ENTREATED THERE.
Now it was scarce noon when she departed, and the dark night came upon
her in the midst of the water; and she fell asleep in the boat ere the
night had grown very old, and woke up in the morning, not exceeding
early, maybe about six o’clock; then she looked ahead and thought
presently to see the ill-favoured blotch of the Isle of Nothing on the
bosom of the blue waters, whereas it was a fair and cloudless morning
of latter May. Sure enough she saw land ahead, and it lay low down on
the water, but she deemed from the first that it was green of hue, and
as she neared it she saw that it was verily as green as emerald.
Thereat she was a little troubled, because she thought that mayhappen
the Sending Boat had gone astray, and that if the wight thereof were
not wending the old road, maybe he was not making for the old haven.
For now indeed she told herself right out that her will was to go back
again to the House under the Wood, and see what might betide there, and
if she and the wood-mother together might not overcome the witch.
But whatever might happen nought could she do but sit in her place and
wend as the Sending Boat would; and in an hour’s space she was right
under the lee of the land, and she saw that it was shapen even as the
Isle of Nothing had been aforetime. But this made her wonder, that now
the grass grew thick down to the lip of the water, and all about from
the water up were many little slim trees, and some of them with the
May-tide blossom yet on them, as though it were a fair and great
orchard that she was nearing; and moreover, beyond all that she saw the
thatched roofs of houses rising up.
Presently then the Sending Boat had brought her to the land, and she
stepped ashore, but was wary, and gat her bow bent and set an arrow
thereto she began to go up from the water. Yet she thought within
herself, it will be nought ill if I be come amongst folk, so long as
they be peaceful, or else how might I live the journey out to all the
isles and so home to the House under the Wood?
So she turned her face to where she had seen those roofs, which now she
saw no longer because of the thick leaves of the little trees, and so
went along a narrow path, which grew to be more and more closely beset
with trees, and were now no longer apple and pear and quince and
medlar, but a young-grown thicket of woodland trees, as oak and
hornbeam and beech and holly.
At last as she went she heard voices before her, so she stole warily to
the edge of the copse, finger on shaft; and presently could see clear
of the saplings and out on to a wide space of greensward, beyond which
was a homestead of many houses and bowers, like unto that of a good
yeoman in peaceful lands, save that the main building was longer,
though it were low. But amidst the said greensward was a goodly flock
of sheep that had been but of late washed for the shearing, and along
with the sheep four folk, two carles and two queans, all of them in
their first youth, not one by seeming of over a score and two of
summers. These folk were clad but simply, man and woman, in short coats
of white woollen (but the women’s coats a little longer than the
men’s), without shoon or hosen; they had garlands of green leaves on
their heads, and were wholly unarmed, save that one of the men bore an
ashen wand in his hand. As for their bodies, they were goodly of
fashion, tanned indeed by the sun’s burning, but all sweet of flesh
were they, shapely and trim, clean-made, and light and slim.
Birdalone’s heart yearned toward them, and she stepped straightway from
out of the cover of the coppice, and the sun flamed from her sallet and
glittered in the rings of her hauberk, so that the folk might not fail
to see her; the sheep fled bundling from her past their keepers, who
stood firm, but seemed somewhat scared, and moved not toward Birdalone.
She gave them the sele of the day and stood still herself; but the man
with the ash-wand said: Hail, thou man; but we would have thee come no
nearer a while, though thy voice be sweet: for we know what things they
be which thou bearest, and that thou art a warrior. Wilt thou hurt us?
Birdalone laughed as sweetly as the blackbird sings, and she did off
her sallet and shook the plenteous hair down over her, and then drew
forth her sword and dagger and cast them to earth, and laid her bow and
quiver of arrows upon them, and said: Now will I come to you, or ye
shall come to me, whereas I am unweaponed, and no warrior, but a woman,
and ye are four to one, and two of you carles; wherefore now ye may
bind me or slay me if you will; but in any case I pray you first to
give me a mouthful of meat.
When she had done her speech, she went up to the fairest of the women
and kissed her; but the two carles made no more ado but came to
Birdalone and kissed her one after other, and that as men who needed
nought to compel them therein, and each thereafter took a hand of her
and held it and caressed it. But the other woman had run into the house
as soon as Birdalone spoke, and came back again with a treen bowl full
of milk and a little loaf, not white but brown; and there blundered
about her legs as she came a little lad of some three winters old,
naked and brown, who was shy of the gleaming new-comer, and hid him
behind the woman one while, and the other while came forth to see the
new thing. But the woman said: Dear woman, here is for thee some of the
ewes’ milk, and a bite of bread, and a little deal of cheese; the said
milk is yet warm, so that it is not yet clottered; but if thou wilt
come with us thou mayest speedily drink cows’ milk, and we be now at
point to go milk them.
Birdalone thanked her with a heart full of content, and was not
ill-pleased to get her hands free from the two carles; so she sat down
and ate her breakfast while they talked with her, and told her of
diverse work of theirs; as to how their trees were waxing, and new
tillage they had done the past spring, and how it befell to the kine
and the goats; of their children also they spake, and how there were
already four thereof, and one of the women, the meat-bringer, already
quickened with child once more. So that ere we die, quoth the carle who
was speaking, we look to see many grandchildren, and shall have some
stout carles and queans here. And by that time will some of the trees
be well grown, so that we may fell timber and make us some keel that
will wend the lake, and help us a-fishing; or we may go to other lands;
or whiles folk may come to us, even as thou hast, thou dear-handed,
sweet-voiced woman. But wilt thou abide here ever?
Yea, said the other, but that is looking forward a long while, that
building of ships. What is nearer and well to think of is, that these
apple and pear trees be so well fruited, small as they be, that this
harvest we shall be able to make us cider and perry; yea, and no little
deal thereof. But art thou minded to abide with us ever? That were dear
to us; and belike thou wouldest bear us children, thou also.
Then spake the meat-fetching woman and laughed withal: Nay, thou also
lookest aloof a pretty deal; whereas what is now to do is to go milk
the kine, and to take this guest with us, so that she may drink
somewhat better than ewes’ milk though the cider be not ready to hand.
But tell me, our dear guest, art thou verily going to abide with us a
long while? that were sweet to us, and we will do all we may to
pleasure thee.
Nay, said Birdalone, it will no better be but that I depart on the
morrow; and all thanks do I give you for your kindness.
The woman kissed her, and she arose, and all they went together to the
milking of the kine some half mile inland; and they passed through much
of orchard, and some deal of tillage, wherein the wheat was already
growing high; and so came they to a wide meadow through which ran a
little stream, and therein was a goodly herd of kine. So they fell to
the milking, and made Birdalone drink of the sweet cows’ milk, and then
went and lay down under the shade of the little young trees, and talked
and were merry together. But the men were both of them somewhat willing
at first to kiss Birdalone and toy with her, but when she let them know
that she desired it not they refrained them without grudging.
All this while of their talk they asked Birdalone nought of whence and
whither, and she would not ask them, lest it might stir their asking,
and then she would have to tell them some deal of her story; and
telling it was now become unto her somewhat weary work.
In a while they arose all, and the men and one woman went their ways to
deal with the acre-land, but the meat-fetcher went back with Birdalone
into the house; and she showed her all that was therein, which was for
the more part, forsooth, the four babes aforesaid. The others came back
in the eventide, bearing with them foison of blue hare-bells, and
telling joyously how they had found them anigh the coppice edge in such
a place: and thereafter they were merry, and sang and talked the
evening away, and showed Birdalone at last to a fair little chamber
wherein was a bed of dry grass, where she lay down and slept in all
content.