In a wide stretch of pasture, in the middle of a lonely field, with its
back to the bleak north blast which swept over the shuddering grasses,
making them hum and sing like complaining voices, stood a Dovecote. The
solid masonry of its walls, in the crevices of which tufts of stone-crop
and shepherd’s purse had sown themselves, and the irregular outlines of
the crow-steps which ran up either side of its slanting roof had been
familiar to the sight of so many generations that, as it had remained
unused within the memory of the oldest, no one thought more of it than
if it had been a stone-heap in the road, nor noticed the curious fact of
its never falling into disrepair. At each end of the roof, above the
crow-steps, two large stone balls stood out against the sky, and on
these the rooks, going home in the red sunsets to a neighbouring
rookery, perched from year’s end to year’s end, and no one but
themselves, or a few inquisitive sheep, who might rub their woolly heads
against the walls, seemed to remember the existence of the solitary
building. At some little distance behind it the land rose in a steep
slope, rolling upwards to where a fringe of fir-trees looked down upon
the Dovecote, the fields, and the scattered habitations below.
[Illustration: THE DOVECOTE]
Anyone standing beside them might see over a vast area of land. Looking
to the west, the hills rose in bold relief, and towards them ran a white
road which lost itself now and then, only to reappear in patches till it
faded into the distance; looking eastward, there lay spread a long
stretch of wooded country, over which the lights and shadows floated and
the clouds sailed before the west wind on their way to the sea, which
could be seen on a sunny day lying like a blue sapphire upon the
horizon. Looking straight southward towards the pastures, the sloping
ground at the foot of the trees was all one fertile cornfield, as yet
uncut, and, half way up it, where the hill was steepest, stood three
elms, growing close together and making a dark spot of shade in the
middle of the yellow grain. These were called “Maddy Norey’s trees.”
What Maddy Norey’s history had been no one alive knew, but tradition
said that she had lived in a small cottage under the shadow of the elms,
and men ploughing the field in the late November days had run their
ploughshares against deeply-embedded stones at their roots, and told
each other that they had struck the foundations of Maddy Norey’s house.
They did not know that the witch, Maddy Norey, was alive still, and
living hardly out of the sound of their voices in the Dovecote.
But in spite of the lonely quiet of the old place, and the peace which
seemed to brood over the standing corn, there was war and strife in the
land. The young King, with his Queen, had been forced to fly from his
palace, a fugitive and wanderer, not knowing where to seek shelter for
his head; his step-brother, a wicked and unscrupulous man, having, with
his plots and cunning and his smooth, lying tongue, stirred up the
people in revolt against their sovereign. Through the treachery of some
of the soldiery the palace gates had been broken down, the King’s
capital was in the hands of the mob, and he and the Queen had made their
escape, trying to reach the distant sea-board, and from it to take ship
across the Northern Sea to a neighbouring land ruled by one of their
closest allies.
Under cover of night they fled through the streets of the capital,
passing unnoticed in the confusion, and slipping through the city gates
deserted by the treacherous guards. Once in the open country, they hid
themselves in the woods by day, and travelled forward on foot by night,
hoping against hope to elude the pursuers sent out after their flight
had become known, and to reach the nearest point of coast from which
they might set sail for the friendly land opposite.
At last, after many days, they came to a place only a few dozen miles
inland, and the King, who knew the country well, encouraged the weary
Queen, telling her how short a space lay between them and the sea. They
were on the borders of a birch-wood through which they had travelled all
night, and, as they came out and saw the wide pasture stretched before
them in the early light (for it was dawning) the Queen sank down on the
ground, worn out, declaring that she could go no further.
At this the King was in despair, for day was breaking and there seemed
to be no place of safety in which they could conceal themselves until
night should come round again and cover the two lonely wanderers with
her dark curtain.
“Lie still and rest,” said he, as he drew off his cloak and spread it
over his wife, “I will go a little way forward and find some place in
which we can shelter for to-day. Do not move until I come back. I shall
not be long away.” And he wandered off into the field towards a strange
pile of building which he saw rising like a watch-tower from the level
plain.
When he reached it he found it to be a deserted Dovecote, and he walked
round it, wondering why such a solid structure had been built for the
harbouring of a few doves and pigeons.
As he passed round the north side he came upon a wooden door, so low
that a man entering would be obliged to bend himself almost double, and
he cleared away the nettles and tufts of ragwort which grew by the
threshold, pushing with his shoulder against the half-rotten wood. The
door opened easily.
The Dovecote was quite dark inside, and only the light from the open
door behind him enabled the King to see a crazy staircase running up the
side of the wall to what was apparently a room overhead. As he stood
irresolute whether or not to venture up, another little door opened at
the top of the flight and the bent form of an old woman peered out,
illuminated by the sky-light in the ceiling of the room she had just
left. The King stood amazed.
“And so you have come at last,” she said, in a voice which seemed far
too soft to proceed from such a crooked body, “and why have you not
brought the Queen? Do not be afraid,” she added, seeing the look of
consternation on his face, “I have expected you for some time. I am
Maddy Norey, and I have lived here for more years than you and the Queen
put together could count if your ages were doubled twice over. Go at
once and bring her back with you, for here she can find a safe
hiding-place.”
The astonished King could only lean against the wall, and stare up at
the strange figure above him.
“Go!” cried the old woman, stamping on the floor.
He turned to obey her, and began groping for the little door by which he
had entered; but the more he went from wall to wall, the more amazed was
he, for there was no sign nor vestige of such a thing.
Maddy Norey laughed softly.
“Now,” she said, “do you see how safe a castle mine is? If I had not
chosen that you should see my door you might still be wandering round
the walls among the briars outside. Is not this a safe retreat for the
Queen?”
“Let me go, Maddy Norey, and bring her to you.” And as the King said
this he perceived the open door close to him, with the sun’s early beams
shooting through like golden lances and striking the cobwebs which hung
from the lintel.
A short time later saw him standing in the birch-wood by the side of the
Queen, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion among the silver stems. The
leaves quivered in the breath of sunrise as they emerged together from
the wood and took their way to the Dovecote. The wooden door was open to
receive them, and Maddy Norey was at the top of her stair, peering down
upon the Queen as she ascended, weary and faint, with her beautiful dark
hair, which had slipped from its golden comb, falling in masses over her
cloak.
“Now,” said the old woman, when they had reached her attic, “look round
at my house and tell me what you think of it.”
The King and Queen were silent, for they knew not what to say. They saw
nothing but a small bare room with a sky-light in the roof. The light
was struggling in among the cobwebs and a cold air blew through the
little row of holes among the tiles, by which bygone flocks of pigeons
had entered to roost, or emerged to plume themselves in artless vanity
on the slanting roof and the crow-steps outside. An oaken three-legged
stool stood in one corner with an old-fashioned spinning-wheel beside
it, and this was the only furniture or sign of a human inhabitant
visible in the little attic.
Maddy Norey smiled.
“I can see your thoughts,” she said, turning to the King. “But you must
not think that I have made no better preparation for the Queen than
this. I know a great deal. I know that she will spend much time with me
here, and I have arranged all that I can to help you in the time that is
coming. Now look into that dark spot in the wall and tell me whether I
have not prepared my house well for you.”
[Illustration: MADDY NOREY SHOWS THE QUEEN THE ROOM BEHIND THE FIERY
ROSES]
As she said this she raised her bent figure and spread out her arms
widely. A thin blue mist drove across their vision like a smoke-cloud,
and through it broke a glow as of burning coals. It rolled past them,
leaving only a faint vapour, behind which they could see a thick hedge
of fiery-hearted roses that seemed to burn like living embers. Through a
division in the midst of this radiant tangle the light from the glowing
flowers shone upon a floor and walls of black oak which could be seen
behind it, reflecting itself in the polished darkness beyond, as stars
reflect themselves in deep water; and, at the further end of the room,
in an angle where the dark walls met, stood a bed carved with designs
which could be only dimly seen, and hung with curtains of a rich deep
colour that might have been either green or blue.
Then Maddy Norey took the Queen by the hand and led her through the
roses into the soft darkness. She combed out her long hair, took from
her her travel-stained garments, and made her lie down in the carved
bed. Then her weary head sank back upon the pillows, her tired eyes
closed, and she drifted away into a dreamless sleep under the blue
hangings.
The King and Maddy Norey sat talking in the little dusty attic all that
day and far into the evening. His gratitude knew no bounds when she said
that he might leave his wife in her charge while he pursued his journey.
“When you arrive at the sea-shore,” she told him, “you will find a boat
lying on the sand; you must manage so that you get there in two days
from now, and during the night-time, when the fisherman to whom it
belongs has gone home from fishing, and you must take the oars and row
straight out to sea. You will find food and water for three days stored
in the boat, for the owner is going a journey in it to an island some
way off.”
“Maddy Norey,” said the young man, “promise me that you will care for
the Queen.”
“I will,” answered the old woman, holding out her wrinkled hand. “But be
advised, O King, and spare her the parting, for it may be a long
parting, and even I do not know the end of it. She will never consent to
let you go alone, which, by reason of the hardships you may have to
undergo, is necessary. I might have to prevent her from going with you
by not allowing her to find the door. Surely you will spare her this?
Look,” and she pointed to the darkening sky-light, “it will soon be
night, and there is no moon. Go _now_—at once. By to-morrow morning you
will be many miles on your way, and if you conceal yourself during the
day, another night’s travelling will bring you to the shore. Go; it is
best.”
The King stood up.
“I may go in and look at her?” he said.
Maddy Norey nodded. “I will not wake her,” said he, “it would be too
cruel.”
There was silence in the Dovecote for a few minutes before the King
re-appeared. He made a sign of farewell to Maddy Norey and went down the
rickety stairs, through the wooden door and out into the night alone.
When the Queen awoke next morning and found that he had gone, her heart
seemed broken, and she lay weeping quietly in her carved bed.
“Why did I not awake when he came to say good-bye?” she sobbed in
despair to Maddy Norey, who was sitting by her.
“My dear,” said the old woman, who did not tell her that she had caused
her to sleep so soundly on purpose, “it was better it should be so, for
it helped the King through it. And he hoped that you would be strong and
keep a brave heart. You must summon all your courage and be helpful to
him when he returns, for we do not know how soon that may be.”
With such words did Maddy Norey comfort the Queen. And she, when the
first freshness of her grief was over, tried with all her strength to be
cheerful and affectionate to the old woman who had done so much for them
both. But every evening she used to steal away to a dark corner to weep
a little and think of the King, perhaps still in hiding near the bleak
coast, perhaps tossing alone on the sea.
When several days had gone by the Queen began to feel the monotony of
her life very much, and to long with a great longing for the fresh air,
as she dwelt in the cramped seclusion of the Dovecote. It was impossible
that she should venture out alone, even for the smallest distance, in
the rebellious state of the country, more especially as the search for
the fugitive pair was still going on. But her strength and spirits were
declining daily, and Maddy Norey began to fear that the confinement was
telling upon her. One evening as they sat within the windowless walls
which surrounded them, the Queen laid her hand on the witch’s knee.
“If I could only have one breath of air,” she sighed, “and one look at
the fields and the sky. May I go to the door and out for just a short,
short way into the pasture?”
“No,” she answered, “you must not do that. I have to remember my promise
to the King to keep you in safety. But I can do this. To-morrow I will
work a spell upon you. I will turn you into a white pigeon, whose
presence, were it noticed about the old place, would seem but natural.
So long as you remain standing on your feet or touch the ground in any
way, you will be a woman; but, if you make ever so small a spring
upwards, the moment your feet leave the earth you will become a white
bird, and you may fly for a little distance round the Dovecote, though I
do not wish you to go far away. There is a clump of elm-trees in the
cornfield which runs up the hill-side, and to them you may go, hiding
yourself among the branches, and returning here should you find yourself
noticed by even the most insignificant passer-by.”
On the following day, accordingly, Maddy Norey took from a recess behind
the blue-green bed hangings a strangely-shaped goblet which had two
crystal wings springing from either side; into this she shook a powder
which smelt aromatically; then she cut off the head of one of the
burning roses and threw it upon the top. A subtle perfumed smoke rose
and filled the room, blinding the eyes of the Queen. She felt her senses
going from her, and clung to the witch’s protecting arm. She heard her
repeating to herself a slow, monotonous rhyme:—
“Sun-spells and moon-spells,
(Silver wings and red roses)
Voice that in the wind dwells
(Golden wings and white roses).
“Sun-power and moon-power,
(Wild wings and pale roses)
Love for life or love an hour
(Witch-wind and dead roses).”
As the words ceased she swooned away, and when she came to herself, she
was lying upon the attic floor with the air from the open sky-light
blowing in, and Maddy Norey bending over her. She rose, rubbing her
eyes.
“Now,” said the old woman, “spring from the ground.”
The Queen obeyed, and in an instant was standing on the window-sill in
the flashing sunbeams, a pure white pigeon. She looked at the cornfield
sloping away northward, and at the green clump of elms standing rich and
heavy in the still heat, then spread out her new-found pinions and
sailed away towards them.
* * * * *
Now, one day, as the white pigeon sat among the elm-boughs, her eyes
wandered over the slope of golden grain to where the fir-trees stood on
the top of the hill; for she knew that from that place could be seen a
far wider view, and one that stretched away to the coast and the ocean.
What would she not give to have but one glance at the distant leagues of
water, one possible chance of seeing some sign of hope on the horizon!
She thought of how Maddy Norey, the witch, had commanded her to go no
further than the three elms; but she thought also of the aching,
unsatisfied heart she would carry back to the Dovecote if she obeyed
her. The temptation was too strong for her, and she finally looked out
from her shelter, and, seeing nothing living but a few sheep grazing in
the mid-day sun, flew upwards over the corn and alighted on one of the
topmost branches of the firs. Then she turned her eyes eastward and
almost fell from her resting-place.
For the blue sea was all alive with white sails—the sails of a great
fleet advancing in a double line to the land.
Prudence, her promise to Maddy Norey and her own safety were alike
forgotten; all that she could think of was those approaching vessels
which would so soon be landing, and, without fear or hesitation, she
spread her wings, and in a moment was flying madly seawards. Over the
woods she sped, over the plains and marshes, only now and then passing
above a solitary dwelling in the thinly-populated country she crossed.
Sometimes she saw a little knot of soldiers encamped in secluded places,
and guessed that they were the scouts posted about by the rebels to
watch for and capture their sovereign. With a thankful heart she
observed that, being stationed in low-lying parts of the country and
among the woods, they could not see the sight which she saw from the
height at which she flew. It was evident that none suspected the King of
having left the country. She hastened forward with redoubled speed as
the space between the fleet and the sea-shore lessened. Just before
sunset she had almost reached the coast on which the ships were already
landing, and could plainly see boats rowing to the shore to empty upon
it their loads of armed warriors and going back again to return with
more. The sands were black with hurrying figures.
All at once, below her there rose a shout from a watchman who had been
climbing to a greater eminence than the others, and, realising that in
an hour the country might be up in arms, she strained every nerve to
reach her husband in time to prepare him for an attack.
Scarcely a mile lay between her and the invading army; she was thinking
how, in another few moments, she would be once more with the King, when
a man, loitering about on the waste land with his crossbow saw the bird
passing over his head, took an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to
the string. He was a good marksman.
Suddenly a shock of pain passed through the white pigeon and the earth
seemed to rise up to meet her; then a giddiness, a drop, and a heavy
blow, and she was lying on the wet ground, no longer a bird, but a
terrified and wounded woman with an arrow sticking in her arm. Her wing
had been broken.
She raised herself a little and saw that her persecutor was rushing
forward, and, as the remembrance of her mission came back, she staggered
to her feet and tore the arrow from her arm. She was so near safety and
succour—so near—she _must_ make one more effort; gathering all her
strength together, she bounded on, half faint from loss of blood.
As the King stood on a green mound giving orders for the encampment of
his army, he heard a sound of rushing footsteps and turned round. A
woman with flying hair and outstretched hands was dashing towards him,
through the sea-grass, through the stones and driftwood, and, as she
fell fainting at his feet, he recognised the Queen.
* * * * *
The King and his wife sat in the royal tent together. Her arm was stiff
and painful and the King was uneasy, for he longed to place her under
more skilful care than any which could be got in their present position.
They sat at the tent door under the stars; just before morning, when all
was beginning to be astir with preparations for the march, a star
dropped from its place and fell across the Northern heavens. It
travelled slowly along, leaving in its wake a little train of blue
sparks.
“That is a good omen,” the Queen said.
Soon the rebels got news that the King had landed, and they came with
their troops to meet him. There was a great battle that lasted from noon
until the evening, and all day the King rode unharmed through the fray
with a white pigeon on his shoulder—a white pigeon with a broken wing.
The enemy looked upon this strange sight with superstitious awe, and
many an arrow tried to find its way to the mysterious bird’s heart. But
none succeeded, and when, at the end of that hard day, the King stood
victorious on the field, the only signs of blood to be seen upon him
were the drops that dripped upon his shoulder from the wing of the white
pigeon.
At last he was able to go to his tent and lay aside sword and armour,
and he placed the bird tenderly upon the ground. The Queen at once
returned to her own shape, half dead with pain and fatigue and scarcely
able to stand.
A great fear took hold upon the King. How if he were even now, in the
hour of his success, to lose her?
It took him but one moment to make up his mind. He would take her to
Maddy Norey, for, if there were help to be found under heaven, he knew
that the witch would give it to him.
Commanding a fresh horse should be brought, he mounted as the moon rose
and rode out into the night, holding the bird in the folds of his cloak.
The people, when they heard of the advance of the troops and the great
defeat from some fugitives who had escaped from the battle, had
abandoned their houses and fled in all directions, so it was through a
desolate country that the King spurred his good horse. He rode grimly on
with his sword drawn in his hand, ready to cut down the first obstacle
that might present itself, his eyes fixed steadily in front of him,
looking neither to the right nor the left. In the early dawn he stood,
as he had stood not so long since, at the foot of the Dovecote. There
was the little door in front of him, with its rusty latch and hanging
cobwebs. He threw himself from the saddle and rushed into the building
and up the crazy stair. Maddy Norey’s voice came from inside the attic.
“Be quick, be quick,” she said, holding out her hands for the bird, “you
have not come a moment too soon. Give her to me.”
They laid the fluttering creature on the ground, and, when her natural
shape had returned, the Queen was carried to the carved bed where the
witch dressed her wound, and, with charms and spells, charmed back her
sinking life; and, having been assured by the old woman that all danger
was past, the King left her with hope in his heart, and returned to meet
his troops.
From that day everything went well; the march to the capital was but a
triumphal progress, and the victors were soon joined by bands of those
who had remained loyal during the rebellion, but who had not been able
to gain the day for their sovereign by reason of the tremendous odds
against which they fought.
* * * * *
The cornfield below Maddy Norey’s trees had been cut, the stooks were
standing on the hill-side, and the elm-trees were beginning to be
faintly touched with autumn, when, one blue, misty morning, the King
rode through the pastures to fetch the Queen. He came alone, leading a
grey horse by the bridle; and he tied the two animals to an iron ring in
the Dovecote wall while he went up to the witch’s attic.
He found the old woman at her spinning-wheel with the young one beside
her.
“When he comes to fetch me,” the Queen was saying, “you will leave the
Dovecote, will you not, dear Maddy Norey, and come with us? For our home
shall be yours. You have been so good to us that we cannot bear to part
from you. Say that you will come.”
“No,” said the witch, “it is impossible. I have lived in this room for
such countless years that I can never leave it now. When you have gone
no one will ever find the little door again.”
And nothing that they could say would make her consent.
So they went down the wooden stair together, and Maddy Norey came to the
top to bid them farewell. For one moment she laid her hand on the King’s
curling hair as he bent over her wrinkled figure, and she kissed the
Queen, who threw her arms around her crooked neck; then she stood a
little space at the head of the stair, looking at the two bright figures
as they went out from her into the light.
At the threshold they turned and saw that she was holding up her hands
as if in blessing.
Very silently they rode out of the pasture, and, as they were about to
turn the corner of the birch-wood, they reined in their horses to take a
last look at the curious old building as it stood solitary in the
morning mist.
There were tears in the Queen’s eyes.