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.
