The Well At The World's End, by William Morris

Chapter 36

The Talk of Two Women Concerning Ralph

But when dinner was done, came David and a man with him bringing Ralph’s war gear, and bade him do it on, while the folk were fencing the lists, which they were doing with such stuff as they had at the Tower; and the Lord had been calling for Otter that he might command him what he should tell to the marshals of the lists and how all should be duly ordered, wherefore he went up unto the Tower whither the Lord had now gone. So Ralph did on his armour, which was not right meet for tilting, being over light for such work; and his shield in especial was but a target for a sergent, which he had brought at Cheaping Knowe; but he deemed that his deftness and much use should bear him well through.

Now, the Lady had abided in her pavilion when her Lord went abroad; anon after she sent all her women away, save one whom she loved, and to whom she was wont to tell the innermost of her mind; though forsooth she mishandled her at whiles; for she was hot of temper, and over-ready with her hands when she was angry; though she was nowise cruel. But the woman aforesaid, who was sly and sleek, and somewhat past her first youth, took both her caresses and her buffets with patience, for the sake of the gifts and largesse wherewith they were bought. So now she stood by the board in the pavilion with her head drooping humbly, yet smiling to herself and heedful of whatso might betide. But the Lady walked up and down the pavilion hastily, as one much moved.

At last she spake as she walked and said: “Agatha, didst thou see him when my Lord pointed him out?” “Yea,” said the woman lifting her face a little.

“And what seemed he to thee?” said the Lady. “O my Lady,” quoth Agatha, “what seemed he to thee?” The lady stood and turned and looked at her; she was slender and dark and sleek; and though her lips moved not, and her eyes did not change, a smile seemed to steal over her face whether she would or not. The Lady stamped her foot and lifted her hand and cried out. “What! dost thou deem thyself meet for him?” And she caught her by the folds over her bosom. But Agatha looked up into her face with a simple smile as of a child: “Dost thou deem him meet for thee, my Lady — he a thrall, and thou so great?” The Lady took her hand from her, but her face flamed with anger and she stamped on the ground again: “What dost thou mean?” she said; “am I not great enough to have what I want when it lieth close to my hand?” Agatha looked on her sweetly, and said in a soft voice: “Stretch out thine hand for it then.” The Lady looked at her grimly, and said: “I understand thy jeer; thou meanest that he will not be moved by me, he being so fair, and I being but somewhat fair. Wilt thou have me beat thee? Nay, I will send thee to the White Pillar when we come home to Utterbol.”

The woman smiled again, and said: “My Lady, when thou hast sent me to the White Pillar, or the Red, or the Black, my stripes will not mend the matter for thee, or quench the fear of thine heart that by this time, since he is a grown man, he loveth some other. Yet belike he will obey thee if thou command, even to the lying in the same bed with thee; for he is a thrall.” The Lady hung her head, but Agatha went on in her sweet clear voice: “The Lord will think little of it, and say nothing of it unless thou anger him otherwise; or unless, indeed, he be minded to pick a quarrel with thee, and hath baited a trap with this stripling. But that is all unlike: thou knowest why, and how that he loveth the little finger of that new-come thrall of his (whom ye left at home at Utterbol in his despite), better than all thy body, for all thy white skin and lovely limbs. Nay, now I think of it, I deem that he meaneth this gift to make an occasion for the staying of any quarrel with thee, that he may stop thy mouth from crying out at him — well, what wilt thou do? he is a mighty Lord.”

The Lady looked up (for she had hung her head at first), her face all red with shame, yet smiling, though ruefully, and she said: “Well, thou art determined that if thou art punished it shall not be for naught. But thou knowest not my mind.” “Yea, Lady,” said Agatha, smiling in despite of herself, “that may well be.”

Now the Lady turned from her, and went and sat upon a stool that was thereby, and said nothing a while; only covering her face with her hands and rocking herself to and fro, while Agatha stood looking at her. At last she said: “Hearken, Agatha, I must tell thee what lieth in mine heart, though thou hast been unkind to me and hast tried to hurt my soul. Now, thou art self-willed, and hot-blooded, and not unlovely, so that thou mayst have loved and been loved ere now. But thou art so wily and subtle that mayhappen thou wilt not understand what I mean, when I say that love of this young man hath suddenly entered into my heart, so that I long for him more this minute than I did the last, and the next minute shall long still more. And I long for him to love me, and not alone to pleasure me.”

“Mayhappen it will so betide without any pushing the matter,” said Agatha.

“Nay,” said the Lady, “Nay; my heart tells me that it will not be so; for I have seen him, that he is of higher kind than we be; as if he were a god come down to us, who if he might not cast his love upon a goddess, would disdain to love an earthly woman, little-minded and in whom perfection is not.” Therewith the tears began to run from her eyes; but Agatha looked on her with a subtle smile and said: “O my Lady! and thou hast scarce seen him! And yet I will not say but that I understand this. But as to the matter of a goddess, I know not. Many would say that thou sitting on thine ivory chair in thy golden raiment, with thy fair bosom and white arms and yellow hair, wert not ill done for the image of a goddess; and this young man may well think so of thee. However that may be, there is something else I will say to thee; (and thou knowest that I speak the truth to thee — most often — though I be wily). This is the word, that although thou hast time and again treated me like the thrall I am, I deem thee no ill woman, but rather something overgood for Utterbol and the dark lord thereof.”

Now sat the Lady shaken with sobs, and weeping without stint; but she looked up at that word and said: “Nay, nay, Agatha, it is not so. To-day hath this man’s eyes been a candle to me, that I may see myself truly; and I know that though I am a queen and not uncomely, I am but coarse and little-minded. I rage in my household when the whim takes me, and I am hot-headed, and masterful, and slothful, and should belike be untrue if there were any force to drive me thereto. And I suffer my husband to go after other women, and this new thrall is especial, so that I may take my pleasure unstayed with other men whom I love not greatly. Yes, I am foolish, and empty-headed, and unclean. And all this he will see through my queenly state, and my golden gown, and my white skin withal.”

Agatha looked on her curiously, but smiling no more. At last she said: “What is to do, then? or must I think of something for thee?”

“I know not, I know not,” said the Lady between her sobs; “yet if I might be in such case that he might pity me; belike it might blind his eyes to the ill part of me. Yea,” she said, rising up and falling walking to and fro swiftly, “if he might hurt me and wound me himself, and I so loving him.”

Said Agatha coldly: “Yes, Lady, I am not wily for naught; and I both deem that I know what is in thine heart, and that it is good for something; and moreover that I may help thee somewhat therein. So in a few days thou shalt see whether I am worth something more than hard words and beating. Only thou must promise in all wise to obey me, though I be the thrall, and thou the Lady, and to leave all the whole matter in my hands.”

Quoth the Lady: “That is easy to promise; for what may I do by myself?”

Then Agatha fell pondering a while, and said thereafter: “First, thou shalt get me speech with my Lord, and cause him to swear immunity to me, whatsoever I shall say or do herein.” Said the Lady: “Easy is this. What more hast thou?”

Said Agatha: “It were better for thee not to go forth to see the jousting; because thou art not to be trusted that thou show not thy love openly when the youngling is in peril; and if thou put thy lord to shame openly before the people, he must needs thwart thy will, and be fierce and cruel, and then it will go hard with thy darling. So thou shalt not go from the pavilion till the night is dark, and thou mayst feign thyself sick meantime.”

“Sick enough shall I be if I may not go forth to see how my love is faring in his peril: this at least is hard to me; but so be it! At least thou wilt come and tell me how he speedeth.” “Oh yes,” said Agatha, “if thou must have it so; but fear thou not, he shall do well enough.”

Said the Lady: “Ah, but thou wottest how oft it goes with a chance stroke, that the point pierceth where it should not; nay, where by likelihead it could not.”

“Nay,” said Agatha, “what chance is there in this, when the youngling knoweth the whole manner of the play, and his foemen know naught thereof? It is as the chance betwixt Geoffrey the Minstrel and Black Anselm, when they play at chess together, that Anselm must needs be mated ere he hath time to think of his fourth move. I wot of these matters, my Lady. Now, further, I would have thy leave to marshal thy maids about the seat where thou shouldest be, and moreover there should be someone in thy seat, even if I sat in it myself.” Said the Lady: “Yea, sit there if thou wilt.”

“Woe’s me!” said Agatha laughing, “why should I sit there? I am like to thee, am I not?” “Yea,” said the Lady, “as the swan is like to the loon.” “Yea, my Lady,” said Agatha, “which is the swan and which the loon? Well, well, fear not; I shall set Joyce in thy seat by my Lord’s leave; she is tall and fair, and forsooth somewhat like to thee.” “Why wilt thou do this?” quoth the Lady; “Why should thralls sit in my seat?” Said Agatha: “O, the tale is long to tell; but I would confuse that young man’s memory of thee somewhat, if his eyes fell on thee at all when ye met e’en now, which is to be doubted.”

The Lady started up in sudden wrath, and cried out: “She had best not be too like to me then, and strive to draw his eyes to her, or I will have her marked for diversity betwixt us. Take heed, take heed!”

Agatha looked softly on her and said: “My Lady. Ye fair-skinned, open-faced women should look to it not to show yourselves angry before men-folk. For open wrath marreth your beauty sorely. Leave scowls and fury to the dark-browed, who can use them without wrying their faces like a three months’ baby with the colic. Now that is my last rede as now. For methinks I can hear the trumpets blowing for the arraying of the tourney. Wherefore I must go to see to matters, while thou hast but to be quiet. And to-night make much of my Lord, and bid him see me to-morrow, and give heed to what I shall say to him. But if I meet him without, now, as is most like, I shall bid him in to thee, that thou mayst tell him of Joyce, and her sitting in thy seat. Otherwise I will tell him as soon as he is set down in his place. Sooth to say, he is little like to quarrel with either thee or me for setting a fair woman other than thee by his side.”

Therewith she lifted the tent lap and went out, stepping daintily, and her slender body swaying like a willow branch, and came at once face to face with the Lord of Utterbol, and bowed low and humbly before him, though her face, unseen of him, smiled mockingly. The Lord looked on her greedily, and let his hand and arm go over her shoulder, and about her side, and he drew her to him, and kissed her, and said: “What, Agatha! and why art thou not bringing forth thy mistress to us?” She raised her face to him, and murmured softly, as one afraid, but with a wheedling smile on her face and in her eyes: “Nay, my Lord, she will abide within to-day, for she is ill at ease; if your grace goeth in, she will tell thee what she will have.”

“Agatha,” quoth he, “I will hear her, and I will do her pleasure if thou ask me so to do.” Then Agatha cast down her eyes, and her speech was so low and sweet that it was as the cooing of a dove, as she said: “O my Lord, what is this word of thine?”

He kissed her again, and said: “Well, well, but dost thou ask it?” “O yea, yea, my Lord,” said she.

“It is done then,” said the Lord; and he let her go; for he had been stroking her arm and shoulder, and she hurried away, laughing inwardly, to the Lady’s women. But he went into the pavilion after he had cast one look at her.

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Last updated Thursday, March 6, 2014 at 22:07