The Essential Jeffrey Farnol Collection. Jeffrey Farnol. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Jeffrey Farnol
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Контркультура
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781456613655
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And oh, may God bless you--always, my dears."

      So, looking from one to the other, the Duchess turned away and left them together.

      And, in a while, looking down at Cleone where she knelt in his embrace, beholding all the charm and witchery of her, the high, proud carriage of her head, the grace and beauty of her shapely body, soft and warm with life and youth, and love, Barnabas sighed for very happiness; whereupon she, glancing up and meeting this look, must needs droop her lashes at him, and blush, and tremble, all in a moment.

      "But--you are mine," said Barnabas, answering the blush. "Mine, at last, for ever and always."

      "For ever and always, dear Barnabas."

      "And yet," said he, his clasp tightening, "I am so unworthy, it almost seems that it cannot possibly be true--almost as if it were a dream."

      "Ah no, Barnabas, surely the dream is over and we are awake at last to joy and the fulness of life. And life has given me my heart's desire, and for you, my brave, strong, honorable man--the Future lies all before you."

      "Yes," said Barnabas, looking deep into her radiant eyes, "for me there is the Future and--You."

      And thus did happiness come to our Barnabas, when least expected, as may it come to each of us when we shall have proved ourselves, in some way, fit and worthy.

       BELTANE THE SMITH

      BY

      JEFFERY FARNOL

      CHAPTER I

      HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD

      In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.

      Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.

      A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek, having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake not.

      Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green had need of.

      Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities, and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering, Beltane had said:

      "My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men called 'Desire of the World.'"

      But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:

      "Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."

      "Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"

      Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night, lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and broken dreams and ideals.

      "Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life; the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and sighing, fell asleep.

      Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks; or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist, poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours, illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree, near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal, he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush again:

      "Good sir, pray what's amiss?"

      "The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"

      Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."

      "My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight with thee."

      "Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.

      "Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil, in the sunset.

      "But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee, good fellow."

      "Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter? Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst? Out upon thee, messire smith!"

      "But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight with thee, where would be the reason?"

      "Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."

      "None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."

      "End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my duty--"

      "How thy duty?"

      "I am so commanded."

      "By whom?"

      "By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask