CHAPTER V
Not on a May but on a June morning--five days in fact after his supperat the house of Morgen Fay--Master Thomas Bettany found himself somemiles up the Wander, and with him, riding the gray mare, a bale ofsample cloths strapped to saddle, John Cobb the apprentice, with whom,when he did not think to be stiff, he was upon the best of terms. Hewas up the Wander upon business for his father, that rich merchantwho would one day leave him house and gear and trade. Then would hehimself, Thomas Bettany, be Middle Forest merchant,--who wanted only tosail for the New World that one Columbus had recently discovered!
He rode absorbed in discontent. Finally he again took up speech withJohn Cobb.
“It’s a dull life! I wish something would happen--anything!”
“There be the miracles.”
“I haven’t any hand in them. You can’t be interested unless you’redoing something yourself.--I’d rather be a robber than just trottingfrom shop and trotting back again.--Hist, John! What’s behind yontree?”
“Where?”
“There! A big, black man! Two--four, five! Draw your weapon, man!”
John struck hand to the dirk at his waist. His eyes enlarged, hislips clapped shut. Then, “They bain’t but little fir trees!--You’regrinning!--Your pranking and mystery-playing’ll break you one day!”
“I wish it had been Robin Hood--”
They rode through the wood. It was a bright morn after rain. The treesshowered them with diamonds, the world smelled like a pomander box.When they were out from the trees and amid tilled land every blade ofspringing grain carried jewels. Far up in a light blue sky a lark wassinging.
“By’re lady!” said John Cobb. “If I were taken up by Somerville andwent to sup with Morgen Fay, I’d not be saying life was dull!”
“He nor no one else has ‘taken me up.’ His uncle married myfather’s cousin. Bettany’s a name that has sounded well since longtime. My father helped him, too, with monies--but that’s nothingeither!--Somerville and I are friends.”
“Like you and me?”
“No!--His being ‘Sir Robert’ and older doesn’t make any difference.”
He was superbly sure of that and rode with his blond head up like ayouthful, adventurous king. “As for Morgen Fay, I’d think more of herif I hadn’t seen last Candlemas--you know whom!”
“That’s Mistress Cecily. She’s a fair one! But I don’t believe she’spricked your heart much either. You’re just for the New World and menand adventure. It would make me proud though to sup with Morgen Fay.”
“Oh, you’ll never, my poor John! I tell you what she’s like. She’s likesomething you see in poetry. But Cecily walked in first, into my keepand hold. Besides, I wouldn’t interfere with Robert.”
“Robert!” John Cobb could but admire, while Master Thomas Bettanytossed his clear whistle up to the lark singing.
So many birds were singing! The two were now riding by the Wander,through Westforest land. Mounting a little hill they saw below themmonastery walls and roofs, not a large place, set among trees by thewater’s side. Some of the old forest held here.
Their business was with Westforest. The house of Bettany sold SilverCross and Westforest woollen cloth for monks’ gowns. Presently theywere at the gate. The porter opened to them, and the stable Brothertook their horses, and a third Brother carried them to the guest housewhere they were set in a room. All was very grave and in order. MasterThomas Bettany at the window heard bells and saw the monks pacing twoby two. He had never before been to Westforest. Saint Ethelred inMiddle Forest was his church. Neither with any sufficiency did he knowSilver Cross. He had been five times perhaps, when there was festival,in the great church. Only this year was his father using him thus inbusiness.
The monk reappeared and had them to the refectory where theywere served with ale and bread and cheese. Thence they went to abusiness-like room where met them Brother Oswald, steward and purchaserfor the Priory. He gave Master Thomas Bettany good greeting, and JohnCobb a shorter one. John Cobb opened the bale of cloths.
Business advanced. A Brother appeared to do duty as steward’s clerk.Thomas Bettany turned into merchant not unshrewd. He did things withhis might, when he could be brought to do them at all. Now he picturedand bargained and was not behind Brother Oswald in ability.
The hour and more of marketing passed. Brother Oswald, straighteninghimself from the table at last, paid his compliment. “No manner ofdoubt, my son, but that you be merchant, son of merchant!”
“If Westforest be not content--”
“Oh, we are content.”
“--and I have here,” said the younger Bettany, “the fine white wool--”
“That is for reverend father the Prior to see. Let your man take it upand we will go to the parlour.”
They crossed the cloister to a large, well-windowed room that gave uponwalled garden. On a bench without sat a monk with book and rosary, andhe would get audience for them with reverend father. Presently theinner door opened and Prior Matthew stood before them. Thomas Bettanyand John Cobb kneeled for his blessing, and when that was had John Cobbspread the table with lengths of fine white cloth. The Prior chose, norwas long about it. The Abbot of Silver Cross loved finery, dressingmuch like a lord of this world. But Prior Matthew scorned all that andkept near in apparel to ancient simplicities.
Selection made, orders given and taken, the Prior leaned back in hisseat. His deep-set eyes surveyed the younger Bettany. “I know yourfather for a sensible man. I have heard that you are a wild youth, awill-o’-the-wisp, ready for God knoweth what plots and pranks!”
If Thomas inwardly recognised large portion of himself he couldoutwardly but lift deprecating, bright blue eyes. “I am changing what Ican change, reverend father.”
“Ha! Let us hope it,” said the Prior. “Well, and what makes most adojust now in Middle Forest?”
“Reverend father, the miracles across the river.”
Prior Matthew bit his nail. “That is as I supposed. It mounts andmounts.--I would get from you, too, the cry after that burst ofwonders!--But there is the vesper bell. Go into church, my son!afterwards I will talk with you in the garden.”
The church at Westforest was not like the church of Silver Cross. Thatwas great, this was small. That had starry windows of rich glass, thathad tombs of lords and ladies, that had the great altar picture. Thiswas plain and cold of aspect. Yet was there an altar painting, and nowsunlight and candle light showed it for what it was,--copy, done halfas large, of the Silver Cross great picture. The Lady of Heaven lifteda rich Italian face, rose toward heaven, toward God the Father and Godthe Son, with a rich, Italian beauty, nobly done by the great Italian,her painter,--rose with love and majesty, with memory of sorrow and ofearth-stain falling away, fading, falling, with height of joy opening;rose with bliss and power, who yet understood, who knew children’scrying and would answer; rose from world’s woe, from the dust, toheaven. She was heaven, the Rose of Heaven. Yet had she been paintedin Italy from mortal woman. Queen of Heaven, but with framework oflikeness to earthly faces. “Like Isabel--like Isabel!” at this momentMontjoy cried to himself, in the church of Silver Cross.
In the small grey church at Westforest young Thomas Bettany had placewhere he might well and plainly view the smaller picture, but wellcopied from the first and greater. Light beat against draperies purered and pure blue and upon form and face, rising from darkness intoglory. He looked worshipfully, and he felt worship.
But when vespers were done, and the Prior kept him alone with himwalking in the garden, John Cobb not here, only Prior Matthew andThomas Bettany pacing between the blue flags and the rose trees, heburst out suddenly, very young and very bold. “Reverend father, didever you see Morgen Fay?”
“God forbid! No!”
“She is much like yonder picture.”
“What picture?--Not the altar picture!”
“Of course this is holy and heavenly--and she is only faery--”
“‘Faery!’--She is an accursed
woman!”
The Prior stood still, his hand upon the espaliered pear treeagainst the south wall. His thin face, his tall thin figure grewextraordinarily alive. “Do you never tell that fancy!” His voice had afearful sternness. “Do you never tell that fancy to any living wight!”
Thomas Bettany himself was afraid of it. “Jesu knows I would not do OurLady disrespect!”
“It will be heinous disrespect if you say that that sinner hath herface--”
Bettany carefully made distinctions. “I meant not like Her--but likethe woman the painter must have used just for hint of form and face!Once I saw a monk painting on a missal border where it said ‘Rose ofSharon.’ But he had in a cup beside him which he looked often upon arose from the garden.”
“Well, speak not of such things!” said the Prior impatiently. “Thegenerality understands them not. They think not that things are butlifted or lowered, set in light or in darkness. You but hurt yourself!”
“That is true enough!” thought the merchant’s son.
They paced the walk to a stone bench set before fruit trees whoseshadow was now long upon the grass. The Prior, head sunk in cowl,was thinking. He sat down, the young man standing before him. “Themiracles--”
Bettany set sail upon that story. Last week a woman had received hersight. Three days ago a man for years bedridden had walked. Yesterdayhad come a shipmaster carrying his daughter in his arms. “Praise!Praise!” shouted the people. It was like a Great Fair for numbers, atSaint Leofric’s! At times bridge was thick with folk.
And then midway in his recital to which he was warming, which he wasnow colouring rightly, Prior Matthew, with a sudden start and jerk,returned to the picture and had from him promise not to let pass hislips to any other that sinful fancy.
He promised, seeing himself that facts were not always for shouting.
Morgen Fay who was merchant and sold herself, who had great beautyand dark eyes, and who wore those reds and blues, might be picked--orone like her might be picked--a common rose out of common garden, anda painter might take her for line and feature and hue and sublimateall--and yet the _Rosa Mystica_, the God Bride and Mother, be neverhurt, be never the worse for that, where she looked from high heaven,pitying all and helping who would be helped,--pitying, perchance,Morgen Fay!