The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in ArmsMorris, William
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The Roots of the Mountains: Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, Their Friends, Their Neighbours, Their Foemen, and Their Fellows in Arms
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction
He said: ‘My talk shall not be long; for thou and I both must sleep
to-night, since there is work to hand to-morrow. Now since, as thou
sayest, O fairest of women, we may never meet again alive, I ask thee now
at this hour, when we both live and are near to one another, to suffer me
to speak to thee of my love of thee and desire for thee. Surely thou,
who art the sweetest of all things the Gods and the kindreds have made,
wilt not gainsay me this?’
She said very sweetly, yet smiling: ‘Brother of my father’s sons, how can
I gainsay thee thy speech? Nay, hast thou not said it? What more canst
thou add to it that will have fresh meaning to mine ears?’
He said: ‘Thou sayest sooth: might I then but kiss thine hand?’
She said, no longer smiling: ‘Yea surely, even so may all men do who can
be called my friends—and thou art much my friend.’
He took her hand and kissed it, and held it thereafter; nor did she draw
it away. The moon shone brightly on them; but by its light he could not
see if she reddened, but he deemed that her face was troubled. Then he
said: ‘It were better for me if I might kiss thy face, and take thee in
mine arms.’
Then said she: ‘This only shall a man do with me when I long to do the
like with him. And since thou art so much my friend, I will tell thee
that as for this longing, I have it not. Bethink thee what a little
while it is since the lack of another man’s love grieved me sorely.’
‘The time is short,’ said Folk-might, ‘if we tell up the hours thereof;
but in that short space have a many things betid.’
She said: ‘Dost thou know, canst thou guess, how sorely ashamed I went
amongst my people? I durst look no man in the face for the aching of
mine heart, which methought all might see through my face.’
‘I knew it well,’ he said; ‘yet of me wert thou not ashamed but a little
while ago, when thou didst tell me of thy grief.’
She said: ‘True it is; and thou wert kind to me. Thou didst become a
dear friend to me, methought.’
‘And wilt thou hurt a dear friend?’ said he.
‘O no,’ she said, ‘if I might do otherwise. Yet how if I might not
choose? Shall there be no forgiveness for me then?’
He answered nothing; and still he held her hand that strove not to be
gone from his, and she cast down her eyes. Then he spake in a while:
‘My friend, I have been thinking of thee and of me; and now hearken: if
thou wilt declare that thou feelest no sweetness embracing thine heart
when I say that I desire thee sorely, as now I say it; or when I kiss
thine hand, as now I kiss it; or when I pray thee to suffer me to cast
mine arms about thee and kiss thy face, as now I pray it: if thou wilt
say this, then will I take thee by the hand straightway, and lead thee to
the tents of the House of the Steer, and say farewell to thee till the
battle is over. Canst thou say this out of the truth of thine heart?’
She said: ‘What then if I cannot say this word? What then?’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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