Now what became of the king’s court, and the hazelled field of our
champions, we wot not, or whether they be yet alive we cannot tell
thee; but if they be alive, it is to them that we would have thee do
our errand, and thereof will we tell thee closely to-morrow. And so,
sweetling, an end of my tale.
CHAPTER VII.
THE THREE DAMSELS TAKE BIRDALONE OUT OF THE WITCH’S PRISON.
Birdalone thanked Atra much for her tale, and strange it was to her to
hear of such new things and the deeds of folk; but the dealing of the
witches with those three was familiar to her and was of her world.
Now they talked merrily, till there came a footstep to the door and one
without knocked. Viridis paled thereat, and a pang of fear smote
Birdalone, and she swiftly got from out the chair and sat down on a
stool; but when Atra opened, it was but Aurea come from her service to
bid Atra take her place. So she went, and again was there pleasant
converse betwixt Aurea and the other twain; and certain matters did
Aurea tell Birdalone which had been left untold by Atra. And chiefly,
when Birdalone asked if any other folk had come into the isle while
they dwelt there, she said yea; once had come a knight with a lady, his
love, fleeing from war and mishap, and these had the witch overcome by
wizardry, and destroyed them miserably: and that again another had
strayed thither, and him also the witch undid, because he would not do
her will and lie in her bed. Withal had come drifting there a young
damsel, a castaway of the winds and waves; her the witch kept as a
thrall, and after a while took to mishandling her so sorely, that at
last, what for shame and what for weariness of life, she cast herself
into the water and was drowned. None of these folk might the damsels
help so as to do them any good, though they tried it, and went nigh to
suffer therefor themselves.
Now the day wore, and in a while Atra came back, and Viridis must
serve. At last the dusk and the dark was come. Then said Atra: Now must
we twain begone to wait upon our lady, as the wont is: and that is now
for our good hap, for if we be with her all three, and especially, to
say sooth, if I be with her, we may well keep her from visiting thee
here; since belike she shall yet dimly remember that thou art in her
prison. Therefore thou must forgive it if I shackle thy wrists again.
And now if thou wilt follow my rede, thou shalt try to sleep some deal,
and it were well if thou might’st sleep till we come for thee in the
grey dawn.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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