Chapter XIII: Chase

In those days Cormac went about the work of the place; but he was a changed man. He was fallen very silent, and grown thin and grim-looking. You never heard his voice singing about the acres or up the hill-side. He did not care to swim or to fish. He never spoke about Stangerd, but neither Thorgils nor his mother supposed that she was out of his mind. And she never was, not for a few moments together; but yet he did not go near her, or even over the hills which would lead him into the dale where Tongue was. From the top of the ridge you could see Tongue lying snug in sycamore-trees with its fields orderly about it; but Cormac would never go there now. He could not have told you why that was; but he felt that he could not.

Sometimes he reasoned with himself about it--especially when he felt a great hunger for the sight of her, when his eyes ached for her. Then he thought--“No, I cannot go, for I might see her. Then it might begin all over again, and end as vainly--and I cannot go on like that.” He told himself it was certainly true that Stangerd was too beautiful for a man to marry; for what could any man do or enjoy which would be worthy of so high a possession? Lie in her bosom, mingle with her in love--but what were such things to compare with the thought of her, which was like the wildest music, to the knowledge of her, which made the heart beat and the eyes grow dim? The things which a man could do with the woman he loved were good enough to do with common women--the pleasure of love, the getting of children: that was the end of common desire, and filled it. But with Stangerd, who made you faint at the wonder of her--with Stangerd, whose touch made you tremble--such things could not be, for they would tarnish the splendour of her, and serve you little. It is better to think of kissing Stangerd than to kiss her; it is better to dream of her bosom than to lie in it; for kisses cloy, but the mind of a man endures. With such false reasoning he had to be content, for he could not bring himself to go to her. Not once did it enter his head that he was doing her a wrong. It never occurred to him that she had given him her heart before she gave him her hand; that she was in great want of him as well as wounded in her self-esteem. He could not think of such things because he could never have believed that she loved him. He put her above mankind or womankind. He said, She is a Spirit who may be loved, but cannot love. Had he loved her less, he would have had more joy of her, and she of him. That’s the truth of it.

* * * * *

Now that morning he was at work below the house, and Thorgils with him, and some others. They were building a wall of turves. Thorgils was piling the turves, and Cormac was beating them in with a mallet. They both looked up when they heard steps on the fell, and watched the man coming over the stepping-stones of the river. Then Cormac turned to his work, and worked hard.

Thorgils said, “I think it is Narve from Tongue.” Cormac said nothing to that. All except himself were watching the man. Thorgils said again, “He has weapons, and carries a shield. What can he be about?”

Toste said, “He looks back. His weapons are for somebody behind him. What is the matter with him?”

Thorgils said, “He is coming here. We shall know pretty soon.”

Cormac took no notice, but went on working at his wall.

Then Narve came up, stepping warily, with his eyes every way at once, as if every wall-end or tussock of rushes might hold an ambush.

“How now, Narve?” Toste called out to him. “What do you fear, man? And whom are you after, with your war-gear?”

Narve puffed out his cheeks, staring about him. “Pheugh!” he said. “There’s need of war-gear in these days--and in the nights it’s worse still. When silver-grey men rise up suddenly in thickets, and chase you on silent feet----”

“What news, Narve?” said Thorgils, who wanted to know it. “What news do you bring from Tongue?”

“I’m late with my news,” said Narve; “but I came as soon as I could. We were busy last night.”

“Were you so?” Thorgils asked him. “Had you guests with you?”

“Guests,” said Narve. “Ah, we had guests. One was a werwolf.”

Cormac at this point straightened himself. “Who were your guests?” he asked.

Narve said: “There was Battle-Berse from Sowerby, and seventeen with him--of whom one was just what I told your brother.”

But Cormac held him with his eye, and would not leave him. “And what was Battle-Berse doing at Tongue?”

“He was sitting at his wedding,” said Narve.

Everybody was now very still.

“And who was the bride?” Cormac asked that in a quiet way.

“The bride was Stangerd, Thorkel’s daughter,” Narve said.

Silence was upon all, and Cormac looked slowly about him, from face to face. He was grey and pinched, but as he looked about, and saw in every man’s face what could not be hid, rage gathered in him. He rolled his eyes about, and suddenly whirled his mallet round his head and struck with all his might at Narve. Narve gave a loud cry, and put up his shield. That may have saved his life, but he fell back with a clatter, and lay still, just as if he was dead.

Thorgils said: “That was a shame, brother. The marriage was not of his making.”

“Bah!” said Cormac. “He croaks like a raven. Let him lie!”

But Thorgils fetched water from a spring and brought the man round. Narve sat up and held his head.

“That was too bad,” he said. “I did my best to come here yesterday--and this is how you serve me.”

Thorgils asked him then, “Was this marriage done to Stangerd against her will?”

Narve said, “It was then. She was in a sad way about it, fluttering and holding her heart. She got me aside and begged me to run to fetch Cormac; and so I set out to do, in the middle of the night; but Wige the wolf-man rose up silvery in the wood and scared me back. And yet again before sunrise I started to come over the hill--and there in the mist was Wige, a terrible man.”

Thorgils looked at Cormac, who was leaning on his wall but listening.

Narve went on complaining: “It is very well for Cormac to play the lord of lands, and choose his time to have women come to him. A fine girl like that! And so to treat a man that runs, at peril of his life, to tell him bad news! He will find old Berse of another mettle, I’m thinking, and then maybe he’ll look over his shoulder for help and backing, and wish he had served me differently.”

Thorgils wanted to know about the marriage-bargain, and Narve told him what he knew. The risk was all to be Berse’s. He had promised to keep harmless Stangerd’s kindred.

* * * * *

When Narve had taken himself off, Cormac threw down his mallet, and turned to go down to the house. Thorgils watched him, let him go, and presently followed him, running, caught him up and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Whither now?” he said.

Cormac showed him the profile of a stern face. “I am going after her,” he said.

Thorgils was very sorry for him. “Ah, but that will do you no good,” he said. “It’s too late.”

“No, no,” said Cormac, “it’s not too late--for one thing or another.”

Thorgils knew what he meant. “Well,” he said, “I am sure Berse will be home before you can fetch at him--but I shall go with you.”

“I shall wait for nobody,” Cormac said, and went into the house. Thorgils turned back to summon all hands, and before he had got them together, he saw Cormac spur out of the yard on his black horse. He threw up his head and flacked his hands against his thighs in despair; but he followed him with something like a dozen men, and by hard riding managed to keep him in sight.

* * * * *

Cormac came down to the ferry where Thorveig’s house was. There was a fine wind blowing, but all the boats were beached. Not one was in the water, and nobody about the place. Well out in the firth he saw a crowded boat--men and horses packed together. The gleam of white told him all. Stangerd was there in a white dress--she seldom wore anything else. They were too far off for him to make her out; but he saw that she sat in the fore-part of the boat, and thought that she must see him. He held up his hand that held the axe. His heart beat high. He fancied that she lifted hers. He was no longer under the curse. All his thoughts of her were purely good. He should see her soon. When he turned about he saw Thorveig standing in the door of her house, the tall, thin-haired woman with her faded, all-seeing, unseeing eyes.

“What do you want here, Cormac?” she said. “I have no more sons for you to slay.”

“I want a boat to cross the water,” he said. “You shall be well paid for it.”

“Ah, you’ll find no boats here,” she said. “They are all high and dry, as you see. They wait for the shipwright. They are all unseaworthy.”

Cormac was looking at the boats. One after another he entered and eyed over. There was a hole in every one of them.

“You hag!” he said. “This is your doing. You have been at your tricks.”

She frowned at him, but lifted her head high and seemed to look down at him with scorn.

“And what is it to you what I please to do with my own? Did you not so with yours when you bade me off your land? And why may you be wanting a boat on this water, which is none of yours?” And then she came closer to him and pried into his face. “And why should I help you at all, Cormac?” she asked him.

But Cormac had forgotten her and her boats and was looking over the blue and windy water. The boat was more than half-way across. Again he flung up his hand with the axe; and when again he saw the white sleeve lift he pressed his knees into his horse as if he would ride into the water and swim after Stangerd. But just then Thorgils and his company rode up.

Thorgils asked the spae-wife the same question--Could they have a boat?

“Boats! Boats!” she cried. “Look at the boats. There’s not one sound one amongst them all.”

“No, you old vixen!” Cormac said. “That’s because you have stove them in.”

He picked out one of them, nevertheless. “I’ll try this,” he said to Thorgils. “We can caulk her with mud and rushes.”

Thorgils shook his head. “Better not--she’ll sink you. It will be quicker in the end to ride round by the head of the firth.”

“Go as you will,” said Cormac. “I shall take this boat.”

“You shall pay for her--you shall pay!” cried the spae-wife.

Cormac was on his feet, tugging at the boat.

“Give her the hire, and let me be out,” he said.

Thorgils bargained with her for half a mark, and Cormac led his horse into the boat, when they had caulked her with rope and pitch. Toste went with him to help him row. They had got about a bowshot out when the old tub began to fill. Almost before those on shore understood as much, the water was over the gunwale, and men and horses were in the water.

“Ah, you old b----h!” Thorgils cried to the woman. “You would drown my brother, would you?”

She had her lips locked together, and cold fire in her eyes. She nodded her head sharply three or four times. She was a great hater.

But the men and the horses came ashore; and Cormac owned that there was nothing for it but to go round the firth-head. That put a good fifteen miles on to the journey, and would make him too late. He had lost her!

He said nothing about it, and was surprised himself to find that he had no wish to kill anybody. Before he could reach Sowerby Stangerd would be lost to him. He found that he loved her the more for the thought of that. He had not--at least, not at this moment of first certainty--the jealous rage of the lover who knows that his mistress is possessed by another man. The thought of her beauty mounted his head like wine.

The whole troop of them rode round the head of Ramfirth. The first house they came to was Mull, where a man called Wale lived. He was a friend of Berse’s, and had been at the wedding.

This Wale was standing at the gate of his court, waiting for them. Greetings passed.

Cormac said, “Shall we find Berse up at his house, think you? We are come to deal with him?”

Wale answered him: “You will find him there, sure enough. It is two hours’ riding. And he has been home this two hours or more. There’s a great company there with him. I think you will do little good.”

Thorgils looked at Cormac, being himself sure they were come on a fool’s errand. But Cormac was thinking of other things. So then Thorgils said, “Brother, what say you? To my mind it is foolishness, going on. We can do nothing against them. They have the law, they have the lady, and they will be more than we.”

Cormac then gave him a glance: it was no more than a glance. “Do as you will,” he said. “I shall go on, for I must see Stangerd.”

“You will never see her,” said Thorgils.

Cormac made no reply, but still looked up the shadowed valley whither they had taken her.

Presently he seemed to come to himself, and gathered up the reins, and moved up the path at a walk. Thorgils looked about at the faces of his friends. “What are we to do with him?” he said to Toste. “We had better follow. No one knows what may befall him.”

Toste tossed his head up. “A bad business to my thinking--but you are right.”

So they went up the road after Cormac, and all together into the dark valley among the rocks, where Berse had his homestead well fortified against the weather and his enemies. As they rounded the tongue of land which made a natural outpost to the place, they saw that they were expected. Berse stood there in war-gear, surrounded by his friends. There were twenty to thirty of them.

The party from Melstead drew rein, and each side looked at the other for a while. Then Cormac left his company and cantered forward alone. Seeing that, Berse, who was on foot, came out to meet him, but not a long way.