The Lady May

The Lady May

The young man to the castle came
All in the dawning light of flow'r-bud pink and dove's-wing gray
And to the old door-keeper saith: 'I seek the Lady May.'

A kindly face the servant had,
and bade him enter in the great courtyard.
A pair of hounds there sat, horses in stable softly neighed and gently beat their hooves
as they walked past, on through the portico into the hall
where armour hung,
great tapestries on either wall.

Down the long bare hall a chill draft followed them, the man saith: 'Come in here,
for what there is of cheer in this sad house.' And looked so strange the young man's
heart a shiver felt to feel such sadness near.

A great wide kitchen with a leaping fire, a table there with benches all along,
a small cat in the hearth asleeping lay;
the old man to the young man spake:
  '...she dieth, my Lady May...'
and tho' he turned aside so that his sudden tears
would hidden be, his shoulders shook and his poor back was sorrowfully bowed.

The youth saith: 'Oh, I did not know, I have come through seven lands by a score of
wild and wand'ring ways here to meet the Lady May.'
'Then you shall see her!' saith the servant man, 'for if some business or design you  would complete, it must be on this day."

He took a candle in a stick; out and along, around and up a winding stair to a chamber door, he did not knock but quietly went in there and they
to a bed with curtains hung
wherein a woman lay

her face so pale    her breath came shallow so 'twas barely there at all

the servant to the youth then saith: 'Here is the Lady May.'
He to the bedside stepped and sudden saw kneeling on the opposite side a maid
with a white cap tied beneath her chin, a long dark gown of some rough weave,
she looked at him as there she knelt; she spake not  -   tho' her tears saith all.





He stammering saith: 'The Lady May wrote to me
                                  this letter, you can see
                          that it was sent a score of months ago
                                  and I am here at last
                          to know what is her dying wish to be.'


The maid then saith: 'She cannot speak, has not for many a day,
                                 I wonder how you are to know
                                 the wish of my Lady May.'
             
As now their words she seem'd to hear, the lady faintly roused, opened her eyes and at each looked around, across the bed.
  The servant man bent low to her, what she whisper'd only he could hear, he nodded, waited, and then bowed to her, and stepping back he looked, then turned away
  he turned and looked away and saith to the younger folk: 'The rest let sorrow say...'
for then all saw the lady's eyes were closed, her breath was gone and knew they then her sprite was free of earthly bond.

The maid's small face in the candle's light was stained with a single tear, and another as the first then dropped. The servant man stepped forward and the sheet he drew up over that lady's noble face. The young man saith: (though only to himself) 'Farewell, then, Lady May.'
And the while a-wondering what she spake to the man, and if at all he ever were to know what her need for him had been.
                                                          ______________

Much later in that long sad day in the silent kitchen all three sat, the servant with a hound's head rest upon his knee, the creature almost seemed their sadness here to share. The young man into the leaping fire gazed, the maid picked up the cat which purred a little and into sleeping slipped.
  The young man saith: 'By my faith, there now is naught to keep me here, though through what a world of woe my wandering hence must be.'
The old man looked at him, and gently saith: 'Stay another night and one more day, I pray.'  The maid, still silent, nodded, and the youth saith:...'I agree.'

                                                          _______________

The candle, lit again, along a passage lit flickering the servant's and the young man's way. A chamber found, the old man gave him clean rough sheets, a pillow of goose down or some soft stuff, there was clean water and a basin on one side, a small fire in the grate lent a little cheer and some warm glow. As the servant closed the heavy door, a soft snuffle and a scamper heard, one of the hounds came through the doorway, he calleth: 'No, Cennyd, come out...' But the youth saith: 'Let him stay, come Cennyd.' And the dog as though he understood lay straightway by the hearth, and lay so still the servant laughed a little and he saith: 'Ay, then, if you will.'

  He closed the door, his footfalls now no longer heard. What o'clock now might it be? What was now his purpose here, if aught at all? What would the morrow bring? And many thoughts and wonderings his head did fill, but finally the cool sheets and soft pillow's comfort into dreamless slumber did this young man bear,
that for a few short hours somewhat the less he might these burdens share.
 

At some moment he awoke, a sound he must have heard, thought is was the dog who maybe a dream of deer or rabbit there enjoyed, and soft he whispered: 'Good Cennyd, good boy.' But then a sound he heard again, up he sat and saw the hound was quiet, the fire still glowed a little, though the candle long ago had died.
The great door was ajar a little, and as he gazed it was the maid he saw, who quietly slipped inside.
Her hair was loose, like chestnuts in some autumn morn its colour he could fancy it to be, she barefoot was, her white feet made no sound as she came quickly to his side,
and stood so close that he her almost-silent breathing heard. She saith to him: 'What is thy name?' and: 'Edwin..' was all the truth that he could say, for his eyes and head were full of the sight of her, and how the world did spin a moment later when she her robe pulled off, she then naked was and as he gazed in wonder she in mock impatience laughed and saith to him: 'Well, would you have a poor servant maid stand and shiver here, while in your warm bed you lie all alone?' And she would wait no moment longer, she in beside him slipped, she like cool rain next to him he felt, and him like a brand from a fire new-plucked she fancied then to be.

                                     And heat and cool,
                                    soon fire and ice of passion
                                     there became,
                                     and into that fair contest
                                     where only victors be
                                     they entered,
     and she was all to him that e'er on earth or high in heav'n
                                     might be;
                           and he for her some thing the same,
               for at such times when two are one they share all
          in that long, long yearning moment which hath no name.

And soon, yea all too soon, the dawning day became. He woke, and... what? alone? What if it all had been a dream? The candle snuffed, the fire out, the hound was gone.

And of the maid?

As though by some rude foe-man's lance transfixed he lay,
while high outside the window rose the present light of day,
yet all and sudden now upon his ear a sound, indeed many sounds he heard, though surely 'twas not cock-crow, or lowing morning cattle that he heard? But joyful as  a rooster's crow and like some moving herd;
so he to the window goes, looks down onto a merry throng who enter in the castle's gate, with flags and favours, a mighty cart which groans with fare and festive stuff, a jester capers all amongst, pretty children a-garlanded sing to lute and to a motley band.


As he watches there and wonders, his chamber door swings wide,
the maid then steps inside,
he stares at her in grateful disbelief, she knows his thoughts, says: "No, beloved, not a dream, all you see is real, and real as it could be. Now come, and dress in what old Peter soon will bring, and haste a-down..'
  'But stop,' he saith, 'what means all this, what is this sport, what venture on this day?"
She kisses soft his lips, tells him:
  'This is all the reason that you to this castle came, the lady was my mother -  she lived just unto one last day ,
she spake her will, and soon when we are wed, you will be Lord Edwin,
  and I the Lady May.'