Part 7

All at once they perceived flying towards them in the air two magnificent chariots, so glorious and brilliant that never, in the whole world, had anything appeared like them.

The first was drawn by twenty silver swans. In it sat a lady from the border of whose cloak hung fringes of pearls and jacinths. She alighted on the ground, close by the Princess, who, pale with astonishment, was watching the second chariot approaching. This was drawn by twelve peacocks, and made entirely of emeralds. It was driven by the most lovely lady imaginable, no less gorgeous than her companion, wearing a crown of opals which shone like the stars on a summer night.

The two Fairies stepped out of their chariots, and thus addressed the astonished King:

“This,” they said, pointing to the Princess, “is the Princess Moonflower, daughter of a rich and powerful sovereign now dead. She has been compelled to fly from her kingdom by her wicked aunt, who has usurped the throne.”

“I am the Fairy of Rivers and Streams,” continued the lady who had first arrived, “and, as she once did a kindness to a subject of mine, I have protected her; and, had she not disregarded a warning I gave her, these late troubles would never have taken place.”

The Princess fell upon her knees and craved the Fairy’s pardon for her folly.

“Rise,” answered she, lifting her, “you have, with the King’s help, overcome your difficulties, and you certainly ought to make him happy.”

The other Fairy then came forward.

“Moonflower,” she said, “I am the Fairy of the Green Woods, and it was I, in the guise of an old hag, whom you so graciously conducted on my way. It was I who gave you the Enchanted Leaf, which you must always keep as an heirloom in your family; and now, I beg of you to marry this brave and devoted monarch, who seeks your hand.”

At these words the Princess embraced the two Fairies, who invited her, with the King and Grimaçon, to go with them to the palace of the King. The released youths and maidens then dispersed to their several homes, and, mounting the chariot of the Fairy of the Green Woods, Moonflower soon reached the palace, followed by the King and the dwarf, who accompanied the other Fairy.

The nuptials of the King of the Crystal Mountains and Princess Moonflower were soon afterwards solemnised, and the two Fairies honoured the festivities with their presence; all those who had been rescued from the Enchanter’s cruelty by the King were invited, and the rejoicings lasted for twenty days, after which his Majesty made war upon the Princess’s aunt, and recovered her kingdom, killing the wicked Blackwig with his own hand.

A terrible fate was in store for the King’s proud and cruel mother. On the day of her son’s marriage she was returning in her chariot from the ceremony, much mortified and incensed by what had just taken place. Noticing, as she drove along, that her coachman had not brought out the team of horses she had ordered, and being already furious, she leaned forward to strike him with the golden sceptre in her hand, and, in so doing, overbalanced herself, and fell under the chariot-wheels, where she was almost crushed to death. She was conveyed to the palace with all speed, but, before she reached her apartments, she expired, muttering vengeance against everyone.

The fate of the dwarf Grimaçon was very different. He was made Prime Minister and was the most honoured person in the King’s dominions. The King and Queen never took any step without first consulting him, and he lived to an advanced age beloved by all, but especially by their Majesties, who went to visit him every day in a magnificent palace which they built for him close by their own.

THE DOVECOTE

In a wide stretch of pasture, in the middle of a lonely field, with its back to the bleak north blast which swept over the shuddering grasses, making them hum and sing like complaining voices, stood a Dovecote. The solid masonry of its walls, in the crevices of which tufts of stone-crop and shepherd’s purse had sown themselves, and the irregular outlines of the crow-steps which ran up either side of its slanting roof had been familiar to the sight of so many generations that, as it had remained unused within the memory of the oldest, no one thought more of it than if it had been a stone-heap in the road, nor noticed the curious fact of its never falling into disrepair. At each end of the roof, above the crow-steps, two large stone balls stood out against the sky, and on these the rooks, going home in the red sunsets to a neighbouring rookery, perched from year’s end to year’s end, and no one but themselves, or a few inquisitive sheep, who might rub their woolly heads against the walls, seemed to remember the existence of the solitary building. At some little distance behind it the land rose in a steep slope, rolling upwards to where a fringe of fir-trees looked down upon the Dovecote, the fields, and the scattered habitations below.

[Illustration: THE DOVECOTE]

Anyone standing beside them might see over a vast area of land. Looking to the west, the hills rose in bold relief, and towards them ran a white road which lost itself now and then, only to reappear in patches till it faded into the distance; looking eastward, there lay spread a long stretch of wooded country, over which the lights and shadows floated and the clouds sailed before the west wind on their way to the sea, which could be seen on a sunny day lying like a blue sapphire upon the horizon. Looking straight southward towards the pastures, the sloping ground at the foot of the trees was all one fertile cornfield, as yet uncut, and, half way up it, where the hill was steepest, stood three elms, growing close together and making a dark spot of shade in the middle of the yellow grain. These were called “Maddy Norey’s trees.” What Maddy Norey’s history had been no one alive knew, but tradition said that she had lived in a small cottage under the shadow of the elms, and men ploughing the field in the late November days had run their ploughshares against deeply-embedded stones at their roots, and told each other that they had struck the foundations of Maddy Norey’s house. They did not know that the witch, Maddy Norey, was alive still, and living hardly out of the sound of their voices in the Dovecote.

But in spite of the lonely quiet of the old place, and the peace which seemed to brood over the standing corn, there was war and strife in the land. The young King, with his Queen, had been forced to fly from his palace, a fugitive and wanderer, not knowing where to seek shelter for his head; his step-brother, a wicked and unscrupulous man, having, with his plots and cunning and his smooth, lying tongue, stirred up the people in revolt against their sovereign. Through the treachery of some of the soldiery the palace gates had been broken down, the King’s capital was in the hands of the mob, and he and the Queen had made their escape, trying to reach the distant sea-board, and from it to take ship across the Northern Sea to a neighbouring land ruled by one of their closest allies.

Under cover of night they fled through the streets of the capital, passing unnoticed in the confusion, and slipping through the city gates deserted by the treacherous guards. Once in the open country, they hid themselves in the woods by day, and travelled forward on foot by night, hoping against hope to elude the pursuers sent out after their flight had become known, and to reach the nearest point of coast from which they might set sail for the friendly land opposite.

At last, after many days, they came to a place only a few dozen miles inland, and the King, who knew the country well, encouraged the weary Queen, telling her how short a space lay between them and the sea. They were on the borders of a birch-wood through which they had travelled all night, and, as they came out and saw the wide pasture stretched before them in the early light (for it was dawning) the Queen sank down on the ground, worn out, declaring that she could go no further.

At this the King was in despair, for day was breaking and there seemed to be no place of safety in which they could conceal themselves until night should come round again and cover the two lonely wanderers with her dark curtain.

“Lie still and rest,” said he, as he drew off his cloak and spread it over his wife, “I will go a little way forward and find some place in which we can shelter for to-day. Do not move until I come back. I shall not be long away.” And he wandered off into the field towards a strange pile of building which he saw rising like a watch-tower from the level plain.

When he reached it he found it to be a deserted Dovecote, and he walked round it, wondering why such a solid structure had been built for the harbouring of a few doves and pigeons.

As he passed round the north side he came upon a wooden door, so low that a man entering would be obliged to bend himself almost double, and he cleared away the nettles and tufts of ragwort which grew by the threshold, pushing with his shoulder against the half-rotten wood. The door opened easily.

The Dovecote was quite dark inside, and only the light from the open door behind him enabled the King to see a crazy staircase running up the side of the wall to what was apparently a room overhead. As he stood irresolute whether or not to venture up, another little door opened at the top of the flight and the bent form of an old woman peered out, illuminated by the sky-light in the ceiling of the room she had just left. The King stood amazed.

“And so you have come at last,” she said, in a voice which seemed far too soft to proceed from such a crooked body, “and why have you not brought the Queen? Do not be afraid,” she added, seeing the look of consternation on his face, “I have expected you for some time. I am Maddy Norey, and I have lived here for more years than you and the Queen put together could count if your ages were doubled twice over. Go at once and bring her back with you, for here she can find a safe hiding-place.”

The astonished King could only lean against the wall, and stare up at the strange figure above him.

“Go!” cried the old woman, stamping on the floor.

He turned to obey her, and began groping for the little door by which he had entered; but the more he went from wall to wall, the more amazed was he, for there was no sign nor vestige of such a thing.

Maddy Norey laughed softly.

“Now,” she said, “do you see how safe a castle mine is? If I had not chosen that you should see my door you might still be wandering round the walls among the briars outside. Is not this a safe retreat for the Queen?”

“Let me go, Maddy Norey, and bring her to you.” And as the King said this he perceived the open door close to him, with the sun’s early beams shooting through like golden lances and striking the cobwebs which hung from the lintel.

A short time later saw him standing in the birch-wood by the side of the Queen, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion among the silver stems. The leaves quivered in the breath of sunrise as they emerged together from the wood and took their way to the Dovecote. The wooden door was open to receive them, and Maddy Norey was at the top of her stair, peering down upon the Queen as she ascended, weary and faint, with her beautiful dark hair, which had slipped from its golden comb, falling in masses over her cloak.

“Now,” said the old woman, when they had reached her attic, “look round at my house and tell me what you think of it.”

The King and Queen were silent, for they knew not what to say. They saw nothing but a small bare room with a sky-light in the roof. The light was struggling in among the cobwebs and a cold air blew through the little row of holes among the tiles, by which bygone flocks of pigeons had entered to roost, or emerged to plume themselves in artless vanity on the slanting roof and the crow-steps outside. An oaken three-legged stool stood in one corner with an old-fashioned spinning-wheel beside it, and this was the only furniture or sign of a human inhabitant visible in the little attic.

Maddy Norey smiled.

“I can see your thoughts,” she said, turning to the King. “But you must not think that I have made no better preparation for the Queen than this. I know a great deal. I know that she will spend much time with me here, and I have arranged all that I can to help you in the time that is coming. Now look into that dark spot in the wall and tell me whether I have not prepared my house well for you.”

[Illustration: MADDY NOREY SHOWS THE QUEEN THE ROOM BEHIND THE FIERY ROSES]

As she said this she raised her bent figure and spread out her arms widely. A thin blue mist drove across their vision like a smoke-cloud, and through it broke a glow as of burning coals. It rolled past them, leaving only a faint vapour, behind which they could see a thick hedge of fiery-hearted roses that seemed to burn like living embers. Through a division in the midst of this radiant tangle the light from the glowing flowers shone upon a floor and walls of black oak which could be seen behind it, reflecting itself in the polished darkness beyond, as stars reflect themselves in deep water; and, at the further end of the room, in an angle where the dark walls met, stood a bed carved with designs which could be only dimly seen, and hung with curtains of a rich deep colour that might have been either green or blue.

Then Maddy Norey took the Queen by the hand and led her through the roses into the soft darkness. She combed out her long hair, took from her her travel-stained garments, and made her lie down in the carved bed. Then her weary head sank back upon the pillows, her tired eyes closed, and she drifted away into a dreamless sleep under the blue hangings.

The King and Maddy Norey sat talking in the little dusty attic all that day and far into the evening. His gratitude knew no bounds when she said that he might leave his wife in her charge while he pursued his journey.

“When you arrive at the sea-shore,” she told him, “you will find a boat lying on the sand; you must manage so that you get there in two days from now, and during the night-time, when the fisherman to whom it belongs has gone home from fishing, and you must take the oars and row straight out to sea. You will find food and water for three days stored in the boat, for the owner is going a journey in it to an island some way off.”

“Maddy Norey,” said the young man, “promise me that you will care for the Queen.”

“I will,” answered the old woman, holding out her wrinkled hand. “But be advised, O King, and spare her the parting, for it may be a long parting, and even I do not know the end of it. She will never consent to let you go alone, which, by reason of the hardships you may have to undergo, is necessary. I might have to prevent her from going with you by not allowing her to find the door. Surely you will spare her this? Look,” and she pointed to the darkening sky-light, “it will soon be night, and there is no moon. Go _now_—at once. By to-morrow morning you will be many miles on your way, and if you conceal yourself during the day, another night’s travelling will bring you to the shore. Go; it is best.”

The King stood up.

“I may go in and look at her?” he said.

Maddy Norey nodded. “I will not wake her,” said he, “it would be too cruel.”

There was silence in the Dovecote for a few minutes before the King re-appeared. He made a sign of farewell to Maddy Norey and went down the rickety stairs, through the wooden door and out into the night alone.

When the Queen awoke next morning and found that he had gone, her heart seemed broken, and she lay weeping quietly in her carved bed.

“Why did I not awake when he came to say good-bye?” she sobbed in despair to Maddy Norey, who was sitting by her.

“My dear,” said the old woman, who did not tell her that she had caused her to sleep so soundly on purpose, “it was better it should be so, for it helped the King through it. And he hoped that you would be strong and keep a brave heart. You must summon all your courage and be helpful to him when he returns, for we do not know how soon that may be.”

With such words did Maddy Norey comfort the Queen. And she, when the first freshness of her grief was over, tried with all her strength to be cheerful and affectionate to the old woman who had done so much for them both. But every evening she used to steal away to a dark corner to weep a little and think of the King, perhaps still in hiding near the bleak coast, perhaps tossing alone on the sea.

When several days had gone by the Queen began to feel the monotony of her life very much, and to long with a great longing for the fresh air, as she dwelt in the cramped seclusion of the Dovecote. It was impossible that she should venture out alone, even for the smallest distance, in the rebellious state of the country, more especially as the search for the fugitive pair was still going on. But her strength and spirits were declining daily, and Maddy Norey began to fear that the confinement was telling upon her. One evening as they sat within the windowless walls which surrounded them, the Queen laid her hand on the witch’s knee.

“If I could only have one breath of air,” she sighed, “and one look at the fields and the sky. May I go to the door and out for just a short, short way into the pasture?”

“No,” she answered, “you must not do that. I have to remember my promise to the King to keep you in safety. But I can do this. To-morrow I will work a spell upon you. I will turn you into a white pigeon, whose presence, were it noticed about the old place, would seem but natural. So long as you remain standing on your feet or touch the ground in any way, you will be a woman; but, if you make ever so small a spring upwards, the moment your feet leave the earth you will become a white bird, and you may fly for a little distance round the Dovecote, though I do not wish you to go far away. There is a clump of elm-trees in the cornfield which runs up the hill-side, and to them you may go, hiding yourself among the branches, and returning here should you find yourself noticed by even the most insignificant passer-by.”

On the following day, accordingly, Maddy Norey took from a recess behind the blue-green bed hangings a strangely-shaped goblet which had two crystal wings springing from either side; into this she shook a powder which smelt aromatically; then she cut off the head of one of the burning roses and threw it upon the top. A subtle perfumed smoke rose and filled the room, blinding the eyes of the Queen. She felt her senses going from her, and clung to the witch’s protecting arm. She heard her repeating to herself a slow, monotonous rhyme:—

“Sun-spells and moon-spells, (Silver wings and red roses) Voice that in the wind dwells (Golden wings and white roses).

“Sun-power and moon-power, (Wild wings and pale roses) Love for life or love an hour (Witch-wind and dead roses).”

As the words ceased she swooned away, and when she came to herself, she was lying upon the attic floor with the air from the open sky-light blowing in, and Maddy Norey bending over her. She rose, rubbing her eyes.

“Now,” said the old woman, “spring from the ground.”

The Queen obeyed, and in an instant was standing on the window-sill in the flashing sunbeams, a pure white pigeon. She looked at the cornfield sloping away northward, and at the green clump of elms standing rich and heavy in the still heat, then spread out her new-found pinions and sailed away towards them.

* * * * *

Now, one day, as the white pigeon sat among the elm-boughs, her eyes wandered over the slope of golden grain to where the fir-trees stood on the top of the hill; for she knew that from that place could be seen a far wider view, and one that stretched away to the coast and the ocean. What would she not give to have but one glance at the distant leagues of water, one possible chance of seeing some sign of hope on the horizon! She thought of how Maddy Norey, the witch, had commanded her to go no further than the three elms; but she thought also of the aching, unsatisfied heart she would carry back to the Dovecote if she obeyed her. The temptation was too strong for her, and she finally looked out from her shelter, and, seeing nothing living but a few sheep grazing in the mid-day sun, flew upwards over the corn and alighted on one of the topmost branches of the firs. Then she turned her eyes eastward and almost fell from her resting-place.

For the blue sea was all alive with white sails—the sails of a great fleet advancing in a double line to the land.