The Forest lay about him, vast, silent, and mysterious; the sky was overclouded, and the moon obscured; and life seemed like the Forest, all black and without a purpose, a wilderness1 where wild beasts wandered and outcast men hid themselves from the law.
For a while he wandered about among the beech2 trees like a blind man who had lost his way, for in very truth he was blind of soul, so smitten3 through with anguish4 that he could neither think nor pray. A stupor5 gripped him, a stupor of misery6 and helplessness. It was as though a great hand had swept down and put out the white light that had burned within him; blackness, nothingness, remained.
As he went to and fro under the great trees, Martin Valliant struggled to break through this human anguish and all this coil and tumult7 of loving and being loved. He tried to stand as his old self, calm, patient, gentle, a watcher of other men’s lives. Things had been so quietly ordered in the old days; nothing had been able to master him, to send him like a blown leaf whirling with the wind.
But now—what had happened? Was God mocking him, or had he been cheated by the devil? Who was God, and who was the devil? What was this thing that men called sin? Was life only a huge fable8, a piece of tapestry9, behind which lay the burning, passionate10 reality, the being and becoming, the great glowing flux11 of fire?
He fell on his knees and clasped his head between his hands.
Who was calling him, and why did his heart answer?
“Mellis! Mellis! Mellis!”
She was in the darkness, she was among the stars, in the leaves of the trees, in the stillness of the night. She was light and shadow, sound and silence, colors and perfumes; she held the round world in her hands, and heaven was behind her eyes. He loved her, and her love was his. Where was the sin? Where was the shame?
Martin made a cloister12 of the beech wood all that night, pacing up and down between the black boles, sometimes lying prone13 in the dead leaves or the bracken. He saw nothing but Mellis—Mellis white and speechless, stretching out her hands to him, looking at him with eyes of anguish. She was a white flame burning in the darkness, and he could see nothing, think of nothing but her.
So Dame14 Nature, Mother of all the gods, led Martin to the deep waters and showed him in their blackness the image of a woman. And into these waters a man must cast himself naked, madman and rebel, leaving his manifold hypocrisies15 behind him, stripped of the shreds16 and the patchwork17 and the cap of the moral fool. Before dawn came Martin Valliant had taken that great plunge18. He was a rebel, naked and unashamed, most bitterly refusing to surrender the great thing that was his, and ready to fight for it with savage19 fierceness against saints and devils, priests and men.
With the first grayness of the dawn Martin turned his face toward Woodmere, and stealing from tree to tree, worked his way slowly through the beech wood. There were no more than three or four great trees left between him and the open sky, and he could see the mere20 lying in the valley and the tower where Mellis had slept; the birds were singing; the camp still seemed asleep.
Something whirred past him and struck the trunk of a tree away on his left, and Martin threw himself flat, for he knew that a cross-bow bolt had been loosed at him. Though he raised his head cautiously, and peered about him, he could see nothing but the bracken below, the green gloom of the branches above, the great gray trunks standing21 like the pillars of a church. But the man who had fired the shot could still see Martin. A second bolt whizzed over his head and buried itself in the ground.
“Run, you dog! Off with you, or the next shot shall be in your body.”
The voice came from the fork of a tree, and Martin was shrewd enough to believe in the man’s sincerity22. He sprang up, and dashed back into the deeps of the wood, furious at the thought that Falconer had set men to watch for him. He tried another part of the wood, but with no better luck. This time an arrow from a long bow drove into the ground within a yard of his feet, warning him that he was shadowed and that the Forest’s eyes were wide awake.
Martin took the lesson to heart, and turned back sullenly23 into the deeps of the wood. His wits were at work, offering him all manner of wild hazards, and the more desperate and foolish they seemed, the more bitter and dogged grew his resolution. He passed through the beech wood, crossed a stretch of open grassland24, and plunged25 into a thicket26 of hollies27 that trailed down from the slopes of an oak-covered hill. Once under cover, he stood at gaze to see if he had been followed, and his shrewdness had its reward. A man in a doublet of Lincoln green showed himself for a moment on the edge of the beech wood, scanned the grassland, and then turned back into the woodshade as though he had no liking28 for following such a wild dog any farther.
Martin cut northwards into the oak wood where the trees stood well apart, with no scrub growing between them, their trunks rising from the green turf. He went at the double, keeping well in among the trees, bearing westwards along the hill that bounded Woodmere valley in the north. His need of a weapon asserted itself, for he had nothing but his knife, and coming across a young holly29 growing straight and clean, he felled it after five minutes’ hacking30 with his knife. With its boughs31 and top trimmed off, it made a heavy and notable club, and he went on with it on his shoulder, and in a temper that boded32 ill for any man who should give him battle.
It took Martin Valliant the best part of an hour to cast a half circle around Woodmere valley and approach it from the other side. A hazel copse proved friendly; he crawled into it, and plowed33 his way cautiously through the green cloud of branches. The copse ended in a great bank of furze that poured down the hillside like a flood.
Martin Valliant had the whole valley spread before him, all wet and washed with the morning’s dew, the sunlight slanting34 down on it with the calm beauty of a summer morning. Smoke rose straight and blue from the camp fires; the mere shone like glass; the tower, with its lichen-stained walls, was the color of gold. But if the woods and the valley breathed peace, man plotted war, and all the green hill beyond the water was astir with men running to arms.
Falconer and the Forest lords were preparing to march. Each captain was rallying his company, and there was much shouting and hurrying to and fro. The swarm35 of figures in their reds and greens, russets and blues36, sorted themselves and gathered to their pennons and banners like a pattern of flowers. There were the archers37, with bows on their backs, and bills in their hands; the common crowd of footmen with their pikes, partisans38, scythes39, axes, and oak cudgels; the gentry40 and their servants mounted and sheathed41 in steel, their lances rising straight and close together like pine trees in a wood.
Martin Valliant marked a little group of riders sitting their horses apart from the rest. They numbered about twenty lances, and a man in the midst of them carried a banner of blue and green. The sunlight splintered itself on their harness; they looked big men and stoutly42 armed, chosen for a purpose.
Two riders were crossing the grassland from the direction of the mere, and Martin Valliant’s eyes filled with a hungry, yearning43 light as he watched them. One was a woman, the other a man. The woman was distinguishable by her hair, that hung loose upon the suit of light harness that she wore, and by the cloak or apron44 of green fastened about her waist. She rode a white horse. The man, John Falconer, had her bridle45 over his arm. She was a prisoner. The twenty lances were to serve as her guard.
Martin Valliant knelt and watched her, leaning on his holly staff, his eyes shining like steel.
The trumpets46 blew. A swarm of archers and mounted men went scattering47 into the beech wood and were swallowed up by its shadows. The massed “foot” began to move in columns, like fat, brightly colored caterpillars48 crawling up the hill. The gentlemen and men-at-arms followed, with jogging spears and a glittering of harness. Last of all rode John Falconer, Mellis, and her guard.
Martin Valliant sprang up, and held his staff aloft as though challenging them. Then he turned back into the woods, a divine madman hunting an army.
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1
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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3
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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7
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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8
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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9
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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10
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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11
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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hypocrisies
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| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
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16
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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17
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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18
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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24
grassland
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| n.牧场，草地，草原 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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26
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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27
hollies
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| n.冬青（常绿灌木，叶尖而硬，有光泽，冬季结红色浆果）( holly的名词复数 )；（用作圣诞节饰物的）冬青树枝 | |
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28
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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30
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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31
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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32
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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33
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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34
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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35
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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36
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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37
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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38
partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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39
scythes
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| n.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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41
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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42
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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43
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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44
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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45
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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46
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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47
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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48
caterpillars
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| n.毛虫( caterpillar的名词复数 )；履带 | |
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