I will continue reading The Wooing of Bekphola.
Please find a quiet,
Comfortable place to sit or lie and relax as I read chapter three of The Wooing of Bekphola.
Chapter Three But after some time the moon arose and the wolves went away.
For their leader,
A sagacious and crafty thief,
Declared that as long as they remained where they were,
The lady would remain where she was.
And so,
With a hearty curse on trees,
The troop departed.
Bekphola had pains in her legs from the way she had wrapped them about the branch.
But there was no part of her that did not ache,
For a lady does not sit with any ease upon a tree.
For some time she did not care to come down from the branch.
Those wolves may return,
She said,
For their chief is crafty and sagacious and it is certain from the look I caught in his eye as he departed that he would rather taste of me than cat any woman he has met.
She looked carefully in every direction to see if one might discover them in hiding.
She looked closely and linkedly at the shadows under distant trees to see if these shadows moved.
And she listened on every wind to try if she could distinguish a yap or a yawn or a sneeze,
But she saw or heard nothing.
And little by little tranquility crept into her mind and she began to consider that a danger which has passed is a danger that may be neglected.
Yet ere she descended she looked again on the world of jet and silver that dozed about her and she spied a red glimmer among distant trees.
There is no danger where there is light,
She said,
And she thereupon came from the tree and ran in the direction that she had noted.
In a spot between three great oaks she came upon a man who was roasting a wild boar over a fire.
She saluted this youth and sat beside him,
But after the first glance and greeting he did not look at her again,
Nor did he speak.
When the boar was cooked he ate of it and she had her share.
Then he arose from the fire and walked away among the trees.
Bekphola followed,
Feeling ruefully that something new to her experience had arrived,
For,
She thought,
It is usual that young men should not speak to me now,
That I am the mate of a king,
But it is very unusual that young men should not look at me.
But if the young man did not look at her she looked well at him,
And what she saw pleased her so much that she had no time for further cogitation,
For if Krimthun had been beautiful this youth was ten times more beautiful.
The curls on Krimthun's head had been indeed as a benediction to the queen's eye,
So that she had eaten the better and slept the sounder foreseeing him.
But the light of this youth left her without the desire to eat,
And as for sleep she dreaded it,
For if she closed an eye she would be robbed of the one delight in time,
Which was to look at this young man,
And not cease looking at him while her eye could peer or her head could remain upright.
They came to an inlet of the sea,
All sweet and calm under the sound,
Silver-flooding moon,
And the young man with Bekphola treading on his heel,
Stepped into a boat and rowed to a high-jutting,
Pleasant island.
There they went inland towards a vast palace,
In which there was no person but themselves alone,
And there the young man went to sleep,
While Bekphola sat staring at him until the unavoidable peace pressed down her eyelids and she too slumbered.
She was awakened in the morning by a great shout.
Come out,
Flan!
Come out,
My heart!
The young man leaped from his couch,
Girded on his harness and strode out.
Three young men met him,
Each in battle harness,
And these four advanced to meet four other men who awaited them at a little distance on the lawn.
Then these two sets of four fought together with every warlike courtesy but with every warlike severity,
And at the end of the combat there was but one man standing,
And of the other seven lay tossed in death.
Bekphola spoke to the youth.
Your combat has indeed been gallant,
She said.
Alas,
He replied,
If it has been a gallant deed,
It has not been a good one,
For my three brothers are dead,
And my four nephews are dead.
Ah,
Me!
Cried Bekphola.
Why did you fight that fight?
For the lordship of this island,
The Isle of Fedek,
Son of Dali.
But,
Although Bekphola was moved and horrified by this battle,
It was in another direction that her interests lay,
Therefore she soon asked the question which lay next to her heart.
Why would you not speak to me or look at me?
Will I have won the kingship of this land from all claimants?
I am no match for the mate of the High King of Ireland,
He replied,
And that reply was like balm to the heart of Bekphola.
What shall I do?
She inquired radiantly.
Return to your home,
He counseled.
I will escort you there with your maid,
For she is not really dead,
And when I have won my lordship I will go seek you in Tara.
You will surely come?
She insisted.
By my hand,
Quoth he,
I will come.
These three returned then,
And at the end of a day and night they saw far off the mighty roofs of Tara,
Massed in the morning haze.
The young men left them,
And with many a backward look and with dragging,
Reluctant feet,
Bekphola crossed the threshold of the palace,
Wondering what she would say to Durmand,
And how she could account for an absence of three days' duration.
