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even the children could see that for the time at least, she and the King were all the world to each other. They saw that in the brief moment when, in the whirl of the ringed dance, their eyes were turned the way by which the King came with his Queen.
‘I wish I didn’t know so much history,’ gasped Elfrida through the quick music. ‘It’s dreadful to know that her head—’ She broke off in obedience to an imperative twitch of Richard’s hand on hers.
‘Don’t!’ he said. ‘I have not to think. And I’ve heard that history’s all lies. Perhaps they’ll always be happy like they are now. The only way to enjoy the past is not to think of the future – the past’s future, I mean – and I’ve got something else to say to you presently,’ he added rather sternly.
The ring broke up into an elaborate figure. The children found themselves fingering the coloured ribbons that hung from the Maypole that was the centre of their dance, twining, intertwining, handing on the streamers to other small, competent fingers. In and out, in and out – a most complicated dance. It was pleasant to find that one’s feet knew it, though one’s brain could not have foreseen, any more than it could have remembered, how the figures went. There were two rings round the Maypole – the inner ring, where Edred and Elfrida were, of noble children in very fine clothes, and the outer ring, of village children in clothes less fine but quite as pretty. Music from a band of musicians on a raised platform decked with May-boughs and swinging cowslip balls inspired the dancers. The King and Queen had reined up their horses and watched the play, well pleased.
And suddenly the dance ended and the children, formed into line, were saluting the royal onlookers.
‘A fair dance and footed right featly,’ said the King in a great, jolly voice. ‘Now get you wind, my merry men all, and give us a song for the honour of the May Queen and of my dear lady here.’
There was whispering and discussion. Then Richard Arden stepped out in front of the group of green-clad noble children.
‘With a willing heart, my liege,’ he said, ‘but first a song of the King’s good Majesty.’
And with that all the children began to sing:
‘The hunt is up, the hunt is up,
And it is well-nigh day,
And Harry our King is gone a-hunting
To bring his deer to bay.’
It is a rousing tune, and it was only afterwards that Edred and Elfrida were surprised to find that they knew it quite well.
But even while they were singing Elfrida was turning over in her mind the old question, Could anything they did have any effect on the past? It seemed impossible that it should not be so. If one could get a word alone with that happy, stately lady on the white horse, if one could warn her, could help somehow! The thought of the bare scaffold and the black block came to Elfrida so strongly that she almost thought she saw them darkling among the swayed, sun-dappled leaves of the greenwood.
Somebody was pulling at her green skirt. An old woman in a cap that fitted tightly and hid all her hair – an old woman who was saying, ‘Go to her! go!’ and pushing her forward. Some one else put a big bunch of wild flowers into her hand, and this person also pushed her forward. And forward she had to go, quite alone, the nosegay in her hand, across the open space of greensward under the eyes of several hundreds of people, all in their best clothes and all watching her.
She went on till she came to the spot where the King and Queen were, and then she paused and dropped two curtsies, one to each of them. Then, quite without meaning to do it, she found herself saying:
‘May-day! May-day!
This is the happy play day!
All the woods with flowers are gay,
Lords and ladies, come and play!
Lords and ladies, rich and poor,
Come to the wild woods’ open door!
Hinds and yeomen, Queen and King,
Come do honour to the Spring!
And join us in our merrymaking.’
And when she had said that she made two more nice little curtsies and handed up the flowers to the Queen.
‘If we had known your Majesties’ purpose,’ said a tall, narrow-faced man in a long gown, ‘your Majesties had had another than this rustic welcome.’
‘Our purpose,’ said the King, ‘was to surprise you. The Earl of Arden, you say, is hence?’
‘His son and daughter are here to do homage to your Highness,’ said the gowned man, and then Elfrida saw that Edred was beside her.
‘Hither, lad,’ said the King, and reaching down a hand caught Edred’s. ‘Your foot on mine,’ said his Majesty. ‘So!’ and he swung Edred up on to the saddle in front of him. Elfrida drew nearer to the white horse as the Queen beckoned her, and the Queen stooped low over her saddle to ask her name. Now was the moment that Elfrida had wished for, now was the chance, if ever, to warn the Queen.
‘Elfrida Arden’s my name,’ she said. ‘Your Majesty, may I say something?’
‘Say on,’ said the Queen, raising fine eyebrows, but smiling too.
‘I should like to come quite close and whisper,’ said Elfrida stoutly.
‘Thou’rt a bold lass,’ said the Queen, but she stooped still lower.
‘I want to warn you,’ said Elfrida, quickly whispering, ‘and don’t not pay attention because I’m only a little girl. I know. You may think I don’t know, but I do. I want to warn you—’
‘Already once, this morning I have been warned,’ said the Queen. ‘What croaking voices for May-day!’
‘Who warned you, your Majesty?’
‘An old hag who came to my chamber in spite of my maids, said she had a May charm to keep my looks and my lord’s love.’
‘What was the charm?’ Elfrida asked eagerly, forgetting to say ‘Majesty’ again.
‘It was quite simple,’ said the Queen. ‘I was to keep my looks and my love so long as I never dropped a kerchief. But if I dropped a kerchief I should lose more than my looks and my love; she said I should lose my head,’ – the Queen laughed low, – ‘within certain days from the dropping of that kerchief – this head you see here;’ she laughed again.
‘Don’t, oh, don’t!’ said Elfrida. ‘Nineteen days, that’s the warning – I do hope it’ll do some good. I do like you, dear Queen. You are so strong and splendid. I would like to be like you when I grow up.’
The Queen’s fine face looked troubled.
‘Please Heaven, thou’lt be better than I,’ she said, stooping lower still from her horse; Elfrida standing on tip-toe, she kissed her.
‘Oh, do be careful,’ said Elfrida. ‘Your darling head!’ and the Queen kissed her again.
Then a noise rather like bagpipes rose shrill and sudden, and all drew back, making room for the rustic maids and swains to tread the country dance. Other instruments joined in, and suddenly the King cried, ‘A merry tune that calls to the feet. Come, my sweeting, shall we tread a measure with the rest?’ So down they came from their horses, King and Queen, and led the country dance, laughing and gay as any country lad and lass.
Elfrida could have cried. It seemed such a pity that everybody should not always be good and happy, as everybody looked today.
The King had sprung from his horse with Edred in his arms, and now he and his sister drew back towards Cousin Richard.
‘How pretty it all is!’ said Edred. ‘I should like to stay here for ever.’
‘If I were you,’ said Richard, very disagreeably indeed, ‘I would not stay here an hour.’