"William Morris - The Wood Beyond the World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris William)

WALTER HEARETH TIDINGS

OF THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER

Fast sailed the Katherine over the seas, and nought befell to tell of, either to herself or her crew.
She came to one cheaping-town and then to another, and so on to a third and a fourth; and at
each was buying and selling after the manner of chapmen; and Walter not only looked on the
doings of his father’s folk, but lent a hand, what he might, to help them in all matters, whether it
were in seaman’s craft, or in chaffer. And the further he went and the longer the time wore, the
more he was eased of his old trouble wherein his wife and her treason had to do.



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But as for the other trouble, to wit his desire and longing to come up with those three, it yet
flickered before him; and though he had not seen them again as one sees people in the streets,
and as if he might touch them if he would, yet were their images often before his mind’s eye; and
yet, as time wore, not so often, nor so troublously; and forsooth both to those about him and to
himself, he seemed as a man well healed of his melancholy mood.


Now they left that fourth stead, and sailed over the seas and came to a fifth, a very great and fair
city, which they had made more than seven months from Langton on Holm; and by this time was
Walter taking heed and joyance in such things as were toward in that fair city, so far from his
kindred, and especially he looked on the fair women there, and desired them, and loved them;
but lightly, as befalleth young men.


Now this was the last country whereto the Katherine was boun; so there they abode some ten
months in daily chaffer, and in pleasuring them in beholding all that there was of rare and
goodly, and making merry with the merchants and the towns-folk, and the country-folk beyond
the gates, and Walter was grown as busy and gay as a strong young man is like to be, and was as
one who would fain be of some account amongst his own folk.


But at the end of this while, it befell on a day, as he was leaving his hostel for his booth in the
market, and had the door in his hand, there stood before him three mariners in the guise of his
own country, and with them was one of clerkly aspect, whom he knew at once for his father’s
scrivener, Arnold Penstrong by name; and when Walter saw him his heart failed him and he
cried out: “Arnold, what tidings? Is all well with the folk at Langton?”


Said Arnold: “Evil tidings are come with me; matters are ill with thy folk; for I may not hide that
thy father, Bartholomew Golden, is dead, God rest his soul.”


At that word it was to Walter as if all that trouble which but now had sat so light upon him, was
once again fresh and heavy, and that his past life of the last few months had never been; and it
was to him as if he saw his father lying dead on his bed, and heard the folk lamenting about the