Meanwhile, in hollow of a twilit coomb,

Where Constance distraught, found herself pleading

With the snarling panther, in bitter gloom.

She’d caught a swipe at her shoulder bleeding,

‘Look thee, be it beast or man here leading?’

He shrieked and howled in demonic expulsions,

Sinews snapping with twitching convulsions.

And to a standing stone he lurched behind.

Then out the strained longshanks of Cael stumbled,

His brow were bloodless, and in squinny blind.

Constance caught his arm before he crumbled.

‘Forgive my sour condition,’ he grumbled.

‘Thou’st no blame for the sly Devil’s doing.’

‘I cannot stay without upset brewing.’

‘A moment’s rest,’ and in that copse they laid,

The near trickle of weepy brooks did rove.

Watched on by old gods in the waning shade,

The cricket’s chorus in such quiet throve.

‘Oft do I linger in a voiceless grove,

For I’ve no kindred to share in my glee,

Save for these past days in thy company.’

‘Sweetling thou’rt, but another I’m sworn,

Matrona my mistress, calls me thither!

Reunion decrees I’m left by the morn.

Thy brother knows I belong not hither,

And my lady sighs each moment not with her.’

‘Thy ‘scape will Gildas see as by my aid.’

‘Then away with me, and live as nature bade!’

‘As babes of woodland, serve my faerie queen!

Not some convent bride, but a river sprite

I see!’ She rose against a bough to lean,

‘Green may be my soul, but this gown is white.

A lure there is in thy words, but not light!

In no dream, shall I forsake my brother,

Since found, we’ve had only each other.’

‘Alack, my mother’s blood I can’t forbear,

‘Tis that element which stirs my yearning,

To dance beneath the stars, wind in my hair!

Would heed to native creed grant me learning

Of our weeded roots in my returning?’

Cael arose, ‘Rein thy whimsical fancy,

Our worship is ancient, as thou wilst see.’

‘Set with the earth, in black waters immerse,

Honour thine ancestors in its reflection.

My beastly shape is both gift and curse,

By my goddess bestowed, in affection.’

In vain, Constance hid her green complexion,

‘Prithee, stay the night, I cannot follow.

But I shall smuggle thee, come the morrow.’

Gildas now alone, approached the limp witch

And grasped at her neck, raising her to he.

‘Why dost thou appear? Speak, woman!’ a twitch

To his brow; she met with defiant plea,

‘For thy love, proud fool! My blood burns for thee.

Never have I known manhood so sublime!

Mine aching urged to face thee a second time!’

At her tearful eyes, he loosened his grip,

Banished drops on beauteous cheek ran faint,

With fondness she received his flask to sip,

‘Art thou to flay my flesh now, gallant saint?’

‘So I’m charged, though my humour begs restraint.’

‘A gentle soul I find in thee, beneath the hard piece,

I implore thy virtues to hatch my release.’

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‘Fain I would, but mine office doth forbid.’

He watched her then in Circean display,

Unfold before him– cloth from porcelain slid.

‘In each my furtive dreams and waking day,

Her lips upon my perfect valour prey!

Such wants discard the demands of reason,

These throes of desire give way to treason!’

She drew hither, making fief of her gaol.

A pen to cob with flexed wings, gliding raft,

In coquettish sway; aye, his breath were stole.

Knees in wevet, upright as herald’s staff,

As she entwined about with some fey laugh.

'This act is wicked! Sinful wench, avaunt!’

'Methinks thou art provoked,’ she quoth in taunt.

His reach befound no cross, now phantom limb,

‘I must deny thee by every doctrine cruel.’

‘Such tribal laws submit to carnal whim!

Our instinct is ancient, so ‘tis to rule–

The men here praise Gildas, not that old fool!

Make me thy queen, our love would be divine!

If thou wilt worship me, all shalt be thine.’

Lowenna’s lips brushed soft against his nape,

Whispered bodily gospel in his ears,

‘How power flows through thee! With me escape,

To sooth our appetites sans zealous fears!’

Her lips fluttered close as Pegasus nears–

‘If of thee, I hath given true service,

Then pray, O God, forgive me of this kiss!’

They met with bliss and loose sighs of longing,

As nethers merged in ecstacy of flame.

Grasped her hair in the snuffed mull of wronging,

The brush of nerves enthralled his– footsteps came!

He threw her to the floor, perforce with shame.

‘Well content, sirrah?’ Boniface with furrow

In brow, ‘Who sanctioned probing so thorough?’

They withdrew, her gaze burnt into his spine.

‘I should think thou found apt reconnaissance?’

'Nothing did she yield, nor could I divine.’

Boniface observed his fraught countenance,

‘Thine odour reeks of that macabre danse,

And skin is flush as fruit of Mans’s descent!’

‘Pardon! Forsooth, I swear no ill intent!’

Hand on shoulder, as if his own issue,

‘Heed, Gildas. ‘Tis a will-o'-wisp thou chase.

The fair sex is formed in earthy tissue

Of clay and loam to retract us from grace.

By creed of saints and thy brotherly race,

I ask, not cleave thy great prospects in twain!’

‘I warrant, Father. Paladin, I remain.’

The old bishop gave a long, searching stare.

‘See that thou doest, faith can be a weary lamp.’

A soldier barged in with tidings to bear.

‘A pagan is suspect within our camp.’

To mind came the livery of that scamp,

He’d forgotten of Constance, to his fright.

‘Search the forests, kill the wildman on sight.’

‘Rest now, Gildas. Ready for the morrow,

Our witch will soon feel the stake at her feet.’

His visage strained to counterfeit from sorrow,

‘By thy favour, a trial would be meet,

Haply innocence she may claim receipt!’

‘An ordeal would not divulge half her lies!

Her gemot of flame awaits at sunrise.’