Whilom, as tells the tale, was a walled cheaping-town
hight Utterhay, which was builded in a bight of the
land a little off the great highway which went from
over the mountains to the sea.
The said town was hard on the borders of a wood, which
men held to be mighty great, or maybe measureless;
though few indeed had entered it, and they that had,
brought back tales wild and confused thereof.
Therein was neither highway nor byway, nor wood-reeve
nor way-warden; never came chapman thence into Utterhay;
no man of Utterhay was so poor or so bold that he
durst raise the hunt therein; no outlaw durst flee
thereto; no man of God had such trust in the saints
that he durst build him a cell in that wood.
For all men deemed it more than perilous; and some
said that there walked the worst of the dead; othersome
that the Goddesses of the Gentiles haunted there;
others again that it was the faery rather, but they
full of malice and guile. But most commonly it
was deemed that the devils swarmed amidst of its thickets,
and that wheresoever a man sought to, who was once
environed by it, ever it was the Gate of Hell whereto
he came. And the said wood was called Evilshaw.
Nevertheless the cheaping-town throve not ill; for
whatso evil things haunted Evilshaw, never came they
into Utterhay in such guise that men knew them, neither
wotted they of any hurt that they had of the Devils
of Evilshaw.
Now in the said cheaping-town, on a day, it was market
and high noon, and in the market-place was much people
thronging; and amidst of them went a woman, tall,
and strong of aspect, of some thirty winters by seeming,
black-haired, hook-nosed and hawk-eyed, not so fair
to look on as masterful and proud. She led a
great grey ass betwixt two panniers, wherein she laded
her marketings. But now she had done her chaffer,
and was looking about her as if to note the folk for
her disport; but when she came across a child, whether
it were borne in arms or led by its kinswomen, or
were going alone, as were some, she seemed more heedful
of it, and eyed it more closely than aught else.
So she strolled about till she was come to the outskirts
of the throng, and there she happened on a babe of
some two winters, which was crawling about on its
hands and knees, with scarce a rag upon its little
body. She watched it, and looked whereto it was
going, and saw a woman sitting on a stone, with none
anigh her, her face bowed over her knees as if she
were weary or sorry. Unto her crept the little
one, murmuring and merry, and put its arms about the
woman’s legs, and buried its face in the folds
of her gown: she looked up therewith, and showed
a face which had once been full fair, but was now
grown bony and haggard, though she were scarce past
five and twenty years. She took the child and
strained it to her bosom, and kissed it, face and
hands, and made it great cheer, but ever woefully.
The tall stranger stood looking down on her, and noted
how evilly she was clad, and how she seemed to have
nought to do with that throng of thriving cheapeners,
and she smiled somewhat sourly.
