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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Love Among the Ruins" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Warwick Deeping" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1904" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="W. Benda" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="42284" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-03-9" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Love Among the Ruins" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Love Among the Ruins" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="ruins.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-03-09T19:10:52.429461+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42284" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Warwick Deeping" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="W. Benda" name="MARCREL.ill" /> -<meta content="2013-03-09" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="love-among-the-ruins"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Love Among the Ruins -<br /> -<br />Author: Warwick Deeping -<br /> -<br />Release Date: March 09, 2013 [EBook #42284] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-46"> -<span id="cover"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 88%" id="figure-47"> -<span id="flavian-of-gambrevault-stood-bound-before-her"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""FLAVIAN OF GAMBREVAULT STOOD BOUND BEFORE HER."" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"FLAVIAN OF GAMBREVAULT STOOD BOUND BEFORE HER."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">LOVE -<br />AMONG THE RUINS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY -<br />WARWICK DEEPING</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "UTHER AND IGRAINE"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="center line"><span>Grim work, sirs; what would you!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="center line"><span>War is the devil.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. BENDA</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">New York -<br />THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -<br />LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. -<br />1904</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY -<br />THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1904.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Norwood Press -<br />J. S. Cushing & Co. -- Berwick & Smith Co. -<br />Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />MY MOTHER AND FATHER -<br />WITH ALL LOVE AND GRATITUDE</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="i"><span class="large">PART I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The branches of the forest invoked the sky with the -supplications of their thousand hands. Black, tumultuous, -terrible, the wilds billowed under the moon, stifled with -the night, silent as a windless sea. Winter, like a pale -Semiramis of gigantic mould, stood with her coronet -touching the steely sky. A mighty company of stars stared -frost-bright from the heavens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pillar of fire shone red amid the chaos of the woods. -Like a great torch, a blazing tower hurled spears of light -into the gloom. Shadows, vast and fantastic, struggled -like Titans striving with Destiny in the silence of the -night. Their substanceless limbs leapt and writhed -through the gnarled alleys of the forest. Overhead, the -moon looked down with thin and silver lethargy on the -havoc kindled by the hand of man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a glade, all golden with the breath of the fire, -blackened battlements waved a pennon of vermilion flame -above the woods. Smoke, in eddying and gilded clouds, -rolled heavenwards to be silvered into snow by the light -of the moon. The grass of the glade shone a dusky, -yet brilliant green; the tower's windows were red as -rubies on a pall of sables. About its base, cottages were -burning like faggots piled about a martyr's loins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tragedy had touched the place with her ruddy hand. -There had been savage deeds done in the silence of the -woods. Hirelings, a rough pack of mercenaries in the -service of the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, had stolen -upon the tower of Rual of Cambremont, slain him before -his own gate, and put his sons to the sword. A feud had -inspired the event, a rotten shred of enmity woven on -Stephen's Eve in a tavern scuffle. The burning tower -with its cracking walls bore witness to the extravagant -malice of a rugged age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Death, that flinty summoner, salves but the dead, yet -wounds the living. It is sport with him to pile woe -upon the shoulders of the weak, to crown with thorns the -brows of those who mourn. Double-handed are his -blessings--a balm for those who sleep, an iron scourge for the -living. The quick bow down before his feet; only the dead -fear him no more in the marble philosophy of silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a patch of grass within the golden whirl of the -fire lay the body of Rual of Cambremont, stiff and still. -His face was turned to the heavens; his white beard -tinctured with the dye of death. Beside him knelt a -girl whose unloosed hair trailed on his body, dark and -disastrous as a sable cloud. The girl's eyes were -tearless, dry and dim. Her hands were at her throat, clenched -in an ecstasy of despair. Her head was bowed down -below her stooping shoulders, and she knelt like Thea over -Saturn's shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind her in the shadow, his face grey in the -uncertain gloom, an old man watched the scene with a -wordless awe. He was a servant, thin and meagre, -bowed under Time's burden, a dried wisp of manhood, -living symbol of decay. There was something of the -dog about his look, a dumb loyalty that grieved and gave -no sound. Beneath the burning tower in the heat of the -flames, these twain seemed to mimic the stillness of the -dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was other life in the glade none the less, a red -relic evidencing the handiwork of the sword. A streak -of shadow that had lain motionless in the yellow glare of -the fire, stirred in the rank grass with a snuffling groan. -There was a curt hint in the sound that brought Jaspar -the harper round upon his heel. He moved two steps, -went down on his knees in the ooze, turned the man's -head towards the tower, and peered into his face. It -was gashed from chin to brow, a grim mask of war, -contorted the more by the uncertain palpitations of the -flames.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar had a flask buckled at his girdle. He thrust -his knee under the man's head, trickled wine between -his lips, and waited. The limp hands began to twitch; -the man jerked, drew a wet, stertorous breath, stared for a -moment with flickering lids at the face above him. Jaspar -craned down, put his mouth to the man's ear, and spoke -to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fellow's lips quivered; he stirred a little, strove -to lift his head, mumbled thickly like a man with a palsied -tongue. Jaspar put his ear to the bruised mouth and -listened. He won words out of the grave, for his rough -face hardened, his brows were knotted over the dying -man's stumbling syllables. The harper shouted in his -ear, and again waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gam--Gambrevault, Flavian's men, dead, all dead," -ran the death utterance. "Ave Maria, my lips -burn--St. Eulalie--St. Jude, defend me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cough snapped the halting appeal. The man stiffened -suddenly in Jaspar's arms, and thrust out his feet with -a strong spasm. His hands clawed the grass; his jaw -fell, leaving his mouth agape, a black circle of death. -There was a last rattling stridor. Then the head fell -back over Jaspar's knee with the neck extended, the eyes -wide with a visionless stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shadow fell athwart the dead man and the living, -a shadow edged with the golden web of the fire. Looking -up, Jaspar the harper saw the girl standing above him, -staring down upon the dead man's body. The red tower -framed her figure with flame, making an ebon cloud of -her hair, her body a pillar of sombre stone. Her face -was grey, pinched, and expressionless. Youth seemed -frozen for the moment into bleak and premature age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed down suddenly, her hair falling forward like -a cataract, her eyes large with a tearless hunger. -Pointing to the man on Jaspar's knee, she looked into the -harper's face, and spoke to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, the truth. I fear it no longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was toneless and hoarse as an untuned -string. She beat her hands together, and then stood with -her fists pressed over her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man turned the body gently to the grass, and -still knelt at the woman's feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Jean," he said, with great quietness, "Jean the -swineherd. He is dead. God rest his soul!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent forward again with arm extended, her voice -deep and hoarse in her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, who is it that has slain my father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes gleamed behind her hair as it fell dishevelled -over her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest--Bertrand, my brothers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice appealed him with a gradual fear. Jaspar -the harper bowed his face, and pointed to the tower. The -girl straightened, and stood quivering like a loosened bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! In there! And Roland?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the harper's hand went up with the slow -inevitableness of destiny. The flames, as beneath the -incantations of a sibyl, leapt higher, roaring hungrily towards -the heavens. The girl swayed away some paces, her -lips moving silently, her hair fanned by the draught, -blowing about her like a veil. She turned to the tower, thrust -up her hands to it with a strong gesture of anguish and -despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long while she stood in silence as in a kind of torpor, -gazing at this red pyre of the Past, where memories leapt -heavenwards in a golden haze of smoke. The roar of the -fire was as the voice of Fate. She heard it dim and -distant like the far thunder of a sea. Beyond, around, above, -the gaunt trees clawed at the stars with their leafless talons. -Night and the shadow of it were very apparent to the girl's -soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar the harper stood and watched her with a dumb -and distant awe. Her rigid anguish cowed him into -impotent silence. The woman's soul seemed to soar far -above comfort, following the saffron smoke into the silver -æther of the infinite. The man stood apart, holding aloof -with the instinct of a dog, from a sorrow that he could not -chasten. He was one of those dull yet happy souls, who -carry eloquence in their eyes, whose tongues are clumsy, -but whose hearts are warm. He stood aloof therefore -from Yeoland, dead Rual's daughter, pulling his ragged -beard, and calling in prayer to the Virgin and the -saints.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the girl turned very slowly, as one whose blood -runs chill and heavy. Her eyes were still dry and crystal -bright, her face like granite, or a mask of ice. The man -Jaspar hid his glances from her, and stared at the sod. He -was fearful in measure of gaping blankly upon so great a -grief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar," she said, and her voice was clear now as the -keen sweep of a sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He crooked the knee to her, stood shading his eyes with -his wrinkled hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We alone are left," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's will, madame, God's will; He giveth, and taketh -away. I, even I, am your servant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes lightened an instant as though red wrath -streamed strongly from her heart. Her mouth quivered. -She chilled the mood, however, and stood motionless, -save for her hands twining and twisting in her hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Heaven mock me?" she asked him, with a level -bitterness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How so, madame?" he answered her; "who would -mock thee at such an hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who indeed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even Death. I pray you be comforted. There is -a balm in years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood silent again in the streaming heat and -radiance of the fire. A sudden wind had risen. They -heard it crying far away in the infinite vastness of the -woods. It grew, rushed near, waxed with a gradual -clamour till the bare wilds seemed to breathe one great -gathering roar. The flames flew slanting from the -blackened battlements. The trees clutched and swayed, -making moan under the calm light of the moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound thrilled the girl. Her lips trembled, her form -dilated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," she said, thrusting up her hands into the -night, "the cry of the forest, the voice of the winter -wind. What say they but 'vengeance--vengeance--vengeance'?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ii"><span class="large">II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn came vaguely in a veil of mist. A heavy dew lay -scintillant upon the grass; a great silence covered the -woods. The trees stood grim and gigantic with dripping -boughs in a vapoury atmosphere, and there seemed no -augury of sunlight in the blind grey sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A rough hovel under a fir, used for the storing of wood, -had given Yeoland and the harper shelter for the night. -The sole refuge left to them by fire, the hut had served its -purpose well enough, for grief is not given to grumbling -over externals in the extremity of its distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland was astir early with the first twitter of -the birds in the boughs overhead. Jaspar had made her -a couch of straw, and she had lain there tossing to and fro -with no thought of sleep. The moon had sunk early over -the edge of the world, and heavy darkness had wrapped her -anguish close about her soul, mocking her with the staring -of a dead face. The burning tower had ceased to torch -her vigil towards dawn; yet there had been no fleeing -from the pale candour of the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slim, white-faced woman she stood shivering in the -doorway of the hovel. Her eyes were black and lustrous--swift, -darting eyes full of dusky fire and vivid unrest. -Her mouth ran a red streak, firm above her white chin. -Her hair gleamed like sable steel. The world was cold -about her for the moment, dead and inert as her own heart. -As she stood there, fine and fragile as gossamer, the very -trees seemed to weep for her with the dawning day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some hundred paces from the hut, a cloud of smoke -mingled with the mist that hung about the blackened walls -of the forest tower. Its windows were blind and frameless -to the sky; a zone of charred wood and reeking ashes -circled its base. The mist hung above it like a ghostly -memory. The place looked desolate and pitiful enough -in the meagre light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland watched the incense of smoke wreathing -grey spirals overhead, melting symbolic--into nothingness. -The pungent scent of the ruin floated down to her, -and became a recollection for all time. This blackened -shell had been a home to her, a bulwark, nay, a cradle. -Sanguine life had run ruddy through its heart. How often -had she seen its grey brow crowned with gold by the -mystic hierarchy of heaven. She had found much joy there -and little sorrow. A wrinkled face had taught her these -many years to cherish the innocence of childhood. All -this was past; the present found her bankrupt of such -things. The place had become but a coffin, a -charnel-house for the rotting bones of love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she brooded in the doorway, the smite of a spade -came ringing to her on the misty air. Terse and rhythmic, -it was like the sound of Time plucking the hours from the -Tree of Life. She looked out over the glade, and saw -Jaspar the harper digging a shallow grave under an oak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went and watched him, calmly, silently, with the -utter quiet of a measureless grief. There was reason in -this labour. It emphasised reality; helped her to grip the -present. As the brown earth tumbled at her feet, she -remembered how much she would bury in that narrow -forest grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man Jaspar was a ruddy soul, like a red apple in -autumn. His strong point was his loyalty, a virtue that -had stiffened with the fibres of his heart. He could boast -neither of vast intelligence, nor of phenomenal courage, -but he had a conscience that had made gold of his whole -rough, stunted body. Your clever servant is often a rogue; -in the respect of apt villainy, the harper was a fool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ceased now and again from his digging, hung his -hooked chin over his spade, and snuffed the savour of the -clean brown earth. He thrust curt, furtive glances up -into the girl's face as she watched him, as though desirous -of reading her humour or her health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are weary," she said to him anon, looking blankly -into the trench.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man wagged his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye broken fast? There is bread and dried fruit -in the hut, and a pitcher of water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot eat--yet," she answered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed and continued his digging. The pile of russet -earth increased on the green grass at her feet; the trench -deepened. Jaspar moistened his palms, and toiled on, grunting -as he hove his libations of soil over his shoulder. Presently -he stood up again to rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do, madame?" he asked her, squinting -at the clouds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ride out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And whither?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Towards Gilderoy--as yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, ah, a fair town and strong. John of Brissac is -madame's friend. Good. Have we money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some gold nobles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They waxed silent again, and in a while the grave lay -finished. 'Twas shallow, but what of that! It gave -sanctuary enough for the dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went together, and gazed on the sleeping man's -face. It was grey, but very peaceful, with no hint of -horror thereon. The eyes were closed, and dew had starred -the white hair with a glistening web. Yeoland knelt and -kissed the forehead. She shivered and her hands trembled, -but she did not weep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they carried the Lord Rual between them, for he was -a spare man and frugal of frame, and laid him in the grave -beneath the oak. When they had smoothed his hair, and -crossed his hands upon his breast, they knelt and prayed to -the Virgin and the saints that in God's heaven he might -have peace. The wind in the boughs sang a forest -requiem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Yeoland had looked long at the white face in the -trench, she rose from her knees, and pointed Jaspar to his -spade. The harper took the measure of her mind. When -she had passed into the shadows of the trees, he mopped -his face, and entered on his last duty to the dead. It was -soon sped, soon ended. A pile of clean earth covered the -place. Jaspar banked the grave with turf, shouldered his -spade, and returned to the hovel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found the girl Yeoland seated on a fallen tree in the -forest, her ebon hair and apple-green gown gleaming under -the sweeping boughs. Her cheeks were white as windflowers, -her eyes full of a swimming gloom. She raised her chin, -and questioned the man mutely with a look that smouldered -under her arched brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you entered the tower?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's wrinkled face winced despite his years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you have me go?" he asked her in a hoarse -undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked into the vast mazes of the woods, shuddered -in thought, and was silent. Her mouth hardened; the -desire melted from her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said anon, turning her hood forward, and -drawing a green cloak edged with sables about her, "what -would it avail us? Let us sally at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little distance away, their horses, that had been -hobbled over night, stood grazing quietly on a patch of grass -under the trees. One was a great grey mare, the other a -bay jennet, glossy as silk. Jaspar caught them. He was -long over the girths and bridles, for his hands were stiff, -and his eyes dim. When he returned, Yeoland was still -standing like a statue, staring at the blackened tower -reeking amid the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly, they have burnt the anguish of it into my heart -with fire," she said, as Jaspar held her stirrup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God comfort you, madame!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us go, Jaspar, let us go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And whither, lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where revenge may lead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day brightened as they plunged down into the forest. -A light breeze rent the vapours, and a shimmer of sunlight -quivered through the haze. The tree-tops began to glisten -gold; and there was life in the deepening promise of the -sky. The empty woods rolled purple on the hills; the -greensward shone with a veil of gossamer; the earth grew -glad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pair had scant burden of speech upon their lips that -morning. They were still benumbed by the violence of the -night, and death still beckoned to their souls. Fate had -smitten them with such incredible and ponderous brevity. -On the dawn of yesterday, they had ridden out hawk on -wrist into the wilds, lost the bird in a long flight, and turned -homeward when evening was darkening the east. From a -hill they had seen the tower lifting its flame like a red and -revengeful finger to heaven. They had hastened on, with -the glare of the fire spasmodic and lurid over the trees. In -one short hour they had had speech with death, and came -point to point with the bleak sword of eternity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What wonder then that they rode like mutes to a burial, -still of tongue and dull of heart? Life and the zest thereof -were at low ebb, colourless as a wintry sea. Joy's crimson -wings were smirched and broken; the lute of youth was -unstrung. A granite sky had drawn low above their heads, -and to the girl a devil ruled the heavens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before noon they had threaded the wild waste of woodland -that girded the tower like a black lagoon. They came -out from the trees to a heath, a track that struck green and -purple into the west, and boasted nought that could infringe -the blue monotony of the sky. It was a wild region, swept -by a wind that sighed perpetually amid the gorse and heather. -By the black rim of the forest they had dismounted and -partaken of bread and water before pushing on with a -listless persistence that won many miles to their credit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man Jaspar was a phlegmatic soul in the hot sphere -of action. He was a circumspect being who preferred -heading for the blue calm of a haven in stormy weather, -to thrusting out into the tossing spume of the unknown. -The girl Yeoland, on the contrary, had an abundant spirit, -and an untamed temper. Her black eyes roved restlessly -over the world, and she tilted her chin in the face of Fate. -Jaspar, knowing her fibre, feared for her moods with the -more level prudence of stagnant blood. Her obstinacy -was a hazardous virtue, hawk-like in sentiment, not given -to perching on the boughs of reason. Moreover, being -cumbered with a generous burden of pity, he was in mortal -dread of wounding her pale proud grief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By way of being diplomatic, he began by hinting that -there were necessities in life, trivial no doubt, but inevitable, -as sleep and supper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord John of Brissac is your friend," he meandered, -"a strong lord, and a great; moreover, he hates those of -Gambrevault, God chasten their souls! Fontenaye is no -long ride from Gilderoy. Madame will lodge there till -she can come by redress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame had no thought of being beholden to the -gentleman in question. Jaspar understood as much from -a very brief debate. Lord John of Brissac was forbidden -favour, being as black a pard when justly blazoned as any -seigneur of Gambrevault. The harper's chin wagged on -maugre her contradiction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have bread for a day," he chirped, dropping upon -banalities by way of seeming wise. "The nights are cold, -madame, damp as a marsh. As for the water-pot----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Water may be had--for the asking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And bread?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we ride for Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The assumption was made with an excellent unction -that betrayed the seeming sincerity of the philosopher. -Yeoland stared ahead over her horse's ears, with a clear -disregard for Jaspar and his discretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are like leaves blown about in autumn," she said to -him, "wanderers with fortune. You have not grasped my -temper. I warrant you, there is method in me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar looked blank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange method, madame, to ride nowhere, to -compass nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned on him with a sudden rapid gleam out of her -passionate eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing! You call revenge nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harper appealed to his favourite saint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Jude forfend that madame should follow such a -marsh fire," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had drawn towards the margin of the heath. -Southwards it sloped to the rim of a great pine forest, -that seemed to clasp it with ebonian arms. The place -was black, mysterious, impenetrable, fringed with a -palisading of dark stiff trunks, but all else, a vast undulation -of sombre plumes. Its spires waved with the wind. -There was a soundless awe about its sable galleries, a -saturnine gloom that hung like a curtain. In the vague -distance, a misty height seemed to struggle above the ocean -of trees, like the back of some great beast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, keen of face, reined in her jennet, and pointed -Jaspar to this landscape of sombre hues. There was an -alert lustre in her eyes; she drew her breath more quickly, -like one whose courage kindles at the cry of a trumpet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Black Wild," she said with a little hiss of -eagerness, and a glance that was almost fierce under her -coal-black brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar shook his head with the cumbersome wit of an ogre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, yes, madame, a bloody region, packed with -rumours, dark as its own trees; no stint of terror, I -warrant ye. See yonder, the road to Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl in the green cloak seemed strongly stirred -by her own thoughts. Her face had a wild elfin look for -the moment, a beautiful and daring insolence that deified -her figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Gilderoy?" she said abstractedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy lies south-east; Gambrevault south-west -many leagues. Southwards, one would find the sea, in due -season. Eastwards, we touch Geraint, and the Roman -road."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland nodded as though her mind were already -adamant in the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will take to the forest," ran her decretal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here was crass sentiment extravagantly in the ascendant, -mad wilfulness pinioning forth like a bat into gloom. -Jaspar screwed his mouth into a red knot, blinked and -waxed argumentative with a vehemence that did his -circumspection credit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A mad scheme."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What better harbour for the night than yonder trees?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who will choose us a road? I pray you consider it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland answered him quietly enough. She had set her -will on the venture, was in a desperate mood, and could -therefore scorn reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar, my friend," she said, "I am in a wild humour, -and ripe for the wild region. Peril pleases me. The -unknown ever draweth the heart, making promise of -greater, stranger things. What have I to lose? If you -play the craven, I can go alone."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iii"><span class="large">III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The avenues of the pine forest engulfed the harper and -the lady. The myriad crowded trunks hemmed them with -a stubborn and impassive gloom. A faint wind moved in -the tree-tops. Dim aisles struck into an ever-deepening -mystery of shadow, as into the dark mazes of a dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wild was as some primæval waste, desolate and -terrible, a vast flood of sombre green rolling over hill and -valley. Its thickets plunged midnight into the bosom of -day. On the hills, the trees stood like traceried pinnacles, -spears blood-red in the sunset, or splashed with the -glittering magic of the moon. There were dells sunk deep -beneath crags; choked with dense darkness, unsifted by -the sun. Winding alleys white with pebbles as with the -bones of the dead, wound through seething seas of gorse. -In summer, heather sucked with purple lips at the tapestries -of moss blazoning the ground, bronze, green, and gold. It -was a wild region, and mysterious, a shadowland moaned -over by the voice of a distressful wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland held southwards by the gilded vane of the sun. -She had turned back her hood upon her shoulders, and -fastened her black hair over her bosom with a brooch of -amethysts. The girl was wise in woodlore and the -philosophies of nature. The sounds and sights of the forest -were like a gorgeous missal to her, blazoned with all -manner of magic colours. She knew the moods of hawk and -hound, had camped often under the steely stare of a winter -sky, had watched the many phases of the dawn. Hers was -a nature ripe for the hazardous intent of life. It was she -who led, not Jaspar. The harper followed her with a -martyred reason, having, for all his discontent, some faith -in her keen eyes and the delicate decision of her chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a steady dejection in the girl's mood--a -dejection starred, however, with red wrath like sparks -glowing upon tinder. She was no Agnes, no Amorette, -mere pillar of luscious beauty. Her eyes were as -blue-black shields, flashing with many sheens in the face of -day. The flaming tower, the dead figure in the forest -grave, had thrust the gentler part out of her being. She -was miserable, mute, yet full of a volcanic courage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the harper, a rheumy dissatisfaction pervaded his -temper. His blood ran cold as a toad's in winter weather. -He blew upon his fingers, dreaming of inglenooks and hot -posset, and the casual luxuries the forest did not promise. -Yeoland considered not the old man's babblings. Her -heart looked towards the dawn, and knew nothing of the -twilight under the dark eaves of age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had pressed a mile or more into the waste, and the -day was waxing sere and yellow in the west. Before them -ran a huge thicket, its floor splashed with tawny splendours, -the sable plumes touched with gold by the sun. Its deep -bosom hung full of purple gloom, dusted with amber, wild -and windless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden "hist" from his lady's lips made the harper -start in the saddle. Her hand had snatched at his bridle. -Both horses came to a halt. The man looked at her as -they sat knee to knee; she was alert and vigilant, her eyes -bright as the eyes of a hawk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marked you that?" she said to him in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar gave her a vacant stare and shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boughs swaying in the wind, no more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland enlightened him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush. There's no wind moving. A glimmer of -armour, yonder, up the slope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Jude!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A flash, it has gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They held silent under the drooping boughs, listening, -with noiseless breath. The breeze made mysterious -murmurings with a vague unrest; now and again a twig -cracked, or some forest sound floated down like a filmy -moth on the quiet air. The trees were dumb and saturnine, -as though resenting suspicion of their sable aisles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar, peering over his shoulder, jerked out a word of -warning. Yeoland, catching the monosyllable from his -lips, and following his stare, glanced back into the eternal -shadows of the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see nothing," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar answered her slowly, his eyes still at gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A shadow slipping from trunk to trunk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see it no longer. The saints succour us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's face was dead white under her hair; her -mouth gaped like a circle of jet. She listened constantly. -Her head moved in stately fashion on her slim neck, as -she shot glances hither and thither into the glooms, her -eyes challenging the world. She felt peril, but was no -craven in the matter--a contrast to Jaspar, who shook as -with an ague.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harper's distress broke forth into petulant declaiming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trapped," he said; "I could have guessed as much, -with all this fooling. These skulkers are like crows round -carrion. Shall we lose much, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gold, Jaspar, if they are content with such. What -if they should be of Gambrevault!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harper gave a quivering whistle, a shrill breath -between his teeth, eloquent of the unpleasant savour of -such a chance. It was beyond him for the moment -whether he preferred being held up by a footpad, to being -bullied by some ruffian of a feudatory. He had a mere -bodkin of a dagger in his belt, and little lust for the letting -of blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a chance, madame," he said, with a certain lame -sententiousness, "that had not challenged my attention. -Say nothing of Cambremont; one word would send us to -the devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I a fool? Since these gentlemen will not declare -themselves, let us hold on and tempt their purpose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thinking to see the swirl of shadows under the trees, -the glimmer of steel in the forest's murk, they rode on at -a lifeless trot. Nothing echoed to their thoughts. The -woods stood impassive, steeped in solitude. There was a -strange atmosphere of peace about the place that failed to -harmonise their fears. Yet like a prophecy of wind there -stole in persistently above the muffled tramp of hoofs, a -dull, characterless sound, touched with the crackling of -rotten wood, that seemed to hint at movement in the -shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pair pressed on vigilant and silent. Anon they -came to a less multitudinous region, where the trees -thinned, and a columned ride dwindled into infinite gloom. -Betwixt the black stems of the trees flashed sudden a -streak of scarlet, torchlike in the shadows. An armed -rider in a red cloak, mounted on a sable horse, kept vigil -silently between the boles of two great firs. He was -immobile as rock, his spear set rigid on his thigh, his red -plume sweeping the green fringes of the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This solemn figure stood like a sanguinary challenge to -Yeoland and the harper. Here at least was something -tangible in the flesh, more than a mere shadow. The pair -drew rein, questioning each other mutely with their eyes, -finding no glimmer of hope on either face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they debated with their glances over the hazard, a -voice came crying weirdly through the wood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pass on," it said, "pass on. Pay ye the homage of the -day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This forest cry seemed to loosen the dilemma. Certainly -it bore wisdom in its counsel, seeing that it advised -the inevitable, and ordered action. Yeoland, bankrupt of -resource, took the unseen herald at his word, and rode on -slowly towards the knight on the black horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man abode their coming like a statue, his red cloak -shining sensuously under the sombre green of the boughs. -A canopy of golden fire arched him in the west. He sat -his horse with a certain splendid arrogance, that puzzled -not a little the conjectures of Yeoland and the harper. -This was neither the mood nor the equipment of a -vagabond soul. The fine spirit of the picture hinted briskly -at Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pair came to a halt under the two firs. The man -towered above them on his horse, grim and gigantic, a -great statue in black and burnished steel. His salade with -beaver lowered shone ruddy in the sun. His saddle was -of scarlet leather, bossed with brass and fringed with sable -cord. Gules flamed on his shield, devoid of all device, a -strong wedge of colour, bare and brave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl caught the gleam of the man's eyes through the -grid of his vizor. He appeared to be considering her much -at his leisure with a keen silence, that was not wholly -comforting. Palpably he was in no mood for haste, or for -such casual courtesies that might have ebbed from his -soundless strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Full two minutes passed before a deep voice rolled -sonorously from the cavern of the casque.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," it said, "be good enough to consider yourself -my prisoner. Rest assured that I bring you no peril -save the peril of an empty purse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a certain powerful complacency in the voice, -pealing with the deep clamour of a bell through the silence -of the woods. The man seemed less ponderous and sinister, -giant that he was. The girl's eyes fenced with him -fearlessly under the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Presumably," she said to him, "you are a notorious -fellow; I have the misfortune to be ignorant of these -parts and their possessors. Be so courteous as to unhelm -to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her tone did not stir the man from his reserve of gravity. -Her words were indeed like so many ripples breaking -against a rock. The voice retorted to her calmly from -the helmet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, leave matters to my discretion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled in his face despite herself, a smile half of -petulance, half of relish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You pretend to wisdom, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forethought, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I your prisoner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No new thing, madame; I have possessed you since -you ventured into these shadows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a gesture with his spear, holding it at arm's -length above his head, where it quivered like a reed in his -staunch grip. A sound like the moving of a distant wind -arose. The dark alleys of the wood grew silvered with -a circlet of steel. The shafts of the sunset flickered on -pike and bassinet, gleaming amid the verdured glooms. -Again the man's spear shook, again the noise as of a wind, -and the girdle of steel melted into the shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is satisfied?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sucked in her breath through her red lips, and was -mute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave matters to my discretion. You there, in the -brown smock, fall back twenty paces. Madame, I wait -for you. Let us go cheek by jowl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man wheeled his horse, shook his spear, hurled a -glance backward over his shoulder into the woods. There -was no gainsaying him for the moment. Yeoland, bending -to necessity, sent Jaspar loitering, while she flanked -the black destrier with her brown jennet. She debated -keenly within herself whither this adventure could be -leading her, as she rode on with this unknown rider into -the wilds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the red cloak was wondrous mute at first, -an iron pillar of silence gleaming under the trees. The -girl knew that he was watching her from behind his salade, -for she caught often the white glimmer of his stare. He -bulked largely in the descending gloom, a big man deep -of chest, with shoulders like the broad ledges of some -sea-washed rock. He was richly appointed both as to his -armour and his trappings; to Yeoland his shield showed -a blank face, and he carried no crest or token in his helmet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had ridden two furlongs or more before the man -stepped from his pedestal of silence. He had been -studying the girl with the mood of a philosopher, had seen her -stark, strained look, the woe in her eyes, the firm closure -of her lips. The strong pride of grief in her had pleased -him; moreover he had had good leisure to determine the -character of her courage. His first words were neither -very welcome to the girl's ears nor productive of great -comfort, so far as her apprehensions were concerned. -Bluntly came the calm challenge from the casque.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter of Rual of Cambremont, you have changed -little these five years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland gave the man a stare. Seeing that his features -were screened by his helmet, the glance won her little -satisfaction. She knew that he was watching her to his own -profit, and her discovery, for the reflex look she had flashed -at him, must have told him all he desired, if he had any -claim to being considered observant. There was that also -in the tone and tenor of his words that implied that he had -ventured no mere tentative statement, but had spoken to -assure her that her name and person were not unknown -to him. Acting on the impression, she tacitly confessed to -the justice of his charge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Palpably," she said, "my face is known to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even so, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will you hold me at a disadvantage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is ignorance burdensome?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She imagined of a sudden that the man was smiling -behind his beaver. Being utterly serious herself, she -discovered an illogical lack of sympathy in the stranger's -humour. Moreover she was striving to spell Gambrevault -from the alphabet of word and gesture, and to come -to an understanding with the doubts of the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he retorted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mere stone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer he lapsed into sudden reflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is five years ago this Junetide," he said, "since the -King and the Court came to Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the town, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stared back upon a sudden vision of the past, a past -gorgeous with the crimson fires of youth. That Junetide -she had worn a new green gown, a silver girdle, a red rose -in her hair. There had been jousting in the Gilderoy -meadows, much braying of trumpets, much splendour, -much pomp of arms. She remembered the scent and -colour of it all; the blaze of tissues of gold and green, -purple and azure. She remembered the flickering of a -thousand pennons in the wind, the fair women thronging -the galleries like flowers burdening a bowl. The vision -came to her undefiled for the moment, a dream-memory, -calm as the first pure pageant of spring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, messire?" she said, with more colour of face -and soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rode in the King's train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A noble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I bulk for a cook or a falconer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Yet you remember me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As it were yesterday, walking in the meadows at your -father's side--your father, that Rual who carried the banner -when the King's men stormed Gaerlent these forty years -ago. Not, madame, that I followed that war; I was a mass -of swaddling-clothes puking in a cradle. So we grow old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's face had darkened again on the instant. -The man in the red cloak saw her eyes grow big of -pupil, her lips straightened into a colourless line. She -held her head high, and stared into the purple gloom of -the woods. Memories were with her. The present had -an iron hand upon her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Time changes many things," he said, with a discretion -that desired to soften the silence; "we go from cradle to -throne in one score years, from life to clay in a moment. -Pay no homage to circumstance. The wave covers the -rock, but the granite shows again its glistening poll when -the water has fallen. A Hercules can strangle Fate. As -for me, I know not whether I have soared in the estimation -of heaven; yet I can swear that I have lost much of the -vagabond, sinful soul that straddled my shoulders in the -past."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a warm ruggedness about the man, a flippant -self-knowledge, that touched the girl's fancy. He was -either a strong soul, or an utter charlatan, posing as a -Diogenes. She preferred the former picture in her heart, -and began to question him again with a species of -picturesque insolence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I presume, messire," she said, "that you have some -purpose in life. From my brief dealings with you, I should -deem you a very superior footpad. I gather that it is your -intention to rob me. I confess that you seem a gentleman -at the business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of the red cloak laughed in his helmet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be frank, madame," he said, "you may dub me a -gatherer of taxes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Being unfortunates and outcasts from the lawful ways -of life, my men and I seek to remedy the injustice of the -world by levying toll on folk more happy than ourselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you condemn me as fortunate?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your defence, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl smiled with her lips, but her eyes were hard and -bright as steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might convince you otherwise," she said, "but no -matter. Why should I be frank with a thief, even though -he be nobly born?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, madame, the thief may be of service to the lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have little silver for your wallet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I nothing but a money-bag!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him with a straight stare; her voice -was level, even imperious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your vizor," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the black harness hesitated, then obeyed her. -She could see little of his face, however, save that it was -bronzed, and that the eyes were very masterful. She -ventured further in the argument, being bent on fathoming the -baser instincts of the business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Knight of the red shield," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you an honest question. If you would serve me, -speak the truth, and let me know my peril. Are you the -Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, or no?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man never hesitated an instant. There was no -wavering to cast doubt upon his sincerity, or upon his -intelligence as a liar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, madame," he answered her, "I am not the Lord -of Gambrevault and Avalon, and may I, for the sake of my -own neck, never come single-handed within his walls. I -have an old feud with the lords of Gambrevault, and when -the chance comes, I shall settle it heavily to my credit. If -you have any ill to say of the gentleman, pray say it, and -be happy in my sympathy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha," she said, with a sudden flash of malice, "I would -give my soul for that fellow's head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," quoth the man, with a keen look, "that would be a -most delectable bargain."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iv"><span class="large">IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The stems thinned about them suddenly, and the sky -grew great beyond a more meagre screen of boughs. To -the west, breaking the blood-red canopy with an edge of -agate, rocks towered heavenwards, smiting golden-fanged -into a furnace of splendour. Waves of light beat in spray -upon the billowy masses of the trees, dying in the east into -a majestic mask of gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland and the man in red came forth into a little -glade, hollowed by the waters of a rush-edged pool. A -stream, a scolloped sheet of foam, stumbled headlong into -the mere, vanishing beyond like a frail white ghost into -the woods. A fire danced in the open, and under the -trees stood a pavilion of red cloth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man dismounted and held the girl's stirrup. A -quick glance round the glade had shown her bales of -merchandise, littering the green carpet of the place, horses -tethered in the wood, men moving like gnomes about the -fire. Even as she dismounted, streaks of steel shone out -in the surrounding shadows. Armed men streamed in, -and piled their pikes and bills about the pines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the western end of the glade, a gigantic fir, a forest -patriarch, stood out above the more slender figures of -his fellows. The grotesque roots, writhing like talons, -tressled a bench of boughs and skins. Before the tree -burnt a fire, the draught sweeping upwards to fan the -fringe of the green fir's gown. The man in the black -harness took Yeoland to the seat under the tree. The -boughs arched them like a canopy, and the wood fire gave -a lusty heat in the gloaming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A boy had run forward to unhelm the knight in the red -cloak. Casque and sword lay on the bench of boughs and -skins. The girl's glance framed for the first time the -man's face. She surveyed him at her leisure under drooping -lids, with a species of reticent interest that escaped -boldness. It was one of those incidents to her that stand -up above the plain of life, and build individual history.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw a bronzed man with a tangle of tawny-red -hair, a great beak of a nose, and a hooked chin. His eyes -were like amber, darting light into the depth of life, alert, -deep, and masterful. There was a rugged and indomitable -vigour in the face. The mouth was of iron, yet not -unkind; the jaw ponderous; the throat bovine. The mask of -youth had palpably forsaken him; Life, that great chiseller -of faces, had set her tool upon his features, moulding them -into a strenuous and powerful dignity that suited his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He appeared to fathom the spirit of the girl's scrutiny, -nor did he take umbrage at the open and critical revision -of her glances. He inferred calmly enough, that she -considered him by no means blemishless in feature or in -atmosphere. Probably he had long passed that age when the -sanguine bachelor never doubts of plucking absolute favour -from the eyes of a woman. The girl was not wholly -enamoured of him. He was rational enough to read that -in her glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is in doubt," he said to her, with a glimmer of -a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to what, messire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You prefer the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I not a philosopher?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear the truth then, messire, I would not have you for -a master."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man laughed, a quiet, soundless laugh through -half-closed lips. There was something magnetic about his -grizzled and ironical strength, cased in its shell of -blackened steel. He had the air of one who had learnt to toy -with his fellows, as with so many strutting puppets. The -world was largely a stage to him, grotesque at some seasons, -strenuous at others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, a miracle indeed," he said, "a woman who can tell -the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ignored the gibe and ran on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name, messire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man spread his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon the omission. I am known as Fulviac of the -Forest. My heritage I judge to be the sword, and the -shadows of these same wilds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland considered him awhile in silence. The firelight -flickered on his harness, glittering on the ribbed and -jointed shoulder plates, striking a golden streak from the -edge of each huge pauldron. Mimic flames burnt red -upon his black cuirass, as in a darkened mirror. The -night framed his figure in an aureole of gloom, as he sat -with his massive head motionless upon its rock-like throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five years ago," she said suddenly, "you rode as a noble -in the King's train. Now you declare yourself a thief. -These things do not harmonise unless you confess to a -dual self."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he answered her, "I confess to nothing. If -you would be wise, eschew the past, and consider the -present at your service. I am named Fulviac, and I am an -outlaw. Let that grant you satisfaction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland glanced over the glade, walled in with the gloom -of the woods, the stream foaming in the dusk, the armed -men gathered about the further fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And these?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Outcasts also?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no hard things of them; they are folk whom the -world has treated scurvily; therefore they are at feud with -the world. The times are out of joint, tyrannous and -heavy to bear. The nobles like millstones grind the poor -into pulp, tread out the life from them, that the wine of -pleasure may flow into gilded chalices. The world is -trampled under foot. Pride and greed go hand in hand -against us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him under her long lashes, with the zest -of cavil slumbering in her eyes. Autocracy was a -hereditary right with her, even though feudalism had slain her -sire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would have the mob held in check," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how? By cutting off a man's ears when he spits -a stag. By splitting his nose for some small sin. By -branding beggars who thieve because their children starve. -Oh, equable and honest justice! God prevent me from -being poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with her great solemn eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spread his arms with a half-flippant dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, madame, I take the whole world into my bosom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And play the Christ weeping over Jerusalem?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, your wit is excellent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A spit had been turning over the large fire, a haunch of -venison being basted thereon by a big man in the cassock -of a friar. Certain of Fulviac's fellows came forward -bearing wine in silver-rimmed horns, white bread and meat upon -platters of wood. They stood and served the pair with a -silent and soldierly briskness that bespoke discipline. The -girl's hunger was as healthy as her sleek, plump neck, -despite the day's hazard and her homeless peril.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dusk had fallen fast; the last pennon of day shone an -eerie streak of saffron in the west. The forest stood -wrapped in the stupendous stillness of the night. An -impenetrable curtain of ebony closed the glade with its -rush-edged pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's servers had retreated to the fire, where a ring -of rough faces shone in the wayward light. The sound of -their harsh voices came up to the pair in concord with the -perpetual murmur of the stream. Yeoland had shaken the -bread-crumbs from her green gown. She was comforted -in the flesh, and ready for further foining with the man who -posed as her captor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sincerity is a rare virtue," she said, with a slight lifting -of the angles of her mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can endorse that dogma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you pretend to the same?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love the poor, conceive their wrongs to be your own?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled in his eyes like a man pleased with his -own thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I not said as much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I revere my own image."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And fame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He commended her and unbosomed in one breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity," he said, "is often a species of splendid pride. We -toil, we fight, we labour. Why? Because below all life -and effort, there burns an immortal egotism, an eternal -vanity. 'Liberty, liberty,' we cry, 'liberty and justice -man for man.' Yet how the soul glows at the sound of -its own voice! The human self hugs fame, and mutters, -'Lo, what a god am I in the eyes of the world!'"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="v"><span class="large">V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Silence fell between them for a season, a silence deep -and intangible as the darkness of the woods. The man's -mood had recovered its subtle calm, even as a pool that -has been stirred momentarily by the plashing of a stone -sinks into rippleless repose. He sat with folded arms -before the flare of the fire, watching the girl under his heavy -brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was very fair to look upon, slim, yet spirited as a -band of steel. Her ears shone out from her dusky hair -like apple blossoms in a mist of leaves. Her lips were -blood-red, sensitive, clean as the petals of a rose. Her -great grief had chastened her. From the curve of her -neck to the delicate strength of her white hands, she was -as rich an idyll as a man could desire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac considered her with a thought that leant -philosophically towards her beauty. He had grown weary of -love in his time; the passions of youth had burnt to dry -ashes; possibly he had been luckless in his knowledge of -the sex. He had married a wife of irreproachable birth, a -lady with a sharp nose and a lipless mouth, eyes of green, -and a most unholy temper. She was dead, had been dead -many years. The man had no delirious desire to meet her -again in heaven. As for this girl, he had need of her for -revolutionary reasons, and his mood to her was more that -of a father. Her spirit pleased him. Moreover, he knew -what he knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gazing at the flames, he spread his hands to them, and -entered again on the confines of debate. His voice had -the steady, rhythmic insistence of a bell pealing a curfew. -Its tone was that of a man not willing to be gainsaid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Therefore, madame, I would have you understand that -I desire in some measure to be a benefactor to the human -race."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take your word for it," she answered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I am an ambitious man, somewhat vain towards -fame, one that can glow in soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A human sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That loves to be thought great through warming the -universe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, you are epigrammatic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or enigmatic, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will," he answered her; "your womanhood -makes you an enigma; it is your birthright. Understand -that I possess power."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fifty cut-throats tied to a purse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider me a serious figure in the world's sum."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will, messire. You are an outlaw, a leader of -fifty vagabonds, a man with ideals as to the establishing of -justice. You are going to subvert the country. Very -good. I have learnt my lesson. But how is all this going -to help me out of the wood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took his sword, and balanced it upon his wrist. -The red light from the fire flashed on the swaying -steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our hopes are more near of kin, madame, than you imagine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault's raiders burnt your home, -slew your father, exterminated your brethren. This -happened but a day ago. You do not love this Flavian of -Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her whole figure stiffened spasmodically as at the prick -of a sword. Her eyes, with widely open pupils, flashed up -to Fulviac's face. She questioned him through her set -teeth with a passionate whisper of desire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face mellowed; the arm bearing the sword was -steady as the limb of an oak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am wiser in many ways than you imagine," he said. -"Look at me, I am no longer young; I hate women; I -patronise God. You are a mere child; to you life is dark -and perilous as this wilderness of pines. Your trouble is -known to me, because it is my business to know of such -things. It was my deliberate intent that you should fall -into my hands to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was still rigidly astonied. She stared at him -mutely with dubious eyes. The man and his philosophy -were beyond her for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" she said to him with a quaver of entreaty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First, you will honour me by saying that I have your -trust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How may I promise you that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I am surety for my own honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled in his face despite the occasion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem very sure of your own soul," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, it has taken me ten years to come by so -admirable a state. Self-knowledge carried to the depths, -builds up self-trust. I may take it for granted that you -hate the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you ask that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes echoed the mood of the flame. Fulviac, watching -her, saw the strong wrack of wrath twisting her delicate -features for the moment into pathetic ugliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have courage," he said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ample, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault is the greatest lord in the south."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am as wise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On that score, this Flavian and Fulviac of the Forest -are irreconcilable as day and night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood his sword pommel upwards in the grass, -and ran on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day I shall slay this same Flavian of Gambrevault. -His blood will expiate the blood of these your -kinsfolk. Therefore, madame, you will be my debtor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all?" she asked him with a wistfulness in her -voice that was even piteous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac looked long into the fire like a man whose -thoughts channel under the crust of years. Pity for the -girl had gone to the heart under the steel cuirass, a pity -that was not the pander of desire. His eyes took a new -meaning into their keen depths; he looked to have grown -suddenly younger by some years. When he spoke again, -his voice had lost its half-mocking and grandiose confidence. -It was the voice of a man who strides generous and eager -into the breach of fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," he said to her, "I may tell you that your -sorrow has armed my manhood. Give me my due; I am -more than a mere vagabond. You have been cruelly dealt -with; I take your cause upon the cross of my sword."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, messire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even so. I need a good woman, a brave woman. -You please me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a necessity to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, messire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a matter of religion and of justice. Trust to my -honour. You shall learn more in due season."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, smitten with incredulity, stared at the man in -mute surmise. Here was an amazing circumstance--robbery -idealised, soul, body, purse, at one bold swoop. In -her mystification, she could find nothing to say to the man -for the moment, even though he had promised her a refuge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very sure of yourself," she said at length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you leave me in ignorance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, we are to undertake great deeds together, -great perils. I could hold up an astonishing future to your -eyes, but for the present I keep silence. Rest assured -that you shall be accorded such honour as the Virgin -herself could desire. Remember that I give you promise of -vengeance, and a home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl drew a deep breath, as though taking the spirit -of the hour into her bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I refuse?" she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot refuse," came the level retort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, messire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your consent, though pleasant, is not necessary in the -matter. I have long ago determined to appropriate you to -my ambition."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vi"><span class="large">VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac's lair lay deep within the waving wilderness of -pines. Above the spires of the forest, a massive barrier of -rock thrust up its rugged bartisans into the blue. East -and west it stretched a mile or more, concavitated towards -the north, and standing like a huge breakwater amid the -sea of boughs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rocky plateau above was peopled by pines and -rowans, thatched also with a wild tangle of briar, whin, and -heather. Crannies cleft into it; caves tunnelled its massive -bosom; innumerable minarets of stone mingled with the -wind-wracked trees. The cliffs rose like the walls of a -castle donjon from the forest floor, studded with dwarf -trees, bearded with ferns and grass. The plateau was -inaccessible from the forest save by a thin rocky track, where -the western slope of the cliff tailed off to merge into the -trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The significance of the place to Fulviac lay in the -existence of a cavern or series of caves piercing the cliff, -and opening both upon the southern and northern facades -of the mass. A wooden causeway led to the southern -entry, bridging a small gorge where a stream foamed under -the pines. The yawn of the southern opening had been -built up with great blocks of stone, and the rough walls -pierced by narrow squints, and a gate opening under a -rounded arch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within, the roof of the main cavern arched abruptly -upwards, hollowing a great dome over the smooth floor -beneath. This grotesque and rock-ripped hall served as -guard-room and dormitory, a very various chamber. -Winding ways smote from it into the black bowels of the cliff. -The height of the main cavern dwindled as it tunnelled -northwards into the rock. A second wall of stone -partitioned the guard-room from a second and smaller chamber, -lit always by a great lamp pendent from the ceiling, a -chamber that served Fulviac as state-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From Fulviac's parlour the cavern narrowed to a throat-like -gallery that had been expanded by human craft into a -third and smaller room. This last rock chamber was -wholly more healthy and habitable than the others. Its -walls stood squarely from floor to rocky roof, and it was -blessed with a wide casement, that stared northwards over -a vista of obeisant trees. A postern gave entry to the -room from a narrow platform, and from this ledge a stairway -cut in the flank of the cliff dwindled into the murk of -the forest below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A more romantic atmosphere had swept into the bleak -galleries of the place that winter. Plundered stores were -ransacked, bales of merchandise ungirded, caskets and chests -pilfered as for the endowing of the chamber of a queen. -The northern room in the cliff blossomed into the rich -opulence of a lady's bower. Its stone walls were panelled -with old oak carvings taken from some ancient manor. -There were tapestries of green, gold, and purple; an -antique bed with a tester of silver silk, its flanks blazoned -with coloured escutcheons. Painted glass, azure, red, and -gold, jewelled the casement, showing also Sebastian bound -to his martyr's tree. A Jew merchant plundered on the -road had surrendered a set of brazen ewers, a lute inlaid -with pearl, a carpet woven on the looms of the purple East. -There were mirrors of steel about the walls. A carved -prayer-desk, an embroidery frame, a crucifix wrought in -ivory: Fulviac had consecrated all these to Yeoland, dead -Rual's daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A white lily amid a horde of thistles! The girl's life -had drawn under the black shadow of the cliff, and into the -clanging torrent of these rough men of the sword. It was -a wild age and a wild region. Fulviac's rogues were like -wolves in a forest lair, keen, bloody, and relentless. There -was a rude strain of violence running through the strenuous -mood of the place, like the song of Norse rovers, piercing -the roar of the sea. Mystery enveloped the girl, war, and -the sound of the sword. She fumbled at the riddle of Fate -with the trembling fingers of one who unbars a prison gate -in the hush of night. It was all strange and fantastic -beyond the riot of a dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," Fulviac had said to her when he had hung a -key at her girdle, "I have bidden you trust me; remember -that I trust you in turn. Take this room as your -sanctuary. Lock me out when you will. I prepare, among -other things, to perfect your vengeance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland suffered him and her necessity. She was -shrewdly wise in the conviction that it would be useless -to rebel against the man. Though over-masterful and -secretive, his purpose appeared benignant in the opulence -of its favour. Moreover, the forest was as a vast web -holding her within the maze of the unknown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no alternative," she said to him, "I am in your -power. And yet, I believe you are no villain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your charity pleases me. I am a man with a strong -purpose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For good?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I not need you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I then so powerful a person?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will learn anon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem something of a mystic," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he retorted, "trust my discretion. In due -season I shall unfold to you certain aspects of life that -will kindle your sympathies. I shall appeal to the woman -in you. When you are wise you will commend my ambition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak in riddles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait. As yet you see through a glass darkly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the mountainous north to the warm southern sea, -from the wooded west to the eastern fens, the good King -ruled, holding many great barons in feudal faith, and -casting his fetters of gold over Church and State. Chivalry -moved through the world to the clangour of arms and the -songs of the troubadour. Lutes sounded on terrace and -in garden, fair women bloomed like roses, bathed in a -sensuous blaze of romance. Baron made war upon baron; -glory and death were crowned together. The painter spread -his colours in the halls of the great; the goldsmith and the -carver wrought wondrous things to charm the eye. Church -bells tolled. Proud abbots carried the sword, and made fine -flutter among the women. Innumerable saints crowded the -avenues to heaven. It was a fair age and very lovely, full -of colour and desire, music and the odour of romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the poor? Their lot hung largely on the humour -of an overlord, or the state of a gentleman's stomach. They -had their saints' days, their games, their pageants, their -miracle plays. They had hovels of clay and wattle; labour -in wind and rain; plagues and pestilences in the rotting -filth of their city alleys. They marked the great folk go -by in silks and cloth of gold, saw the pomp and opulence -of that other life, remembered their own rags and their -squealing children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet, consider the broad inclinations of the world. -To eat, to be warm, to satisfy the flesh, to ease a lust, to -drink beer. There was no very vast gulf betwixt the rich -man and the poor. The one feasted to music, the other -scraped a bone to the dirge of toil. They had like appetites, -like satisfactions, and hell is considered to be Utopian -in the extreme. The poor man envied the rich; the rich -man ruled the poor. Envy, that jingling demagogue, has -made riotous profit out of such a stew since the world was -young.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's cliff was shut out from the ken of man by -leagues of woodland, moor, and waste. The great pine -forest girded it in its inmost bosom. No wayfarers rode -that way; no huntsman ranged so deep; the place had an -evil rumour; many whom it had welcomed had never -returned. Romancers had sung of it, the lay of Guingamor. -Horror ruled black-browed over its pine-cumbered hills, its -gloomy depths. Solitude abode there, as over a primæval -sea, and there was no sound save the moan or storm-cry -of the wind over its troubled trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>According to legend lore, Romulus peopled Rome with -the offscourings of Italy. Fulviac had emulated the device -with the state-craft of a strong conspirator. The forest -stood a grand accomplice, abetting him with its myriad -sentinels, who gossiped solely with the wind. The venture -had been finely conceived, finely edificated. A cliff, a cave, -five-score armed men. Not a vast power on the face of -it to threaten a system or to shake a throne. Superficialities -were fallacious, the surface false and fair as glistening -ice. The forest hid more than a company of ruffians -banded together to resist tyranny. Enthusiasm, genius, -vigour, such torches, like a burning hovel, can fling a city -into flame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she was more than mocked by -the swift vagaries of life. Two days of mordant realism -had erased from her heart the dream visions of childhood. -To be declared homeless, kinless, in one day; to be bereft -of liberty the next! To what end? She stared round the -richly-garnished room into which Fate had thrust her, -fingered the pearl-set lute, gazed at her own face in the -steel mirrors. She was the same woman, yet how -differently circumstanced! Fulviac's mood had not hinted at -love, or at any meaner jest. What power could he -prophesy to his advantage in the mere fairness of her face? -What was the gall of a woman's vengeance to a man who -had conceived the downfall of a kingdom?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her knowledge of psychology was rustic in the extreme, -and she had no wit for the unravelling of Fulviac's -subtleties. There were certain convictions, however, that abode -with her even in her ignorance. She could have taken oath -that he was no mere swashbuckler, no captain of outlaws, -no mere spoiler of men. Moreover, she believed him to be -the possessor of some honour, and a large guerdon of virility. -Lastly, pity appealed her as a sentiment not to be discarded. -The man, whoever he might be, appeared desirous of -putting his broad shoulders betwixt her and the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac grew perspicuous sooner than she could have -prophesied. He had a fine, cloud-soaring way with him -that seemed to ignore the mole-hills of common circumspection. -He had wit enough also to impose his trust on -others with a certain graceful confidence that carried bribery -in the very generosity of its hardiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>March was upon them like a spirit of discord, wild, -riotous weather, with the wind thundering like storm-waves -upon the cliff. The pines were buffeting each other in the -forest, and reeling beneath the scourgings of the breeze. -Fulviac came to the girl one windy noon, when the caverns -were full of the breath of the storm. His manner to her -seemed as a significant prelude, heralding the deep utterance -of some human epic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took the girl by a winding stair leading from the -guard-room--a stair that circled upwards in the thickness -of the rock some hundred steps or more, and opened into a -basin-shaped pit on the plateau above. Dwarf trees and -briars domed the hollow, giving vision of a grey and hurrying -sky. The pair climbed a second stair that led to a rock -perched like a pulpit on the margin of the southern -precipice. The wind swept gusty and tempestuous over the -cliff. It tossed back the girl's hood, made her stagger; she -would have fallen had not Fulviac gripped her arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below stretched an interminable waste of trees, of bowing -pine-tops, and dishevelled boughs. The dull green of the -forest merged into the grey of the cloud-strewn sky. On -either hand the craggy bulwarks of the cliffs stretched east -and west, its natural bartisans and battlements topped by a -cornice of mysterious pines. It was a superb scene, rich -with a wild liberty, stirred by the wizard chanting of the -wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac watched the girl as she stood limned against the -grey curtain of the sky. Her hair blew about her white -throat and shoulders in sombre streams; her eyes were very -bright under their dusky lashes; and the wind had kissed a -stronger colour into her cheeks. She was clad in a kirtle -of laurel-green cloth, bound about the waist with a girdle -of silver. A white kerchief lay like snow over her shoulders -and bosom; her green sleeves were slashed and puffed with -crimson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wild country," he said, looking in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wild as the sea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a romanticist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a curt laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After what I have suffered!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Romance and sorrow go hand in hand. For the -moment my words are more material. You see this cliff?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him and stood watching his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This cliff is the core of a kingdom. A granite wedge -to hurl feudalism to ruins, to topple tyranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded slowly, with a grave self-reservation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have hinted that you are ambitious," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ambition would have stormed heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your ladder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man made a strong gesture, like one who points a -squadron to the charge. His eyes shone with a glint of -grimness under his shaggy brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The rabid discontent of the poor, fermenting ever under -the crust of custom. The hate of the toiler for the fop -and the fool. The iron that lies under the rusting -injustice of riches. The storm-cry of a people's vengeance -against the tyrant and the torturer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, solemn of face, groped diligently amid her -surmises. The man was a visionary by his own showing; -it was impossible to mistake him for a fool. Like all -beings of uncommon power, he combined imagination -with that huge vigour of mind that moves the world. A -vast element of strength lay coiled in him, subtle, yet -overpowering as the body of some great reptile. The girl felt -the gradual magic of his might mesmerising her with the -inevitableness of its approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have brought me here?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I promised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To tell you something of the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with a penetrating frankness that was -in spirit--laudatory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You put great trust in me," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I may trust the more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat himself down on a ledge of rock, and proceeded -to parade before her imagination such visions as were well -conceived to daze the reason of a girl taken fresh from a -forest hermitage. He spoke of riot, revolution, and -revenge; painted Utopias established beneath the benediction -of a just personal tyranny, a country purged of oppression, -a kingdom cleansed of pride. He told of arms stored in the -warrens of the cliff, of grain and salted meat sufficient for an -army. He pointed out the vast strength of the place, the -plateau approachable only by the stairway in the cliff, and the -narrow causeway towards the west. He described it as -sufficient for the gathering and massing of a great host. -Finally, he swept his hand over the leagues of forestland, -dark as the sea, isleting the place from the ken of the -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand me?" he said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and waited with closed lips. He gazed at -the horizon, and spoke in parables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The King and the nobles are throned upon a pile of -brushwood. A torch is plunged beneath; a tempest -scourges the beacon into a furnace. The kingdom burns."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider me no mere visionary; I have the country at -my back. For five years the work has gone on in secret. I -have trusted nothing to chance. It needs a bold man to -strike at a kingdom. I--Fulviac, am that man."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vii"><span class="large">VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The free city of Gilderoy climbed red-roofed up a rocky -hill, a hill looped south-east and west by the blue breadth -of the river Tamar. Its castle, coroneting the central -rock, smote into the azure, a sheaf of glistening towers -and turrets, vaned with gold. Lower still, the cathedral's -sable crown brooded above a myriad red-tiled roofs and -wooden gables. Many fair gardens blazoned the higher -slopes of the city. Tall walls of grey stone ringed round -the whole, grim and quaint with bartisan and turret. To -the north, green meadows dipped to the billowy distance -of the woods. The silver streak of the sea could be -seen southwards from the platforms of the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gilderoy was a rich city and a populous, turbulent -withal, holding honourable charters from the King, -exceeding proud of its own freedom. Its Guilds were the -wealthiest in all the south; the coffers of its Commune -overflowed with gold. Nowhere was fairer cloth woven -than in Gilderoy. Nowhere could be found more -cunning smiths, more subtle armourers. The mansions -of its rich merchant folk were wondrous opulent and -great, bedight with goodly tapestry and all manner of rare -furniture. Painters had gathered to it from the far south; -its courtezans were the joy of the whole kingdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two days after his confessions on the cliff, Fulviac -took horse, mounted Yeoland on a white palfrey, and -rode for Gilderoy through the forest. The man was -upholstered as a merchant, in a plum-coloured cloak, a -cap of sables, and a Venetian mail cape. Yeoland wore -a light blue jupon edged with silver, a green kirtle, a -cloak of brocaded Tartarin. She rode beside the man, -demure as a daughter, her bridle of scarlet leather merry -with silver bells. Two armed servants and some six -packhorses completed the cavalcade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had fallen into one of his silent moods that day. -He was saturnine and enigmatic as though immersed in -thought. The girl won nothing from him as to the -purpose of their ride. They were for Gilderoy; thus much -he vouchsafed her, and no more. She had a shrewd belief -that he was for giving her tangible evidence of the -hazardous schemes that were fermenting under the surface of -silence, and that she was to learn more of the tempest -that was gathering in the dark. Being tactful in her -generation, she asked him no questions, and kept her -conjectures to herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They broke their ride to pass the night at a wayside -hostelry, where the road from Gambrevault skirted the -forest. Holding on at their good leisure on the following -day, they entered Gilderoy by the northern gate, towards -evening, with the cathedral bell booming a challenge to -the distant sea. Crossing the great square with its tall -mansions of carved oak and chiselled stone, they plunged -into a narrow highway that curled downhill under a -hundred overhanging gables. Set back in a murky -court, a tavern hung out its gilded sign over the cobbles, -a Golden Leopard, that groaned in the wind on its rusty -hinges. The inn's casements glowed red under the gloom -of roof and bracket. Fulviac rode into its stone-paved -court with its balustraded gallery, its carved stairways, -its creaking lamps swaying under the high-peaked -gables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their horses were taken by a lean groom, blessed with -a most malevolent squint. On the lower step of the -gallery stair stood a rotund little man, with a bunch of keys -reposing on his stomach, the light from a lantern overhead -shining on his bald pate, as on a half sphere of alabaster. -He seemed to sweat beef and beer at every pore. Shuffling -his feet, he tilted his double chin to the sky, as though he -were conducting a monologue under the stars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No brew yet," he hummed in a high falsetto, throaty -and puling from so ponderous a carcase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac set one foot on the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Prosper's wine, fat Jean," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rotund soul turned his face suddenly earthwards, -as though he had been jerked down by one leg out of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, it is you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who else? What of the good folk of Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Packed like a crowd of rats in a drain. Will your -honour sup?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood aside with a great sweep of the hand, -and a garlic-ladened breath given full in Yeoland's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the lady, sire, a cup of purple; the roads are dry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac pushed up the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are late, and supped as we came. Your private -cellar will suit us better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of a truth, sire, most certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Send the men back with the horses; Damian has his -orders, and your money-bag."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rely on my dispatch, sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, roll on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Jean, sweaty deity of pot and gridiron, took the keys -from his girdle and a lantern from a niche in the wall. -Going at a wheezy shuffle, he led them by a long passage -and two circles of stairs to a cellar packed with hogsheads, -tuns, and great vats of copper. From the first cellar a -second opened, from the second, a third. In the last vault -Jean rolled a cask from a corner, turned a flagstone on its -side, showed them a narrow stairway descending into the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took the lantern, made a sign to Jean, and passed -down the stairway with Yeoland at his heels. The -tavern-keeper remained above in the cellar, and closed the stone -when the last gleam of the light had died down the stair. -He rolled the cask back into its place, and felt his way -back by cellar and stairway to the benignant glow of his -own tavern room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac and the girl had descended the black well of the -stair. Tunnels of gloom ran labyrinthine on every hand; -a musty scent burdened the air, and fine sand covered the -floor. Fulviac held the lantern shoulder-high, took -Yeoland's wrist, and moved forward into a great gallery that -sloped downwards into the depths of the rock. The place -was silent as the death-chamber of a pyramid. The lantern -fashioned fantastic shadows from the gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland held close to the man with an instinct towards -trust that made her smile at her own thoughts. Fulviac -had been in her life little more than a week; yet his -unequivocating strength had won largely upon her liking--in -no sentimental sense indeed, but rather with the calm -command of power. Possibly she feared him a very little. -Yet with the despair of a wrecked mariner she clung to -him, in spirit, as she would have clung to a rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they passed down the gallery with the lantern swinging -in Fulviac's hand, she began to question him with a -quiet persistence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What place is this?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For retort, Fulviac pointed her to the wall, and held the -lantern to aid her scrutiny. The girl saw numberless -recesses excavated in the rock; some had been bricked up -and bore tablets; others were packed with grinning skulls. -There were scattered paintings on the walls, symbolic -daubs, or scenes from scriptural history. The place was -meaningless to the girl, save that the dead seemed ever -with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled at her solemn face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The catacombs of the city of Gilderoy," he said; -"yonder are the niches of the dead. These paintings were -made by early folk, centuries ago. A veritable maze this, -a gallery of skulls, a warren for ghosts to squeak in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland had turned to scan a tablet on the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We go to some secret gathering?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac laughed; the sound echoed through the passages -with reverberating scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same dark fable," he said, "telling of vaults and -secret stairs, passwords and poniards, masks and murder. -Remember, little sister, you are to be black and subtle to -the heart's chords. This is life, not a romance or an -Italian fable. We are men here. There is to be no strutting -on the stage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl loitered a moment, as though her feet kept pace -with her cogitations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am content," she said, "provided I may eschew -poison, nor need run a bodkin under some wretch's ribs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be at peace on that score. I have not the heart to -make a Rosamund of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sudden out of a dark bye-passage, like a rat out of a -hole, a man sprang at them and held a knife at Fulviac's -throat. The mock merchant gave the password with great -unconcern, putting his cap of sables back from off his face. -The sentinel crossed himself, fell on one knee, and gave -them passage. Turning a bluff buttress of stone, they -came abruptly upon a short gallery that widened into a -great circular chamber, pillared after the manner of a church.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flare of torches harassed the shadowy vault, and played -upon a thousand upturned faces that seemed to surge wave -on wave out of the gloom. In the centre of the crypt -stood an altar of black marble, and before it on the dais, -a priest with a cowl down, a rough wooden crucifix in his -hand. A knot of men in armour gleamed about the altar, -ringing a clear space about the steps. Others, with drawn -swords, kept the entries of the galleries leading to the -cavern. A great quiet hung over the place, a silence solid as -the rock above.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A group of armed men waited for Fulviac at the main -entry to the crypt. He merged into their ranks, exchanging -signs and words in an undertone with one who seemed -in authority. The ring of figures pressed through the -crowd towards the altar, Fulviac and Yeoland in their -midst. Fulviac mounted the steps, and drew the girl up -beside him. He uncovered his face to the mob with the -gesture of a king uncovering to his people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The press swayed suddenly like the black waters of a -lake, stirred by the rush of flood water through a broken -dam. The ring of armed men gave up the shout with a -sweeping of swords and a clangour of harness. The great -cavern took up the cry, reverberating it from its thundering -vault. A thousand hands were thrust up, as of the dead -rising from the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland watched the man's face with a mute kindling -of enthusiasm. As she gazed, it beaconed forth a new -dignity to her that she had never seen thereon before. A -sudden grandeur of strength glowed from its weather-beaten -features. The mouth and jaw seemed of iron; the eyes -were full of a stormy fire. It was the face of a man -transfigured, throned above himself on the burning pinnacle of -power. He towered above the mob like some granite god, -colossal in strength, colossal in courage. His manhood -flamed out, a watch-fire to the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the cry dwindled, the priest, who still kept his cowl -down over his face, held his crucifix on high, and broke -into the strident cadence of a rebel ballad. The people -followed as by instinct, knowing the song of old. Many -hundred voices gathered strenuously into the flood, the -massed roar rolling through the great crypt, echoing along -the galleries like the sound of some subterranean stream. -It was a deep chant and a stirring, strong with the strength -of the storm wind, fanatic as the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silence that fell at the end thereof was the more -solemn in contrast to the thundering stanzas of the hymn. -Under the flare of the torches, Fulviac stood forward to -turn the task from the crucifix to the sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A billow of cheering dashed again to the roof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man suffered the cry to die into utter silence, -before leaping into a riot of words, a harangue that had more -justification in it than appeal. His voice filled the cavern -with its volume and depth. It was more the voice of a -captain thundering commands to a squadron of horse than -the declamatory craft of the orator. Fulviac knew the -mob, that they were rough and turbulent, and loved a -demagogue. Scholastic subtleties could never fill their -stomachs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of Gilderoy, I come to you with the sword. -Bombast, bombast, come hither all, I'll laden ye with -devilry, puff you up with pride. Ha, who is for being -strong, who for being master? Listen to me. Damnation -and death, I have the kingdom in the palm of my -hand. Liberty, liberty, liberty. We strike for the people. -Geraint is ours; Gore is ours; all the southern coast -waits for the beacons. Malgo of the Mountain holds the -west like a storm cloud under his cloak. The east raves -against the King. Good. Who is for the stronger side, -for Fulviac, liberty, and the people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He halted a moment, took breath, quieted all clamour -with a sweep of the hand, plunged on again like a great -carrack buffeting tall billows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are there spies here? By God, let them listen well, -and save their skins. Go and tell what ye have heard. -Set torch to tinder. Blood and fire, the country would -be in arms before the King could stir. No, no, there are -no spies in Gilderoy; we are all brothers here. By my -sword, sirs, I swear to you, that before harvest tide, we -shall sweep the nobles into the sea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great shout eddied up to answer him. Fulviac's -voice pierced it like a trumpet cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Liberty, liberty, and the people!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sound can intoxicate as well as wine. The thunder of -war, the bray of clarions, can fire even the heart of the -coward. The mob swirled about the altar of black marble, -vociferous and eager. Torches rocked to and fro in the -cavern; shadows leapt grotesquely gigantic over the rough -groinings of the roof. Yet Fulviac had further and fiercer -fuel for the fire. At a sign from him, the circle of armed -men parted; two peasants stumbled forward bearing a -cripple in their arms. They carried him up the steps and -set him upon the altar before all the people, supporting -him as he stared round upon the sea of faces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a shrivelled being, yellow, black of eye, cadaverous. -He looked like a man who had wallowed for years -among toads in a pit, and had become as one of them. -His voice was cracked and querulous, as he brandished -a claw of a hand and screamed at the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at me, mates and brothers. Five years ago I -was a tall man and lusty. I forbade the Lord of Margradel -my wife. They racked and branded me, tossed me into a -stinking pit. I am young, young. I shall never walk -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A woman rushed from the crowd, grey-haired, fat, and -bloated. She climbed the altar steps, and stretched out her -hands in a kind of frenzy towards the people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at me, men of Gilderoy. Last spring I had a -daughter, a clean wench as ever danced. Seek her from -John of Brissac and his devils. Ha, good words these for -a mother. Men of Gilderoy, remember your children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's pageant gathered grimly before the mob. A -blind man tottered up and pointed to his sightless eyes. -A girl held up an infant, and told shrilly of its father's -murder. One fellow displayed a tongueless mouth; -another, a face distorted by the iron; a third had lost nose -and ears; a fourth showed arms shrivelled and contracted -by fire. It was a sinister appeal, strong yet piteous. The -tyranny of the age showed in the bodies of these wronged -and mutilated beings. They had been mere carrion tossed -under the iron heel of power. The granite car of ruthless -opulence and passion had crushed them under its reddened -wheels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At a gesture from Fulviac, the priest upon the steps -threw back his cowl and stood forward in the torchlight. -His face was the face of a zealot, fanatical, sanguine, -lined with an energy that was prophetic of power. His -eyes smouldered under their straight black brows. His -hands, white and bony, quivered as he stretched them out -towards the people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They knew him on the instant; their clamour told as -much. Often had the shadow of that thin figure fallen -athwart the parched highways of stricken cities. Often -had those hands tended death, those lips smitten awe into -the souls of the drunkard and the harlot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prosper, Prosper the Preacher!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There rang a rude, rough joy in the clamour that was -spontaneous and eloquent. It was the heart's cry of the -people, wild, trusting, and passionate. Men and women broke -through the circle of armed men, cast themselves upon the -altar steps, kissed the friar's gown, and fawned on him. -He put them back with a certain awkward dignity, and a -hot colour upon his almost boyish face. The man had a -fine humility, though the strenuous ideals of his soul ran in -fire to the zenith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon he signed a benediction, and a hush descended on -the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's peace to you, people of Gilderoy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clamour revived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Preach to us, preach to us!" came the cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar stretched forth his hands; his voice rang -strong and strident over the packed upturned faces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Children, what need have we of words! To-night -have we not seen enough to scourge the manhood in us, -to bear forth the Holy Cross of war? The evil beast is -with us even yet; Mammon the Mighty treads you under -foot. Ye saints, what cause more righteous since the -martyrs fell? Look on these scars, these wrongs, these -agonies. Preach! I am dumb beside such witnesses as -these."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crypt thundered to him when he lowered his hands. -It was the cry of men bankrupt of liberty, thirsty for -revenge. Fulviac grappled the climax, and stood forward -with uplifted sword. His lion's roar sounded above the -din.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, people of Gilderoy," he cried, "go--but -remember. When castles burn, and bolts scream, when spears -splinter, and armies crash to the charge, remember your -children and your wrongs. Strike home for God, and for -your liberty."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="viii"><span class="large">VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The crowd had streamed from the cavern, swirling like -black water under the tossing torches, the hollow galleries -reverberating to the rush of many feet. Prosper had gone, -borne away by the seditious captains of the Commune and -the armed burghers who had guarded the entries. A great -silence had fallen upon the crypt. Fulviac and the girl -were left by the altar of black marble, their one lamp -burning solitary in the gulf of gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had the air of a man whose favourite hawk had -flown with fettle, and brought her quarry tumbling out of -the clouds. He was warm with the zest of it, and his -tawny eyes sparkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May the Virgin smile on us!" he said. "Gilderoy -will serve our ends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's eyes searched him gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make holy war," she charged him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my sister, it is well to profess a strong conviction -in the justice of one's cause. Tell men they are heroes, -patriots, martyrs, and you will make good fighting stuff. -Applaud fanaticism, make great parade of righteousness, -hail the Deity as patron, assemble all the saints under your -banner. Ha, trust me, that is a way to topple a kingdom. -Come, we must stir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By many labyrinthine passages, strange galleries of death, -they passed together from the dark deeps of the catacombs. -At one point the roof shone silvered as with dew, and the -air stood damp as in a marsh on a winter's eve. The river -Tamar flowed above them in its rocky bed, so Fulviac told -the girl. Anon they came out by a narrow stair that -opened by a briar-grown throat into a thicket of old oaks -in the Gilderoy meadows. The stairhead was covered by -a species of stone trap that could be covered and -concealed by sods. In the thicket a man awaited them with -the bridles of three horses over his arm. Fulviac held -Yeoland's stirrup, and they rode out, the three of them, -from under the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A full moon swam in a purple black sky amid a shower -of shimmering stars. Gilderoy, with its climbing towers -and turrets, stood out white under the moon. The city -walls gleamed like alabaster in the magic glow. In the -meadows the ringlets of the river glimmered. Far and -distant rose the nebulous midnight of the woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had bared his head to an inconstant and torpid -breeze. They were riding for the west along a bridle track -that curled grey and dim through the sombre meadows. -The calm, soundless vault of the world rose now in -contrast to the canopies of stone and the passion-throes of the -catacombs. Human moil and effort seemed infinitely little -under the eternal scrutiny of the stars. So thought the -man for the moment, as he rode with his chin sunk upon -his breast, watching keenly the girl at his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland was young. All the roses of youth were budding -about her soul; idealism, like the essence of crushed -violets, hovered heavy over the world. Her soul as yet -was no frayed and listless lute, thrummed into discords by -the bony hand of care. She was built for love, a temple -of white marble, lit by lamps of rubeous glory. Colours -flashed through the red sanctuaries of the flesh. Yet pain -and great woe had smitten her. The grim destinies of -earth seemed bent on thrusting an innocent pilgrim into -the turbulent contradictions of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pageant in the catacombs that night had stirred her -strangely beyond belief. The fantastic faces, the zeal, the -hot words of gesturing enthusiasm, these were things new -to her, therefore the more vivid and convincing. New -worlds, new passions, seemed to burst into being under the -stars. She was utterly silent as she rode, looking forth -into the night. Her hood had fallen back; her face shone -white and clear; her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. -Fulviac, like a chess-player who had evolved some subtle -scheme, rode and watched her with a smile deep in his -eyes. For the moment he was content to leave her to the -magic of her own thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At certain rare seasons in life, virgin light floods down -into the heart, as from some oriel opened in heaven. The -world stands under a grander scheme of chiaroscuro; men -comprehend where they once scoffed. It was thus that -Yeoland rose inspired, like a spiritual Venus from a sea of -dreams. As molten glass is shaped speedily into fair and -exquisite device, so the red wax of her heart had taken the -impress of the hour. Gilderoy had stirred her like a -blazoned page of romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac caught the girl's half glance at him; read in -measure the meaning of her mood. Her lips were half -parted as though she had words upon her tongue, but still -hesitated from some scruple of pride. He straightened in -the saddle, and waited for her to unbosom to him with a -confident reserve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said at length, since she still lingered in her -silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much one may learn in a day," she answered, -drawing her white palfrey nearer to his horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac agreed with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man on the end of the rope," he said, "learns in -two minutes that which has puzzled philosophers since -Adam loved Eve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him with an eagerness that was almost -passionate even in its suppressed vigour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long was it before you came to pity your fellows?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some minutes, not more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the conversion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall satisfy you one day. For the present I will -buckle up so unsavoury a fable in my bosom. Tell me -what you have learnt at Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland looked at the moon. The man saw great sadness -upon her face, but also an inspired radiance that made -its very beauty the more remarkable. He foresaw in an -instant that they were coming to deeper matters. -Superficialities, the mannerisms of life, were falling away. The -girl's heart beat near to his; he felt a luminous sympathy -of spirit rise round them like the gold of a Byzantine -background.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said, with a burst of beneficence, "you are -beginning to understand me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She jerked a swift glance at him, like the look of a -half-tamed falcon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a man, for all your sneers and vapourings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a heart once. Call me an oak, broken, twisted, -aged, but an oak still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland drew quite close to him, so that her skirt almost -brushed his horse's flank. Fulviac's shadow fell athwart -her. Only her face shone clear in the moonlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have ceased," she said, "to look upon life as a stretch -of blue, a laughing dawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have learnt that woe is the crown of years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That life is full of violence and wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A platitude. Yes. Life consists in learning platitudes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am only one woman among thousands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A revelation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You jeer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so. Few women learn the truth of your proverb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lastly, my trouble is not the only woe in the world. -That it is an error to close up grief in the casket of -self."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac flapped his bridle, and looked far ahead into the -cavern of the night. He was silent awhile in thought. -When he spoke again, he delivered himself of certain curt -cogitations, characteristic confessions that were wholly -logical.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a selfish vagabond," he said; "I appeal to Peter's -keys whether all ambition is not selfish. I am an egotist -for the good of others. The stronger my ambition, the -stronger the hope of the land in generous justice. I live -to rule, to rule magnanimously, yet with an iron sceptre. -There, you have my creed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And God?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is a most useful subordinate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not mean that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw again the mutilated beings in the catacombs, -aye, even her own home flaming to the sky, and the white -face of her dead father. Faith and devotion were great -in her for the moment. Divine vengeance beaconed over -the world, a torch borne aloft by the hand of Pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is God's war," she said to him with a finer solemnity -sounding in her voice; "you have stirred the woman in -me. Is that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough," he answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God shall make all plain in due season."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gilderoy had dwindled into the east; its castle's towers -still netted the moonlight from afar. The meadowlands -had ceased, and trees strode down in multitudes to guard -the track. The night was still and calm, with a whisper -of frost in the crisp, sparkling air. The world seemed -roofed with a dome of dusky steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before them a shallow valley lay white in the light of -the moon. Around climbed the glimmering turrets of the -trees, rank on rank, solemn and tumultuous. The bare -gable ends of a ruined chapel rose in the valley. Fulviac -drew aside by a bridle path that ran amid rushes. To the -left, from the broken wall of the curtilage, a great beech -wood ascended, its boughs black against the sky, its floor -ankle-deep with fallen leaves. The chapel stood roofless -under the moon. Hollies, a sable barrier that glistened in -the moonlight, closed the ruin on the south. Yews cast -their gloom about the walls. A tall cross in the forsaken -graveyard stretched out its mossy arms east and west.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The armed groom took the horses and tethered them -under a clump of pines by the wall. Fulviac and the girl -Yeoland passed up through weeds and brambles to the -porch. A great briar rose had tangled the opening with a -thorny web, as though to hold the ruin from the hand of -man. The tiled floor was choked with grass; a rickety door -drooped rotten on its rusty hinges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac pushed through and beckoned the girl to follow. -Within, all was ruinous and desolate, the roof fallen, the -casements broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must find harbour here," said the man, "our horses -go far to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A cheerful hostel, this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Its wildness makes it safe. You fear the cold. I'll -see to that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I am hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The high altar still stood below the small rose window -in the east, where the rotting fragments of a triptych hid -the stonework. There was a great carved screen of stone -on either side, curiously recessed as though giving access to -an ambulatory. The altar stood in dense shadow, with -broken timber and a tangle of briars ringing a barrier about -its steps. On the southern side of the nave, a patch of -tiled flooring still stood riftless, closed in by two fallen -pillars. The groom came in with two horse-cloaks, and -Fulviac spread them on the tiles. He also gave her a small -flask of wine, and a silver pyx holding meat and bread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We crusaders must not grumble at the rough lodging," -he said to her; "wrap yourself in these cloaks, and play the -Jacob with a stone pillow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled slightly in her eyes. The groom brought in -a saddle, ranged it with a saddle cloth covering it, that it -might rest her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" she said to Fulviac.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damian and I hold the porch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will be cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a thick hide. The Lady of Geraint give you -good rest!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He threaded his way out amid the fallen stones and -pillars, and closed the rickety gate. The groom, a tall -fellow in a battered bassinet and a frayed brigantine, stood -by the yew trees, as on guard. Fulviac gestured to him. -The man moved away towards the eastern end of the -chapel, where laurels grew thick and lusty about the walls. -When he returned Fulviac was sitting hunched on a fallen -stone in the corner of the porch, as though for sleep. The -man dropped a guttural message into his master's ear, and -propped himself in the other angle of the porch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour passed; the moon swam past the zenith towards -the west; a vast quiet watched over the world, and no -wind rippled in the woods. In the sky the stars shivered, -and gathered more closely their silver robes. In the -curtilage the ruined tombs stared white and desolate at the -moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An owl's cry sounded in the woods. Sudden and strange, -as though dropped from the stars, faint music quivered on -the frost-brilliant air. It gathered, died, grew again, with a -mysterious flux of sweetness, as of some song stealing from -the Gardens of the Dead. Flute, cithern, and viol were -sounding under the moon, merging a wizard chant into the -magic of the hour. Angels, crimson-winged, in green -attire, seemed to descend the burning stair of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden great radiance lit the ruin, a glory of gold -streaming from the altar. Cymbals clashed; waves of -shimmering light surged over the broken walls. Incense, -like purple smoke, curled through the casements. The -music rushed in clamorous rapture to the stars. A voice -was heard crying in the chapel, elfin and wild, yet full of a -vague rich sanctity. It ceased sudden as the brief moan of a -prophecy. The golden glow elapsed; the music sank to -silence. Nought save the moonlight poured in silver -omnipotence over the ruin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the chapel came the sound of stumbling footsteps -amid the stones. A hand clutched at the rotting door, -jerked it open, as in terror. The girl Yeoland came out -into the porch, and stood swaying white-faced in the -shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was hoarse and whispering, strained as the -overwrought strings of a lute. The man did not stir. She -bent down, dragged at his cloak, calling to him with a quick -and gathering vehemence. He shook himself, as from the -thongs of sleep, stood up and stared at her. The groom -still crouched in the dark corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust her way through the briars into the moonlight. -Her hood had fallen back, her hair loose upon her -shoulders; her eyes were full of a supernatural stupor, and -she seemed under the spell of some great shock of awe. -She trembled so greatly, that Fulviac followed her, and held -her arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak. What has chanced to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She still shook like some flower breathed upon by the -oracular voice of God. Her hands were torn and bloody -from the thorns.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin has appeared to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some ghost or phantom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, hear me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stretched out her hands like one smitten blind, and -took breath swiftly in sudden gasps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me, I was but asleep, woke, and heard music. -The Virgin came out upon the altar, her face like the -moon, her robes white as the stars. There was great light, -great glory. And she spoke to me. Mother of God, what -am I that I should be chosen thus!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak. Can this be true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth, the truth!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac fell on his knees with a great gesture of awe. -The girl, her face turned to the moon, stood quivering -like a reed, her lips moving as if in prayer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her message, child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it was this: 'Go forth a virgin, and lead the hosts -of the Lord.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's face was in shadow. He thrust up his hands -to the heavens, but would not so much as glance at the -girl above him. His voice rang out in the silence of the -night:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gloria tibi, Sancta Maria! Gloria tibi, Domine!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ix"><span class="large">IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Faith, golden crown of the Christian! Self-mesmerism, -subtle alchemy of the mind! How the balance of belief -swings between these twain!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A spiritual conception born in a woman's brain is as a -savour of rich spices sweetening all the world. How great -a power of obstinacy stirs in one small body! A pillar of -fire, a shining grail. She will bring forth the finest gems -that hang upon her bosom, the ruby of heroism, the -sapphire of pity. She will cast all her store of gold into the -lap of Fate. Give to her some radiant dream of hope, and -she may prove the most splendid idealist, even if she do -not prove a wise one. Remember the women who watched -about the Cross of Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There had been trickery in the miracle, a tinge of flesh -in the vision. The Virgin, in the ruck of religion, had -suffered herself to be personated by a clever little "player" -from Gilderoy, aided and idealised by a certain notorious -charlatan who dealt in magic, was not above aiding -ecclesiastical mummeries on occasions, and conspiring for the -solemn production of miracles. A priest's juggling box, -a secret door at the back of the altar used in bygone days -for the manipulation of a wonder-working image, musicians, -incense, and Greek fire. These had made the portent -possible. As for Fulviac, rugged plotter, he was as grave as -an abbot over the business; his words were wondrous -beatific; he spoke of the interventions of Heaven with bated -breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a superstitious age, touched with phantasy and -gemmed with magic. Relics were casketed in gold and -silver; holy blood amazed with yearly liquefactions the -souls of the devout; dreamers gazed into mirrors, -crystals, finger-nails, for visions of heaven. Jewels were -poured in scintillant streams at the white feet of the -Madonna. It was all done with rare mysticism, colour, -and rich music. The moon ruled marriage, corn, and -kine. The saints, like a concourse of angels, walked -with melancholy splendour through the wilds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she had the heart of a woman -in the noblest measure, a red heart, pure yet passionate. -The world waxed prophetic that shrill season. She was -as full of dreams and phantasies as an astrologer's missal. -Nothing amazed her, and yet all earth was mysterious. -The wind spoke in magic syllables; the trees were -oracular; the stars, white hands tracing symbols in the -sky. She was borne above herself on the pinions of -ecstasy, heard seraph wings sweep the air, saw the -glimmer of their robes passing the portals of the night. -Mysticism moved through the world like the sound of -lutes over a moonlit sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One March morning, Fulviac came to her in the -northern chamber of the cliff. Yeoland had masses of -scarlet cloth and threads of gold upon her knees, for she -was broidering a banner, the banner of the Maid of -Gilderoy. Her eyes were full of violet shadow. She -wore a cross over her bosom, emeralds set in silver; a -rosary, dangling on her wrist, told how her prayers kept -alternate rhythm with her fingers. Fulviac crooked the -knee to the crucifix upon the wall, sat down near her on -a rich bench of carved cedar wood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man was in a beneficent mood, and beamed on -her like a lusty summer. He had tidings on his tongue, -tidings that he hoarded with the craft of an epicure. It -was easy to mark when the world trundled well with his -humour. He put forth smiles like a great oak whose -boughs glisten in the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tire yourself, little sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with one of her solemn glances, a -glance that spoke of vigils, soul-searchings, and prayer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My fingers tire before my heart," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest, rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I seem weary to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, you are fresh as the dawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He brushed back the tawny hair from off his forehead, -and the lines about his mouth softened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have news from the west."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We gather and spread like fire in a forest. The -mountain men are with us, ready to roll down from the -hills with hauberk and sword. In two months Malgo -will have sent the bloody cross through all the west."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The golden thread ran through the girl's white fingers; -the beads of her rosary rattled; she seemed to be -weaving the destiny of a kingdom into the device upon her -banner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is it with us here?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a thousand stout men and true camped upon -the cliff. Levies are coming in fast, like steel to a -magnet. In a month we shall outbulk a Roman -legion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy and Geraint will give us a score thousand -pikemen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The stars fight for us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took her lute from the carved bench and began -to thrum the chords of an old song.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Spears crash, and swords clang,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Fame maddens the world.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Come battle and love.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Iseult--</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ah, Iseult."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He broke away with a last snap at the strings, and set the -lute aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bear with me," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her dark eyes questioned him over her banner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I offer you the first victim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An indefinite shadow descended upon the girl's face. -The inspired radiance seemed dimmed for the moment; -the crude realism of her thoughts rang in discord to her -dreams. She lost the glimmering thread from her needle. -Her hands trembled a little as she played with the scarlet -folds of the banner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lad of mine bears news--a black-eyed rogue from -the hills of Carlyath, sharp as a sword's point, quaint as -an elf. I sent him gleaning, and he has done bravely. -You would hear his tale from his own lips?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and seemed distraught.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Bring him in to me," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac left her, to return with a slim youth sidling in -behind him like a shadow. The lad had a nut-brown -skin and ruddy cheeks, a pair of twinkling eyes, a thatch -of black hair over his forehead. Bred amid the hills of -Carlyath, where the women were scarlet Eves, and the -land a paradise, he had served in Gilderoy as apprentice -to an armourer. Carlyath's wilds and the city's roguery -had mingled in him fantastic strains of extravagant -sentiment and cunning. Half urchin, half elf, he stood with -bent knees and slouched shoulders, his black eyes alert on -Fulviac, his lord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man thrust him forward by the collar, with an -eloquent gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The whole tale. Try your wit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Carlyath lad advanced one foot, and with an -impudent southern smirk, remarked--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This, madame, is an infatuated world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, sententiously delivered, he plunged into a declamation -with a picturesque and fanciful extravagance that -he had imbibed from the strolling romancers of his own land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the city of Gilderoy," he said, speaking very volubly -and with many gestures, "there lives a lady of surpassing -comeliness. Her eyes are as the sky, her cheeks as June -roses, her hair a web of gold. She is a right fair lady, and -daily she sits at her broad casement, singing, and plaiting -her hair into shackles of gold. She has bound the Lord -Flavian of Gambrevault in a net starred with poppies, -scarlet poppies of the field, so that he ever dreams dreams of -scarlet, and sees visions of lips warm as wine. Daily the -Lord Flavian scours the country between Avalon and the -fair city of Gilderoy, till the very dust complains of his -fury, and the green grass curses his horse's heels. But the -lady with the hair of gold compasses him like the sunset; -she has stolen the eyes of heaven, and the stars are blind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled over the extreme subtlety of the rendering. -It was a delicate matter, delicately handled. The -Carlyath lad had wit, and a most seraphic tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is yet another lady at Avalon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lady whose name is Duessa, a lady with black hair -and a blacker temper. Lord Flavian has a huge horror of -her tongue. Therefore he rides like a thief, without -trumpets, to Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad spread his hands with an inimitable gesture, -shrugged, and heaved a most Christian sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Duessa is the Lord Flavian's wife," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Therefore, sire, he is a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad drew back with a bow and a scrape of the foot, -keeping his eyes on the floor with the discretion of a -veteran lackey. At a sign from Fulviac, he slipped away, and -left Yeoland and the man alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's hands were idle in her lap; the great scarlet -banner trailed in rich folds about her feet. There was a -white mask of thought upon her face, and her eyes searched -the distance with an oblivious stare. All the strong -discords of the past rushed clamorous to her brain; her -consecrated dreams were as so many angels startled by the -assaults of hell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose from her chair, cast the casement wide, and -stood gazing over the forest. Youth seemed in the breeze, -and the clear voice of the Spring. The green woods surged -with liberty; the strong zest of life breathed in their bosoms. -In the distance the pines seemed to beckon to her, to wave -their caps in windy exultation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had stood watching her with the calm scrutiny -of one wise in the passionate workings of the soul. He -suffered her to possess her thoughts in silence for a season, -to come by a steady comprehension of the past. Presently -he gathered the red banner, and hung it on the frame, went -softly to her and touched her sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall they kill him on the road?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pondered a moment, and did not answer him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easy," he said, "and a matter of sheer justice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words seemed to steel her decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said, "let them bring him here--to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So be it," he answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac found her cold and taciturn, desirous of solitude. -He humoured the mood, and she was still staring from the -window when he left her. The woodland had melted -before her into an oblivious mist. In its stead she saw a -tower flaming amid naked trees, a white face staring -heavenwards with the marble tranquillity of death.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="x"><span class="large">X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Down through the woods of Avalon rode the Lord Flavian -of Gambrevault, down towards the forest track in the grey -face of the dawn. In the meadows and beyond the orchards, -water shone, and towers stood mistily. The voice of Spring -pulsed in the air, songs of green woods, the wild wine of -violets, pavements of primrose gold. Birds piped lustily in -wood and thicket, and the ascending sun lavished his -glittering archery from the chariots of the clouds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord Flavian was inordinately cheerful that -morning, as he rode in green and red through the prophetic -woods. Heart and weather were in kindred keeping, and -his youth sang like a brook after April rains. The woods -danced in dew. Far on its rocky hill the towers of -Gilderoy would soon beckon him above the trees. Beneath the -shadow of the cathedral tower stood a gabled house with -gilded vanes and roofs of generous red. There in Gilderoy, -in a room hung with cloth of purple and gold, white arms -waited, and the bosom of a golden Helen held love like a -red rose in a pool of milky spikenard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Picture a slim but muscular man with the virile figure of -a young David, a keen, smooth face, a halo of brown hair, -eyes eloquent as a woman's. Picture a good grey horse -trapped in red and green, full of fettle as a colt, burly as a -bull. Picture the ermined borderings, the jewelled clasps, -brigantine of quilted velvet, fur-lined bassinet bright as a -star. Youth, clean, adventurous, aglow to the last finger-tip, -impetuous to the tune of thirty breaths a minute. Youth -with all its splendid waywardness, its generosities, its -immense self-intoxications. Youth with the voice of a Golden -Summer in its heart, and for its plume the gorgeous fires -of eve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wealth often breeds apathy and parsimonious instincts. -It is the beggar whose purse bursts with joy, whose soul -blazes generous red upon the clouds. As for Flavian of -Gambrevault and Avalon, he was rich but no miser, proud -yet not haughty, sanguine but not vicious. Like many a -man inspired by an instinctive idealism, his heart ran before -his reason: they not having come cheek by jowl as in later -years. He was very devout, yet very worldly; very ardent, -yet over hasty. Mark him then, a lovable fool in the eyes -of philosophy; a cup of mingled wine, both white and red. -He was a great lord; yet his serfs loved him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's parents, good folk, had been blessed -with aspirations. Gambrevault and Avalon had bulked -very gloriously under the steel-blue vault of pride. -Moreover, their daughter was a sensuous being, who panted for -poetic surroundings, and lived to music. A boy of twenty; -a passionate, dark-eyed, big-bosomed houri of twenty and -five; bell, book, and ring--such had been the bridal -bargain consummated on church principles five years ago or -more. A youth of twenty is not supremely wise concerning -the world, or his own heart. The Lord Flavian's -marriage had not proved a magic blessing to him. Parentally -sealed marriage deeds are the edicts of the devil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quickly are the mighty fallen, and the chalices of love -broken. It was no mere chance ambuscade that waited -open-mouthed for Flavian, Lord of Gambrevault and -Avalon, Warden of the Southern Marches, Knight of the Order -of the Rose, as he rode that morning to Gilderoy, a -disciple of Venus. In a certain perilous place, the road ran -betwixt walls of rock, and under the umbrage of overhanging -trees. Twenty men with pike and gisarme swarming -out of the woods; a short scuffle and a stabbed horse; a -gag in the mouth, a bandage over the eyes, a mule's back, -half a dozen thongs of stout leather. That same evening -the Lord Flavian was brought like a bale of merchandise -into Fulviac's guard-room, and tumbled on a heap of straw -in a corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were grim men, these forest rangers, not given -to pity, or the light handling of a feud. A poniard point -was their pet oath, a whip of the sword the best word with -an enemy. They bit their thumb nails at creation, and -were not gentle in the quest of a creed. Fulviac heard -their news, and commended them. They were like the -ogres of the old fables; the red blood of a lusty aristocrat -smelt fresh for the sword's supper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland was at her prayer-desk with a -blazoned breviary under her fingers, when Fulviac came to -her with tidings of the day's capture. She knelt with her -hands crossed upon her bosom, as Fulviac stood in the -darkened doorway. To the man she appeared as the -Madonna in some picture of the Annunciation, the yellow -light from the lamp streaming down upon her with a lustre -of sanctity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have brought the boar home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay; but his corpse candle walks the cavern."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the girl it was a descent from spiritual themes to -the stark realism of life. She left her prayer-desk with a -little sigh. Her hands trembled as she drew a scarlet cloak -about her, and fastened it with a girdle of green leather. -Her eyes dwelt on Fulviac's face with a species of dusky -pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whither?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To judge him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not before all, not in the guard-room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave it to me," he said. "Be forewarned. We deal -with no mere swashbuckler."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went together to Fulviac's parlour, where a great -brazen lamp hung from the roof, and a book bound in -black leather lay chained on the table. Yeoland took the -man's carved chair, while he stood behind her leaning on -the rail. She was paler than was her wont. Now and -again she pressed a hand to her breast, as though to stay -the too rapid beating of her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two guards bearing partisans came in from the guard-room -with a man bound and blindfold between them. A -third followed, bearing a two-handed sword naked over his -shoulder. He was known as Nord of the Hammer, an -armourer like to a Norse Volund, burly, strong as a bear. -The door was barred upon them. One of the guards -plucked the cloth from the bound man's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the malicious imagery of thought, Yeoland had often -pictured to herself this Flavian of Gambrevault, a coarse, -florid ruffian, burly and brutal, a fleshly demigod in the -world of feudalism. So much for conjecture. What she -beheld was a straight-lipped, clean-limbed man, slim as a -cypress, supple as good steel. The face was young yet -strong, the grey eyes clear and fearless. Moreover there -was a certain lonely look about him that invoked pity, and -angered her in an enigmatic way. She was wrath with -him for being what he was, for contradicting the previous -imaginings of her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian of Gambrevault stood bound before her, an -aristocrat of aristocrats, outraged in pride, yet proud beyond -complaint. The self-mastery of his breeding kept him a -stately figure despite his tumbling and his youth, one -convinced of lordship and the powerful splendour of his name. -The whole affair to him was illogical, preposterous, -insolent. A gentleman of the best blood in the kingdom could -not be hustled out of his dignity by the horse-play of a -bevy of cut-throats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Possibly the first vision to snare the man's glance was -the elfin loveliness of the girl, who sat throned in the great -chair as on a judgment seat. He marked the rose-white -beauty of her skin, her sapphire eyes gleaming black in -certain lights, her ebon hair bound with a fillet of sky-blue -leather. Moreover, it was plain to the man in turn that -this damoisel in the red gown was deciphering his features -in turn with a curiosity that was no vapid virtue. As for -Fulviac, he watched them both with his amber-brown eyes, -eyes that missed no movement in the mask of life. To -him the scene under the great brazen lamp was a study in -moods and emotions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The aristocrat was the first to defy the silence. He had -stared round the room at his leisure, and at each of its -motionless figures in turn. The great sword, slanted in -gleaming nakedness over Nord's shoulder, appeared to -fascinate him for the moment. Despite his ambiguous -sanctity, he showed no badge of panic or distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ignoring the woman, he challenged Fulviac, who leant -upon the chair rail, watching him with an enigmatic -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodman in the red doublet," quoth he, "when you -have stared your fill at me, I will ask you to read me -the moral of this fable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stroked his chin with the air of a man who -holds an adversary at some subtle disadvantage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," he said, "address yourself to madame--here; -you are her affair in the main."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Warden of the Southern Marches bowed as by -habit. His grey eyes reverted to Yeoland's face, searching -it with a certain courteous curiosity that took her beauty -for its justification. The woman was an enigma to him, -a most magical sphinx whose riddle taunted his reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stiffened in her chair at the word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hold me at a disadvantage, seeing that I am -ignorant of sin or indiscretion against you. If it is a -question of gold----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He swept her exclamation suavely aside and ran on -mellifluously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it is a question of gold, let me beseech you to be -frank with me. I will covenant with you instanter. My -seneschal at Gambrevault will unbolt my coffers, and ease -your greed. Pray be outspoken. I will renounce the -delight of lodging here for a purse of good rose nobles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was the faintest tinge of insolence in the man's -voice, an insolence that exaggerated to the full the charge -of plunder in his words. Whether he hinted at blood -money or no, there was sufficient poison in the sneer to -fire the brain and scorch the heart to vengeance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman had risen from her chair, and stood gripping -the carved woodwork with a passion that set her arms -quivering like bands of tightened steel. The milk-white -calm had melted from her face. Wrath ran riot in her -blood. So large were her pupils that her eyes gleamed red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, messire, I bring you to justice, and you offer me gold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stared; his eyes did not quail from hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice, madame! Of what sin then am I accused? -On my soul, I know not who you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She calmed herself a little, shook back her hair from her -shoulders, fingered her throat, breathing fast the while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name, messire? Ha, you shall have it. I am -Yeoland, daughter of that Rual of Cambremont whom -you slaughtered at the gate of his burning house. I--am -the sister of those fair sons whom you did to death. -Blood money, forsooth! God grant, messire, that you are -in honest mind for heaven, for you die to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man had bent to catch her words. He straightened -suddenly like a tree whose throat is loosed from the grim -grip of the wind. He went grey as granite, flushed red -again as a dishonoured girl. The words had touched him -with the iron of truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me," he said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you would lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Heaven, no; give me an hour's justice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Murderer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, you wrong me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood with twitching lips, shackled hands twisting -one within the other. For the instant words eluded him, -like fruit jerked from the mouth of a thirst-maddened -Tantalus. Anon, his manhood gathered in him, rushed -forth redly like blood from a stricken throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter of Rual, hear me, I tell you the truth. I, -Flavian of Gambrevault, had in my pay a company of hired -'spears,' rough devils from the north. The braggarts -served me against John of Brissac, were half their service -drunk and mutinous. When Lententide had come, their -captain swore to me, 'Lording, pay us and let us go. -We have spilt blood near Gilderoy,' scullion blood he -swore, 'give us good bounty, and let us march.' So at -his word I gave them largesse, and packed them from -Gambrevault with pennons flying. Methought they and -their brawlings were at an end. Before God and the saints, -I never knew of this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland considered him, strenuous as he seemed towards -truth. He was young, passionate, sanguine; for one short -moment she pitied him, and pondered his innocence in her -heart. It was then that Fulviac plucked at her sleeve, -spoke in her ear, words that hardened her like a winter -frost.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stared in the man's eyes, as she gave him his -death-thrust with the sureness of hate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood for blood," were her words to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this justice!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have spoken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monstrously. Hear me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, make your peace with Heaven, I give you till -daylight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stumbled against the table, white as the moon. -Youth strove in him, the crimson fountain of life's wine, -the wild cry of the dawn. His eyes were great with a -superhuman hunger. Fulviac's strong voice answered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hence, hence. At dawn, Nord, do your duty."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xi"><span class="large">XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Give doubt the password, and the outer battlements are -traitorously stormed. Parley with pity, and the white -banner flutters on the keep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Provided her emotions inspire her, a woman is strong; -let her take to logic, and she is a rushlight wavering in -the wind. In her red heart lies her divinity; her feet are -of clay when reason rules her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland took doubt to her chamber that night, -a malicious sprite, sharp of wit and wild of eye. All the -demons of discord were loosed in the silence of the night. -Pandora's box stood open, and the hours were void of -sleep; faces crowded the shadows, voices wailed in the -gloom. Her thoughts rioted like frightened bats fluttering -and squeaking round a torch. Sleep, like a pale Cassandra, -stood aloof and watched the mask of these manifold -emotions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turn and twist as she would amid her fevered pillows, -a wild voice haunted her, importunate and piteous. As -the cry of one sinking in a stormy sea, it rang out with -a passionate vehemence. Moreover, there was a subtle -echo in her own heart, a strong appeal that did not spare -her, toss and struggle as she would. Decision fluttered -like a wounded bird. Malevolence rushed back as an -ocean billow from the bastion of a cliff that emblemed -mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a beating of wings and a discordant clamour, a -screech-owl buffeted the casement. A lamp still burnt -beneath the crucifix; the glow had beaconed the bird out -of the night. Starting up with a shiver of fear, she -quenched the lamp, and crept back to bed. The darkness -seemed to smother her like a cloak; the silence took -to ghostly whisperings; a death-watch clicked against the -wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night crawled on like a funeral cortège. Baffled, -outfaced, sleepless, she rose from her tumbled bed, and -paced the room as in a fever. Still wakefulness and a -thousand dishevelled thoughts that hung about her like her -snoodless hair. Again and again, she heard the distant -whirr and rattle of wheels, the clangour of the wire, as -the antique clock in Fulviac's chamber smote away the -hours of night. Each echo of the sound seemed to spur -to the quick her wavering resolution. Time was flying, -jostling her thoughts as in a mill race. With the dawn, -the Lord Flavian would die.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she flung the casement wide and stared out into -the night. A calm breeze moved amid the masses of ivy, -and played upon her face. She bared her breast to its -breath, and stood motionless with head thrown back, her -white throat glimmering amid her hair. Below, the -sombre multitudes of the trees showed dim and ghostly, -deep with mystery. A vague wind stirred the branches; -the dark void swirled with unrest, breaking like a midnight -sea upon a cliff. A few straggling stars peeped through -the lattice of the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leant against the sill, rested her chin upon her -palms, and brooded. Thoughts, fierce, passionate, and -clamorous, came crying like gusts of wind through a ruined -house. Death and dead faces, blood, the yawn of -sepulchres, life and the joy of it, all these passed as visions -of fire before her fancy. Vengeance and pity agonised her -soul. She answered yea and nay with the same breath; -condemned and pardoned with contradicting zeal. Youth -lifted up its face to her, piteous and beautiful. Death -reached out a rattling hand into her bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently, a far glow began to creep into the sky; a -gradual greyness absorbed the shadows of the night. The -day was dawning. From the forest, the trembling orisons -of the birds thrilled like golden light into the air. -Unutterable joy seemed to flood forth from the piping throats. -Even the trees seemed to quiver to the sound. With a -rush of bitter passion, she closed the casement, cast herself -upon her bed, and strove to pray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again came the impotent groping into nothingness. A -dense mist seemed to rise betwixt her soul and the white -face of the Madonna. Aspiration lessened like an afterglow, -and dissolved away into a dark void of doubt. Prayer -eluded her; the utterances of her heart died in a miserable -endeavour, and she could not think.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spiritual storm wore itself away as the dawn -streamed in with a glimmer of gold. Yeoland lay and -stared at the casement, and the figure of Sebastian rendered -radiant by the dawn, the whiteness of his limbs tongued -with dusky rills of blood, where the barbs had smitten into -the flesh. Sombre were the eyes, and shadowy with suffering. -A halo of gold gilded the youthful face. The painted -glass about him blazed like a shower of gems.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sebastian of the casement recalled to her with -wizard power the face of the man whom death claimed at -dawn. The thought woke no new passion in her. The -night's vigil had left her reason like a skein of tangled silk, -and with the day she verged towards a wearied apathy. -The voice of pity in her waned to an infrequent whisper -that came like the rustling of leaves on a summer night. -She realised that it had dawned an hour or more; that the -man had knelt and fallen to Nord's sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the silence was snapped by a far outcry sounding -in the bowels of the cliff. Gruff voices seemed to -echo and re-echo like breakers in a cavern. A horn blared. -She heard the thudding of a door, the shrilling of mail, the -clangour of iron steps passing up the gallery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shivering, she raised herself upon her elbow to listen. -Were they bringing her the man's head, grey and blood-dabbled, -with closed lids and mangled neck? She fell back -again upon her pillows, pressed her hands to her face with -a great revulsion of pity, for the image had burnt in upon -her brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clangour of harness drew near, with an iron rhythm -as of the march of destiny. It ceased outside the door. A -heavy hand beat upon the panelling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knocks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her own voice, strained and shrill, startled her like an -owl's hoot. Fulviac's deep bass answered her from the -passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unbar to me, I must speak with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started up from the bed in passionless haste, ran to -a closet, drew out a cloak and wrapped it about her -shoulders. Her bare feet showed white under her night-gear -as she slid the bolt from its socket, and let the man -in. He was fully armed save for his salade, which he -carried in the hollow of his arm. His red cloak swept his -heels. A tower of steel, there was a clangorous bluster -about him that bespoke action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl had drawn apart, shivering, and gathering her -cloak about her, for in the gloom of the place she had -thought for an instant that Fulviac carried a mangled head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A rider has brought news," he said to her. "John of -Brissac's men have taken Prosper the Preacher, to hang -him, as their lord has vowed, over the gate of Fontenaye. -They are on the march home from Gilderoy, ten lances -and a company of arbalestiers. I ride to ambuscado them. -Prosper shall not hang!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood with her back to the casement, and looked at -him with a restless stare. Her thoughts were with the -man whose grey eyes had pleaded with her through the -night. Her fears clamoured like captives at the gate of a -dungeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is more, this vagabond of Avalon has been begging -twelve hours' grace to scrape his soul clean for Peter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said, with a sudden stark earnestness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will give him till sunset----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I suffer it----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dog has spirit. I would thrust no man into the -dark till he has struck a bargain with his own particular -saints."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew back, sank down into a chair with her hair -half hiding her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right in being merciful," she said very slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Magic riddle of life; rare roseate rod of love. Was it -youth leaping towards youth, the cry of the lark to the -dawn, the crimson flowering of a woman's pity? The air -seemed woven through with gold. A thousand lutes had -sounded in the woods. Voiceless, she sat with flickering -lids, amazed at the alchemy that had wrought ruth out of hate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had drawn back into the gloom of the gallery. -He turned suddenly upon his heel, and his scabbard smote -and rang against the rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take all the men I have," he said to her, "even the -dotard Jaspar, for he knows the ways. Gregory and -Adrian I leave on guard; they are tough gentlemen, and -loyal. As for the lordling, he is well shackled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland was still cowering in her chair with the mysterious -passions of the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will return?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By nightfall, if we prosper; as we shall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved two paces, stayed again in his stride, and -flung a last message to her from the black throat of the -passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, there is no recantation over this business. -The man is my affair as well as yours. He is a power in -the south, and would menace us. Remember, he must die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and left her without more palaver. She -heard him go clanging down the gallery, heard the thunder -of a heavy door, the braying of a horn. A long while she -sat motionless, still as stone, her hands lying idle in her -lap. When an hour had passed, the sun smote in, and -found her kneeling at her prayer-desk, her breviary dewed -with tears.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xii"><span class="large">XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac passed away that morning into the forest, a shaft -of red amid the mournful glooms. Colour and steel streamed -after him fantastically. The great cliff, silent and desolate, -basked like a leviathan in the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of the daylight and its crown of gold, the girl Yeoland -had no deep joy. When she had ended her passion over -the blazoned pages of her breviary, and mopped her tears -with a corner of her gown, she rose to realism, and turned -her mood to the cheating of the dues of time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hours lagged with enough monotony to degenerate -a saint; Yeoland was very much a woman. The night -had left her a legacy of evil. She had shadows under -her eyes, and a constant swirl of thoughts within her -brain that made solitude a torture-house, full of prophetic -pain. There was her lute, and she eschewed it, seeing -that her fingers seemed as ice. As for her embroidery, -the stitches wandered haphazard, wrought grotesque -things, or lost all method in a stupor of sloth. She -threw the banner aside in a fume at last, and let her -broodings have their way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The forenoon crawled, like a beggar on a dusty -high-road in the welt of August. Time seemed to stand and -mock her. Hour by hour, she was tortured by the -vision of steel falling upon a strong young neck, of a -white face lying in a pool of blood, of a dripping carcase -and a sweating sword. Though the vision maddened -her, what could her weak hands do? The man was -shackled, and guarded by men with whom she dared not -tamper. Moreover, she remembered the last look in -Fulviac's keen eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards evening she grew rabid with unrest, fled from -the cave by the northern stair, and took sanctuary amid the -tall shadows of the forest. The pine avenues were ever -like a church to her, solemn, stately, sympathetic as night. -There was nought to anger, nought to bring discord, where -the croon of the branches soothed like a song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was as she played the nun in this forest cloister, -that a strange thought challenged her consciousness under -the trees. It was subtle, yet full of an incomprehensible -bitterness, that made her heart hasten. Even as she -considered it, as a girl gazes at a jewel lying in her palm, -the charm flashed magic fire into her eyes. This victim -for the sword lay shackled to the wall in the great -guard-room. She would go and steal a last glance at him before -Fulviac and death returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stairway, bower, and gallery were behind her. She -stood in Fulviac's parlour, where the lamp burnt dimly, -and harness glimmered on the walls. The door of the -room stood ajar. She stole to it, and peered through the -crack left by the clumsy hingeing, into the lights and -shadows of the room beyond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the lower end of a long table the two guards sat -dicing, sprawling greedily over the board, the lust of -hazard writ large in their looks. The dice kept up a -continuous patter, punctuated by the intent growls of -the gamesters. By the sloping wall of the cavern, -palleted on a pile of dirty straw, lay the Lord Flavian of -Gambrevault, with his hands shackled to a staple in the -rock. He lay stretched on his side, with his back turned -towards the light, so that his face was invisible to the girl -behind the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched the man awhile with a curious and dark-eyed -earnestness. There was pathos in the prostrate -figure, as though Hezekiah-like the man had turned to -the bare rock and the callous comfort despair could give. -Once she imagined that she saw a jerking of the shoulders, -that hinted at something very womanish. The thought -smote new pity into her, and sent her away from the -cranny, trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland withdrew into Fulviac's room, and thence into -the murk of the gallery leading to her bower. A sudden -sense of impotence had flooded into her heart; she even -yearned for some shock of Fate that might break the very -bonds that bound her to her vengeance, as to a corpse. -On the threshold of her room, a sudden sound brought her -to a halt like a hand thrust out of the dark to clutch her -throat. She stood listening, like a miser for thieves, and -heard much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A curse came from the guard-room, the crash of an -overturned bench, the tingling kiss of steel. She heard -the scream as of one stabbed, a smothered uproar, an -indiscriminate scuffling, then----silence. She stood a -moment in the dark, listening. The silence was heavy -and implacable as the rock above. Fear seized her, a -lust to know the worst. She ran down the gallery into -Fulviac's room. The door was still ajar; she thrust it -open and entered the great cavern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her doubts elapsed in an instant. At the long table, -a man sat with his head pillowed on his arms. A red -rivulet curled away over the board, winding amid the -drinking horns, isleting the dice in its course. On the -floor lay the second guard, a smudge of crimson oozing -from his grey doublet, his arms rigid, his hands clawing -in the death-agony. At the end of the table stood the -Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three cubits of steel had tangled the plot vastly in the -passing of a minute. The climax was like a knot of silk -thrust through with a sword. The two stood motionless -a moment, staring at each other across the length of the -table, like a couple of mutes over a grave. The man was -the first to break the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, with a certain grand air, and a -flippant gesture, "suffer me to condone with you over -the lamentable tricks of Fortune. But for gross selfishness -on my part, I should still be chastening myself for the -unjust balancing of our feud. God wills it, seemingly, -that I should continue to be your debtor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Despite her woman's wit, the girl was wholly puzzled -how to answer him. She was wickedly conscious in her -heart of a subtle gratitude to Heaven for the sudden -baulking of her malice. The man expected wrath from her, -perhaps an outburst of passion. Taking duplicity to her -soul, she stood forward on the dais and tilted her chin at -him with dutiful defiance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank my irresolution, messire," she said, "for this -reprieve of fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came two steps nearer, as though not unminded to -talk with her in open field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At dawn I might have had you slain," she continued, -with some hastening of her tongue; "I confess to having -pitied you a little. You are young, a mere boy, weak and -powerless. I gave you life for a day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man reddened slightly, glanced at the dead men, -and screwed his mouth into a dry smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most harmless, as you see, madame," he said. "For -your magnanimity, I thank you. </span><em class="italics">Deo gratias</em><span>, I will be as -grateful as I may."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood considering him out of her dark, long-lashed -eyes. The man was good to look upon, ruddy and clean -of lip, with eyes that stared straight to the truth, and a pose of -the head that prophesied spirit. The sunlight of youth played -sanguine upon his face; yet there was also a certain shadow -there, as of premature wisdom, born of pain. There were -faint lines about the mouth and eyes. For all its sleek and -ruddy comeliness, it was not the face of a boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," she said to him at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He who lurks over long in the wolf's den may meet -the dam at the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her, a frank flash of sympathy that was -not devoid of gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haste would be graceless," he said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Madame Yeoland, have I not watched my arms -at night before the high altar at Avalon? Have I not -sworn to serve women, to keep troth, and to love God? -You judge me hardly if you think of me as a butcher -and a murderer. For the death of your kinsfolk I hold -myself ashamed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a fine light upon his face, a power of truth -in his voice that was not hypocritic. The girl stared -him over with a certain critical earnestness that boasted -a gleam of approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair words," she said to him; "you did not speak -thus to me last eve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" he cried, beaming on her, "I was cold as a -corpse; nor could I whine, for pride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your shackles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed and held up both hands; the wrists were -chafed and bloody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was ever a jest against me," he said, "that I had -the hands of a woman, white and meagre, yet strong with -the sword. Your fellows thrust a pair of wristlets on me -fit for a Goliath, strong, but bulky. My hands have -proved my salvation. I pulled them through while the -guards diced, crept for a sword, gained it, and my -freedom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded, and was not markedly dismal, though the -wind had veered against her cause. The man with the grey -eyes was a being one could not quarrel with with easy -sincerity. Probably it did not strike her at the moment that -this friendly argument with the man she had plotted to -slay was a contradiction worthy of a woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon meanwhile had drawn still nearer -to the girl upon the dais. His grey eyes had taken a -warmer lustre into their depths, as though her beauty -had kindled something akin to awe in his heart. He set -the point of the sword on the floor, his hands on the hilt, -and looked up at the white face medallioned in the black -splendour of its hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said very gravely, "it is the way of the -world to feel remorse when such an emotion is expedient, -and to fling penitence into the bottomless pit when the -peril is past. I shall prove to you that mine is no such -April penitence. Here, on the cross of my sword, I swear -to you a great oath. First, that I will build a chapel in -Cambremont glade, and establish a priest there. Secondly, -I will rebuild the tower, refit it royally, attach to it cottars -and borderers from mine own lands. Lastly, mass shall be -said and tapers burnt for your kinsfolk in every church in -the south. I myself will do such penance as the Lord -Bishop shall ordain for my soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man was hotly in earnest over the vow--red as a -ruby set in the sun. Yeoland looked down upon him with -the glimmer of a smile upon her lips as he kissed the cross -of the sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem honest," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, on this sword I swear it. It is hard to -believe any good of an enemy. Behold me then before -you as a friend. There is a feud betwixt us, not of my -willing. By God's light I am eager to bridge the gulf -and to be at peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head and looked at him with a sudden -mysterious sadness. Such a pardon was beyond belief, -the man's pure ardour, nothing but seed cast upon sand. -Fulviac, a tower of steel, seemed to loom beyond -him--an iron figure of Fate, grim and terrible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This can never be," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes were honestly sorrowful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is madame so implacable?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said, "you do not understand me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood a moment in thought, as though casting -about in his heart for the reason of her sternness. Despite -her wrongs, he was assured by some spirit voice that it -was not death that stalked betwixt them like an angel of -doom. As he stood and brooded, a gleam of the truth -flashed in upon his brain. He went some steps back -from her, as though destiny decreed it that they should -sever unabsolved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, madame," he said to her; "the riddle -is plain to me. I no longer grope into the dark. This -man, here, is your husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went red as a rose blushing on her green throne -at the coming of the dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I am no wife," she said to him. "God knows -but for this man I should be friendless and without home. -He has spread honour and chivalry before my feet like a -snow-white cloak. Even in this, my godless vengeance, -he has served me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man strode suddenly towards the dais, with his face -turned up to hers. A strange light played upon it, half -of passion, half of pity. His voice shook, for all its -sanguine strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, madame, tell me one thing before I go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I your pardon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you love life, messire, leave me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I your pardon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go! ere it is too late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a ghostly retort to her appeal came the sound of -armed men thundering over the bridge. Their rough -voices rose in the night's silence, smitten through with -the clash and clangour of arms. Fulviac had caught -John of Brissac's company in the woods by Gilderoy. -There had been a bloody tussle and much slaughter. -Triumphant, they were at the gate with Prosper the -Preacher in their midst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pair in the cavern stared at each other with a mute -appeal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac," said the girl in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The door!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is barred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were silent and round-eyed, as children caught -in the midst of mischief. Mailed fists and pike staves -were beating upon the gate. A babel of impatience -welled up without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Adrian, Gregory!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lazy curs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unbar, unbar!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mocking silence leered in retort. Yeoland and the -Lord of Avalon were still as mice. The din slackened -and waned, as though Fulviac's men were listening for -sound of life within. Then came more blows upon the -gate; fingers fumbled at the closed grill. The man -Gregory lay and stared at the rocky roof; Adrian sat -with his face pooled by his own blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fiercer voice sounded above the clamour. It was -Fulviac's. The girl shivered as she stood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, there, Gregory, Adrian; what's amiss with ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still silence, mocking and implacable. The lull held for -the moment; then the storm gathered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Break down the gate," roared the voice; "by God, -we will see the bottom of this damned silence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord Flavian of Avalon had stood listening with -the look of a man cooped in a cavern, who hears the sea -surging to his feet. He glanced at the dead guards, and -went white. To save his soul from purgatory it behoved -him to act, and to act quickly. A single lamp still burnt -in the oratory of hope. He went near to the girl on the -dais, and held up the crossed hilt of his sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Holy Cross, mercy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She cast a frightened glance into his eyes, and continued -mute a moment. The thunder grew against the gate, the -crash of steel, a rending din that went echoing into all the -pits and passage-ways of the place. Fulviac's men had -dragged the trunk of a fallen pine up the causeway, and -were charging the gate till the timber groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man, with his sword held like a crucifix, stood and -pleaded with his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mercy!" he said; "you know this warren and can save me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a craven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Craven? before God, no, only desperate. What hope -have I unharnessed, one sword against fifty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For yet another moment she appeared irresolute, dazed -by the vision of Fulviac's powerful wrath. He was a stark -man and a terrible, and she feared him. The timbers of -the gate began to crack and gape. Flavian of Avalon -lifted up his voice to her with a passionate outburst of -despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, madame, I cannot die. I am young, look at me, -life is at its dawn. By your woman's mercy, hide me. -Give me not back to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His bitter agitation smote her to the core. She looked -into his eyes; they were hungry as love, and very piteous. -There could be no sinning against those eyes. Great fear -flooded over her like a green billow, bearing her to the -inevitable. In a moment she was as hot to save him as if -he had been her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said, "quick, before the gate gives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She led him like the wind through Fulviac's parlour, and -down the gallery to her own bower. It was dark and -lampless. She groped to the postern, fumbled at the latch -and conquered it. Night streamed in. She pushed the -man out and pointed to the steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The forest," she said, "for your life; bear by the stars -for the north."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A full moon had reared her silver buckler in the -sky. The night was sinless and superb, drowned in -a mist of phosphor glory. The man knelt at her -feet a moment, and pressed his lips to the hem of her gown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin bless you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He descended and disappeared where the trees swept up -with wizard glimmerings to touch the cliff. When he had -fled, Yeoland passed back into the cavern, and met Fulviac -before the splintered gate with a lie upon her lips.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiii"><span class="large">PART II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fra Balthasar rubbed his colours in the chapel of Castle -Avalon, and stared complacently upon the frescoes his fingers -had called into being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A migratory friar, Fra Balthasar had come from the -rich skies, the purple vineyards, the glimmering orange -groves of the far south. Gossip hinted that a certain -romantic indiscretion had driven him northwards over -the sea. A "bend sinister" ran athwart his reputation as -a priest. Men muttered that he was an infidel, a -blasphemous vagabond, versed in all the damnable heresies of -antiquity. Be that as it may, Fra Balthasar had come -to Gilderoy on a white mule, with two servants at his -back, an apt tongue to serve him, and much craft as a -painter and goldsmith. He had set up a </span><em class="italics">bottega</em><span> at -Gilderoy, and had cozened the patronage of the magnates -and the merchants. Moreover, he had netted the favour -of the Lord Flavian of Avalon, and was blazoning his -chapel for him with the lavish fancy of a Florentine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar stood in a cataract of sunlight, that -poured in through a painted window in the west. He -wore the white habit of Dominic and the long black -mantle. A golden mist played about his figure as he -rubbed his palette, and scanned with the egotism of the -artist the </span><em class="italics">Pietà</em><span> painted above the Lord Flavian's state -stall. That gentleman, in the flesh, had established -himself on a velvet hassock before the altar steps, thus -flattering the friar in the part of a sympathetic patron. The -Lord of Avalon had dedicated his own person to art as -an Eastern King in the splendour of Gothic arms, kneeling -bare-headed before the infant Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar was a plump man and a comely, black -of eye and full of lip. His shaven chin shone blue as -sleek velvet. He had turned from the </span><em class="italics">Pietà</em><span> towards the -altar, where a triptych gleamed with massed and brilliant -colour. The Virgin, a palpitating divinity breathing stars -and gems from her full bosom, gazed with a face of -sensuous serenity at the infant lying in her lap. She -seemed to exhale an atmosphere of gold. On either wing, -angels, transcendant girls in green and silver, purple and -azure, scarlet and white, made the soul swim with visions -of ruddy lips and milk-white hands. Their wings gleamed -like opals. They looked too frail for angels, too human -for heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon sat on his scarlet hassock, and -stared at the Madonna with some measure of awe. She -was no attenuated, angular, green-faced fragment of -saintliness, but by every curve a woman, from plump -finger to coral lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are no Byzantine," quoth the man on the hassock, -with something of a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The priest glanced at him and smiled. There were -curves in lip and nostril that were more than indicative -of a sleek and sensuous worldliness. Fra Balthasar was -much of an Antinous, and doted on the conviction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I paint women, messire," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lordship laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Divinities?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar flourished his brush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Divine creatures, golden flowers of the world. Give -me the rose to crush against my mouth, violets to burn -upon my bosom. Truth, sire, consider the sparkling -roundness of a woman's arm. Consider her wine-red lips, -her sinful eyes, her lily fingers dropping spikenard into -the soul. I confess, sire, that I am a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar's opulent extravagance of sentiment suited the -litheness of his look. Balthasar had enthroned himself in -his own imagination as a species of Apollo, a golden-tongued -seer, whose soul soared into the glittering infinitudes of art. -An immense egotist, he posed as a full-blooded divinity, -palpitating to colour and to sound. He had as many -moods as a vain woman, and was a mere fire-fly in the -matter of honour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reverend sire," quoth the man on the footstool with -some tightening of the upper lip, "you bulk too big for -your frock, methinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar touched a panel with his brush; cast a glance -over his shoulder, with a cynical lifting of the nostril.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My frock serves me, sire, as well as a coat of mail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you believe the things you paint?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man swept a vermilion streak from his brush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An ingenuous question, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ever ingenuous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A perilous habit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you have not answered me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar tilted his chin like a woman eyeing herself in -a mirror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Religion is full of picturesque incidents," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is profitable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, you shame Solomon. There are ever many rich -and devout fools in the world. Give me a gleaming Venus, -rising ruddy from the sea, rather than a lachrymose -Magdalene. But what would you? I trim my Venus up in -fine apparel, put a puling infant in her lap. </span><em class="italics">Ecce--Sancta -Maria</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the footstool smiled despite the jester's -theme, a smile that had more scorn in it than sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You verge on blasphemy," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There can be no blasphemy where there is no belief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are over subtle, my friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, I have come by that godliness of mind when -man discovers his own godhead. Let your soul soar, I -say, let it beat its wings into the blue of life. Hence with -superstition. Shall I subordinate my mind to the prosings -of a mad charlatan such as Saul of Tarsus? Shall I, like -each rat in this mortal drain, believe that some god cares -when I have gout in my toe, or when I am tempted to bow -to Venus?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the hassock grimaced, and eyed the friar -much as though he had stumbled on some being from the -underworld. He was a mystic for all his manhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God pity your creed," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, the inflated mortal----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This man god of yours who tosses the stars like so -many lemons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough, sir friar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Defend me from your mass of metaphor, your relics -of barbarism. We, the wise ones, have our own hierarchy, -our own Olympus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On my soul, you are welcome to it," quoth the man -by the altar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar's hand worked viciously; he was strenuous -towards his own beliefs, after the fashion of dreamers -delirious with egotism. The very splendour of his infidelity -took its birth from the fact that it was largely of his own -creating. His pert iconoclasm pandered to his own vast -self-esteem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me for what you live," said the man by the altar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For beauty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the senses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Colours, odours, sounds. To breathe, to burn, and -to enjoy. To be a Greek and a god."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is a great fresco, a pageant of passions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon sprang up and began to pace the -aisle with the air of a man whose blood is fevered. For -all his devoutness and his mystical fidelity, he was in too -human and passionate a mood to be invulnerable to -Balthasar's sensuous shafts of fire. The Lord Flavian had -come by a transcendental star-soaring spirit, an inspiration -that had torched the wild beacon of romance. He was -red for a riot of chivalry, a passage of desire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning back towards the altar, he faced the Madonna -with her choir of angel girls. Fra Balthasar was watching -him with a feline sleekness of visage, and a smile that -boasted something of contempt. The friar considered spirituality -a species of magician's lanthorn for the cozening of -fools.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What quip have you for love?" said the younger man, -halting by the altar rails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar stood with poised brush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some sincerity in the emotion," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are experienced?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, consider my 'habit.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar's mock horror was surprising, an excellent jest -that fell like a blunted bolt from the steel of a vigorous -manhood. The Lord Flavian ran on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I fence with an infidel?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, a man may be a man without the creed of -Athanasius."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much of me do you understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar cleared his throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Duessa, sire, is a rose of joy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monk!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, it was your dictum that you are ever -ingenuous. I echo you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need I confess to you on such a subject?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, you have the inconsistency of a poet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, one can sniff rotten apples without opening -the door of the cupboard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The younger man jerked away, and went striding -betwixt the array of frescoes with something of the wild -vigour of a blind Polyphemus. Balthasar, subtle sophist, -watched him from the angle of his eye with the sardonic -superiority of one well versed in the contradictions of the -world. He had scribbled a shrewd sketch of the passions -stirring in his patron's heart. Had he not heard from the -man's own lips of the white-faced elf of the pine woods -and her vengeance? And the Lady Duessa! Fra Balthasar -was as wise in the gossip of Gilderoy as any woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire," he said, as the aristocrat turned in his stride, "I -ask of you a bold favour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suffer me to paint your mood in words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stared, shrugged his shoulders, smiled -enigmatically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try your craft," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar began splashing in a foreground with irritable -bravado.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, you were a fool at twenty," were his words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thrice damned fool," came the echo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, messire, a golden chain makes a Tantalus -of you. Life crawls like a sluggish river. You chafe, -you strain, you rebel, feed on your own heart, sin to assert -your liberty. Youth slips from you; the sky narrows -about your ears. Well, well, have I not read aright?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak on," quoth the man by the altar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, it is the old tale. They have cramped up -your youth with book and ring; shut you up in a moral -sarcophagus with a woman they call your wife. You burn -for liberty, and the unknown that shines like a purple streak -in a fading west. Ah, sire, you look for that one marvellous -being, who shall torch again the youth in your heart, -make your blood burn, your soul to sing. That one woman -in the world, mysterious as the moon, subtle as the night, -ineffably strange as a flaming dawn. That woman who -shall lift you to the stars; whose lips suck the sap of the -world; whose bosom breathes to the eternal swoon of all -sweet sounds. She shall light the lust of battle in your -heart. For her your sword shall leap, your towers totter. -Chivalry should lead you like a pillar of fire out of the -night, a heroic god striving for a goddess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon stood before the high altar as one -transfigured. Youth leapt in him, red, glorious, and -triumphant. Balthasar's tongue had set the pyre aburning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, it is the truth," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar gathered his brushes, and took breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast thou found thy Beatrice, O my son?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I gazed into heaven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar's voice filled the chapel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Live, sire, live!" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be mad! Drink star wine, and snuff the odours of -all the sunsets! Live, live! You can repent in comfort -when you are sixty and measure fifty inches round the -waist."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiv"><span class="large">XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dame Duessa had come to Avalon, having heard certain -whisperings of Gilderoy, and of a golden-haired Astarte -who kept house there. Dame Duessa was a proud woman -and a passionate, headstrong as a reformer, jealous as a -parish priest. She boasted a great ancestry and a great -name, and desires and convictions in keeping. She was a -woman who loved her robe cupboard, her jewel-case, and -her bed. Moreover, she pretended some affection for the -Lord Flavian her husband, perhaps arrogance of ownership, -seeing that Dame Duessa was very determined to keep him -in bonded compact with herself. She suspected that the -man did not consider her a saint, or worship her as such. -Yet, termagant that she was, Dame Duessa could suffer -some trampling of empty sentiment, provided Fate did not -rob her of her share in the broad demesne and rent-roll of -Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Avalon was a castle of ten towers, linked by a strong -curtain wall, and built about a large central court and -garden. A great moat circled the whole, a moat broad -and silvery as a lake, with water-lilies growing thick in -the shallows. Beyond the moat, sleek meadows tufted -with green rushes swept to the gnarled piers of the old -oaks that vanguarded the forest. The black towers -slumbered in a mist of green, girded with sheeny water, -tented by the azure of a southern sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dame Duessa, being a lady of silks and tissues, did not -love the place with all her soul. Avalon of the Orchards -was dull, and smacked of Arcady; it was far removed from -that island of fair sin, Lauretia, the King's city. Moreover, -the Lord Flavian and his ungallant gentlemen held rigorously -to the northern turrets, leaving her to lodge ascetically -in her rich chamber in a southern tower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband contrived to exile himself as far as Castle -Avalon could suffer him. If the pair went to mass, they -went separately, with the frigid hauteur of an Athanasius -handing an Aryus over to hell. When they hunted they -rode towards opposite stars. No children had chastened -them, pledges of heaven-given life. The Lady Duessa -detested ought that hinted at caudle, swaddling-clothes, -and cradles. Moreover, all Avalon seemed in league with -the Lord Flavian. Knights, esquires, scullions, horse-boys -swore by him as though he were a Bayard. Dame Duessa -could rely solely on a prig of a page, and a lady-in-waiting -who wore a wig, and perhaps on Fra Balthasar, the -Dominican.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, the Lord of Avalon had been putting forth -his penitence in stone and timber, and an army of -craftsmen from Geraint. The glade in Cambremont wood rang -to the swing of axes and the hoarse groaning of the saw. -The tower had been purged of its ashes, its rooms -retimbered, its casements filled with glass. A chapel was -springing into life under the trees; the cleverest masons of -the south were at work upon its pillars and its arches. Fra -Balthasar, the Dominican, held sway over the whole, subtle -in colour and the carving of stone. Flavian could have -found no better pander to his penitence. Rose nobles had -been squandered. Frescoes, jewel bright, were to blaze out -upon the walls. The vaulted roof was to be constellated -with glimmering gold stars, shining from skies of purple -and azure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To turn to Fulviac's great cliff hid in the dark depths of -the forest of pines. The disloyal chaff of the kingdom -was wafted thither day by day, borne on the conspiring -breeze. The forest engulfed all comers and delivered -them like ghosts into Fulviac's caverns. An army might -have melted into the wilds, and the countryside have been -none the wiser. Amid the pines and rocks of the cliffs -there were marchings and countermarchings, much -shouldering of pikes and ordering of companies. Veterans who -had fought the infidels under Wenceslaus, drilled the raw -levies, and inculcated with hoarse bellowings the rudiments -of military reason. They were rough gentlemen, and -Fulviac stroked them with a gauntlet of iron. They were -to attempt liberty together, and he demonstrated to them -that such freedom could be won solely by discipline and -soldierly concord. The rogues grumbled and swore behind -his back, but were glad in their hearts to have a man for -master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To speak again of the girl Yeoland. That March night -she had met Fulviac over the wreckage of the broken gate, -and had made a profession of the truth, so far, she said, as -she could conjecture it. She had been long in the forest, -had returned to the cliff to find the guards slain, and the -Lord Flavian gone. By some device he had escaped from -his shackles, slain the men, and fled by the northern -postern. The woman made a goodly pretence of vexation of -spirit over the escape of this reprobate. She even taunted -Fulviac with foolhardiness, and lack of foresight in so -bungling her vengeance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's escape from the cliff roused Fulviac's energies -to full flood. The aristocrat of Avalon was ignorant -of the volcano bubbling under his feet, yet any retaliatory -meddling on his part might prove disastrous at so critical -an hour. Fulviac thrust forward the wheels of war with a -heavy hand. The torrents of sedition and discontent were -converging to a river of revolt, that threatened to crush -tyranny as an avalanche crushes a forest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Virgin with her moon-white face still inspired -Yeoland with the visionary behest given in the ruined -chapel. The girl's fingers toiled at the scarlet banner; -she spent half her days upon her knees, devout as any -Helena. She knew Fulviac's schemes as surely as she did -the beads on her rosary. The rough rangers of the forest -held her to be a saint, and knelt to touch her dress as she -passed by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet what are dreams but snowflakes drifting from the -heavens, now white, now red, as God or man carries the -lamp of love? The girl's ecstasy of faith was but a potion -to her, dazing her from a yet more subtle dream. A faint -voice summoned her from the unknown. She would hear -it often in the silence of the night, or at full noon as she -faltered in her prayers. The rosary would hang idle on -her wrist, the crucifix melt from her vision. She would -find her heart glowing like a rose at the touch of the sun. -Anon, frightened, she would shake the human half of -herself, and run back penitent to her prayers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was springtide and the year's youth, when memories -are garlanded with green, and romance scatters -wind-flowers over the world. Many voices awoke, like the -chanting of birds, in Yeoland's heart. She desired, even -as a swallow, to see the old haunts again, to go a pilgrim -to the place where the dear dead slept. Was it yearning -grief, or a joy more subtle, the cry of the wild and the -voice of desire? Mayhap white flowers shone on the -tree of life, prophetic of fruit in the mellow year. Jaspar -the harper heard her plea; 'twas wilful and eager, but what -of that! Fulviac, good man, had ridden to Gilderoy. -The girl had liberty enough and to spare. She took it -and Jaspar, and rode out from the cliff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Threading the sables of the woods, they came one noon -to the open moor. It was golden with the western sun, -solitary as the sea. The shadows were long upon the -sward when Cambremont wood billowed out in its valley. -There was no hope of their reaching the tower before -dusk, so they piled dead bracken under a cedar, where the -shelving eaves swept to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were astir early upon the morrow, a sun-chastened -wind inspiring the woodlands, and sculpturing grand friezes -from the marbles of the sky. The forest was full of the -glory of Spring, starred with anemones and dusted with the -azure campaniles of the hyacinth horde. Primroses lurked -on the lush green slopes. In the glades, the forest -peristyles, green gorse blazed with its constellations of gold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the dolt and the hag the world is nothing but a fat -larder; only the unregenerate are blind of soul. Beauty, -Diana-like, shows not her naked loveliness to all. The -girl Yeoland's eyes were full of a strange lustre that May -morning. Many familiar landmarks did she pass upon the -way, notched deep on the cross of memory. There stood -the great beech tree where Bertrand had carved his name, -and the smooth bark still bore the scars where the knife -had wantoned. She forded the stream where Roland's -pony had once pitched him into the mire. Her eyes grew -dim as she rode through the sun-steeped woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day had drawn towards noon when they neared -the glade in the midst of Cambremont wood. Heavy wain -wheels had scarred the smooth green of the ride, and the -newly-sawn pedestals of fallen oaks showed where -woodmen had been felling timber. To Jaspar the harper these -signs were more eloquent of peril than of peace. He began -to snuff the air like an old hound, and to jerk restless -glances at the girl at his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See where wheels have been," he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And axes, my friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What means it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one rebuilds the tower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harper wagged his head and half turned his horse -from the grass ride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hide in the woods if you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rode on with a triumphant wilfulness and he followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the glade, the noise of axe and hammer -floated on the wind, and they saw the scene flicker towards -them betwixt the great boles of the trees. The tower stood -with battlements of fresh white stone; its windows had been -reset, the blasting touch of fire effaced from the walls. The -glade was strewn with blocks of stone and lengths of -timber; the walls of a chapel were rising from the grass. Men -were digging trenches for the foundations of the priest's -cell. Soldiers idled about gossiping with the masons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a smile in the girl's eyes and a deeper tint -upon her cheeks as she stared betwixt the trees at the -regarnished tower. Those grey eyes had promised the -truth in Fulviac's cavern. She was glad in her heart of -the man's honour, glad with a magic that made her colour. -As for the harper, he stroked his grey beard and was mute. -He lacked imagination, and was no longer young.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a stump of an oak tree at the edge of the wood sat a -man in a black mantle and a habit of white cloth. He had -a panel upon his knee, and a small wooden chest beside him -on the grass. His eyes were turned often to the rolling -woods, as his plump hand flourished a brush with nervous -and graceful gestures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seeing the man's tonsure, and his dress that marked him -a Dominican, Yeoland rode out from the trees, casting her -horse's shadow athwart his work. The man looked up -with puckered brow, his keen eye framing the girl's figure -at a glance. It was his destiny to see the romantic and -the beautiful in all things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The priest and the girl on the horse eyed each other a -moment in silence. Each was instinctively examining the -other. The churchman, with an approving glint of the -eye, was the first to break the woodland silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace be with you, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone hinted at a question, and the girl adopted -therewith an ingenuous duplicity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My man and I were of a hunting party," she said; -"we went astray in the wood. You, Father, will guide us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has not discovered to me her desire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We wish for Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar rose and pointed with his brush towards the -ride by which they had come. He mapped the road for -them with sundry jaunty flourishes, and much showing of -his white teeth. Yeoland thanked him, but was still -curious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Father, whither have we wandered?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men call it Cambremont wood, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And these buildings? A retreat, doubtless, for holy men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar corrected her with much unction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord Flavian of Avalon builds here," he said, -"but not for monks. I, madame, am his architect, his -pedagogue in painting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland pretended interest. She craned forward over -her horse's neck and looked at the priest's panel. The act -decided him. Since she was young and comely, Balthasar -seized the chance of a chivalrous service. The girl had -fine eyes, and a neck worthy of a Venus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has taste. She would see our work?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame appeared very ready to grant the favour. -Balthasar put his brushes aside, held the girl's stirrup, and, -unconscious of the irony of the act, expatiated to Yeoland -on the beauties of her own home. At the end of their -pilgrimage, being not a little bewitched by such eyes and -such a face, he begged of her the liberty of painting her -there and then. 'Twas for the enriching of religious art, -as he very properly put it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dead Rual's grave was not ten paces distant, and Jaspar -was standing by it as in prayer. Thus, Yeoland sat to Fra -Balthasar, oblivious of him indeed as his fingers brought her -fair face into being, her shapely throat and raven hair. -His picture perfected, he blessed her with the unction of a -bishop, and stood watching her as she vanished down the -southern ride, graceful and immaculate as a young Dian.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xv"><span class="large">XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Hardly had an hour passed, and Fra Balthasar was still -touching the study he had made of Yeoland's face, when -a company of spears flashed out by the northern ride -into the clearing. At their head rode a knight in harness -of burnished steel, a splendid figure flashing chivalry in the -eyes of the sun. On his shield he bore "a castle, argent, -with ports voided of the field, on a field vert," the arms of -the house of Gambrevault. His surcoat was diapered -azure and green with three gold suns blazoned thereon. -His baldric, a splendid streak of scarlet silk, slashed his -surcoat as with blood. His troop, men in half armour, -rode under the Pavon Vert of the demesne of Avalon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They thundered into the open stretch of grass with a -clangorous rattle of steel. Flavian, bare-headed, for his -salade hung at his saddle-bow and he wore no camail, -scanned the glade with a keen stare. Seeing Fra Balthasar -seated under a tree, he turned his horse towards him, and -smiled as the churchman put his tools aside and gave him -a benediction. The man made a fine figure; judged by -the flesh, Balthasar might have stood for an Ambrose or a Leo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Herald of heaven, how goes the work?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we emulate Pericles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you there, a woman's head, some rare Madonna?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar showed his white teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pretty pastoral, messire. The study of a lady who -had lost her way hunting, and craved my guidance this -morning. A woman with the face and figure of a Dian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, rogue of the brush, let us see it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar passed the parchment into the other's hand. -Flavian stared at it, flushed to the temples, rapped out an -ejaculation in ecclesiastic Latin. His eyes devoured the -sketch with the insatiable enthusiasm of a lover; words -came hot off his tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, man, quick, is this true to life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As ruby to ruby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of your idealisations?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, but an hour ago that girl was sitting her -horse where your destrier now stands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you sketched this at her desire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At my own, sire; it was courtesy for courtesy: I had -shown her our handiwork here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You showed her this tower and chapel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She seemed sad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, merry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is romance!" He lifted the little picture at -arm's length to the sun, kissed it, and put it in his bosom. -His face was radiant; he laughed as though some golden joy -rang and resounded in his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A hundred golden angels for this face!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar was in great measure mystified. The -Lord of Avalon seemed an inflammable gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you are ever generous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Man, man, you have caught the one woman in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Madonna of the Pine Forest, the Madonna of -Mercy; she whose kinsfolk were put to the sword by -my men; even the daughter of Rual whose tower stands -yonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The priest comprehended the whole in a moment. -The dramatic quaintness of the adventure had made him -echo Flavian's humour. He laughed and shrugged his -shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Romance, romance! By all the lovers who ever -loved, by Tristan and the dark Iseult, by Launcelot and -Guinivere, follow that picture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way went she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the southern ride, towards Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man was in heroic humour; his sword flashed out -and shook in the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, I'll see her face again, and yet again, though -I burn in hell for it. Roland, Godamar, come, men, -come, throw away your spears. Ride, ride, we chase the -sunset. Life and desire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang away on his great bay horse, a shimmering -shaft of youth--youth that flashed forth chivalry into the -burgeoning green of Spring. The sunlight webbed his -hair with gold; his face glowed like a martyr's. Balthasar -watched him with much poetic zest, as he swept away -with his thundering knights into the woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The friar settled to his work again, but it was fated that -he was to have no lasting peace that morning. He was -painting in a background, a landscape, to a small -Crucifixion. His hand was out of touch, however; the subject -was not congenial. A pale face and a pair of dusky eyes -had deepened a different stream of thought in the man. -Themes hypersensuous held his allegiance; from prim -catholic ethics, he reverted to his glorious paganism with -an ever-broadening sense of satisfaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was interrupted once more, and not unpleasantly, -by a lady, with two armed servants at her back, riding in -from the forest by the northern ride. The woman was -clad in a cloak of damask red, and a jupon of dark green, -broidered with azure scroll work. Her hood, fallen back, -showed her purple black hair bound up in a net of gold. -Her large dark eyes flashed and smouldered under their -long lashes. She had high cheek-bones, a big nose, lips -full as an over-ripe rose. She was big of body, voluptuous -to look upon, as an Eastern odalisque, a woman of great -passions, great appetites.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar tumbled his brushes and paints aside, and -went to meet her as she rode over the grass. There -was a smile on the man's lips, a flush upon his sleek face, -as he walked with a courtly and debonair vanity. The -woman caught sight of him and wheeled her horse in his -direction. The autumn splendour of her cheeks told of -hard riding, and her horse dropped foam from his black -muzzle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar crossed himself with much meekness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good greeting, Madame Duessa," were his words, as -he kept his eyes on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman scanned the glade with the strenuous spirit -of a Boadicea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But is here no longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These buildings?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are the Lord Flavian's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am his architect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Morally, messire monk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I do not edificate souls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman stared him over with a critical comprehensiveness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Balthasar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man half glanced at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look me in the face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a sigh, made a gesture with his hands, -looked melancholy and over-ecstasied to the point of -despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, there are thoughts beyond one's liberty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are women, a woman, one dares not look -upon. There are eyes, well--well, that are too bright. -Pardon me, I would serve you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took a deep breath, held out her hand to him, a -big, warm hand, soft and white. The man's lips -burnt upon it. She touched his cheek and saw him colour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian is not here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But has been. Where now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Away hunting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, what do men hunt and burn for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes a stag, a hare, a standard, a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes--a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar, looking slantwise under half-closed lids, saw -her eyes flash and her lips tighten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The southern ride, towards Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa shook her bridle, and threw one look into -Balthasar's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember," she said, "remember, a woman loves a -friend, a true friend, who can tell a lie, or keep a secret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar watched her ride away. He stood and -smiled to himself, while his long fingers played with the -folds of his mantle. Red wine was bounding in his blood, -and his imagination revelled. He was a poetic person, -and a poet's soul is often like tinder, safe enough till the -spark falls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Gloria</em><span>," he said to himself with a smirk, "here's -hunting with a vengeance. Two women and a man! -The devil is loose. Soul of Masaccio, that woman has -fine eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That day, when the sky was growing red over the -woods, Flavian and his troop drew close on the heels of -Yeoland and the harper. The man, for all his heat, had -kept his horse-flesh well in hand. Once out of -Cambremont wood, they had met a charcoal-burner, who had seen -Yeoland and her follower pass towards the west. They -had hunted fast over fell and moor. While not two miles -behind came Duessa of the Black Hair, biting her lips and -giving her brute lash and spur with a woman's viciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, halting on a slope above the pine woods, -looked back and saw something that made her crane her -neck and wax vigilant. Out of the wine-red east and the -twilight gloom came the lightning of harness, the galloping -gleam of armed men. Jaspar's blear eyes were unequal to -the girl's. The men below were riding hard, half under -the lea of the midnight pines, whose tops touched the -sunset. A half-moon of steel, their crescent closed wood and -moor. They had the lead in the west; they were mounting -the slope behind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar saw them at last. He was for galloping. -Yeoland held him in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool, we are caught. Sit still. We shall gain nothing -by bolting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A knight was coming up the slope at a canter. -Yeoland saw his shield, read it and his name. She -went red under her hood, felt her heart beating, wondered -at its noise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Youth, aglitter in arms, splendid, triumphant! A face -bare to the west, eyes radiant and tender, a great horse -reined in on its haunches, a mailed hand that made the sign -of the cross!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew Balthasar's picture from his bosom and held it -before her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My torch," he said, "that led me to see your face again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was silent. Her head was thrown back, her -slim throat showing, her face turned heavenwards like the -face of a woman who is kissed upon the lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have seen your home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God pardon me your sorrow. You see I am no -hypocrite. I keep my vows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, let me be forgiven; you have trusted one -man, trust another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her horse suddenly and began to ride towards -the black maw of the forest. Her lips were tightly closed, -and she looked neither to the right nor the left. Flavian, -a tower of steel, was at her side. Armed men ranged in a -circle about them. They opened ranks at a sign from -their lord, and gave the woman passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to be forgiven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was mute a moment, as in thought. Then she spoke -quietly enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, for a vow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell it me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will never see my face again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with a great smile, drew his sword, -and held the point towards her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then give me hate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate, not forgiveness, hate, utter and divine, that I -may fight and travail, labour and despair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate me, hate me, with all the unreason of your -heart. Hate me a hundred times, that I may but leap -a hundred times into your life. Bar me out that I may -storm your battlements again and again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a fool?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A glorious, mad, inspired fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were quite near the trees. Their black masses -threw a great shadow over the pair. Higher still the sky -burnt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, whither do you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where you may not venture, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, I know no such region."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flashed round on him with sudden bitterness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to your wife. Go back to your wife, -messire; remember her honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a home-thrust, but it did not shame or weaken -him. He sheathed his sword, and looked at her sadly -out of his grey eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a world is this," he said, "when heaven comes -at last, hell yawns across the path. When summer -burns, winter lifts its head. Even as a man would grow -strong and pure, his own cursed shackles cumber him. -To-night I say no more to you. Go, madame, pray for -me. You shall see my face again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He let life vanish under the pines, and rode back with -the sunset on his armour, his face staring into the rising -night. His men came round him, silent statues of steel. -He rode slowly, and met his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were turbulent, her lips red streaks of scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, sire, I have found you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I trust you are well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They looked at each other askance like angry dogs, -as they rode side by side, and the night came down. -The men left them to themselves, and went on ahead. -A wind grew gusty over the moor.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 86%" id="figure-48"> -<span id="they-looked-at-each-other-askance-like-angry-dogs"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS."" src="images/img-116.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, I have borne enough from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, is it fault of mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His whole soul revolted from her with an immensity -of hate. She cumbered, clogged, crushed him. Mad -brutality leapt in his heart towards her. He could have -smitten the woman through with his sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five years ago----" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did the wooing. Damnation, we have been -marvellously happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bit her lip and was white as the moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care, messire, have a care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Threats, threats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at my shield. Have I quartered your arms -with mine? God's blood, there is nothing to erase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have no children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall send gold and an embassage to the Pope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clenched her hands and could not speak for the -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dare do this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare ten thousand greater things than this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, woman, am I going down to hell because -you are my wife!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She grew quiet very suddenly, a dangerous move in a woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she said, "try it, dear lord. I am no fool. -Try it, I am as strong as you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so they rode on towards Avalon together.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvi"><span class="large">XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is impossible for two persons of marked individuality to -be much together without becoming more or less faceted -one towards the other. We appeal by sympathy, and -inspire by contrast. What greater glory falls to a man's lot -than to be chastened by the warm May of some girl's pure -heart! Yeoland had felt the force of Fulviac's manhood; -the more eternal and holier instincts were being stirred in -him by a woman's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's life had been a transmigration. In his -younger days the world had banqueted him; new poignancies -had bubbled against his lips in the cup of pleasure. -Later had come that inevitable weariness, that distaste of -pomp, the mood that discovers vanity in all things. Finally -he had set his heart upon a woman, a broken reed indeed, -and had discovered her a hypocrite, according to the -measure of her passions. There had been one brief burst of -blasphemy. He had used his dagger and had disappeared. There -had been much stir at the time. A ruby had fallen from -the King's crown. Some spoke of Palestine, others of a -monastery, others of a cubit of keen steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had begun life over again. He had fallen back -upon elemental interests--had gone hungry, fought for -his supper, slept many a storm out under a tree. The -breath of the wilderness had winnowed out luxury; rain -had scourged him into philosophic hardihood. He had -learnt in measure that nothing pleases and endures like -simplicity. Even his ambition was simple in its audacious -grandeur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now the eyes of the daughter of Rual were like the eyes -of a Madonna, and she stood in a circle of white lilies like -the spirit of purity. Fulviac had begun to believe in her a -little, to love her a little. She stood above all other women -he had known. The ladies of the court were superb and -comely, and marvellously kind, but they loved colour and -contemned the robe of white. They were like a rich posy -for a man to choose from, scarlet and gold, azure, damask -or purple. You could love their bodies, but you could not -trust their souls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she was very devout, very -enthusiastic, but no Agnes. Her rosary had little rest, and -with the suspicions of one not utterly sure of herself, she -had striven to make religion and its results satisfy her soul. -In some measure she had succeeded. Yet there is ever -that psychic echo, that one mysterious being, subtle as the -stars, that may come before Christ in the heart. -Transcendent spirit of idolatry! And yet it is often -heaven-sent, seeing that it leads many a soul to God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had become Yeoland's custom to walk daily in the -pine wood at the foot of the stairway leading from the -northern room. She had discovered a quaint nook, a mile -or more from the cliff, a nook where trees stood gathered -in a dense circle about a grassy mound capped by a square -of mouldering stone. It was a grave, nameless and -without legend. Perhaps a hermit had crumbled away there -under the sods, or the bones of some old warrior slept -within rusty harness. None knew, none cared greatly. -Fulviac's men had hinted at treasure, yet even they were -kept from desecrating the place by a crude and superstitious -veneration for the dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had wandered here one day and had settled herself -on the grassy slope of the grave. The ribbon of her lute -lay over her shoulder. A breeze sang fitfully through the -branches, and a golden haze shimmered down as from -the clerestory windows of a cathedral. Her lute seemed -sad when it made answer to her fingers. Thought was -plaintive and not devotional, if one might judge by the -mood of the music, and the notes were wayward and -pathetically void of discipline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was while the girl thrummed idly at the strings that -a vague sound floated down to her with the momentary -emphasis born of a fickle wind. It was foreign to the -forest, or it would not have roused her as it did. As she -listened the sound came again from the west. It was -neither the distant bay of a hound nor a horn's solitary -note. There was something metallic about it, something -musical. When it disappeared, she listened for its -recurrence; when she heard it again, she puzzled over its nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound grew clearer at gradual intervals, and then -ceased utterly. The girl listened for a long while to no -purpose, and then prepared to forget the incident. The -decision was premature. She was startled anon by the -sound breaking out at no great distance. There was no -doubt as to its nature: it was the clanging of a bell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland wondered who could be carrying such a thing -in such a place. Possibly some of Fulviac's men were -coming home with stolen cattle, and an old bell-wether -from some wild moorland with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of the bell came very near; it seemed -close amid the circling ranks of pines. Twigs were -cracking too, and she heard the beat of approaching -footsteps. Then her glance caught something visible, a -streak of white in the shadows, moving like a ghost. -The thing went amid the trees with the bell mute. The -girl's doubts were soon set at rest as to whether she had -been seen or no. The figure in grey slipped between -the pines, and came out into the grass circle about the -grave, cowled, masked, bell at girdle, a leper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stared at it with a cold flutter at her heart. -The thing stood under the boughs motionless as stone. -The bell gave never a tinkle; a white chin poked -forward from under the hood; the masked face was in -shadow. Then the bell jangled, and a gruff voice came -from the cowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unclean, unclean!" it said; "avoid the white death, -and give alms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland obeyed readily enough, put a portion of the -grave betwixt herself and the leper, fumbled in her pouch -and threw the man a piece of silver. He came forward -suddenly into the light, fell on his knees, put his hood -back, plucked off the mask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the face of the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stood and stared at him with unstinted -astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You," she said, "you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I said that you should see my face again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She conceived a sudden impetuous desire to turn and -leave him on his knees, but some inner potency of -instinct restrained her. She looked down at the man, -with no kindling kindness upon her face. She did not -know what to say to him, how to tune her mood. The -first thought that rushed into her mind was seized upon -and pressed into service, discretion or no discretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madman, they will kill you if they find you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No woman ever loved a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake, go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose from his knees and lifted up his frock. The -girl saw harness and a sword beneath it. This young -leopard of the southern shores had fettle enough, and -spirit. He was a mixture of imperturbable determination -and sanguine Quixotism, as he faced her under the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This dress is privileged; my bell warns folk away; -who would fall foul of a miserable leper? If this frock -fails me, I have my sword."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with the solemnity of a child, hand -folded in hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot understand you," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you the man whose life I saved? That breath of -death on your brow, messire, should have made you -thoughtful of your soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me plead a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why your honour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I want you to believe that I have a soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was vastly earnest, and his eyes followed her, as -though she were some being out of heaven. She had never -seen such a look in a man's eyes before; it troubled her. -She questioned her own heart, laughed emptily, and gave in -to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are both mad," she said, "but go on. I will -listen for one minute. Keep watch lest any one should -come upon us suddenly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down on the grass bank, while he stood before -her, holding his lazar bell by the clapper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at this dress," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is how I feel in soul when I look at you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She frowned visibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you wax personal, messire, I shall leave you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, I will keep to my own carcase, and play the -egotist. Well, I will be brief. Look at me, I am the first -lord in the south, master of an army, one of the twelve -knights of the Order of the Rose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was twenty years old, certain clever people -found me a wife, a woman five years my senior in time, -twenty years my superior in knowledge of the world. -Well, six months had not passed before I hated her, hated -her with my whole soul. My God, what a thing for a -boy to begin life with a woman who made him half the -bounden vassal of the devil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem generous. The faults were all on her side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I say nothing against the woman, only that -she had no soul. We were incompatible as day and night, -fire and water. The thing crushed the youth out of me, -made me desperate, and worse, made me old beyond my -years. I have done my best. I have groped along like a -man in the dark, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, -save that I had a warm heart in me, and that life seemed -one grim jest. The future had no fire for me; I drank -the wine of the present, strove to please my senses, plunged -into the abysses of the world. Sometimes I tried to pray. -Sometimes I played the cynic. The eternal beacon of love -had gone out of my life. I had no sun, no inspiration for -my soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sprang up suddenly, breathing fast like one who is -near tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you speak to me of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was utterly lonely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I to you? You have hardly seen me three -hours in your life. Why do you speak to me of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put a hand to his throat, and did not look at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, there are people who come near our hearts in -one short hour, people who are winter to us to eternity. -Do not ask me to explain this truth; as Christ's death, -I know it to be true. I trust you. All the logicians of -the world could not tell me why. I do not know that I -could bring forward one single reason out of my own -soul, save that you showed me great mercy once. And -now--and now----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke down suddenly, and could not speak. Yeoland -appealed to him out of the quickness of her fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, messire, your promise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me speak, or I stifle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, for God's sake, go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flung his hands towards her with a great outburst of -passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven and God's throne, you shall hear me to the -end. Woman, woman, my soul flows to you as the sea -ebbs to the moon; deep in the sky a new sun burns; -the stars are dust, dust blown from the coffins of the -dead who loved. Life leaps in me like another chaos. -All my heart glows like an autumn orchard, and I burn. -The world is red with a myriad roses. God's in the -heaven, Christ bleeds on quaking Calvary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ran to him suddenly and seized his wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"GO----!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are coming, I hear them in the woods, they will -kill you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear them too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, go, for my sake and for God's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed her sleeve, pulled his cowl down, and fled -away into the woods.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvii"><span class="large">XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lady Duessa stood in the chapel of water-girded -Avalon, with Fra Balthasar the Dominican beside her. -She had slipped in without his noticing her, and had -watched him awhile in silence at his work. The jingling -of her chatelaine had brought him at last to a consciousness -of her presence. Now they stood together before -the high altar and looked at the Madonna seated on her -throne of gold, amid choirs of angel women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's intelligence had waxed critical on -the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have altered the Virgin's face," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar stared at his handiwork and nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The former has been erased, the latter throned in her -stead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words had more significance for the lady than -the friar had perhaps intended. A better woman would -have snubbed him for his pains. As it was, he saw her -go red, saw the tense stare of her dark eyes, the -tightening of the muscles of her jaw. She had a wondrous -strong jaw, had the Lady Duessa. She was no mere -puppet, no bright-eyed, fineried piece of plasticity. Fra -Balthasar guessed the hot, passionate power of her soul; -she was the very woman for the rough handling of a -cause, such as the Lord Flavian her husband had roused -against her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," she said, "this alteration was a matter of -art, Balthasar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A matter of heart, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian commanded it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yonder face is taken from life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I leave the inference to your charity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed a deep, cynical laugh, and went wandering -round the chapel, looking at the frescoes, and swinging a -little poniard by the chain that linked it to her girdle. -Balthasar made a pretence of mixing colours on his palette. -Worldly rogue that he was, he knew women, especially -women of the Lady Duessa mould. He had a most shrewd -notion as to what was passing in her mind. Morally, he -was her abettor, being a person who could always take -a woman's part, provided she were pretty. He believed -women had no business with religion. To Balthasar, like -fine glass, their frailty was their most enhancing characteristic. -It gave such infinite scope to a discreet confessor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa strolled back again, and stood by the -altar rails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I such a plain woman?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have never painted me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are people above the artist's brush."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you paint the Madonna."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, the Madonna is anybody's property."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God forbid that a poet should speak lightly of beauty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again, and touching her hair with her fingers, -scanned herself in a little mirror that she carried at her -girdle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me frankly, am I worth painting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, that purple hair, those splendid eyes, the superb -colour of those cheeks, would blaze out of a golden -background as out of heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a musical little titter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven, heaven, ha--ha."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be grateful for so transcendent a chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would do me justice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where inspiration burns, there art soars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would be true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the chiselling of a coral ear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And discreet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the curve of a lip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And considerate?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My hands are subtle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your heart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is ingenuous as a little child's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again, and held out her hands. Balthasar -kissed the white fingers, crowded with their gems. His -eyes were warm as water in the sun; the colours and the -glimmering richness of the chapel burnt into his brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall paint me," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, madame, here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my own bower is pleasanter. You can reach it -by my Lord Flavian's stair in the turret. Here is the key; -he never uses it now. Avalon has not seen him these six -days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I will paint you as man never painted woman -before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dame Duessa's bower was a broad chamber on the -western walls, joining the south-western tower. A great -oriel, jewelled with heraldic glass, looked over the mere -with its dreaming lilies, over the green meadows to the -solemn silence of the woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Calypso's grotto! The bower of a luxurious lady in -a luxurious age! The snuff of Ind and Araby tingled in -Balthasar's nostrils. The silks of China and Bagdad, -the cloths of Italy, bloomed there; flowers crowded the -window, the couches, every nook. Blood-red hangings -warmed the walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa sat to Balthasar in the oriel, with -her lute upon her bosom. She was in azure and violet, -with neck and bosom showing under a maze of gossamer -gold. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, white, gleaming -arms, subtle, sinuous, voluptuous. Her hair had been -powdered with gold. Her lips were wondrous red, her -eyes dark as wells. Musk and lavender breathed from her -samites; her girdle glowed with precious stones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar sat on a stool inlaid with mother-of-pearl -and ivory. An embroidery frame served him as an easel. -The man was living under the many-constellationed vault -of beauty. All the scent and floweriness of the room -played on his brain; all the wealth of it pandered to his -art; all the woman's splendour made molten wax of his -being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he painted she sang to him, an old lay of Arthurian -love, so that he might catch the music in her eyes, and -watch the deep notes gathering in her throat. He saw -her bosom sway beneath her lace, saw the inimitable -roundness of her arms. Often his brush lingered. He -might gaze upon the woman as he would, drink her -beauty like so much violet wine, open his soul to the -opulent summer of her power. His heart was in a -sunset mood; he lived the life of a poet.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And the green spring grew subtle," sang the dame,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>"With song of birds and laughter, and the woods</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Were white for maying. So fair Guinivere</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Loosed her long hair like rivulets of gold</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>That stream from the broad casement of the dawn.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And her sweet mouth was like one lovely rose,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And her white bosom like a bowl of flowers;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>So wandered she with Launcelot, while the wind</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Blew her long tresses to him, and her eyes</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Were as the tender azure of the night."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Of such things sang Duessa, while the friar spread his -colours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then she questioned him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love you the old legends, Balthasar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, as I love life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! they could love in those old days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, men can love even now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her lute aside, and knelt upon the couch before -the window, with her elbows on the cushioned sill. Her -silks swept close upon her shapely back, her shoulders -gleamed under her purple hair. In the west the world -grew red; the crimson kisses of the sunset poured upon -the ecstasied green woods. The mere was flaked with a -myriad amber scales. The meadows broidered their broad -laps with cowslips, as with dust of gold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Balthasar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look yonder at the sunset. You must be tired of -gazing on my face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose up like one dazed--intoxicated by colours, -sounds, and odours. Duessa's hand beckoned him. He -went and knelt on the couch at her side, and looked out -over the flaming woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other woman?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This Madonna of my lord's chapel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She amuses me; I am not jealous; what is jealousy -to me? Tell me about her, Balthasar; no doubt it is a -pretty tale, and you know the whole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, Duessa."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are my Lord Flavian's friend; he was ever a man -to be garrulous: he has been garrulous to you. Tell me -the whole tale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Duessa!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better, better, my friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hands upon his shoulders, and stared straight -into his eyes. Her lips overhung his like ripe red fruit. -Her arms were fragrant of myrrh and violet; her bosom -was white as snow under the moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you refuse me this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, madame, I can refuse you nothing."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xviii"><span class="large">XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The girl Yeoland saw nothing of the leper for a season. -For several days she did not venture far into the pine -forest, and the nameless grave heard not the sound of her -lute. The third night after the incident, as she lay in -her room under her canopy of purple cloth, she heard -distinctly the silver clangour of a bell floating up through -the midnight silence. She lay as still as a mouse, and -scarcely drew breath, for fear the man in grey should -venture up the stairway. The casement was open, with -a soft June air blowing in like peace. The bell -continued to tinkle, but less noisily, till it vanished into -silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Other folk from the cliff had seen the leper, and -Yeoland could not claim to have monopolised the -gentleman. One of Fulviac's fellows had seen him one -morning near the cliff, gliding like a grey ghost among the -pines. Another had marked him creeping swiftly away -through the twilight. It was a superstitious age and -a superstitious region. The figure in grey seemed to -haunt the place, with the occasional and mournful -sounding of its bell. Men began to gossip, as the ignorant -always will. Fulviac himself grew uneasy for more -material reasons, and contemplated the test of a clothyard -shaft or a bolt upon the leper's body. The man might -be a spy, and if the bolt missed its mark it would -at least serve as a sinister hint to this troublesome -apparition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that Yeoland took alarm into her woman's -heart. There was great likelihood of the man ending his -days under the tree with a shaft sticking fast between his -shoulders. Though he was something of a madman, she -did not relish such a prospect. The day after she had -heard the bell at midnight near the stair she haunted the -forest like a pixie, keeping constant watch between the -cliff and the forest grave. Fulviac had ridden out on a -plundering venture, and she was free of him for the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not till evening that she heard the faint signal of -the bell, creeping down through the gold-webbed boughs -like the sound of a distant angelus. The sound flew from -the north, and beckoned her towards the forest grave. -Fearful of being caught, she followed it as fast as her feet -could carry her, while the deepening clamour led her on. -Presently she called the man by name as she ran. His grey -frock and cowl came dimly through the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last you are merciful," was his greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood still and twisted her gown restlessly between -her two hands. Anarchy showed in her face; fear, reason, -and desire were calling to her heart. The intangible touch -of the man's soul threw her being into chaos. She feared -greatly for him, stood still, and could say nothing. Flavian -put his cowl back, and stood aloof from her, looking in her -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seemingly we are both embarrassed," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made a petulant little gesture. He forestalled her in -speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is best to be frank when life runs deep. I will -speak the truth to you, and you may treat me as you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland leant against a tree, and began to pull away the -brittle scales of the bark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you stay here longer, messire----" she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, madame, what then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will be shot like a dog; you are suspected; they -are going to try your leper's gown with a crossbow bolt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man smiled optimistically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you came to tell me this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind moved through the trees; a fir-cone came -pattering through the branches and fell at their feet. On -the cliff a horn blared; its throaty cry came echoing faintly -through the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian looked towards the gold of the west. His mood -was calm and deliberate; he had his enthusiasms in leash -for the moment, for there were more mundane matters in -his mind--matters that were not savoury, however -crimson shone the ideal years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thrown down the glove," he said, "for good or -evil, honour or dishonour. I will tell you the whole truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, watching his face, felt her impatient dreads -goad her to the quick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you talk for ever?" she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take the core then. I am going to rend my bonds as -I would rend flax. I have appealed to the Church; I have -poured out gold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the point, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall divorce my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He threw his head back, and challenged the world in -her one person. Her good favour was more to him than -the patronage of Pope or King. It was in his mind that -she should believe the worst of him from the beginning, so -that in some later season he might not emulate Lucifer, -toppled out of the heaven of her heart. She should have -the truth from the first, and build her opinion of him on no -fanciful basis. Even in this justice to the more sinister -side of his surroundings, he was an idealist, thorough and -enthusiastic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you must understand, madame, that I am not -without blemishes, not without things that I myself would -rather see otherwise. With me it is a question of going to -hell for a woman, or getting rid of her. Being an egotist, -I choose the latter alternative."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland still evaded his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the woman loves you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not an atom; she only cares to be called the Lady of -Gambrevault, Signoress of Avalon, the first dame in the -south."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you tell me this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, have I need of more words? It is for this: -that you might not picture me as I am not, or form any -false conception of me. I have bared my moral skeleton -to you. Perhaps you will never know what it costs a man -at times to make his mind as glass to the woman he -honours above the whole world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is because I honour you that I have goaded myself -to tell you the whole truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her verdict was more sudden and more human than he -might have expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you are a brave man," she said; "I believe I -am beginning to trust you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sky flamed into sunset; the tracery of the trees -seemed webbed with gold into shimmering domes and fans of -quivering light. In the distance, the great cliff stood out -darkly from the scarlet caverns of the west. The pine tops -rose like the black spires of some vast city. Above, floated -clouds, effulgent mounts of fire, hurled from the abysmal -furnace of the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian came two steps nearer to the woman, leaning -against the tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me my due," he said; "I have uncovered the -difficult workings of my heart, I have shown you the inner -man in his meaner mould. Suffer me to speak of my -manhood in godlier words. I have shown you Winter; let me -utter forth Spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland turned and faced him at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have risked your life and my honour long enough," -she said, "I am going back to the cliff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I with you, as far as the stairway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the threshold of death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What care I if I tread it at your side?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned homewards with obstinate intent, and the -mild hauteur of a good woman. The man followed her, -went with her step for step, looking in her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear my confession," he said; "you shall have it -before you leave me. For the sake of your honour, I hold -my soul by the collar. But--but, I shall win liberty, -liberty. When I am free, ah, girl, girl, I shall flash golden -wings in the face of the sun. I shall soar to you that I -may look into your eyes, that I may touch your hands, and -breathe the warm summer of your soul. I want God, I -want purity, I want the Eternal peace, I want your heart. -I have said the whole; think of me what you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twilight had gathered; all the violet calmness of the night -came down upon the world. Under the shadows of the tall -trees, the girl was deeply stirred beyond her own compassion. -She halted, hesitated, went suddenly near the man with her -face turned heavenwards like a new-spread flower. Her -eyes were very wistful, and she spoke almost in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have told me the whole truth, you have shown -me your whole soul?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I serve you, madame, I have kept nothing back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, messire, I will speak to you the truth in turn. -God be merciful to me, but you have come strangely -near my heart. These are bitter words for my soul. -Ah, messire, if you have any honour for me, trust me -that I aspire to heaven. I cannot suffer you to come -deeper into my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man held out his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because in following me, you go innocently to your -death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted up his arms, and leapt into heroics like an -Apollo leaping into a blood-red sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What care I; you speak in riddles; can I fear death?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, messire, it is the woman who fears. I tell -you this, because, because--God help me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fled away, but that night he did not follow her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xix"><span class="large">XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As a wind sweeps clamorous into a wood, so Modred -and his fellows, household knights, streamed into the great -hall of Avalon, where the Lord Flavian sat at supper. -Bearers of angry steel, fulminators of vengeance, -vociferous, strong, they poured in through the screens like a -mill race, bearing a tossed and impotent figure in their -midst. Their swords yelped and flashed over this bruised -fragment of humanity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gauntlet of steel was dashed often into the white face. -Hands clawed his collar, clutched his body. Dragged, -jerked onwards, buffeted, beaten to his knees, he sank -down before the Lord Flavian's chair, blood streaming -from his mouth and nostrils, specking his white habit, -drabbling the floor. Then only did the flashing, growling -circle recede like waves from a fallen rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred, a black man, burly, a bigot to honour, stood -out a giant before his fellows. His great sword quivered -to the roof; his deep voice shook the rafters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood, sire, blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the white habit quailed, and held up his -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me smite him as he kneels."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs, give me the courtesy of silence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian started from his chair and looked at the man, -who knelt, huddled into himself, at his feet. It was a -scene replete with the grim cynicism of life. Here was -a man of mind and genius, cowering, quivering before -the strong wrath of a dozen muscular illiterates. Here -was the promulgator of bold truths, an utter dastard when -the physical part of him was threatened with dissolution. -Not that this event was any proof against the moral power -of pagan self-reliance. Not that there was any cause for -the bleating of sanctimonious platitudes, or the pointing -of a proverb. A true churchman might have carved a -fine moral fable out of the reality. It would have been -a fallacy. Fra Balthasar was a coward. He had none of -the splendid mental anatomy of a Socrates. He would -have played the coward even under the eye of Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence had fallen. Far away, choked by the long throats -of gallery and stair, rose the wild, passionate screaming of -a woman. It had the rebellious, blasphemous agony of one -flung into eternal fire. Without modulation, abatement, or -increase, malevolent, impotent, ferocious, piteous, it pealed -out in long, tempestuous bursts that swept into the ears -like some unutterable discord out of hell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The kneeling man heard it, and seemed to contract, to -shrink into himself. His white habit was rent to the -middle; his ashy face splashed over with blood. He tottered -and shook, his hands clasped over the nape of his neck, for -fear of the sword. His tongue clave to his palate; his eyes -were furtively fixed on the upreared yard of steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Torches and cressets flared. Servants stared and -shouldered and gaped in the screens; all the castle underlings -seemed to have smelt out the business like the rats they -were. Modred's knights put them out with rough words -and the flat of the sword. The doors were barred. Only -Flavian, the priest, and Modred and his men took part in -that tribunal in the hall of Avalon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stood and gazed on Balthasar, the man of tones -and colours. The Lord of Gambrevault was calm, -unhurried, and dispassionate, yet not unpleased. The man's -infinite abasement and terror seemed to arrest him like -some superb precept from the lips of a philosopher. He -had the air of a man who calculates, the look of a diplomat -whose scheme has worked out well. From Balthasar he -looked to Modred the Strong, the torchlight lurid on his -armour, his great sword quivering like a falcon to leap -down upon its prey. The distant screaming, somewhat -fainter and less resolute, still throbbed in his ears. He -thought of Dante, and the </span><em class="italics">bolgias</em><span> of that superhuman singer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going close to the Dominican, he spoke to him in -strong, yet not unpitying tones. Balthasar dared not look -above the Lord Flavian's knees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my friend, where is all your fine philosophy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man cringed like a beggar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are all your sonorous phrases, your pert blasphemies, -your subtleties, your fine tinsel of intellect and -vanity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar had no word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your godliness, my friend, where your -glowing and superhuman soul? Have we found you out, O -Satanas; have we shocked your pagan heroism? Be a -man. Stand up and face us. You could hold forth -roundly on occasions. Even that Saul of Tarsus was not -afraid of a sword."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar cowered, and hid his face behind his hands. -He began to whimper, to rock to and fro, to sob. The -grim men round him laughed, deep-chested, iron, scoffing -laughter. Modred pricked the priest's neck with the point -of his sword. It was then that Balthasar fell forward upon -his face, senseless from sheer terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian abandoned philosophic irony, and addressed -himself to Modred and his knights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your swords, sirs; this man shall go free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, sire!" came the massed cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust my discretion. The fellow has done me the -greatest service of my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has given me liberty. He has gnawed the shackles -from my soul. You are all my witnesses in this, and may -count upon my gratitude. But this man here, he has -danced to my whim like a doll plucked by a string. For -my liberty has he sinned; out of Avalon shall he go -scatheless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men still murmured. Modred shot home his sword -into its scabbard with a vicious snap. Flavian read their -humour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not imagine, gentlemen," he said, "that your -vigilance and your loyalty to my honour can go unrewarded. -Modred, your lands are heavily mortgaged, I free you at a -word, with this my signet. To you, Bertrand, I give the -Manor of Riesole to keep and hold for you and yours. To -all you, good friends, I give a hundred golden angels, man -and man. And now, sirs, as to madame, my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They gathered round him in curious conclave, Balthasar -lying in their midst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Modred, you will order out my state litter, set the -Lady Duessa therein, and have her borne with all courtesy -to Gilderoy, to her father's house. Then you will take -these gentlemen who are my true friends and witnesses, and -you will ride to Lauretia, to make solemn declaration before -Bishop Hilary. He has already received my earlier embassage. -After this affair, we have no need of ethical subtleties -and clerical conveniences. You will obtain a dispensation -at his hands. </span><em class="italics">Ex vinculo matrimonii</em><span>. Nothing less than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They bowed to him and his commands, like the loyal -gentlemen they were. Modred pointed to the prostrate -Balthasar, who was already squirming back to consciousness, -with his fingers feeling at his throat, as though to discover -whether it was still sound or no.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this fellow, sire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pick him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar had found his tongue at last. He was jerked -to his feet, and held up by force, with the handle of a -poniard rammed into his mouth to stem his garrulity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian read him an extemporary lecture. There was -something like a smile hovering about his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to your missal, man, and forswear women. -They are like strong wine, too much for your flimsy brain. -I have more pity for you than censure. Say to yourself, -when you patter your prayers, 'Flavian of Gambrevault -saved me from the devil once.' And yet, my good saint, -I have a shrewd notion that you will be just as great a fool -two months hence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man gave a scream of delight, and attempted to -throw himself at Flavian's feet. His superlative joy was -almost ludicrous. Half a dozen hands dragged him back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him away--who cares for such gratitude!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they marched him off, he broke like an imbecile into -hysterical laughter. Tears streamed from his eyes. He -mopped his face with the corner of his habit, laughed and -snivelled, and sang snatches of tavern ditties. So, with -many a grim jest, they cuffed Fra Balthasar out of Avalon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of the drama, Flavian called for tapers, and -marched in state to the chapel. He knelt before the altar -and prayed to the Madonna, whose face was the face of -the girl Yeoland.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xx"><span class="large">XX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Fulviac, I cannot fasten all these buckles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man waited at the door of her room, and looked at -her with a half-roguish smile in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood by the window in Gothic armour of a grandly -simple type, no Maximilian flutings, no Damascening, the -simple Gothic at its grandest, nothing more. Her -breast-plate, with salient ridge, was blazoned over with golden -fleur-de-lis. The pauldrons were slightly ridged; -vam-brace and rere-brace were beautifully jointed with most -quaint elbow-pieces. She wore a great brayette, a short -skirt of mail, but no tassets. In place of cuishes, jambs, -and solerets, she had a kirtle of white cloth, and laced -leather shoes. It was light work and superbly wrought; -Fulviac had paid many crowns for it from an armourer at -Geraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her beauty, mailed and cased in steel, seemed to shine -upon the man with a new glory. When he had played the -armourer, she stood and looked at him with a most -conscious modesty, a warm colour in her cheeks, eyes full of -tremulous light, her masses of dark hair rolling down over -her blazoned cuirass. A hand and a half sword in a gilded -scabbard, a rich baldric, and a light bassinet lay on the oak -table. Fulviac took the sword, and belted it to her, and -slung the baldric over her shoulder. His hands moved -through her dark hair. For a moment, her eyes trembled -up at him under their long lashes. He gave the helmet -into her hands, but she did not wear it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden gust of youth seized the man, an old strain of -chivalry woke in his heart. Grizzled and gaunt, he went -on his knees in front of her and held up his hands as in -prayer. There was a warm light in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Mother Virgin keep you, little woman. May all -peril be far from your heart, all trouble far from your soul. -May my arm ever ward you, my sword guard your womanhood. -All the saints watch over you; may the Spirit of -God abide with you in my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a true prayer, though Fulviac stumbled up from -his knees, looking much like an awkward boy. He was -blushing under his tanned skin, blushing, scarred and -battered worldling that he was, for his heart still showed gold -to the knife of Time. Yeoland thought more of him that -moment than she had done these four months. A shadow -passed over her face, and she touched her forehead with her -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, a far-away look in his eyes, was furling her -great scarlet banner upon its staff. Yeoland spoke to him -over her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am in your hands," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smoothed out a crease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your will, you have not yet enlightened me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her gravely for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are ours," he said, "a woman given to us by -heaven," he hesitated, as over a lie; "you are to shine out -a star, a pillar of fire before the host; every man who -follows you will know your story; every man who follows -you will worship you in his heart. You will inspire us as -no mere man could inspire; your blood-red banner will -wave on heroes, patriots. You will play the comet with -an army for your tail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some sudden emotion seemed to sweep over her. She -stood motionless with clasped hands, looking at her crucifix. -There was a strange sadness upon her face, a tragic -sanctity, as on the face of a woman who renounces the world, -and more. For a long while she was silent, as though -suffering some lustre light out of heaven to stream into her -heart. Presently she answered Fulviac.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God help me to be strong," she said, "God help me -to bear the burden He has put upon my soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amen, little woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prosper is preaching to all our men upon the cliff. -He is telling them your story. I take you now to set you -before them all, that they may look upon a living Saint. -I leave the rest to your soul. God will tell you how to -bear yourself in the cause of the people. Come, let us -pray a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They knelt down side by side before the crucifix, like -effigies on a tomb. Fulviac's face was in shadow; -Yeoland's turned heavenward to the Cross. It was her -renunciation. Then they arose; Fulviac took up the scarlet -banner, and they passed out together from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Traversing parlour and guard-room, finding them empty -and silent as a church, they came by the winding stairway -in the rock to the hollow opening upon the platform above. -Two sentinels stood by the rough door. Above and -around, great stones had been piled up so as to form a -species of natural battlement. Fulviac, bearing the banner, -climbed the rocks, and signed to Yeoland to follow. They -were still within a kind of rude tower, walled in by heaped -blocks of stone on every side. They were alone save for -the two sentinels. Above, they saw Prosper the Preacher -standing on a great square mass of rock, his tall figure -outlined against the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They could see that the man was borne along by the -strong spirit of the preacher. His arms tossed to the sky -as he bent forward and preached to those invisible to -Fulviac and the girl. His oratory was of a fervid, -strenuous type, like fire leaping in a wind, fierce, mobile, -passionate. They could see him stride to and fro on his -platform, gesticulate, point to heaven, smite his bosom, -strike attitudes of ecstasy. His voice rang out the while, -full of subtle modulations, the pathetic abandonments, the -supreme outbursts of the orator. Much that he said fell -deep into the girl's heart. The man had that strange -power, that magnetic influence that exists in the individual, -defying analysis, yet real as the stirring witchery of great -music, or as the voice of the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon they saw him fall upon his knees, and lift his -hands to the heavens. He had cast a quick glance -backward over his shoulder. Prosper had soared to his zenith; -he had his men listening as for the climax of some great epic. -Fulviac thrust Yeoland forward up the slope. She -understood the dramatic pause in an instant. Prosper's words -had been like the orisons of birds preluding the dawn. She -climbed the rocks, and stepped out at the kneeling monk's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scene below dazed her for the moment. Many -hundred faces were turned to her from the slopes at her -feet. Innumerable eyes seemed fixed upon her with a -mesmeric stare. She saw the whole cliff below her packed -with men, every rock crowned with humanity, even the -pine trees had their living burden. She saw swords waving -like innumerable streaks of light; she had a confused -vision of fanaticism, exultation, power. Deep seemed calling -unto deep; a noise like the noise of breakers was in her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the whole grew clear on the instant. The sky -seemed strangely luminous; every outline in the -landscape took marvellous and intelligent meaning. Strange -Promethean fire flashed down into her brain. She felt -her heart leaping, her blood bounding through her body, -yet her mind shone clear as a crystal grael.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below her, she had humanity, plastic, inflammable, tinder -to her touch. An infinite realisation of power seemed to leap -in her as at the beck of some spirit wand. She felt all the dim -heroism of dreams glowing in her like wine given of the gods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Holy fire burnt on her forehead and her tongue was -loosed. She stood out on the great rock, her armour -flashing in the sun, her face bright as the moon in her -strength. Her voice, clear and silvery, carried far over cliff -and wood, for the day was temperate and without a wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look upon me well. I tell you the truth. I am she -to whom the Madonna appeared from heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Great silence answered her, the silence of awe, not of -disbelief or disapprobation. Her voice rang solitary as the -voice of a wood-fay in the wilderness. The huddled men -below were silent as children whose solemn eyes watch a -priest before the altar. She spoke on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am she whose tale you have heard. God has given me -to the cause of the poor. To your babes and to your womenfolk -I lift my hands; from the Mother of Jesus I hold my -command. Men of the land, will you believe and follow my -banner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thousand hands leapt to the sun, yet hardly a voice broke -the silence, the calm as of supreme revelation. All the simple -mediæval faith shone in the rough faces; all the quaint -reverence, the unflinching fidelity, of the unlettered of the age -shone in their hearts. They were warm earth to the seed -of faith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of the land, I hear great noise of violence and -wrong, of hunger and despair. Your lords crush you; -your priests go in jewels and fine linen, and preach not -the Cross. Your babes are slaves even before they see the -light. Your children, like brute beasts, are bound to the -soil. Men of the land, give me your strength, give me -your strength for the cause of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew her sword from its sheath, pressed the blade to her -lips, held it up to heaven. Her voice rang over rock and tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice and liberty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her shrill hail seemed to lift the silence from a thousand -throats. The human sea below gave up its soul to her -with thundering surges and vast sound of faith. As roar -followed roar, she stood a bright, silvery pinnacle above -the black fanaticism beneath, transcendent Hope holding -her sword to the eternal sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind her, Fulviac unwrapped the great scarlet banner -she had wrought. Its cross of gold gleamed out as he -lifted the staff with both hands. Prosper, erect and -exultant, stood pointing to its device. Then, in sight of all -men, he bowed down before the girl and kissed her feet, as -though she had been some rare messenger out of heaven.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxi"><span class="large">XXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The day had done gloriously till noon, but the sky's mood -changed as evening advanced. Clouds were huddled up in -grey masses by a gathering and gusty wind, and the June -calm took flight like a girl in a new gown when rain -threatens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By nightfall, a storm held orgy over the cliff. Billow -upon billow of wind came roaring over the myriad trees. -The pines were sweeping a murky sky with their black -brooms, creaking and moaning in chorus. Rain rattled -heavily, and over the cliff the storm thundered and cried -with the long wail of the wind over rock and tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Yeoland's chamber the lamp flared and smoked, and -the postern clattered. Rain splashed upon the shivering -casement; the carpet breathed restlessly with the draught -under the door. It was late, yet the girl was still at her -devotions. Her thoughts were dishevelled and full of -discords, while between her fingers the beads of her rosary -moved listlessly, and her prayers were broken by the -anathemas of the storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dual distractions of life had come in her to grappling -point again. She could boast no omnipotence in her own -heart, and could but give countenance to one of the two -factions that clamoured for her favour. As her mood -changed like the mood of a fickle despot none too sure of -his throne, so tumult and despair were let loose time after -time into the echoing courts and alleys of her soul. She -had neither the courage nor the force of will for the -moment to compel herself either to satisfy her womanhood -or sacrifice her instincts to a religious conviction. -Man and God held each a half of her being. The man's -face outstared God's face; God's law overshadowed the -man's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been carried into the palpitating azure of -religious exaltation. The world had rolled at her feet. She -had bathed her forehead in the infinite forethought of -eternity; she had heard the stupendous sounding of the -spheres. Then some mischievous sprite had plucked the -wings from her shoulders, and she had fallen far into an -abyss. After spiritual exaltation comes physical depression. -Neither is a normal state; neither strictly sane to the -intellect. Peter-like, she had trod the waves; faith had played -her false; the waters had gone over her soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she knelt brooding before her crucifix, under the -wavering lamp, she was smitten into listening immobility, -her rosary idle in her hand. A cry had come to her amid -the multitudinous voices of the storm, a cry like a hail from -a ship over a tumbling sea at night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited and wondered. Again the cry rose above -the babel of the wind. Was it from Fulviac's room; or a -sentinel's shout from the cliff, seized upon and carried by -the wind with distorting vehemence? Midnight covered -the world, and the girl was in an impressionable mood. She -took the lamp from its bracket and, opening the door, -peered down the gallery that led to Fulviac's room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden sinister sound made her start back into the -room, the lamp flashing tremulous beams upon the walls, -and striking confusion into the shadows. A hand was -beating heavily upon the postern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She set the lamp in its bracket, crept to the door, put -her ear to the lock and listened. The knocking had -ceased, and in a momentary lulling of the wind she even -fancied she could hear the sound of deep breathing. Her -heart was hurrying, but suspense emboldened her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden gust made such a bluster that her voice died -almost unheard in the night. There was a vague clangour -without, as of arms, and the knocking re-echoed sullenly -through the room. A lull came again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knocks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time an answer came back to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I--Flavian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught her breath and shivered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want at midnight, and in such a -storm?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me in. Open to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No--no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Open to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you still mad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence held a moment. Then the voice rose again, -with the hoarse moan of the wind for an underchant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Liberty, liberty, I am free, I am free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank aside against the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night gave me my chance; I have men in the -wood. Let me in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I plead for love and my own soul. I come to give -you life, sword, all. I cannot leave you; I am in outer -darkness; you are in heaven. Let me in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood swaying like a reed in a breeze. Her brain -glowed like some rich scheme of colour, some sun-ravished -garden. The massed moan of a hundred viols seemed -to sweep over her soul. God, for the courage to be weak!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland! Yeoland! have you no word for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hand trembled to the door; her fingers closed upon -the key. She hesitated and her dangling rosary caught -her glance; sudden revulsions of purpose flooded back; -she stumbled away from the door like one about to faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, I cannot," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will break down the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The threat inspired her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, not thus can you win me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will break in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Attempt it, and I will call the guard. You will lose -hope of me for ever. I swear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice rang true and strong as a sword. With her -judgment, silence fell again, and ages seemed to crawl -over the world. When the man spoke again, his voice -was less masterful, more pathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you no hope for me?" it said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given you life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is life without love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed very bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you do not understand," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you are a riddle to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A riddle that you may read anon; time will show you -the truth. I tell you I am given to God. Only in one -way can you win me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you solemn over this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Solemn as death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me that only way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only by breaking the bonds about my soul, by -liberating me from myself, by battle and through perils that -you cannot tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"War and the sword!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet not to-night. You would need ten thousand men -to take me from this cliff. I advise you for your good. -Only by great power and the sword can you win your -desire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, then, let it be war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An utter sense of loneliness flooded over her. She -sobbed in her throat, leant against the door, listened, -waited. The wind roared without, the rain beat upon the -quaking casement, and she heard the multitudinous moaning -of the pines. No voice companioned her, and the night -was void.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden access of passion prompted her. She -twisted at the key, tore the bolts aside, flung the door -open. The stairway was empty. Rain whirled in her -face, as she stood out in the wind, and called the -man many times by name. It was vain and to no -purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she re-entered the room, very slowly, and barred -the door. Her rosary rolled under her feet. She picked -it up suddenly and dashed it away into a corner. The face -on the crucifix seemed to leer at her from the wall.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxii"><span class="large">PART III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Aurelius, physician of Gilderoy, flourished on the fatness -of a fortunate reputation. He was a rubicund soul, clean -and pleasant, with a neatly-trimmed beard, and a brow that -seemed to dome a very various and abundant wisdom. He -combined a sprightly humour and an enlivening presence with -the reverent solemnity necessary to his profession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the ladies of Gilderoy, they reverenced Master -Aurelius with a loyalty that became perhaps less remarkable -the more one considered the character of the worthy -charlatan. Aurelius was an Æsculap in court clothing. He -was ignorant, but as no one realised the fact, the soul of -Hippocrates would have been wasted in his body. Discretion -was his crowning virtue. He was so sage, so -intelligent, so full of a simple understanding for the ways of -women, that the frail creatures could not love him enough. -The confidences granted to a priest were nothing compared -to the truths that were unmasked to his tactful ken. The -physician is the priest of the body, a privileged person, -suffered to enter the bed-chamber before the solemn rites of -the toilet have been performed. He sees many strange -truths, beholds fine and wonderful transfigurations, -presides over the confessional of the flesh. And Aurelius never -whispered of these mysteries; never displayed astonishment; -always discovered extraordinary justification for the -quaintest inconsistencies, the most romantic failings. He -carried a sweet and sympathetic air of propriety about with -him, like a perfume that exhaled a most comfortable odour -of religion. His salves were delectable to a degree, his -unguents and cosmetics remarkable productions. Dames -took his potions in lieu of Malmsey, his powders in place -of sweetmeats. Never did a more pleasant, a more tactful -old hypocrite pander to the failings of an unregenerate -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius stood in his laboratory one June morning, -balancing a money-bag in his chubby pink palm. He seemed -tickled by some subtlety of thought, and wonderfully well -pleased with his own good-humour. He smiled, locked the -money-bag in a drawer that stood in a confidential cupboard, -and, taking his cap and walking-staff, repaired to the street. -Pacing the narrow pavement like a veritable potentate, -pretentious as any peacock, yet mightily amiable from the -superb self-satisfaction that roared in him like a furnace, -he acknowledged the greetings of passers-by with the -elevation of a hand, a solemn movement of the head. It was -well to seem unutterably serious when under the eyes of the -mob. Only educated folk can properly understand levity -in a sage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Erminois, a stately highway that ran northwards -from the cathedral, he halted before a mansion whose -windows were rich with scutcheons and proud blazonry. -Aurelius prospered with the rich. The atmosphere of the mean -quarters was like a miasma to him; he loved sunlight and -high places where he might bask like a lizard. He passed -by a great gateway into the inner court, and was admitted -into the house with that ready deference that speaks of -familiarity and respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius climbed the broad stairway, and sailed like a -stately carrack into my lady's chamber. A dame in blue -and silver greeted him from an oriel. The compounder of -cosmetics bowed, disposed his staff and velvet cap upon a -table, and appropriated the chair the lady had assigned to -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Superb weather, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too sultry, though I am a warm-souled person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, madame, true, Gilderoy would be fresher if there -were no mean folk to stifle up the streets like weeds. The -alleys send up such an unpleasant stench upon the breeze, -that it makes the cultured sense revolt from poverty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's lips curled approvingly,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poverty, poverty, my dear Aurelius, is like a carcase, -fit only for quicklime. If I had the rule of the place, I -would make poverty a crime, and cram all our human -sweepings into lazar quarters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic nodded for sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly so, madame, but one would have to deal with -the inevitable religious instinct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would be simple enough," she simpered. "I -should confine religion to shadows and twinkling tapers, -lights streaming in through enamelled casements upon -solemn colours bowing before dreamy music; pardons and -absolutions bought with a purse of gold. It is sad, Aurelius, -but who doubts but that religion makes scavengers of us -all? Away with your smug widows, your frouzy burgher -saints, your yellow-skinned priest-hunters! I would rather -have picturesque sin than vulgar piety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of herbs sighed like an organ pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything can be pardoned before coarseness," he -said; "give me a dirty heart before a dirty face, provided -the sinner be pretty. I trust that madame was satisfied -with my endeavours, that the perfumes were such as she -desired, the oil of Arabia pleasant and fragrant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Magical, my Æsculap. The oil makes the skin like -velvet, and the drugs are paradisic and full of languors. -Ah, woman, set the tray beside Master Aurelius' chair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's eyes glistened over the salver and the cup. -He bowed to his hostess, sniffed, and pursed his lips over -the wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame knows how to warm the heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truth to you. Who have you been renovating of -late? What carcase have you been painting, you useful -rogue?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, my profession is discreet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see your work everywhere. There is the little -brown-faced thing who is to marry John of Brissac. Well, she -needed art severely. Now the lady has a complexion like -apple-blossom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man's eyes twinkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is pleased to jest," he said, "and to think her -fancies--realities. Were all ladies as fresh as Madame -Duessa, what, think you, would become of my delectable -art, my science of beauty? I should be a poor bankrupt -old man, ruined by too much comeliness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius always had the wit to say the pleasantest thing -possible, and to press the uttermost drop of honey from the -comb of flattery. A surly tongue will break a man, a glib -intelligence ensure him a fortune. Aurelius earned many -a fee by a pretty speech, or a tactful suggestion. Then of -course he was never hindered by sincerity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Dominic," laughed the lady, "I have proved a -good patron to you in many ways."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I trust I shall always deserve madame's trust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A discreet tongue and a comfortable obedience are -sweet things to a woman, Aurelius."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame's voice recalls Delphi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the Greeks were poets; they knew how to fit their -religion to their pleasures. 'Tis only we, poor fools, who -measure sin by a priest's pardon. Give me a torch before -an aspergill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic sipped his wine, cogitating over it -with Jovian wisdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The chief aim in life, madame," he said, "should be -the perfecting of one's own comfort. 'Tis my contention -that a fat bishop is a finer Christian than a lean friar. -The truism is obvious. Is not my soul the more mellifluous -and benign if its shell is gilded and its vest of velvet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa chuckled, and flipped her chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a warm bed," she laughed, "and I will pity -creation. The world's saints are plump and comely; the -true goddess has a supple knee. Am I the worse for being -buxom!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," said the sage with great unction, "only -beggars denounce gold, and heaven is the dream of -diseased souls. The cult of pleasure is the seal of health. -Discontent is the seed of religion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened a few inches, and there was the sound -of voices in muffled debate in the gallery. The Lady -Duessa listened, rose from her chair, appeared restless. -The man of physic comprehended the situation, and with -that tact that characterised him, declared that he had -patronage elsewhere to assuage. The lady did not detain -him, but dismissed him with a smile--a smile that on -such a face as hers often took the place of words. So -Master Aurelius took his departure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Five minutes later Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, -occupied the vacant chair in the oriel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are many ways to fame. By the broad, embattled -gate where the Cerberus of War crouches; by the -glistening stair of glass where all the beauty of the world -gleams as in a thousand mirrors; by the cloaca of -diplomacy and cunning, that tunnels under truth and honour. -Sforza of Gilderoy was a man who never took his finger -off a guinea till he had seen ten dropped into the other -palm. He was a narrow-faced, long-whiskered rat, ever -nibbling, ever poking his keen snout into prospective -prosperity. He had no real reverence for anything under the -sun. To speak metaphorically, he would as soon steal -the sacrificial wafer from the altar as the cheese from a -burgher's larder. When he lived in earnest, he lived in -moral nebulosity, that is to say, he had no light save his -own lantern. Publicly, he appeared a sleek, dignified -person, quick with his figures, apt at oratory, a man who -could quote scripture by the ell and swear by every saint -in the calendar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, sat and faced Dame -Duessa over a little table that held wine and a bowl of -roses. His large hands rested on the carved arms of the -chair. He had a debonair smirk on his face, a mask of -complacency that suffered him to be vigilant in a polite -and courteous fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has considered my proposition?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman leant back in her chair and worked her full -lower lip against her teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I recognise your infallibility, Gonfaloniere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only to the level of human foresight, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a longer nose than most men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take the insinuation as a compliment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He contemplated her awhile in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How am I to know that you are sincere?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you disbelieve me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my custom to disbelieve in everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Till they have satisfied you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa looked out of the window, and played with her -chatelaine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know women?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would never lay claim to such an arrogance of cunning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless you are no fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you imagine my protestations are not sincere, -even after what I have suffered?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her most cunningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want proof?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not like unsigned documents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started forward in her chair with a strangely -strenuous look on her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fanatic fools have often made some show of fortitude," -she said, "by thrusting a hand into the fire, or the like. -See now if I am a liar or a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before he could stay her she drew a small stiletto from -her belt, spread her left hand on the table, and then smote -the steel through the thick of the palm, and held it there -without flinching as the blood flowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My signature," she said, with her cheeks a shade paler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, you have spirit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you believe in me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may say so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will include me in your schemes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember our mutual bargain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She withdrew the stiletto and wrapped her bleeding -hand in her robe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will initiate me--at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow, madame, you shall go with me to the council."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiii"><span class="large">XXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Castle Gambrevault stood out on a great cliff above -the sea, like a huge white crown on the country's brow. -It was as fine a mass of masonry as the south could show, -perched on its great outjutting of the land, precipiced on -every side, save on the north. Hoary, sullen, stupendously -strong, it sentinelled the sea that rolled its blue to the black -bastions of the cliffs. Landwards, green downs swept with -long undulations to the valleys and the woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That Junetide Gambrevault rang with the clangour of -arms. The Lord Flavian's riders had spurred north, east, -and west to manor and hamlet, grange and lone moorland -tower. There had been a great burnishing of arms, a -bending of bows through all the broad demesne. Steel had -trickled over the downs towards the tall towers of -Gambrevault. Knights, with esquires, men-at-arms, and yeomen, -had ridden in to keep feudal faith. The Lord Flavian had -swept the country for a hundred miles for mercenary troops -and free-lances. His coffers poured gold. He had pitched -a camp in the Gambrevault meadows; some fifteen hundred -horse and two thousand foot were gathered under his -banner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the hills cattle were herded in, and heavy wains -laden with flour creaked up to the castle. There was -much victualling, much blaring of trumpets, much blowing -of pennons, much martial stir in the meadows. It seemed -as though the Lord Flavian had a strenuous campaign in -view, and there was much conjecture on the wind. The -strange part of it was, that none save Sir Modred had any -knowledge for what or against whom they were to fight. -It might be John of Brissac, Gambrevault's mortal enemy; -it might develop into a demonstration against the -magistracy of Gilderoy. Blood was to be spilt, so ran the -current conviction. For the rest, Flavian's feudatories -were loyal, and left the managing of the business to -their lord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men had been camped a week, and yet there -was no striking of tents, no plucking up of pennons. -Sir Modred had ridden out to bring in a body of five -hundred mercenaries from Geraint. The Lord Flavian -himself, with a troop of twenty spears, was lodged for -a few days in Gilderoy, in the great Benedictine -monastery, where his uncle held rule as abbot. He was -negotiating for arms, fifty bassinets, two hundred -gisarmes, a hundred ranseurs, fifty glaives, and a number -of two-handed swords. He had found the Armourer's -Guild peculiarly insolent, and disinclined to serve him. -He had little suspicion that Gilderoy was seething under -the surface like so much lava.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, while the Lord Flavian was preparing for his -march into the great pine forest, Fulviac had completed -his web of revolt. He had heard of the gathering at -Gambrevault, and had hurried on his schemes in -consequence. Five thousand men were ready at his back. -He would gain ten thousand men from Gilderoy; seven -thousand from Geraint. These outlaw levies, free-lances, -and train-bands would give him the nucleus of the vast -host that was to spring like corn from every quarter of -the land. Malgo was to head the rising in the west, -and to concentrate at Conan, a little town in the -mountains. In the east, Godamar was to gather a great camp -in Thorney Isle amid the morasses of the fens. Fulviac -would himself overthrow the lords of the south. Then -they were to converge and to gather strength for the -march upon Lauretia, proud city of the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would be a great war and a bitter, full of fanatical -fierceness and revenge. Fulviac had given word to take, -pillage, and burn all strong places. Destiny stood with -wild hands to the heavens, a bosom of scarlet, and hair -aghast. If the horde conquered, the seats of the mighty -would reek amid flame; there would be death, and a great -silence over proud cities.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiv"><span class="large">XXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In an antechamber in the palace of Sforza of Gilderoy -stood the Lady Duessa, watching the day die in the west over -a black chaos of spires and gables. Before her, under the -casement, lay the palace garden, a pool of perfume, banked -with tall cypresses, red with the fire of a myriad roses. -As night to the sunset, so seemed this antechamber to the -garden, panelled with black oak, a dark square of gloom -red-windowed to the west. The place had a sullen, -iron-mouthed look, as though its walls had developed through -the years a sour and world-wise silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa was not a woman who could trail -tamely in anterooms. A restless temper chafed her pride -that evening, and kept her footing the polished floor like a -love-lorn nun treading a cloister. The casements were -open to the garden, and the multitudinous sounds of the -city flooded in--the thunder of the tumbrils in the -narrow streets, the distant blare of trumpets from the -castle, the clangour of the cathedral bells. A solitary -figure companioned the Lady Duessa in the anteroom, -cloaked and masked as was the dame herself. It was -Balthasar the Dominican, who followed her now in -secular habit, having forsworn his black mantle and -taken refuge in her service. From time to time the two -spoke together in whispering undertones; more than once -their lips touched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa turned and stood by a casement with -her large white hands on the sill. She appeared to grow -more restive as the minutes passed, as though the antique -clock on the mantle clicked its tongue at her each gibing -second.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is insolence," she said anon, "holding us idling -here like ragged clients."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar joined her, soft-footed and debonair, his black -eyes shining behind his mask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peter kept Paul before the gate of heaven," quoth -he, with a curl of the lip. "Sforza is a meddler in many -matters, a god-busied Mercury. As for me, I am content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their hands touched, and intertwined with a quick -straining of the fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pah," said the woman with a shiver, "this room is -like a funeral litter; it chills my marrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar sniggered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, the sky burns," he said; "yon garden is packed -with colour. We could play a love chase amid those -dark hedges of yew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pressed her flank to his; her eyes glittered like -amethysts; her breath hastened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mouth, man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pouted out her full red lips to his; suffered his -arms to possess her; they kissed often, and were out of -breath. A door creaked. The two started asunder in -the shadows with an impatient stare into each other's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza the Gonfaloniere stood on the threshold, clad -plainly in a suit of black velvet, with a sword buckled at -his side. He bowed over Duessa's hand, kissed her finger -tips, excusing himself the while for the delay. He was -very suave, very facile, as was his wont. The Lady -Duessa took his excuses with good grace, remembering -their compact, and the common purpose of their ambitions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gonfaloniere, we wait our initiation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza's eyes were fixed on Balthasar with a keen and -ironical glitter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember; Lord Flavian's head, that is to be my -guerdon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, we will remember it. And this gentleman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the friend of whom I spoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A most loyal friend, methinks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gonfaloniere coughed behind his fingers, and spoke -in his half-husky tenor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are ready to risk everything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa reassured him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Expect no blood and thunder ceremonial," he said to -them; "we are grim folk, but very simple. Your presence -will incriminate you both. Be convinced of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led them by a little closet into the state-room of the -palace, a rich chamber lit by many tapers, its doorway held -by a guard of armed men. Statues in the antique gleamed -in the alcoves. The panelling shone with gem-brilliant -colouring. Armoires and carved cabinets stood against the -walls. The ceiling was of purple, with the signs of the -Zodiac in gold thereon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the centre of the room, before a slightly raised dais, -stood a round table inlaid with diverse-coloured stones. -Scrolls, quills, and inkhorns covered it. Some twoscore -men were gathered round the table, staring with masked -faces at a map spread before them--a map showing all -the provinces of the south, with towns and castles marked -in vermilion ink thereon. A big man in a red cloak stood -conning the parchment, pointing out with a long forefinger -certain marches to the masked folk about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza pointed Duessa and Balthasar to a carved bench -by the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have the patience to listen for an hour," he said, -turning to join the men about the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silver bell tinkled, and a priest came forward to patter -a few prayers in Latin. At the end thereof, the masked -Samson in the red cloak stood forward on the dais with -uplifted fist. Instant silence held throughout the room. -The man in red began to speak in deep, full-throated tones -that seemed to vibrate from his sonorous chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His theme was the revolt, his arguments, the grim bleak -facts that bulked large in the brain of a leader of men. He -dealt with realism, with iron detail, and the strong suggestions -of success. Revolt, in the flesh, bubbled like lava at -a crater's brim, seething to overflow and scorch the land. -It was plain that the speaker had great schemes, and a will -of adamant. His ardour ran down like a cataract, smiting -into foam the duller courage of the multitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he had ended his heroic challenge to the world, -he took by the hand a girl who stood unmasked at his side. -She was clad all in white with a cross of gold over her -bosom, and her face shone nigh as pallid as her mantle. -The men around the table craned forward to get the better -view of her. Nor was it her temporal beauty alone that -set the fanatical chins straining towards her figure. There -was a radiance as of other worlds upon her forehead, a -glamour of sanctity as though some sacred lamp shed a -divine lustre through all her flesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment that the man in the red mask had -drawn the girl forward beside him on the dais, Balthasar, -with a stifled cry, had plucked the Lady Duessa by the -sleeve. She had started, and stared in the friar's face as he -spoke to her in a whisper, a scintillant malice gathering in -her eyes. Balthasar held her close to him by the wrist. -They were observed of none save by Fulviac, whose care -it was to watch all men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Balthasar muttered to her, Duessa's frame seemed -to straighten, to dilate, to stiffen. She did not glance at -the friar, but sat staring at the girl in white upon the dais. -The Madonna of the chapel of Avalon had risen before -her as by magic; her dispossessor stood before her in the -flesh. Balthasar's tongue bore witness to the truth. In -the packed passion of a moment, Duessa remembered her -shame, her dishonour, her hunger for revenge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl upon the dais had been speaking to the men -assembled round her with the simple calm of one whose -soul is assured of faith. For all her fierce distraction -each word had fallen into Duessa's brain like pebbles into -a well. A mocking, riotous scorn chuckled and leapt in -her like the laughter of some lewd faun. She heard not -the zealous mutterings that eddied through the room. Her -eyes were fixed on the man in the red cloak, as he bent to -kiss the girl's slim hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw Fulviac turn and point to a roll of parchment -on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We swim, sirs, or sink together," were his words; -"there can be no traitors to the cause. In three days -we hoist our banner. In three days Gilderoy shall rise. -Sign, gentlemen, sign, in the name of God and of our Lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The leaders of Gilderoy crowded about the table where -Prosper the Preacher waited with quill and testament, -Sforza standing with drawn sword beside him. Fulviac -had headed those who took the oath, and had drawn back -from the press on to the dais. Meanwhile Duessa, with -Balthasar muttering discretions in her ear, had skirted the -black knot of conspirators and come close upon Fulviac. -While Sforza and the rest were intent upon the scroll, she -plucked the man in red by the sleeve, and spoke to him in -an undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A word with you in an alcove."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stared, but drew aside from the group none the -less and followed her. She had moved to an oriel and sat -down on the cushioned seat, her black robe sweeping the -crimson cloth. Fulviac stood and faced her, thus closing -her escape from the oriel. Midway between them and -the table, Balthasar stood biting his nails in sullen vexation, -ignorant of where the woman's headstrong passions might -be bearing them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa soon had Fulviac at the tongue's point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are the first man in this assemblage?" she had -asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, that is so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a truth to make known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unmask to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, then obeyed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly I am known to you," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stood back a step, and looked at her as a man -might look at an old love. A knot of wrinkles showed -on his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Duessa of the Black Hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, in the old days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you now, madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see your face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hold me at a disadvantage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well. Tell me this tale of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was cold as a frost, and there was an -inclement look about him that should have warned the woman -had she been less blinded by her own malice. She had -lost her cunning in her fuming passion, and denounced -when she should have suggested, blurted the whole when -a hint would have sufficed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault's wife," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That devil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac drew a deep breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The fellow has divorced me; I will tell you why. You -are the man they call Fulviac. It was you who took the -Lord Flavian in an ambuscade, to kill him, for the sake of -Yeoland of Cambremont, who stands yonder. The whole -tale is mine. It was that girl who let the Lord Flavian -escape out of your hands. A fine fool she is making of you, -my friend. A saint, forsooth! Flavian of Avalon might -sing you a strange song."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa took breath. She had prophesied passion, a -volcanic outburst. Fulviac leant against the wainscotting with -folded arms, his masked face impenetrable, and calm as -stone. He stirred never a muscle. Duessa had ventured -forth into the deeps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man thrust a question at her suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can prove the truth of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa pointed him to Fra Balthasar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The priest can bear out my tale. I will beckon him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Sforza know of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None know it, save I and yonder priest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I uncover to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He jerked his mask away, and stood half stooping towards -her with a peculiar lustre in his eyes. Duessa stared at -him as at one risen from the dead. Her face blanched and -stiffened into a bleak, gaping terror, and she could not -speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your tale dies with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smote her suddenly in the bosom with his poniard, -smote her so heavily that the blow dragged her to her knees. -She screamed like a trapped hare, pressed her hands over -her bosom, blood oozing over them. A last malevolence -leapt into her eyes; she panted and strove to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, sirs, hear me----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, standing over her like a Titan, smote her again -to silence, and for ever. With arms thrust upwards, she -fell forward along the floor, her white face hidden by her -hood. A red ringlet curled away over the polished oak. -Fulviac had sprung away with jaw clenched, his face as -stone. He drew his sword, plucked Balthasar by the -throat, hurled him back against the wainscotting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A spy, poniard him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great room rushed into uproar; the guards came -running from the door. Fulviac had passed his sword -through Balthasar's body. The friar rolled upon the floor, -yelping, and clutching at the swords that stabbed him. It -was soon over; not a moan, not a whimper. Sforza, white -as a corpse, gripped Fulviac by the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Know you whom you have killed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well enough, Gonfaloniere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What means it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I am a brave man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza quailed from him and ran to the oriel, where -several men had lifted the woman in their arms. Her lustrous -hair fell down from under her hood; her hands, stained -with her own blood, trailed limply on the floor. She was -a pathetic figure with her pale, fair face and drooping lids. -The men murmured as they held her, like some poor bird, -still warm and plastic, with the life but half flown from her -body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stood and looked down into her face. His -sword still smoked with Balthasar's blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs," he said, and his strong voice shook, "hear me, -I will tell you the truth. Once I loved that woman, but -she was evil, evil to the core. To-night she came -bringing discord and treachery amongst us. I have done -murder before God for the sake of the cause. Cover her -face; it was ever too fair to look upon. Heaven rest her -soul!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxv"><span class="large">XXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Two days had passed since the secret assembly in the -house of Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy. They had -buried Duessa and Balthasar by night in the rose garden, -by the light of a single lantern, with the fallen petals for -a pall. It was the evening before the day when the land -should rise in arms to overthrow feudal injustice and -oppression. On the morrow the great cliff would be -desolate, its garrison marching through the black pine woods on -Avalon and Geraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards eve, when the sky was clear as a single -sapphire, Fulviac came from his parlour seeking Yeoland, to -find her little chamber empty. A strange smile played -upon his face as he looked round the room with crucifix, -embroidery frame, and prayer-desk, with rosary hung -thereon. He picked up her lute, thrummed the strings, -and broke broodingly into the sway of some southern song:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Ah, woman of love,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>With the stars in the night,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I see thee above</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In a circlet of light.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>On the west's scarlet scutcheon</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I mark thy device;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And the shade of the forest</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Makes gloom of thine eyes,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>God's twilight</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>To me."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He ended the stanza, kissed the riband, and set the lute -down with a certain quaint reverence. The postern stood -open and admonished him. He passed out down the cliff -stairway to the forest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An indescribable peace pervaded the woods, a supreme -silence such as the shepherd on the hills knows when the -stars beckon to his soul. Fulviac walked slowly and -thought the more. He felt the altitude of the forest -stillness as of miles of luminous, windless æther; he felt the -anguishing pathos of a woman's face; he felt the strangeness -of the new philosophy that appealed to his heart. -Nothing is more fascinating than watching a spiritual -upheaval in one's own soul; watching some great power -breaking up the crust of custom and habit; pondering the -while on the eternal mysteries that baffle reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found Yeoland amid the pines. She had been to the -forest grave and was returning towards the cliff when the man -met her. She seemed whiter than was her wont, her dark -eyes looking solemn and shadowy under their sweeping -lashes. She seemed marvellously fair, marvellously -pure and fragile, as she came towards him under the trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something in Fulviac's look startled her. Women are -like the sea to the cloudy moods of men, in that they catch -every sun-ray and shadow. An indefinite something in -the man's manner made her restless and apprehensive. -She went near to him with questioning eyes and laid her -hand upon his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have had bad news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something has troubled you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him pensively, a suspicion of reproach, -pity, and understanding in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it remorse, your conscience?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My conscience? Have I had one!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a strong conscience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Deo gratias</em><span>. Then you have unearthed it, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vein of infinite bitterness and melancholy seemed to -glimmer in his mood. It was a moment of self-speculation. -The girl still looked up into his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you kill that woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her dead face haunts me, I see it everywhere; there -is some strange shadow over my soul. O that I could -get her last cry from my ears!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, with a sudden burst of cynicism, broke into -grim laughter, a sound like the rattling of dry bones in a -closet. The girl shrank away with her lips twitching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why cannot you trust me with the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truth is not always beneficent. It was a matter of -policy, of diplomacy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Discords are bad at the eleventh hour. That woman -could have half-wrecked our cause. It was policy to -silence her and the man. I made sure of it by killing -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's face had a shadow of repugnance upon it; -her eyes darkened. The man seemed in a callous, scoffing -humour; it was mere glittering steel over the bitterness -within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tell me her name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She haunts me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have the truth if you will. She was the wife of the -Lord Flavian of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stood motionless for a moment; then swayed -away several steps from Fulviac under the trees. One -hand was at her throat; her voice came in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did she tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Many things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, do they touch me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac choked an oath, and played with his sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there was some truth in her?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl grew imperious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I command you to tell me all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, the woman declared you were a traitress, and -that this lordling, this Flavian of Gambrevault, loved you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you killed her----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For your sake and the cause. She might have cast -our Saint out of heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland went back from him and leant against a tree, -with her hands over her eyes. Sunlight splashed down upon -her dress; she shivered as in a cold wind, and could not -speak. Fulviac's voice, level and passionless, questioned -her as she stood and hid her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You let the Lord Flavian escape?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen him since?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks for the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her responses had come like chords smitten from the -strings of a lute. She started away from the tree and began -to walk up and down, wringing her hands. Her face was -like the face of one in torture, and she seemed to struggle -for breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, I could not kill the man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words came like a wail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was young, and he besought me when your men -were breaking down the gate. What could I do, what -could I do? He was young, and I let him go by the -postern and told you a lie. God help me, I told you a lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man watched her with arms folded. There was a -look of deep melancholy upon his face, as of one wounded -by the truth. His voice was sad but resolute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rallied suddenly and came to him with truth in her -eyes; they were wonderfully piteous and appealing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows I have been loyal to you. The man -tempted me, but I withstood him; I kept my loyalty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you told him----?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, nothing; he is as innocent as a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac looked down at her with a great light in his -eyes. He spoke slowly and with a deeper intonation in -his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have dealt with many bad women," he said, "but I -believe you are speaking the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take it as such; you have been too much a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if you could only forgive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stepped forward suddenly, took her hands, and looked -down at her with a vast tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman, if I told you I loved you, would you -still swear that you have spoken the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God judge me, Fulviac, I have been loyal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A strange light played upon his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I, ye heavens, have I learnt my lesson in these -later days? Girl, you are above me as the stars; I may -but kiss your hands, no more. You are not for worldly -ways, or for me. Battered, war-worn veteran, I have come -again by the heart of a boy. Fear me not, little woman, -there is no anger in a great love, only deep grieving and -unalterable honour."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvi"><span class="large">XXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was dawn; mists covered the forest; not a wind stirred -or sobbed amid the boughs. A vast grey canopy seemed to -tent the world, a mysterious veil that tempered the sun and -spread a spiritual gloom over rock and tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The noise of horns played through the misty aisles--horns -many-tongued, faint, clamorous, like the trumpeting -of forest elves. There was the dull, rhythmic onrush -of many thousand feet, the hurrying, multitudinous tramp -of men marching. Armour gleamed through the glooms; -casque and bassinet, salade and cap of steel flowed on and -on as phosphorescent ripples on a subterranean stream. -Pike, glaive, gisarme shone like stubble over the forest -slopes. The sullen tramp of men, the clashing clamour -of arms, the blaring of a solitary clarion, such were songs -of the great pine forest on that July morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, rebel lady and saint, on a great white horse, -rode at Fulviac's side in full armour, save for her helmet. -Her horse was cased in steel--chamfron, crinet, gorget, -poitrel, croupiere gleaming like burnished silver. She -made a fine and martial figure enough, a glittering dawn -star for a heroic cause. About her rode her guard, the -pick of Fulviac's men, some fifty spears in all, masses of -steel, each bearing a scarlet cross blazoned upon his white -jupon. Nord of the Hammer bore the red banner -worked by the girl's own hands. They were hardy men -and big of bone, sworn to keep and guard her to the death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac and Yeoland rode side by side like brothers in -arms. All about them were rolling spears and rocking -helmets moving among the myriad trees. The sound of -arms surged round them like the ominous onrush of a sea. -War followed like a thunder-cloud on their heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac was in great spirits, somewhat solemn and -philosophic, but full of the exultation of a man who feels -his ship surging on the foaming backs of giant billows. -His eyes were proud enough when they scanned the girl -at his side. His heart thundered an echo to the grim -tramp of his men on the march.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day," he said, making grandiose flourishes with his -sword, "the future unrobes to us. We plunge like Ulysses -into the unknown. This is life with a vengeance!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had a smile on her lips and a far-away look in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you love me," she said, "be merciful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are always a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are many women such as I am; there are -many hearts that may be wounded; there are many -children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her meditatively, as though her words were -both bitter and sweet in his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must play the philosopher, little woman; remember -that we work for great ends. I will have mercy when -mercy is expedient. But we must strike, and strike terror, -we must crush, we must kill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet be merciful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"War is no pastime; men grip with gauntlets of iron, -not with velvet gloves. Fanaticism, hate, revenge, -patriotism, lust of plunder, and the rest, what powers are -these to let loose upon a land! We have the oppression -of centuries red in our bosoms. War is no mere subtle -game of chess; the wolf comes from the wilderness; the -vulture swings in the sky. Fire, death, blood, rapine, and -despair, such are the elements of war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To purge a field, we burn the crop. To convert, we -set swords leaping. To cleanse, we let in the sea. To -move the fabrics of custom and the past, a man must play -the Hercules. God crushes great nations to insure the -inevitable evolution of His will. To move the world, one -must play the god."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was noon when the vanguard cleared the trees, and -spread rank on rank over the edge of a moor. A zealous -sun shone overhead, and the world was full of light and -colour, the heather already a blaze of purple, the bracken -still virgin, the dense dark pines richly green against the -white and azure of the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, Yeoland, and her guards rode out to a hillock -and took station under the banner of the Cross. The forest -belched steel; rank on rank swept out with pikes glittering; -shields shone, and colours juggled mosaics haphazard. -Horse and foot rolled out into the sun, and gathered in -masses about the scarlet banner and the girl in her silvery -harness on the great white horse. The forest shadows -were behind them, they had cast off its cloak; the world -lay bare to their faces; they were hurling their challenge in -the face of Fate. Every man in the mass might well have -felt the future glowing upon his brain, might well conceive -himself a hero and a patriot. It was a deep, sonorous shout -that rolled up, when a thousand points of steel smote -upwards to the heavens. Yeoland, amid her guards, had dim -visions of the power vested in her slender sword. Where -her banner flew, there brave men would toss their pikes -with a cheer for the charge home. Where her sword -pointed, a thousand blades would leap to do her bidding. -Even as she pondered these things, the trumpets sounded -and the men of the forest marched on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's plans had been matured but a week. His -opening of the campaign was briefly as follows. He was -bearing north-west towards Geraint, and Geraint was to -rise that night, massacre the King's garrison, and come -out to him. Avalon lay in Fulviac's path. He was to -smite a blow at it on his march, surprise the place if -possible, and then hold on for Geraint. The same night, -Gilderoy would rise; the castellan, who was with the -townsfolk, would open the gates of the castle and deliver -up all arms and the siege train that was kept there. From -Geraint, Fulviac trusted to ride on with a single troop to -take command at Gilderoy, leaving Nord, Prosper, and the -girl Yeoland in command at Geraint. With his numbers -raised to some twenty thousand men, he would have his -force divided into two bodies--ten thousand at Gilderoy, -ten thousand at Geraint. These two bodies would sweep -up by forced marches, converge on Gambrevault, crush the -Lord Flavian's small armament, shut him up in his castle. -Assault or leaguer would do the rest. Meanwhile the -peasantry would rise and flock in to the standard of the people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Free of the forest, Fulviac sent on a troop of horse -towards Geraint to warn the townsfolk of his advance. -With the main mass of the foot, he held northwards over -hill and dale, and towards evening touched the hem of the -oak woods that wrapped the manor of Avalon. The place -was but feebly garrisoned, as the Lord Flavian had -withdrawn most of his men to Gambrevault, dreaming little of -the thunder-storm that was shadowing the land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had his plan matured. Fifty men-at-arms in -red and green, the Gambrevault colours, were to advance -with a forged pennon upon the place, as though sent -as a reinforcement from Gambrevault. The main body -would follow at a distance and lie ambushed in the woods. -If the ruse answered, and it was an old trick enough, the -barbican and gate could be held till Fulviac came up and -made matters sure. Thus Avalon would fall, proto-martyr -on the side of feudalism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor were Fulviac's prognostications at fault. There -were not sixty men in Avalon, and Fulviac's fifty gained -footing in the place and held their ground till the rest -came up. The affair was over, save for some desultory -slaughter on the turrets, when Fulviac galloped forward -over the meadows with Yeoland and her guard. The -man kept the girl on the further side of the moat, and -did not suffer her to stumble too suddenly on the realities -of war. He feared wisely her woman's nature, and did -not desire to overshock her senses. The butchery was -over when they neared the walls. They heard certain -promiscuous yelpings, and saw half a dozen men-at-arms, -who had made a last stand on a tower, tumbled headlong -over the battlements into the moat below. Fulviac did -not suffer the girl to cross the bridge. What passed -within was hidden by the impenetrable massiveness of the -sullen walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Avalon, fair castle of the woods and waters, sent -out her wistful prophecy to the land. In her towers and -galleries men lay dead, bleak and stiff, contorted into -fantastic attitudes, with pike or sword sucking their vitals. -Blood crept down the stairs; dead men cumbered the beds -and jammed the doors. There had been much screaming -among the women; even Fulviac's orders could not cool -the passions of the mob; it was well indeed that he kept -Yeoland innocent in the meadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fanaticism, ignorance, lust were loose in Avalon like -evil beasts. All its fairness was defamed in one short -hour. Hangings were torn down, furniture wrecked and -shattered, chests and cupboards spoiled of all their -store. In the chapel, where refugees had fled to the -altar, there had been slaughter, merciless and brutal. -Bertrand, the old knight and seneschal, lay dead on the -altar steps, with a broken sword and fifty rents in his -carcase. Men were breaking the images, defacing the -frescoes, strewing all the place with blood and riot. Nord -of the Hammer stood over the cellar door with his great -mace over his shoulder, and kept the men from the wine. -Elsewhere the mob rooted like a herd of swine in the -rich chambers, and worked to the uttermost its swinish will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the day was past, Fulviac and his men, as hounds -that have tasted blood, marched on exultantly towards -Geraint. Night and great silence settled down over -Avalon. The woods watched like a host of plaintive -mourners over the scene. The moon rose and shone on -the glimmering mere and swooning lilies, and streamed in -through shattered casements on men sleeping in their -blood, on ruin, and the ghastly shape of death.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvii"><span class="large">XXVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Gilderoy had risen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was midnight. A great bell boomed and clashed over -the city, with a roar of many voices floating on the wind, -like the sullen thunder of a rising sea. Torches flashed -and ebbed along the streets, with hundreds of scampering -shadows, and a glinting of steel. Knots of armed men -hurried towards the great piazza, where, by the City Cross, -Sforza the Gonfaloniere and his senators had gathered -about the red and white Gonfalon of the Commune. All -the Guild companies were there with their banners and -men-at-arms. "Fulviac," "Saint Yeoland," "Liberty -and the Commune": such were the watchwords that filled -the mouths of the mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cressets had burst into flame on the castle's towers, -lighting a lurid firmament; while from the steeps of the -city, where stood the palaces of the nobles, smoke and -flame began to rush ominously into the night. Waves of -hoarse ululations seemed to sweep the city from north, -south, east, and west. Trumpets were clanging in the -castle, drums beating, fifes braying. Through the -indescribable chaos the great bell smote on, throbbing through -the minutes like the heart of a god.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It will be remembered that the Lord Flavian was in -Gilderoy for the purchasing of arms. At midnight you -would have found him in his state bed-chamber in the -abbot's palace, tugging at his hose, fumbling at his points -and doublet, buckling on his sword. He was hardly awake -with the single taper winking in the gloom. The shrill -ululations of the mob sounded through the house, with the -clash of swords and the crash of hammers. The Lord -Flavian craned from the window, saw what he could, heard -much, and wondered if hell had broken loose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac and the Commune!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Saint Yeoland!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down with the lords, down with the priests!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man at the window heard these cries, and puzzled -them out in his peril. Certainly he was a lord; therefore -unpopular. And Yeoland! Wherefore was that name -sounding on the tongues of brothel-mongers and cooks! -Was he still dreaming? Certes, these rallying-cries -carried a certain blunt hint, advising him that he would have -to care for his own skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Malise, his page, knelt at the door with his ear to the -key-hole. The boy was in his shirt and breeches, and -trembling like an aspen. Flavian stood over him. They -heard a rending sound as of a gate giving, a roar as of -water breaking through a dam, a yelp, a scream or two, a -confused medley of many voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian told Malise to open the door and look out into -the gallery. He did so. A man, more zealous than the -rest, sprang out of the dark and stabbed at the lad's -throat. He fell with a whimper. Flavian plunged his -sword home, dragged Malise within, barred the door again. -Very tenderly he lifted the boy in his arms. Malise's -hands clung about his lord's neck; he moaned a little, and -was very white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save yourself, messire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian bore him towards a door that stood open in -the panelling. He felt the lad's blood soaking through -his doublet; entreaties were poured into his ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I die, I die; oh, the smart, the burn of it! Leave -me, messire; let me lie still!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no use; I have it deep, the man's knife went home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian felt the lad's hands relax, saw his head droop -on his shoulder. He turned and put him down on the -bed, and knelt there, while Malise panted and strove to -speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go--messire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian was trying to staunch the flow from the boy's -neck with a corner of the sheeting. His own doublet was -drenched with blood. In a minute he saw the futility -of such unconscious heroism; the flickering taper by the -bed told that Malise's life would ebb before its own light -would be gutted. Blows were being dealt upon the door. -Flavian kissed the lad, took the taper, and passed out by the -panel in the wainscotting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A stairway led him to a little gate that opened on the -abbot's garden. He more than thought to find the passage -disputed, but the place stretched quiet before him as he -came out with sword drawn. The scent of the flowers -and fragrant shrubs was heavy on the night air, and the -shouts of the mob sounded over the black roofs, and rang -in his ears with an inspiriting fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a gate at the far end of the garden, opening -through a stone wall into a narrow alley, and Flavian, as -he scoured the paths, could see pike points bobbing -above the wall, and a flare of torches. Men were -breaking in even here, and he was caught like a rat in a -corner. In an angle of the wall he found a big -marrow bed, and crawling under the leaves like a worm, he -smeared dirt over his face and clothes and awaited -developments. In another minute the garden gate fell -away, and a tatterdemalion rout poured in, strenuous -and frothy as any tavern pack. They spread over the -garden towards the house, shouting and blaspheming -like a herd of satyrs. Flavian saw his chance, plunged -from his dark corner, and joined the mob of moving -figures. Dirty face and dirtier clothes were in kindred -keeping. He shouted as lustily as any, and by dint of -gradual and discreet circumlocutions, edged to the gate -and escaped into the now-deserted alley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Running on, he skirted the abbey and came out into -the square that flanked the abbey church, and the great -gate. A hundred torches seemed moving behind the -abbey windows. The square teemed and smoked with -riot. Flavian went into the crowd with drawn sword, -screeching out mob cries like any huckster, smiting men -on the back, laughing and swearing as in excellent -humour. His gusto saved him. As he passed through -the mob he saw heads, gory and mangled, dancing upon -pikes; he saw women drunk with beer and violence, -waving a severed foot or hand, kissing men, hugging -each other, mouthing unutterable obscenities in the mad -delirium of the hour. He saw whelps of boys scrambling -and struggling for some ghastly relic; scavengers and -sweeps dressed up in the habits of the Benedictines they -had slain. One man carried in his palm an eye that had -been torn from its socket, which he held with a leer in -the faces of his fellows. Further still, he saw half a dozen -beggars dragging the dead body of a lady over the stones -by cords fastened to the ankles, while dogs worried and -tore at the flesh. He learnt afterwards that it was the -body of his own cousin, a young girl who had been -lately betrothed. Last of all, he saw a carcase dangling -from a great iron lamp bracket in the centre of the -square, and understood from the crowd that it was the -body of the abbot, his uncle. Men and women were -pelting it with offal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he, an aristocrat of aristocrats, dirty and dishevelled, -rubbed shoulders with the scourings of the gutter, shouted -their shouts, echoed their exultation. At first the grim -humour of the thing smote him in grosser farcical fashion; -but the mood was not for long. He remembered Malise, -whimpering and quivering in his arms; he remembered the -body dragged about the square and worried by dogs; he -remembered the carcase swinging by the rope; he remembered -the dripping heads and the fragments of flesh tossed -about by the maddened and intoxicated mob. It was then -that his eyes grew hot with shame and his blood ran like -lava through his veins. It was then that the spirit of a -vampire rushed into his heart, and that he swore great -solemn oaths by all the bones and relics of the saints. God -give him a hale body out of Gilderoy, and this city scum -should be scourged with iron and roasted by fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He got across the square by dint of his noisy hypocrisy, -and turned morosely into a dark alley that led towards the -walls. Hot-hearted gentleman, the mere panic-stricken -thirst for existence had cooled out of him, and he was in a -fine, rendering passion to his finger-tips, a striding, -blasphemous temper, that longed to take the whole city by the -throat and beat a fist in its bloated face. He wondered -what had become of his knights, esquires, and men-at-arms. -It was told him in later days how they died fighting in the -abbey refectory, died with the Benedictines at their side, -and a rare barrier of corpses to tell of the swing of their -swords.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian dodged into a dark porch to consider his -circumstances and the baffling influence of the same. He -had caught enough from the mob to comprehend what had -occurred, and what was to follow. Certainly for many -months he had heard rumours, but, like other demigods, he -had turned a deaf ear and smiled like a Saturn. The -largeness of the upheaval stupefied him at first; now, as he -pondered it, it gave a more heroic colour to his passions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be free of Gilderoy: that was the necessity. He -guessed shrewdly enough that the gates would be well -guarded. And the walls! He smote his thigh and -remembered where the river coursed round the rocky -foundations, and washed the walls. A big plunge, a swim, and -he would have liberty enough and to spare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He set off instanter down alleys and byways, through the -most poverty-stricken quarter of the city. The place had -a hundred stenches on a hot summer night. Naturally -enough, such haunts were deserted, save for a few hags -garrulous at the doorways, and a few fragments of dirt, -called by courtesy, children. The rats had gone -marauding, leaving their offal heaps empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Keen as a fox, he threaded on, and came before long to -the walls, a black mass, rising above the hovels packed like -pigsties to the very ramparts. Avoiding a tower, he held -along a lane that skirted the wall, looking for one of the -many stairways leading to the battlements. It was here, in -the light of a tavern window, that he came plump upon two -sweaty artisans, rendered somewhat more gross and insolent -by the fumes of liquor. The men challenged Flavian with -drunken arrogance; they had their password, to the devil. -All the accumulated viciousness of an hour tingled in his -sword arm. He fell upon the men like a Barak, kicked -one carcase into the gutter, and ran on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was soon up a stairway, and on the walls, finding -them absolutely deserted. The city stretched behind him, -a black chaos, emitting a grim uproar, its dark slopes -chequered here and there with angry flame. Before him -swept the river, and he heard it swirling amid the reeds. -Further still, meadows lay open to the stars, and in the -distance stood solemn woods and heights, touched with the -silver of the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved on to where a loop of the river curled up to -wash the walls. The water was in full flood at the place, -and he heard it gurgling cheerily against the stones. -Flavian took a last look at Gilderoy, its castle red with -burning cressets, its multitudinous roofs, its uproar like the -noise of a nest of hornets. He shook his fist over the -city, climbed the battlements, jumped for it, plunged like a -log, came up spluttering to strike out for the further bank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the meadows the townsfolk kept horses at graze. -Flavian, aglow to the finger-tips, with water squelching -from his shoes, caught a cob that was hobbled in a field -hard by the river. He unhobbled the beast, hung on by -the mane, mounted, and set off bare-back for the road to -Gambrevault.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxviii"><span class="large">XXVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn climbing red over pinewoods piled on the hills; -dawn optimistic yet ominous, harbinger of war and such -perils as set the heart leaping and the blood afire; dawn -that cried unto the world, "Better one burst of heroism -and then the grave, than a miserable monotony of nothingness, -a domestic surfeiting of the senses with a wife and a -fat larder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of the east climbed the man on the stolen horse, -riding out of the dawn with the lurid phantasms of the -night still running riot in his brain. No sleep had -smoothed the crumpled page, or touched the memory with -unguent to assuage the smart. Maledictions, vengeances, -prophecies of fire and sword rushed with the red dawn over -the hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With forty miles behind him, he came on his jaded, -sweaty beast towards his own castle of Gambrevault, -forded his own stream, saw his mills gushing foam, heard -the thunder of the weir. How eternally peaceful -everything seemed in the dewy amber light of the dawn! -Away rolled the downs, billows of glorious green, into the -west. Gambrevault's towers rose against the blue; he -saw the camp in the meadows; his own banner blowing to -the breeze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The meadows that morning were quiet as a graveyard, -as the Lord Flavian rode through to the great gate of -Gambrevault. Soldiers idling about, stiffened up, saluted, -stared in astonishment at the grim, morose-faced man, who -rode by on a foundered horse, looking neither to the right -hand nor the left. He cut something of a figure, as though -he had been in a tavern brawl, and had spent the night -snoring in a cow-house. Yet there was an indescribable -power and dignity in the tatterdemalion rider for all his -tumbled look. The compressed lips, knotted brow, -smouldering eyes spoke of phenomenal emotions, phenomenal -passions. Not a man cheered, and the silence was -yet more eloquent than clamour. He rode in by the great -gate, and parrying the blank glances and interrogations of his -knights, called for two esquires, and withdrew to his own -state rooms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His first trouble was to acknowledge such necessities -as hunger and cleanliness. He contrived to compass both -at once, eating ravenously even while he was in the bath. -His next command was for his harness, and his esquires -armed him, agog for news, even waxing inquisitive, to be -snubbed for their pains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assemble my knights and gentlemen in the great hall," -ran his order, and after praying awhile in his own private -oratory, he passed down to join the assemblage, solemn -and soul-burdened as a young Jove.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is a certain vain satisfaction in being the possessor -of some phenomenal piece of news, wherewith to astonish -a circle of friends. The dramatic person blurts it out like -a stage duke; the real epicure lets it filter through his -teeth in fragments, watching with a twinkling satisfaction -its effect upon his hearers. The Lord Flavian's revelations -that morning were deliberate and gradual, leisurely in the -extreme. Many a man waxes flippant or cynical when his -feelings are deep and sincere, and he is disinclined to bare -his heart to the world. Flavian addressed his assembled -knights with a certain stinted and pedantic courtliness; -when they had warmed to his level, then he could indulge -his sympathies to the full. The atmosphere about those -who wait to hear our experiences or opinions is often like -cold water, somewhat repellent till the first plunge has been -tried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen," he said, "I regret to inform you that -the Abbot Porphyry, my uncle, is numbered with the saints."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So much for the first confession; it elicited a -sympathetic murmur from those assembled, a very proper and -respectable expression of feeling, but nothing passionate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I also have to inform you, with much Christian resignation, -that Sir Jordan and Sir Kay, Malise, my page, and -some twenty men-at-arms are in all human probability dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time some glimmer of light pervaded the hall. -There was still mystification, silence, and an exchanging -of glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Finally, gentlemen, I may confess to you that a great -insurrection is afoot in the land; that Gilderoy has -declared against the King and the nobility; that the scum -of a populace has made a great massacre of the magnates; -that I, gentlemen, by the grace of God, have escaped to -preach to you of these things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A chorus of grim ejaculations came from the knights -and the captains assembled. Astonishment, and emotions -more durable, showed on every face. Flavian gained heat, -and let his tongue have liberty; at the end of ten minutes -of fervid oratory, the men were as wise as their lord and -every wit as vicious. Gilderoy had signalised her rising -in blood; mob rule had been proclaimed; the peasantry -and townsfolk had thrown down the glove to the nobles. -These were bleak, plain facts, that touched to the quick -the men who stood gathered in the great hall of -Gambrevault. Not a sword was in its scabbard when Modred's -deep voice gave the cry--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God and St. Philip--for the King."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then like a powder bag flung into a fire came the news -of the storming and wrecking of Avalon. A single -man-at-arms had escaped the slaughter, escaped by crawling down -an offal shoot and hiding till the rebels evacuated the place -and marched under cover of night for Geraint. The man -had crept out and fled on foot from the stricken place for -Gambrevault. It was a tramp of ten leagues, but he had -stuck to it through the night like a Trojan, and, knowing -the road well, had reached Gambrevault before the sun was -at noon. They brought him before Flavian and the rest, -fagged to the fifth toe, and hardly able to stand. He told -the whole tale, as much as he knew of it, in a blunt yet -dazed way. His senses appeared numbed by the deeds that -had been done that night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian leant back in his escutcheoned chair, and gnawed -at his lip. This last thrust had gone home more keenly -than the rest. That castle of lilies, Avalon the fair, was -but a friend of wood and stone, yet a friend having -wondrous hold upon his heart. He had been born there, and -under the shadows of its towers his mother had taken her -last sacrament. Men can love a tree, a cottage, a stream; -Flavian loved Avalon as being the temple of the unutterable -memories of the past. Desolation and ruin! Bertrand, his -old master at arms, slain! He sprang up like an Achilles -with the ghost of Patroclus haunting his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, shall these things pass? Hear me, God -and the world, hear my oath sworn in this my castle of -Gambrevault. May I never rest till these things are -reprieved in blood, till there are too few men to bury the -dead. Though my walls fall, and my towers totter, though -I win ruin and a grave, I swear by the Sacrament to do such -deeds as shall ring and resound in history."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they went all of them together, and swore by the -body and blood of the Lord to take such vengeance as -the sword alone can give to the hot passions of mankind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That noon there was much stir and life in Gambrevault. -The camp hummed like a wasp's nest when violence -threatens; the men were ready to run to arms on the -first sounding of the trumpet. Armourers and farriers -were at work. Flavian had sent out two companies of -light horse to reconnoitre towards Gilderoy and Geraint. -They had orders not to draw rein till they had sure view -of such rebel voices as were on the march; to hang on the -horizon; to watch and follow; to send gallopers to -Gambrevault; on no account to give battle. Companies were -despatched to drive in the cattle from the hills, and to -bring in fodder. The Gambrevault mills were emptied of -flour, and burnt to the ground, in view of their being of -use to the rebels in case of a siege. Certain cottages and -outhouses under the castle walls were demolished to leave -no cover for an attacking force. The cats, tribocs, -catapults, and bombards upon the battlements were overhauled, -and cleared for a siege.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards evening, human wreckage began to drift in -from the country, bearing lamentable witness to the -thoroughness of Fulviac's incendiarism. Gambrevault might -have stood for heaven by the strange scattering of folk who -came to seek its sanctuary. Fire and sword were abroad -with a vengeance; cottars, borderers, and villains had risen -in the night; treachery had drawn its poniard; even the -hound had snapped at its master's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many pathetic figures passed under the great arch of -Gambrevault gate that day. First a knight came in on -horseback, a baby in his arms, and a woman clinging -behind him, sole relics of a home. Margaret, the -grey-haired countess of St. Anne's, was brought in on a litter -by a few faithful men-at-arms; her husband and her two -sons were dead. Young Prosper of Fountains came in on -a pony; the lad wept like a girl when questioned, and told -of a mother and a sire butchered, a home sacked and burnt. -There were stern faces in Gambrevault that day, and looks -more eloquent than words. "Verily," said Flavian to -Modred the Strong, "we shall have need of our swords, -and God grant that we use them to good purpose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So night drew near, and still no riders had come from -the companies that had ridden out to reconnoitre towards -Gilderoy and Geraint. Flavian had had a hundred duties on -his hands: exercising his courtesy to the refugees, condoling, -reassuring; inspecting the defences and the siege train; -superintending the victualling of the place. He had -ordered his troops under arms in the meadows, and had -spoken to them of what had passed at Gilderoy, and what -might be looked for in the future. There seemed no lack -of loyalty on their part. Flavian had ever been a -magnanimous and a generous overlord, glad to be merciful, and -no libertine at the expense of his underlings. His -feudatories were bound to him by ties more strong than mere -legalities. They cheered him loudly enough as he rode -along the lines in full armour, with fifty knights following -as his guard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Night came. Outposts had been pushed forward to the -woods, and a strong picket held the ford across the river. -On the battlements guards went to and fro, and clarions -parcelled out the night, and rang the changes. In the east -there was a faint yellowish light in the sky, a distant glare -as of a fire many miles away. In the camp men were -ready to fly to arms at the first thunder of war over the -hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian held a council in the great hall, a council -attended by all his knights and captains. They had a great -map spread upon the table, a chart of the demesnes of -Gambrevault and Avalon, and the surrounding country. -Their conjectures turned on the possible intentions of the -rebels, whether they would venture on a campaign in the -open, or lie snug within walls and indulge in raids and -forays. And then--as to the loyalty of their own troops? -On this point Flavian was dogmatic, having a generous -and over-boyish heart, not quick to credit others with -treachery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would take oath for my own men," he said; "their -fathers have served my fathers; I have never played the -tyrant; there is every reason to trust their loyalty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An old knight, Sir Tristram, had taken a goodly share in -the debate, a veteran from the barons' wars, and a man of -honest experience, no mere pantaloon. His grey beard -swept down upon his cuirass; his deep-set eyes were full -of intelligence under his bushy brows; the hands that -were laid upon the table were clawed and deformed by gout.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen," he said, "I have not the fitness and -youth of many of you, but I can lay claim to some -wisdom in war. To my liege lord, whom, sirs, I honour as a -man of soul, I would address two proverbs. First, despise -not, sire, your enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred laughed in his black beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reverence the scum of Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, man, if we are well advised, these folk have been -breathed upon by fanaticism. I tell you, I have seen a -meanly-born crowd make a very stubborn day of it with -some of the best troops that ever saw service. Secondly, -sire, I would say to you, turn off your mercenaries if the -sky looks black; never trust your neck to paid men when -any great peril threatens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, out of his good sense, agreed with Tristram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your words are weighty," he said. "So long as we are -campaigning, I will pay them well and keep them. If -it comes to a siege, I will have no hired bravos in -Gambrevault. And now, gentlemen, it is late; get what sleep -you may, for who knows what may come with the morrow. -Modred and Geoffrey, I leave to you the visiting of the -outposts to-night. Order up my lutists and flute-players; I -shall not sleep without a song."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed alone to the outer battlements, and let the -night expand about his soul, the stars touch his -meditations. From the minstrels' gallery in the hall came the -wail of viols, the voices of flute, dulcimer and bassoon -keeping a mellow under-chant. He heard the sea upon -the rocks, saw it glimmering dimly to end in a fringe of foam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So his thoughts soared to the face of one woman in the -world, the golden Eve peering out of Paradise, whose -soul seemed to ebb and flow like the moan of the distant -music. He fell into deep forecastings of the future. -He remembered her words to him, her mysterious warnings, -her inexplicable inconsistencies, her appeal to war. -Gilderoy had taught him much, and some measure of -truth shone like a dawn spear in the east. A gulf of -war and vengeance stretched from his feet. Yet he let -his soul circle like a golden moth about the woman's -beauty, while the wail of the viols stole out upon his ears.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxix"><span class="large">XXIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Little store of sleep had the Lord of Gambrevault that -night. War with all its echoing prophecies played through -his thought as a storm wind through the rotting casements -of a ruin. He beheld the high hills red with beacons, the -valleys filled with the surging steel of battle. Gilderoy -and its terrors flamed through his brain. Above all, like -the moon from a cloud shone the face of Yeoland, the -Madonna of the Forest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was up and armed before dawn, and on the topmost -battlements, eager for the day. The sun came with -splendour out of the east, hurling a golden net over the -woods piled upon the hills. Mists moved from off the -sea, that shimmered opalescent towards the dawn. Brine -laded the breeze. The waves were scalloped amber and -purple, fringed with foam about the agate cliffs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hours were void to the man till riders should come -in with tidings of how the revolt sped at Gilderoy and -Geraint. The prophetic hints that had been tossed to -him from the tongues of the mob had served to discover -to him his own invidious fame. Gambrevault, on its -rocky headland, stood, the strongest castle in the south, a -black mass looming athwart the perilous path of war. -The rebels would smite at it. Of that its lord was -assured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At noon he attended mass in the chapel, with all his -knights, solacing his impatience with the purer aspirations -of the soul. It was even as he left the chapel that Sir -Modred met him, telling how a galloper had left the -woods and was cantering over the meadows towards the -headland. The man was soon under the arch of the great -gate, his sweating horse smiting fire from the stones, -dropping foam from his black muzzle. The rider was -Godamar, Flavian's favourite esquire, a ruddy youth, with the -heart of a Jonathan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred brought him to the banqueting-hall, where -Flavian awaited him in full harness, two trumpeters at his -back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, Geraint has risen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are marching on Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your news, on with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Godamar told how the troop had neared Geraint at eve -and camped in the wood over night. At dawn they had -reconnoitred the town, and seen, to their credit, black -columns of "foot" pouring out by all the gates. The -Gambrevault company had fallen back upon the woods -unseen, and had watched the Gerainters massing in the -city meadows about a red banner and one in armour upon -a white horse. Godamar had lain low in a thicket and -watched the rebels march by in the valley. They had -passed between two hundred paces of him, and he swore -by Roland the Paladin that it was a woman who rode the -great white horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian had listened to the man with a golden flux of -fancy that had divined something of the esquire's meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Godamar," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You rode with me that day when we tracked a certain -lady from Cambremont glade towards the pine forest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, you forestall me in thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could even swear upon my sword that it is Yeoland -of Cambremont who rides with the Gerainters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian coloured and commended him. Godamar ran on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I threaded the thicket, sire, made a detour, galloped -hard and rejoined our company. The Gerainters were -blind as bats; they had never a scout to serve them. We -kept under cover and watched their march. They came -due west in three columns, one following the other. Six -miles from Geraint, Longsword gave me a spare horse and -sent me spurring to bring you the news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stroked his chin and brooded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Their numbers?" he asked anon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten thousand men, sire, we guessed it such."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before Godamar had ended his despatch, a second -galloper came in breathless from Gilderoy. He had left -Fulviac's rebels massing in the meadows beyond the river, -and had kept cover long enough to see the foremost -column wheel westwards and take the road for -Gambrevault. The scout numbered the Gilderoy force at -anything between eight and twelve thousand pikes. Fulviac -had been on the march three hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon stood forward in the oriel in the -full light of the sun. Sea, hill, and woodland stretched -before him under a peerless sky. There was the scent of -brine in the breeze, the banner of youth was ablaze upon -the hills. A red heart beat under his shimmering cuirass, -red blood flushed his brain. It was a season of romance -and of lusty daring, an hour when his manhood shone -bright as his burnished sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thoughts were tumbling, moving over his mind like -water over a wheel. Geraint stood ten leagues from -Gambrevault, Gilderoy thirteen. The Geraint forces had -been on the march six hours or more, the men of Gilderoy -only three. Hence, by all the craft of Araby, they of Geraint -were three hours and three leagues to the fore. Bad -generalship without doubt, but vastly prophetic to the man -figuring in the oriel, his fingers drumming on the stone -sill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strategy stirred in him, and waxed like a dragon created -from some magic crystal into the might of deeds. The -Lord of Gambrevault caught the strong smile of chivalry. -A great venture burnt upon his sword. It was no -uncertain voice that rang through the hall of Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, to horse! Trumpets, blow the sally! Let -every man who can ride, mount and follow me to-day. -Blow, trumpets, blow!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The brazen throats brayed from the walls, their shrill -scream echoing and echoing amid the distant hills. Their -message was like the plunging of a boulder into a pool, -smiting to foam and clamour the camp in the meadows. -Swords were girded on, spears plucked from the sods, -horses saddled and bridled in grim haste. In one short, -stirring hour Flavian rode out from Gambrevault with -twelve hundred steel-clad riders at his back. Those on -the walls watched this mass of fire and colour -thundering over the meadows, splashing through the ford, -smoking away to the east with trumpets clanging, banneroles -adance. There was to be great work done that day. -The sentinels on the walls gossiped together, and swore by -their lord as he had been the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gambrevault and its towers sank back against the skyline, -its banner waving heavily above the keep. Flavian's -mass of knights and men-at-arms held over the eastern -downs that rolled greenly above the black cliffs and the -blue mosaics of the sea. A brisk breeze laughed in their -faces, setting plumes nodding, banneroles and pensils aslant. -Their spears rose like the slim masts of many sloops in a -harbour. The sun shone, the green woods beckoned to -the glittering mass with its forest of rolling spears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's pride whimpered as he rode in the van with -Modred, Godamar, who bore the banner of Gambrevault, -and Merlion d'Or, his herald. The man felt like a Zeus -with a thunderbolt poised in his hand. A word, the flash -of a sword, the cry of a trumpet, and all this splendid -torrent of steel would leap and thunder to work his will. -The star of chivalry shone bright in the heavens. As -for this woman on the white horse, the Madonna of the -Pine Forest, God and the saints, he would charge the -whole world, hell and its legions, to win so rich a prize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning northwards, with scouts scattered in the far -van, they drew to wilder regions where the dark and -saturnine outposts of the great pine forest stood solemn upon -the hills. Dusky were the thickets against the sapphire -sky, the cloud banners trailing in the breeze. The very -valleys breathed of battle and sudden peril of the sword. -Rounding a wood, they saw riders flash over the brow of a -hill and come towards them at a gallop. The men drew -rein before the great company of spears. Their leader -saluted his lord, and glanced round grimly upon the sea of -steel dwindling over the green slopes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we are well-fortuned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten thousand rebels from Geraint are on the march -two miles away. Godamar has given you the news. We -are on the crest of the wave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian tightened his baldric.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good ground to the east, Longsword?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellent for 'horse,' sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To our advantage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Half a mile further towards Geraint there lies a grass -valley, a league long, four furlongs from wood to wood. -The rebels will march through it, or I am a dotard. -There stands your chance, sire. We can roll down on -them like a torrent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian took time by the throat, and called on his man -of the tabard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make me this proclamation," quoth he: "'Gentlemen -of Gambrevault, strike for King and chivalry. Let -vengeance dye your swords. As for the lady riding upon -the white horse, mark you, sirs, let her be as the Virgin out -of heaven. We ride to take her and her banner. For -the rest, no quarter and no prisoners. We will teach this -mob the art of war.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of the tabard proclaimed it as he was bidden. -The iron ranks thundered to him like billows foaming about -a rock. Modred claimed silence with uplifted sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough, gentlemen, enough. No bellowing. Muzzle -your temper. We make our spring in silence, that we -may claw the harder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A line of hills lay before them, heights crowned with -black pine woods, save for one bare ridge like a great -scimitar carving the sky. Flavian advanced his companies -up the slopes, halted them in a broad hollow under the -brow of the hill. A last galloper had ridden in with hot -tidings of the rebels. The Lord of Gambrevault, with Sir -Modred and Longsword, cantered on to reconnoitre. They -drew to a thicket of gnarled hollies on the hilltop, and -looked down upon a long grass valley bounded north and -south by woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half a mile away came the rebel vanguard, a black mass -of footmen plodding uphill, their pikes and bills shining in -the sun. Pennons and gonfalons danced here and there, -while in the thick of the column flew the red banner of the -Forest, girt about by the spears of Yeoland's guard. She -could be seen on her white horse in the midst of the press. -The Gerainters were split into three columns, the second -column half a mile behind the first, the third somewhat -closer upon the second. They were marching without -outriders, as though thoroughly assured of their own safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred chuckled grimly through his black beard, and -smote his thigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fools, fools!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Devilish generalship," quoth Longsword under his -beaver. "We can crush their van like a wheatfield before -the rest can come up. What say you, sire, fewtre spears, -and at them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian had already turned his horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No sounding of trumpets, sirs," he said; "we will -deal only with their van. Call up our companies. God -and St. Philip for Gambrevault!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over the bare ridge, with its barriers of sun-steeped -trees, steel shivered and spears bristled, rank on rank, wave -on wave. With a massed rhythm of hoofs, the flood -crested the hill, plunged down at a gallop with fewtred -spears. Knee to knee, flank to flank, a thousand streaks -of steel deluged the hillside. Their trumpets throated now -the charge; the iron ranks clashed and thundered, rocked -on with a rush of glittering shields.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As dust rolling before a March wind, so the horsemen -of Gambrevault poured down on the horde of wavering -pikes. The storm had come sudden as thunder out of a -summer sky. Before the hurtling impact of that bolt of -war, the palsied ranks of foot crumbled like rotten timber. -The Gerainters were too massed and too amazed to -squander or give ground, to stem with bill and bow the -rolling torrent of death. They were rent and trampled, -trodden like straw under the stupendous avalanche of steel -that crushed and pulverised with ponderous and invincible -might.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God and Gambrevault, kill, kill!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such was the death-cry thundered out over the rebel -van. The column broke, burst into infinite chaos. -Yeoland's guards alone stood firm, a tough core of oak -amid rotten tinder. Over the trampled wreckage the -fight swirled and eddied, circling about the knot of steel -where the red banner flapped in the vortex of the storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland sat dazed on her white horse, as one in the -grip of some terrific dream. Nord was at her side, -snarling, snapping his jaw like a wolf, his great iron -mace poised over his shoulder. The red banner flapped -prophetic above their heads. Around them the fight -gathered, a whirlwind of contorted figures and stabbing -steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's eyes were on one figure in the press, a man -straddling a big bay horse, smiting double-handed with -his sword, his red plume jerking in the hot rush of the -fight. She saw horse and man go down before him; -saw him buffet his way onward like a galley ploughing -against wind and wave. His leaping sword and tossing -plume came steady and strenuous through the girdle of -death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fear, pride, a hundred battling passions played like the -battle through the woman's mobile brain. She watched -the man under the red plume with an intensity of feeling -that made her blind to all else for the moment. Love -seemed to struggle towards her in bright harness through -the fight. She saw the last rank of the human rampart -pierced. The man on the bay horse came out before her -like some warrior out of an old epic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None save Nord stood between them, shaggy and grim -as a great Norse Thor. She watched the iron mace -swing, saw it fall and smite wide. Flavian stood in the -stirrups, both hands to the hilt, his horse's muzzle rammed -against the opposing brute's chest. The blow fell, a -great cut laid in with all the culminating courage of an -hour. The sword slashed Nord's gorget, buried its blade -in the bull-like neck. He clutched at his throat, toppled, -slid out of the saddle and rolled under his horse's hoofs.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 86%" id="figure-49"> -<span id="the-sword-slashed-nord-s-gorget-buried-its-blade-in-the-bull-like-neck"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""THE SWORD SLASHED NORD'S GORGET, BURIED ITS BLADE IN THE BULL-LIKE NECK."" src="images/img-202.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"THE SWORD SLASHED NORD'S GORGET, BURIED ITS BLADE IN THE BULL-LIKE NECK."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's hand snatched at the girl's bridle; he -dragged her and her horse out of the press. She had a -confused vision of carnage, of stabbing swords and -trampling hoofs. She saw her banner-bearer fall forward on his -horse's neck, thrust through with a sword, while Modred -seized the banner staff from his impotent hand. The -rebel column had deliquesced and vanished. In its stead -she was girdled by grim and exultant horsemen whose -swords flashed in the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trumpets blew the retreat. A thousand glittering -riders swarmed about her and the knight with the red -plume. She had his words confusedly in her ears, strong, -passionate words, heroic, yet utterly tender. They rode -uphill together amid the clangour of his men. In a -minute they had won the ridge, and were swinging down -the further slope with their faces towards Gambrevault.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxx"><span class="large">XXX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Paris and Helen have been dead centuries, yet in that -universal world of the mind they still live, young and glorious -as when the Grecian galleys ploughed foam through the blue -Ægean. The world loves a lover. Troilus stages our own -emotions for us in godlier wise than we poor realists can -hope to do. We owe an eternal gratitude to those who -have stood for love in history. All men might well desire -to play the Tristan to Iseult of the Irish eyes. We forget -Gemma Donati, and follow with Dante's wistful idealism -the gleaming figure of Beatrice in Paradise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now the Lord Flavian was one of those happy persons -who seem to stumble into heaven either by prodigious -instinct or remarkable good-fortune. God gives to many -men gold; to others intellect; to some truth; to few, a -human echo, a harmony in the spirit, the right woman in -the world. Many of us are such unstable folk that we -vibrate vastly to a beautiful face and hail heaven in a pair -of violet eyes. The chance is that such a business turns -out miserably. It is a wise rule to search the world through -to find your Beatrice, or bide celibate to the end. Happy -is the man whose instinctive choice is ratified by all the -wisest poetry of heaven. Happy is he who finds a ruby as -he rakes the ephemeral flower-gardens of life, a gem eternally -bright and beautiful, durable, unchanging, flashing light ever -into the soul. It is given to few to love wisely, to love -utterly, to love till death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That summer day Flavian saw life at its zenith, as he -rode through the woods on the way to Gambrevault. The -horse had dropped to a trot, and the man had taken off his -helmet and hung it at his saddle-bow. He was still red -from the mêlée; his eyes were bright and triumphant. -The girl at his side looked at him half-timidly, a tremor -upon her lip, her glances clouded. The terrific action of -the last hour still seemed to weigh upon her senses, and she -seemed fated to be the sport of contending sentiments. No -sooner had she struggled to some level of saintliness than -love rushed in with burning wings, and lo, all the tinsel of -her religion fell away, and she was a mere Eve, a child -of Nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian watched her with the tenderness of a strong -man, who is ready to give his life for the woman he -serves. Love seemed to rise from her and play upon him -like perfume from a bowl of violets; her eyes transfigured -him, and he longed to touch her hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Treat me as a man, I hate that epithet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a great signor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are titles, testaments, etiquettes to us! I am -only great so long as you trust and honour me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your power might appear precarious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet war is loose!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked round upon the sea of men that rolled on -every hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And war at its worst. I have seen enough in three -days to make me loathe your partisans and their principles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a wicked and inhuman business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do with me?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remove you from the hands of butchers and offal-mongers; -put you like a pearl in a casket in my own -castle of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You incur the greater peril."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I not told you that no woman loves a coward?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent awhile, with her eyes wistful and -melancholy, as though some spiritual conflict were passing in her -mind. Bitterness escaped in the man's words for all his -tenderness and chivalry. He needed an answer. Anon -she capitulated and appeared to surrender herself absolutely -to circumstance. She began to tell Flavian of her -adoption by Fulviac, of her vision in the ruined chapel, of the -part assigned to her as a woman ordained by heaven. He -heard her in silence, finding quaint pleasure in listening to -her voice, having never heard her talk at such length -before. Her voice's modulations, its pathos, its many tones, -were more subtle to him than any music, and seemed to -steep in oblivion the grim realities of the last few days. -He watched the play of thought upon her face, sun and -shadow, calm and unrest. He began to comprehend the -discords he had flung into her life; she was no longer a -riddle to him; her confessions portrayed her soul in warm -and delicate colouring--colouring pathetic and heroically -pure. He had a glorious sense of joy in an instinctive -conviction that this girl was worthy of all the highest -chivalry a man's heart can conceive of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though he had a strong suspicion that he could -humanise her Madonna for her, he refrained from argument, -refrained from dilating on the iniquities her so-called crusades -had already perpetrated. Moreover, the girl had opened -her heart to him with a delicious and innocent ingenuousness. -He felt that the hour had blessed him sufficiently; -that personalities would be gross and impertinent in the -light of that sympathy that seemed suddenly to have -enveloped them like a golden cloud. The girl appeared to have -surrendered herself spiritually into his keeping, not sorry -in measure that a strong destiny had decided her doubts -for her. They were to let political considerations and the -ephemeral turmoils of the times sink under their feet. It -was sufficient for them to be but a man and a woman, to -forget the forbidden fruit, and the serpent and his lore. -God walked the world; they were not ashamed to hear -His voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they came with their glittering horde of horsemen -to Gambrevault, and rode over the green downs with -towers beckoning from the blue. The Gilderoy forces -were still miles away, and could not have threatened the -retreat on Gambrevault had they been wise as to the -event. Yeoland rode close at Flavian's side. He touched -her hand, looked in her eyes, saw the colour stream to her -cheeks, knew that she no longer was his enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yonder stands Gambrevault," were his words; "its -walls shall bulwark you against the world. Trust me and -my eternal faith to you. I shall see God more clearly for -looking in your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lodged her in a chamber in the keep, a room that -had been his mother's and still held the furniture, books, -and music she had used. Its window looked out on the -castle garden, and over the double line of walls to the -meadows and woods beyond. Maud, the castellan's wife, -was bidden to wait upon her. Flavian gave her the keys -of his mother's chests, where silks, samites, sarcenets galore, -lace and all manner of golden fripperies, were stored. The -ewers of the room were of silver, its hangings of violet -cloth, its bed inlaid with ivory and hung with purple velvet. -It had a shelf full of beautifully illumined books, a prayer-desk -and a small altar, a harp, a lute, an embroidery frame, -and numberless curios. Thus by the might of the sword -Yeoland was installed in the great castle of Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Duessa and Balthasar were dead. The girl had told -Flavian what had passed in Sforza's palace; the news -shocked him more than he would have dreamed. The -dead wound us with their unapproachableness and the -mute pathos of their pale, imagined faces. They are -like our own sins that stare at us from the night sky, -irrevocable and beyond us for ever. Flavian ordered -tapers to be burnt and masses said in the castle chapel -for the souls of these two unfortunates. He himself -spent more than an hour in silent prayer before he -confessed, received penance and absolution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening, at Flavian's prayer, Yeoland came down -to meet him in the castle garden, with the castellan's two -girls to serve her as maids of honour. She had put aside -her armour, and was clad in a jacket of violet cloth, -fitting close to the figure, and a skirt of light blue silk. -In the old yew walk, stately and solemn, amid the bright -parterres and stone urns gushing colour, the two children -slipped away and left Yeoland and the man alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to have lost much of her restraint, much -of her independence, of her reserve, in a few short hours. -Her mood inclined towards silence and a certain delightful -solemnity such as a lover loves. Her eyes met the -man's with a rare trust; her hands went into his with all -the ideal faith he had forecast in his dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood together under the yews, full of youth and -innocent joy of soul, timid, happily sad, content to be -mere children. Flavian touched her hands as he would -have touched a lily. She seemed too wonderful, too pure, -too transcendent to be fingered. A supreme, a godly -timidity possessed him; he had such love in his heart as -only the strong and the pure can know, such love as -makes a man a saint unto himself, a being wrapped round -with the rarest chivalry of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their words were very simple and infrequent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking," said the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How war seems ever in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How else should I have won you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed and looked up over his shoulder at the -sunlight glimmering gold through the yews.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking how I bring you infinite peril. -They will not lose me easily. What if I bring you to -ruin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take everything to myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They believe me a saint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My conscience will reproach me, but now----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am too happy to remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their eyes met and flashed all the unutterable truths -of the soul. Flavian kissed her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget it all," he said, "save the words I spoke to you -over that forest grave. Whatever doom may come upon -me, though death frown, I care not; all the sky is at -sunset, all the world is full of song. I could meet God -to-morrow with a smile, since you have shown me all -your heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From a little stone pavilion hidden by laurels the -voices of flutes and viols swirled out upon the air. The -west grew faint, and twilight increased; night kissed -and closed the azure eyes of the day. Under the yew -boughs, Flavian and Yeoland walked hand in hand; the -music spoke for them; the night made their faces pale -and spiritual under the trees. They said little; a tremor -of the fingers, a glance, a sigh were enough. When the -west had faded, and the last primrose streak was gone, -Flavian kissed the girl's lips and sent her back to the two -children, who were curled on a bench by the laurels, -listening sleepily to the music of flute and viol.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's soul was too scintillant and joyous to shun -the stars. He passed up on to the battlements, and -listened to the long surge of the summer sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as he paced the battlements that night, he saw red, -impish specks of flame start out against the black -background of the night. They were the rebel watchfires -burning on the hills, sinister eyes, red with the distant -prophecy of war.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxi"><span class="large">XXXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It would be difficult to describe the thundercloud of -thought that came down upon Fulviac's face when news -was brought him of the capture of the girl Yeoland and the -decimation of the vanguard from Geraint. There was -something even Satanic upon his face for the moment. He -was not a pleasant person when roused, and roused he was -that day like any ogre. His tongue ran through the whole -gamut of blasphemy before he recovered a finer dignity and -relapsed into a grim reserve. His men spoke to him with -great suavity. He had decreed that Nord of the Hammer -should be hanged for negligence, but the decree was -unnecessary, since Flavian's sword had already settled the -matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gilderoy forces therefore turned northwards, with -their great baggage and siege train, and in due course came -upon the Gerainters bivouacking on the ridge where the -battle had taken place. The green slopes were specked -with dark motionless figures, dead horses, and the -wreckage of war. Men were burying the dead upon the -battlefield. Yeoland's guard had been slaughtered almost to a -man; and the whole affair had damped very considerably -the ardour of certain of the less trustworthy levies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Fulviac was not the man to sit and snivel over a -defeat; he knew well enough that he had good men behind -him, tough fighting stuff, fired by fanaticism and a long -sense of wrong. He harangued his whole force, black-guarded -with his lion's roar those concerned in the march -from Geraint, treating them to such a scourging with -words that they snarled and clamoured to be led on at once -to prove their mettle. Their leaders had been at fault, -nor did Fulviac keep their spirits cooling in the wind. -The power of his own personality was great, and he had -twenty thousand men at his back, who knew that to fail -meant death and torture. They had received a check from -the Lord of Gambrevault; it was absolutely essential to -the cause that they should wipe out the defeat, recapture -their Saint and sacred banner, crush Gambrevault once and -for ever. To this strenuous tune they marched on -towards the sea, and that night lit their fires on the hills -that ringed Gambrevault on the north.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the sun climbed up and spread a curtain of gold over -down and upland, those on the walls of Gambrevault saw -steel glinting on the hills, the pikes and casques of Fulviac's -horde. Yeoland saw them from her casement, as she stood -and combed her hair. Flavian, watching with certain -knights on the keep, confronted the event with a merry -smile. The shimmering line of silver on the hills had -broadened to a darker band, splashed lavishly with steel. -The rebel host was coming on in a half moon, with each -horn to the sea. Its centre held towards the ford and the -dismantled Gambrevault mills, positions strongly held on -the southern bank by a redoubt and stockaded trenches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The criticisms delivered by those watching from the -keep were various and forcible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jeremy--a rare mob!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let them grip at Gambrevault," said Modred, "and -they shall clutch at a cactus. Look at that long baggage -train in the rear. Damn them, I guess they have the -siege train from Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall sweat a trifle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quoth Tristram, "They have little time to spare for a -leaguer, rotting in trenches, if they are to make the -country rise. They'll not leaguer us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian watched the advance under his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fortunately or unfortunately, gentlemen," he said, -"we have taken their Saint, their oracle, and their sacred -banner. I imagine they will do their best to dispossess us. -It is time we made for the meadows; I reckon we shall -have hot work to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When leaving the keep, Flavian crossed the castle -garden, and caught under the tunnel of yews the flutter of a -woman's gown. Sunlight glimmered through and wove a -shimmering network in the air. Green and violet swept -the stones; a white face shone in the shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to her and kissed her hands. His eyes were -brave and joyous as she looked into them, and there was -no shadow of fear upon his face. Trumpets were blowing -in the meadows, piercing the confused hum of men running -to arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"War, ever war!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac has the whole kingdom at his back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he led the world, I should not waver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With me it is different; I am a woman and you know -my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So well that I seek to know nothing else in the world, -I desire no greater wisdom than my love. You are with -me, and my heart sings. No harm can come to you -whatever doom may fall on Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think you my thoughts are all of my own safety?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, golden one, never fear for me. What is life? a -little joy, a little pain, and then eternity. I would -rather have an hour's glory in the sun than fifty years -of grey monotony. It is something to fight, and even -to die, for the love of a woman. There is no shadow -over my soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a great heroism in his voice, and her eyes -caught the light from his. She touched his cuirass with -her slim white fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, I do not smell of earth to-day, nor dream of -requiems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you will come back to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me your scarf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took the green silk and knotted it about his arm; -a rich colour shone in her cheeks, her eyes were warm -and wonderfully luminous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So he kissed her lips and left her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rebel horde had rolled down in their thousands -from the hills. Flavian saw their black masses moving -from the woods, as he rode down from the great gate. -It was evident to him that Fulviac would try and force -the ford and win his way to the open meadows beyond. -The river ran fast with a deep but narrow channel, and -there was only one other ford some nine miles upstream. -His own men were under arms in the meadows. With -his knights round him, Flavian rode down to the redoubt -and trenches by the river-bank, packed as they already -were with archers and men-at-arms. He was loudly -cheered as he reined in and scanned the rebel columns -moving over the downs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had ridden forward with a company of spears -to reconnoitre. He saw the captured banner of The -Maid hoisted derisively on Gambrevault keep; he saw -the redoubt and the stockades covering the ford; the -foot massed in the meadows; Flavian's mounted men-at-arms -drawn up under the castle walls. Sforza and several -captains of note were with Fulviac. The man was in a -grim mood, a slashing Titanic humour. The passage of -the river was to be forced, Flavian's men engaged in the -meadows. He would drive them into Gambrevault before -nightfall. Then they would cast their leaguer, bring up -the siege train taken from Gilderoy, and batter at -Gambrevault till they could storm the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Early in the day Fulviac detached a body of two -thousand men under Colgran, a noted free-lance, to march -upstream, cross by the upper ford, and threaten Flavian -on the flank. The fighting began at ten of the clock, -when Fulviac's bowmen scattered along the river and -opened fire upon the stockades. Flavian's archers and -arbalisters responded. A body of five thousand rebels advanced -with great mantlets upon wheels to the northern bank and -entrenched themselves there. A second body, with waggons -laden with timber and several flat-bottomed boats, poured -down to the river a mile higher up, and began to throw -a rough, raft-like bridge across the stream. At half-past -ten masses of men-at-arms splashed through the water at -the ford, under cover of a hot fire from the archers lining -the bank, and began an assault upon the redoubt and the -stockades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By twelve o'clock the bridge higher up the stream had -been completed, and a glittering line of pikes poured across, -to be met on the southern bank by Geoffrey Longsword -and a body of men-at-arms. It was hand to hand, and -hot and strenuous as could be. Men grappled, stabbed, -hacked, bellowed like a herd of bulls. Flavian had -reinforced the defenders of the ford, who still held Fulviac at -bay, despite a heavy archery fire and the almost continuous -assaults poured against the stockades. Yet by one o'clock -Fulviac's levies had forced the passage of the bridge and -gained footing on the southern bank. Longsword's men, -outnumbered and repulsed, were falling back before the -black masses of foot that now poured into the meadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The situation was critical enough, as Flavian had long -seen, as he galloped hotly from point to point. Fulviac's -rebels had shown more valour than he had ever prophesied. -Flavian packed all his remaining foot into the trenches, and -putting himself at the head of his knights and mounted -men-at-arms, rode down to charge the troops who had -crossed by the pontoons. Here chivalry availed him to the -full. By a succession of tremendous rushes, he drove the -rebels back into the river, did much merciless slaughter, cut -the ropes that held the bridge to the southern bank, so that -the whole structure veered downstream. The peril seemed -past, when he was startled by the cry that the redoubt had -been carried, and that Fulviac held the ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Looking south, he saw the truth with his own eyes. His -troops were falling back in disorder upon Gambrevault, -followed by an ever-growing mass, that swarmed exultantly -into the meadows. The last and successful assault had -been led by Fulviac in person. Flavian had to grip the -truth. The rebels outnumbered him by more than five to -one; and he had underrated their discipline and fighting -spirit. He was wiser before the sun went down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, gentlemen, we shall beat them yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we charge them, sire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blow bugles, follow me, sirs; I am in no mood for defeat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That afternoon there was grim work in the Gambrevault -meadows. Five times Flavian charged Fulviac's columns, -hurling them back towards the river, only to be repulsed in -turn by the fresh masses that poured over by the ford. He -made much slaughter, lost many good men in the mad, -whirling mêlées. Desperate heroism inspired on either -hand. Once he stood in great peril of his own life, -having been unhorsed and surrounded by a mob of rebel pikes. -He was saved by the devotion and heroism of Modred and -his household knights. With the chivalry of a Galahad, he -did all that a man could to keep the field. Colgran's flanking -column appeared over the downs, and Fulviac had his whole -host on the southern bank of the river. The masses advanced -like one man, pennons flying, trumpets clanging. Flavian -would have charged again, but for the vehement dissuasion -of certain of his elder knights. He contented himself with -covering the retreat of his foot, while the great gate of -Gambrevault opened its black maw to take them in. Many -of his mercenaries had deserted to the rebels. So stubborn -and bloody had been the day, that he had lost close upon half -his force by death and desertion; no quarter had been given -on either side. He heard the surging shouts of exultation -from the meadows, as he rode sullen and wearied into -Gambrevault. The great gates thundered to, the portcullises -rattled down. Fulviac had his man shut up in Gambrevault.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxii"><span class="large">XXXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The leaguer was drawn that night about the towers of -Gambrevault, and the castle stood clasped betwixt the -watch-fires and the sea. Fulviac's rebels, toiling from -evening until dawn, banked and staked a rampart to close -the headland. From the north alone could Gambrevault -be approached, precipices plunging south, east, and west -to front the sea. Athwart the grassy isthmus Fulviac drew -his works, running from cliff to cliff, brown earth-banks -bristling with timber. Mortars, bombards, basilics, and -great catapults had been brought from Gilderoy to batter -the walls. Redoubts, covered by strong mantlets, were -established in the meadows. Several small war galleys -guarded the castle on the side of the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was this labour permitted to pass unrebuked before -the leaguered folk upon the headland. There were sallies, -assaults, bloody tussles in the trenches, skirmishes upon -the causeway. Yet these fiercenesses brought no flattering -boon to the besieged. The knights and men-at-arms were -masterful enough with an open field to serve them, but -behind their barricades Fulviac's rebels held the advantage. -The command went forth from Modred the seneschal that -there were to be no more sorties delivered against the -trenches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the second day of the leaguer the cannonade began. -Bombard and mortar belched flame and smoke; the huge -catapults strove with their gigantic arms; arbalisters -wound their windlasses behind the ramparts. Shot -screamed and hurtled, crashed and thundered against the -walls, bringing down mortar and masonry in rattling -showers. The battlements of Gambrevault spouted flame; -archers plied their bows in bartisan and turret. A shroud -of dust and smoke swirled about the place, the chaotic -clamour of the siege sending the gulls wheeling and -wailing from the cliffs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the very second day Flavian was brought low by a -shot hurling a fragment of masonry upon his thigh and -bruising it to the bone. Stiff and faint, he was laid abed -in his own state room, unable to stir for the twinging -tendons, loth enough to lie idle. Modred, bluff, lusty smiter, -took the command from him, and walked the walls. Hourly -he came in to his lord's chamber to tell of the cannonade -and the state of the castle. Even Flavian from his -cushions could see that the man's black face looked grim -and sinister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do they vex us?" was his question, as the -thunder came to them from the meadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred clinked his heels against the wainscotting of -the window seat, and strove to sweeten his looks. He was -not a man given to blandishing the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Their damned bombards are too heavy for us. We are dumb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we shall have to hold Gambrevault by the sword."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the bed started up on his elbow, only to -fall back again with a spasmodic twitching of the forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And our bombards?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are toppled off their trunnions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the rest, sire, I have ordered our men to keep -cover. The bowmen shoot passably. The outer -battlements are swept."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the walls?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred grimaced and stroked his beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are cracks in the gate-house," quoth he, "that -I could lay my fist in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What goodlier fortune for a man than to lie bruised -when Love bears to him the bowl of dreams! What -softer balm than the touch of a woman's hand! What -more subtle music than her voice! The girl Yeoland had -betrayed a new wilfulness to the world, in that she now -claimed as her guerdon the care of the man's heart. She -was in and about his room, a shadow moving in the -sunlight, a shaft of youth, supple and very tender. Her eyes -had a rarer lustre, her face more of the dawn tint of the -rose. Love stirred within her soul like the sound of angels -psaltering on the golden battlements of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat often beside him, Flavian won the whole -romance from her, gradual as glistening threads of silk -drawn from a scarlet purse. She waxed very solemn over -her tale, was timid at times, and exceeding sorrowful for -all her passion. Some shadowy fear seemed to companion -her beside the couch, some wraith prophetic of a tragic -end. She loved the man, yet feared her love, even as it -had been a sword shimmering above his head. Peril -compassed them like an angry sea; she heard the bombards -thundering in the meadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire," she said to him one morning, as she thrust -the flowers she had gathered in the garden into a brazen -bowl, "I am heavy at heart. Who shall pity me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned towards her on his cushions with a smile that -was not prophetic of the tomb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I weary you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah no, not that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why then are you sad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held up a white hand in the gloom of the room, -her hair falling like a black cloud upon her bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not deaf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The thunder of war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, my heart, should I fear it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I who fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, taking her hand into his bosom, "put -such fears far from you. We shall not end this year in dust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A week passed and the man was on the walls again, -bold and ruddy as a youthful Jove. Seven days had gone, -swelling with their hours the great concourse in the -meadows. Pikes had sprouted on the hills like glistening -corn, to roll and merge into the girding barrier of -steel. The disloyal south had gathered to Fulviac before -Gambrevault like dust in a dry corner in the month of -March. A great host teemed betwixt the river and the -cliffs. Through all, the rack and thunder of the siege -went on, drowning the sea's voice, flinging a storm-cloud -over the stubborn walls. In Gambrevault men looked -grim, and muttered of succour and the armies of the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet Flavian was content. He had taken a transcendent -spirit into his soul; he lived to music; drank love and -chivalry like nectar from the gods. The woman's -nearness made each hour a chalice of gold. He possessed her -red heart, looked deep into her eyes, put her slim hands -into his bosom. Her voice haunted him like music out -of heaven. He was a dreamer, a Lotos-eater, whose brain -seemed laden with all the perfumes of the East. Ready -was he to drain the purple wine of life even to the dregs, -and to find death in the cup if the Fates so willed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Fulviac?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>War had held a poniard at his throat, turning him to the -truth with the threat of steel. Grim and implacable, he -stalked the meadows, bending his brows upon the towers -of Gambrevault. This girl of the woods was no more a -dream to him, but supple love, ardent flesh, blood-red -reality. Lean, leering thoughts taunted the lascivious fears -within his brain. His moods were silent yet tempestuous. -Gambrevault mocked him. Vengeance burnt in his palm -like a globe of molten iron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His dogged temper roused his captains to strenuous -debate. Fifty thousand men were idle before the place, and -the siege dragged like a homily. Their insinuations were -strong and strident. The countryside was emptying its -broad larder; Malgo and Godamar of the Fens were -marching from east and west. Ten thousand men could -leaguer Gambrevault. It behoved Fulviac to pluck up -his spears and march on Lauretia, proud city of the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a season Fulviac was stubborn as Gambrevault -itself. His yellow eyes glittered, and he tossed back his -lion's mane from off his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Till the place is ours," so ran his dogma, "I stir never -a foot. See to it, sirs, we will put these skulkers to the -sword."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His captains were strenuous in retort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mar the cause," said Sforza over the council-board, -thin-lipped and subtle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me ten thousand men," quoth Colgran the free-lance, -"by my bones I will take the place and bring the -Maid out scatheless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Prosper the Priest put in his plea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are our torch," he said, "our beacon. Malgo is -on the march; Godamar has massed behind the creeks of -Thorney Isle. The country waits for you. Leave -Gambrevault to Colgran."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And again the free-lance made his oath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me ten thousand men," quoth he, "by Peter's -blood the place shall tumble in a month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That same evening, as a last justification of his stubborn -will, Fulviac sent forward a trumpeter under a white flag -to parley with the besieged. The herald's company drew -to the walls as the sun sank over the sea, setting the -black towers in a splendour as of fire. Fulviac's troops -were under arms in the meadows, their pikes glittering with -sinister meaning into the purple of the coming night. The -Lord of Gambrevault, in full harness, met the white flag, -his knights round him, a crescent of steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's trumpeter proclaimed his terms. They were -insolently simple, surrender absolute with the mere blessings -of life and limb, a dungeon for the lords, a proffer of -traitorous service to the men. Yeoland the Saint was to -be sent forth scatheless. The castle was to be garrisoned -and held by the rebels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian laughed at the bluff insolence of the demand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, sirs," he said, "we are the King's men here. -Get you gone before my gate. Say to yonder traitor in the -meadows, 'We quail not before scullions and at the frowns -of cooks.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, under the red canopy of the warring west, ended -the parley at the gate of Gambrevault. The white flag -tripped back behind the trenches; the castle trumpets blew -a fanfare to grace its flight. Yeoland the Saint heard it, -and her lamp of hope burnt dim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night Fulviac paced the meadows, his eyes scanning -the black mass upon the cliffs. Dark as was his humour, -reason ruled him at the climax, powerful to extort the -truth. Primæval instincts were strong in him, yet he put -them back that hour out of his heart. Robust and vigorous, -he trampled passion under foot. At dawn his orders -went forth to the captains and the council.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Colgran shall command. Ten thousand men shall -serve him. Let him storm the place, grant no terms, -spare Yeoland the Maid alone. Let him butcher the -garrison, and let the ruin rot. When all have been put to -the sword, let him march and join me before the city of -Lauretia."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiii"><span class="large">XXXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>So Fulviac with his host passed northwards from Gambrevault, -leaving Colgran and his ten thousand to guard the -trenches. Flavian saw the black columns curl away over -the green slopes, their pikes glittering against the blue -fringe of the horizon, their banners blowing to the breeze. -The red pavilion stood no longer in the meadows; the -man on the black horse rode no more behind the barricades. -Ominous was the marching of the host over the hills, a -prophecy of many battles before the King's men could -succour Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gate-house stood in ruins, a shattered pile of -masonry barriering the causeway from the meadows. The -outer curtain wall on the north had been pierced between -two towers; the stone-work crumbled fast, opening a -gradual breach to the rebel sea dammed behind the trenches. -The battlements were rent and ruinous; many a turret -gaped and tottered. Still the bombards thundered, hurling -their salvos of shot against the place, belching flame even -through the night, while the arms of the great slings toiled -like giant hands in the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, her joy was dim and flickering, -mocked with constant prophecies of woe. The sounds of -the siege haunted her perpetually. Shafts wailed and -whistled, bombards roared, the walls reeked and cracked. -A corner in the garden under the yew walk was the single -nook left her open to the blue hope of heaven. The -clamour of the leaguer woke a hundred echoes in her -heart. Above all shone the man's strong face and -passionate eyes; above the moon, the stars, the blue vault of -day, death spread his sable wings, a cloud of gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the sixteenth day of the siege, Colgran made an -assault in force upon the ruins of the gate-house. Despite -its chaotic state, Flavian clung to the ruin, and held the -stormers at bay. Thrice Colgran's rebels advanced to the -attack, and came hand-to-hand with the defenders over the -crumbling piles of stone; thrice they were beaten back and -driven to retreat upon their trenches. Colgran renounced -the gate-house as impregnable; the slings and bombards -were turned upon the outer wall to widen the breach -already made therein.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was plain enough even to Yeoland that the siege was -bearing slowly yet surely against Gambrevault. More -than half a month had passed, and still no succouring -spears shone upon the hills, no sail upon the sea. Poor -food and summer heat, the crowding of the garrison had -opened a gate to fever and disease. She saw the stern and -moody faces of the soldiery, their loyalty that took fresh -and hectic fire from the courage of their lord. She saw -the broken walls and ruined battlements, and heard the -rebels shouting in their trenches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the man's peril grew more real and significant, a -fear more vehement entered into her heart. Sleep left -her; she began to look white and weary, with dark -shadows under her eyes. The man's warm youth accused -her like a tree that should soon be smitten by the axe. -His fine heroism was a veritable scourge, making the -future full of discords, a charnel-house glimmering with -bleached bones. She began to know how closely their -lives were mingled, even as wine in a cup of gold. He -was lord and husband to her in the spirit. Her red heart -quaked for him like the shivering petals of an autumn rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the day of the assault upon the gate-house, he -came back to her wounded in the arm and shoulder. He -was faint, but brave and even merry. She would suffer -none to come in to him, as he sat in a carved chair in her -room that opened on the garden. The sight of blood -when harness and gamboison were taken from the caked -wounds quickened her fears into a fever of self-torture. -She bathed the wounds and dressed them with fragrant -oil and linen. Twilight filled the room, and it was not -till her tears fell upon his hand that the man found that -she was weeping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her towards him with sudden great tenderness, -as she knelt and looked into his face. Her eyes swam -with tears, her lips quivered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My life, why do you weep?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started away from him with sudden strength, and -stood by the window, trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me my armour and my banner," she said; "let -me ride to the trenches and barter terms by my surrender. -Sire, let me go, let me go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her sadly under his brows, with forehead -wrinkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would leave me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah yes, to save you from the sword. Is it easy for -me to ask you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You crave more than I can give."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot surrender you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And for love, you would doom all Gambrevault!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" he cried, "I am wounded, and you would -wound me the more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a whimper of pain, ran to him, and crept into -his arms. As her sobs shook her, he bent many times and -kissed her hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weep not for me," he said; "even when the end -comes no harm can touch you. I cannot parley with -these wolves; there are women and children under my -roof; should I open my gates to a savage mob?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is your doom," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take it, child, from heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wept no more, for a richer heroism took fire within -her heart. She knelt to the man while he held her -face betwixt his hands, bent over her, and kissed her -forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, courage, what is death!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, to lose you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, am I not flesh and blood? God knows, I -would rather have death than give you to these vultures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knelt before him with her face transfigured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And death, death can touch me also."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiv"><span class="large">XXXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>August came in with storm and rain, and a dreary wind -blew from the south-west, huddling masses of cloud over -a spiritless sky. Southwards, the sea tumbled, a grey -expanse edged with foam, its great breakers booming -dismally upon the cliffs. The wind swept over -Gambrevault, moaning and wailing over battlement and tower, -driving the rain in drifting sheets. The bombards still -belched and smoked under their penthouses, and the arms -of the catapults rose and fell against the sullen sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eighteenth night of the siege came out of the east -like a thunder bank, and the grey shivering ghost of the -day fled over the western hills. When darkness had fallen, -the walls of Gambrevault were invisible from the trenches. -Here and there a light shone out like a spark in tinder; -the sky above was black as a cavern, unbroken by the -crack or cranny of a star.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, fully armed, kept watch upon the breach with -a strong company of men-at-arms. He had taken the ugly -measure of the night to heart, and had prepared accordingly. -Under the shelter of the wall men slept, wrapped in their -cloaks, with their weapons lying by them. The sentinels -had been doubled on the battlements, though little could -be seen in the blank murk, and even the keep had to be -looked for before its mass disjointed itself from the -background of the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was treacherous weather, and just the season for an -adventurous enemy to creep from the trenches and attempt -to rush the breach. Flavian leant upon his long sword, -and brooded. The black ends of the broken wall stood up -hugely on either hand; rubble and fallen masonry paved -the breach, and a rough rampart of debris had been piled -along the summit. Around him shone the dull armour of -his men, as they stood on guard in the rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The storm deadened soul and body, yet kept Flavian -vigilant with its boisterous laughter, a sound that might -stifle the tramp of stormers pouring to the breach. He -was not lonely, for a lover can do without the confidences -of others, when he has a woman to speak with in his heart. -In fancy he can lavish the infinite tenderness of the soul, -caress, quarrel, kiss, comfort, with all the idealisms of the -imagination. The spirit lips we touch are sweeter and -more red than those in the flesh. To the true man love is -the grandest asceticism the world can produce.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's figure straightened suddenly as it leant bowed -in thought upon the sword. He was alert and vigilant, -staring into darkness that baffled vision and hid the -unknown. A dull, characterless sound was in the air. -Whether it was the wind, the sea, or something more sinister, -he could not tell. Calling one of his knights to his -side, they stood together listening on the wreckage of the -wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vague clink, clink, came in discord to the wind, a -sound that suggested the cautious moving of armed men. -A hoarse voice was growling warily in the distance, as -though giving orders. The shrilling noise of steel grew -more obvious each moment; the black void below appeared -to grow full of movement, to swirl and eddy like a lagoon, -whose muddy waters are disturbed by some huge reptile at -night. The sudden hoarse cries of sentinels rose from the -walls. Feet stumbled on the debris at the base of the -breach; stormers were on the threshold of Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A trumpet blared in the entry; the guard closed up on -the rampart; sleeping men started from the shadows of the -wall, seized sword and shield as the trumpets' bray rang in -their ears. Colgran's stormers, discovered in their purpose, -cast caution to the winds, and sent up a shout that should -have wakened all Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the darkness and the driving rain, neither party could -see much of the other. The stormers came climbing blindly -up the pile of wreckage in serried masses. Flavian and -his knights, who held the rampart, big men and large-hearted, -smote at the black tide of bodies that rolled to their -swords. It was grim work in the dark. It was no sleepy, -disorderly rabble that held the breach, but a tense line of -steel, that stemmed the assault like a wall. The stormers -pushed up and up, to break and deliquesce before those -terrible swords. Modred's deep voice sounded through the -din, as he smote with his great axe, blows that would have -shaken an oak. There was little shouting; it was -breathless work, done in earnest. Colgran's men showed pluck, -fought well, left a rampart of dead to their credit, a -squirming, oozing barrier, but came no nearer forcing the breach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had lost the propitious moment, and the whole -garrison was under arms, ready to repulse the attacks made -at other points. Scaling ladders had been jerked forward -and reared against the walls; men swarmed up, but the -rebels gained no lasting foothold on the battlements. They -were beaten back, their ladders hurled down, masonry -toppled upon the mass below. Many a man lay with neck -or back broken in the confused tangle of humanity at the -foot of the castle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Colgran ordered up fresh troops. It was his policy to -wear out the garrison by sheer importunity and the stress -of numbers. He could afford to lose some hundred men; -every score were precious now to Flavian. It was a -system of counter barter in blood, till the weaker vessel ran -dry. The Lord of Gambrevault understood this rough -philosophy well enough, and husbanded his resources. He -could not gamble with death, and so changed his men when -the opportunity offered, to give breathing space to all. -Conscious of the strong stimulus of personal heroism, he -kept to the breach himself, and fought on through every -assault with Modred's great axe swinging at his side. He -owed his life more than once to those gorilla-like arms -and that crescent of steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the outer court, certain of the women folk with -Yeoland dealt out wine and food, and tended the wounded. In -the chapel, tapers glimmered, lighting the frescoes and the -saints, the priest chanting at the altar, the women and -children who knelt in the shadowy aisles praying for those -who fought upon the walls. Panic hovered over the pale -faces, the fear, the shivering, weeping, pleading figures. -There was little heroism in Gambrevault chapel, save the -heroism of supplication. While swords tossed and men -groped for each other in the wind and rain, old Peter the -cellarer lay drunk in a wine bin, and lame Joan, who tended -the linen, was snivelling in the chapel and fingering the gold -angels sewn up in her tunic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Five times did Colgran's men assault the breach that -night, each repulse leaving its husks on the bloody -wreckage, its red libations to the swords of Gambrevault. The -last and toughest tussle came during the grey prologue -before dawn. The place was so packed with the dead and -stricken, that it was well-nigh impassable. For some -minutes the struggle hung precariously on the summit of -the pass, but with the dawn the peril dwindled and elapsed. -The stormers revolted from the shambles; they had fought -their fill; had done enough for honour; were sick and -weary. No taunt, command, or imprecation could keep -them longer in that gate of death. Colgran's rebels -retreated on their trenches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with the dawn Flavian looked round upon the -breach, and saw all the horror of the place in one brief -moment. Cloven faces, hacked bodies, distortions, -tortures, blood everywhere. He looked round over his own -men; saw their meagre ranks, their weariness, their wounds, -their exultation that lapsed silently into a kind of desperate -awe. Some tried to cheer him, and at the sound he felt an -unutterable melancholy descend upon his soul. The men -were like so many sickly ghosts, a wan and battered flock, -a ragged remnant. He saw the whole truth in a moment, -as a man sees life, death, and eternity pass before him in -the flashing wisdom of a single thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this was war, this cataclysm of insatiate wrath! -His men were too few, too bustled, to hold the breach -against such another storm. His trumpets blared the -retreat, a grim and tragic fanfare. They dragged out their -wounded, abandoned the pile of rubbish for which they had -fought, and withdrew sullenly within the inner walls. -Colgran, though repulsed, had taken the outer ward of -Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one stumbling from a dream, Flavian found himself -in the castle garden. The place was full of the freshness -that follows rain; and it was not till the scent of flowers -met him like an odour of peace, that he marked that the -sky was blue and the dawn like saffron. The storm-clouds -had gone, and the wind was a mere breeze, a moist breath -from the west, bearing a curious contrast to the furious -temper of the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, looking like a white-faced debauchee, limped -through the court, and climbed the stairway of the keep -to the banqueting hall and his own state chambers. -Several of his knights followed him at a distance and in -silence. He felt sick as a dog, and burdened with -unutterable care, that weighed upon him like a prophecy. He -had held the breach against heavy odds, and he was brooding -over the cost. There was honour in the sheer physical -heroism of the deed; but he had lost old friends and -tried servants, had sacrificed his outer walls; there was -little cause for exultation in the main.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stumbled into the banqueting hall like a man into a -tavern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wine, wine, for the love of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slim figure in green came out from the oriel, and a -pair of dark eyes quivered over the man's grey face and -blood-stained armour. The girl's hands went out to him, -and she seemed like a child roused in the night from the -influence of some evil dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are wounded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took him by the arm and shoulder, and was able to -force him into a chair, so limp, so impotent, was he for the -moment. His face had the uncanny pallor of one who was -about to faint; his eyes stared at her in a dazed and wistful -way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, you are not going to die!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head, smiled weakly, and groped for her -hand. She broke away, brought wine, and began to -trickle it between his lips. Several of his knights came -in, and looked on awkwardly from the doorway at the -girl leaning over the man's chair, with her arm under his -head. Yeoland caught sight of them, coloured and called -them forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's faintness had passed. He saw Modred and -beckoned him to his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take her away," in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland heard the words, started round, and clung to -his hand. There was a strange look upon her face. -Flavian spoke slowly to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Girl, I am not a savoury object, fresh from the -carnage of a breach. Leave me to my surgeon. I would -only save you pain. As for dying, I feel like an Adam. -Go to your room, child; I will be with you before long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held both his hands, looked in his eyes a moment, -then turned away with Modred and left him. She was -very pale, and there was a tremor about her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Irrelevant harness soon surrendered to skilled fingers. -No great evil had been done, thanks to the fine temper -of Flavian's armour; the few gashes, washed, oiled, and -dressed, left him not seriously the worse for the night's -tussle. Wine and food recovered his manhood. He was -barbered, perfumed, dressed, and turned out by his -servants, a very handsome fellow, with a fine pallor and -a pathetic limp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His first care was to see his own men attended to, the -wounded properly bestowed, a good supply of food and -wine dealt out. He had a brave word and a smile for -all. As he passed, he found Father Julian the priest -administering the Host to those whose dim eyes were -closing upon earth and sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred, that iron man, who never seemed weary, was -stalking the battlements, and getting the place prepared -for the next storm that should break. Flavian renounced -responsibilities for the moment, and crossed the garden to -Yeoland's room. He entered quietly, looked about him, -saw a figure prostrate on the cushions of the window seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He crossed the room very quickly, knelt down and -touched the girl's hair. Her face was hidden in the -cushions. She turned slowly on her side, and looked at -him with a wan, pitiful stare; her eyes were timid, but -empty of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, girl, what troubles you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not look at him, though he held her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you angry with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke very slowly, in a suppressed and toneless voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you tell me the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her as though she were a saint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had a horrible thought in my heart, and it has -wounded me to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell it me, tell it me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you had repented all----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Repented!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of all the ruin I am bringing upon you; that you were -beginning to think----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a deep cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You believed that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lay back on the cushions with a great sigh. Flavian -had his arms about her, as he bent over her till their lips -nearly touched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you fear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so much a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And something is all the world to me, even though----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would die happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He understood her whole heart, and kissed her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman, I had come here to this room to ask -you one thing more. You can guess it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father Julian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew his head down upon her shoulder, and he knelt -a long while in silence, with her bosom rising and falling -under his cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am happy," he said at last; "child-wife, child-husband, -let us go hand in hand into heaven."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxv"><span class="large">XXXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>So with Colgran and his rebels beating at the inner gate, -Flavian of Gambrevault took Yeoland to wife, and was -married that same eve by Father Julian in the castle -chapel. There was pathetic cynicism in the service, -celebrating as it did the temporal blending of two bodies -who bade fair by their destinies to return speedily to dust. -The chant might have served as a requiem, or a dirge for -the fall of the mighty. It was a tragic scene, a solemn -ceremony, attended by grim-faced men in plated steel, by -frightened women and sickly children. Famine, disease, -and death headed the procession, jigged with the torches, -danced like skeletons about a bier. Trumpets and cannon -gave an epithalamium; bones might have been scattered -in lieu of flowers, and wounds espoused in place of favours. -For a marriage pageant war pointed to the grinning -corpses in the breach and the clotted ruins. It was such -a ceremony that might have appealed to a Stoic, or to a -Marius brooding amid the ruins of Carthage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Peril chastens the brave, and death is as wine to the -heart of the saint. Even as the sky seems of purer crystal -before a storm, so the soul pinions to a more luminous -heroism when the mortal tragedy of life nears the -"explicit." As the martyrs exulted in their spiritual -triumph, or as Pico of Mirandola beheld transcendent -visions on his bed of death, when the Golden Lilies of -France waved into luckless Florence, so Flavian and -Yeoland his wife took to their hearts a true bridal beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the door was closed on them that night, a -mysterious cavern, a spiritual shrine of gold, came down -as from heaven to cover their souls. They had no need -of the subtleties of earth, of music and of colour, of -flowers, or scent, or song. They were the world, the sky, -the sea, the infinite. Imperishable atoms from the alembic -of God, they fused soul with soul, became as one fair gem -that wakes a thousand lustres in its sapphire unity. To -such a festival bring no fauns and dryads, no lewd and -supple goddess, no Orphean flute. Rather, let Christ hold -forth His wounded hands, and let the wings of angels -glimmer like snow over the alchemy of souls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian knelt beside the bed and prayed. He had the -girl's hand in his, and her dark hair swept in masses over -the pillow, framing her spiritual face as a dark cloud holds -the moon. Her bed-gown was of the whitest lace and -linen, like foam bounding the violet coverlet that swept -to her bosom. The light from the single lamp burnt -steadily in her great dark eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian lifted up his face from the coverlet and looked -long at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear heart, have no fear of me," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled wonderfully, and read all the fine philosophy -of his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God be thanked, you are a good man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, child, you are so wonderful that I dare not touch -you; I have such grand awe in my heart that even your -breath upon my face makes me bow down as though an -angel touched my forehead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All good and great love is of heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pure as the lilies in the courts of God. Every -fragment of you is like to me as a pearl from the lips of -angels; your flesh is of silver, your bosom as snow from -Lebanon, girded with the gold of truth. Oh, second -Adam, thanks be to thee for thy philosophy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put out her hands and touched his hair; their eyes -were like sea and sky in summer, tranquil, tender, and -unshadowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you for this purity, ah, more and more than I -can tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True love is ever pure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And for me, such love as yours. Never to see the -wolfish stare, the flushed forehead, and the loosened lip; -never to feel the burning breath. God indeed be thanked -for this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have no fear of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, like a white gull into a blue sky, like water into a -crystal bowl, I give myself into your arms."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxvi"><span class="large">XXXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A week had passed, and the Gambrevault trumpets blew -the last rally; her drums rumbled on the battlements of -the keep where the women and children had been gathered, -a dumb, panic-ridden flock, huddled together like sheep in -a pen. The great banner flapped above their heads with a -solemn and sinuous benediction. The sun was spreading -on the sea a golden track towards the west, and the shouts -of the besiegers rose from the courts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the stairs and in the banqueting hall the last -remnant of the garrison had gathered, half-starved men, -silent and grim as death, game to the last finger. They -handled their swords and waited, moving restlessly to -and fro like caged leopards. They knew what was to -come, and hungered to have it over and done with. It -was the waiting that made them curse in undertones. -A few were at prayer on the stone steps. Father Julian -stood with his crucifix at the top of the stairway, and began -to chant the "Miserere"; some few voices followed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the inner court Colgran's men surged in their -hundreds like an impatient sea. They had trampled down the -garden, overthrown the urns and statues, pulped the -flowers under their feet. On the outer walls archers -marked every window of the keep. In the inner court -cannoneers were training the gaping muzzle of a bombard -against the gate. A sullen and perpetual clamour sounded -round the grey walls, like the roar of breakers about a -headland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stood on the dais of the banqueting hall and -listened to the voices of the mob without. Yeoland, -in the harness Fulviac had given her, held at his side. -The man's beaver was up, and he looked pale, but calm -and resolute as a Greek god. That morning his own -armour, blazoned with the Gambrevault arms, had disappeared -from his bed-side, a suit of plain black harness -left in its stead. No amount of interrogation, no -command, had been able to wring a word from his -knights or esquires. So he wore the black armour now -perforce, and prepared to fight his last fight like a -gentleman and a Christian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's hand rested in his, and they stood side by -side like two children, looking into each other's eyes. -There was no fear on the girl's face, nothing but a calm -resolve to be worthy of the hour and of her love, that -buoyed her like a martyr. The man's glances were -very sad, and she knew well what was in his heart when -he looked at her. They had taken their vows, vows that -bound them not to survive each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid, little wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I am content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange that we should come to this. My heart -grieves for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never grieve for me; I do not fear the unknown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall go out hand in hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the shore of that eternal sea; and I feel no wind, -and hear no moaning of the bar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The stars are above us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eternity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No mere glittering void."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the face of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cannon thundered; a sudden, sullen roar followed, -a din of clashing swords, the noise of men struggling in -the toils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have broken in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's grasp tightened on her wrist; his face was -rigid, his eyes stern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be strong," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin bless you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The uproar increased below. The rebels were storming -the stairway; they came up and up like a rising tide in the -mazes of a cavern. A wave of struggling figures surged -into the hall: men, cursing, stabbing, hewing, writhing on -the floor, a tangle of humanity. Flavian's knights in the -hall ranged themselves to hold the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that Flavian saw his own state armour -doing duty in the press, its blazonings marking out -the wearer to the swords of Colgran's men. It was -Godamar, Flavian's esquire, who had stolen his lord's -harness, and now fought in it to decoy death, and -perhaps save his master. The mute heroism of the deed -drew Flavian from the dais.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would speak with Godamar," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not leave me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! dear heart; when the last wave gathers I shall be -at your side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, with her poniard bare in her hand, stood and -watched the tragic despair of that last fight, the struggling -press of figures at the door--the few holding for a while -a mob at bay. Her eyes followed the man in the black -harness; she saw him before the tossing thicket of pikes -and partisans; she saw his sword dealing out death in -that Gehenna of blasphemy and blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A crash of shattered glass came unheard in the uproar. -Men had planted ladders against the wall, and broken in by -the oriel; one after another they sprang down into the hall. -The first crept round by the wainscotting, climbed the dais, -seized Yeoland from behind, and held her fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As by instinct the poniard had been pointed at her own -throat; the thing was twisted out of her hand, and tossed -away along the floor. She struggled with the man in a -kind of frenzy, but his brute strength was too stiff and stark -for her. Even above the moil and din Flavian heard her -cry to him, turned, sprang back, to be met by the men who -had entered by the oriel. They hemmed him round and -hewed at him, as he charged like a boar at bay. One, two -were down. Swords rang on his harness. A fellow dodged -in from behind and stabbed at him under the arm. Yeoland -saw the black figure reel, recover itself, reel again, as -a partisan crashed through his vizor. His sword clattered -to the floor. So Colgran's men cut the Lord Flavian down -in the sight of his young wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scene appeared to transfer itself to an infinite -distance; a mist came before the girl's eyes; the uproar -seemed far, faint, and unreal. She tried to cry out, but no -voice came; she strove to move, but her limbs seemed as -stone. A sound like the surging of a sea sobbed in her -ears, and she had a confused vision of men being hunted -down and stabbed in the corners of the hall. A mob of -wolf-like beings moved before her, cursing, cheering, -brandishing smoking steel. She felt herself lifted from her feet, -and carried breast-high in a man's arms. Then oblivion -swept over her brain.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxvii"><span class="large">PART IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XXXVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fortune had not blessed the cause of the people with that -torrential triumph toiled for by their captains. The flood -of war had risen, had overwhelmed tall castles and goodly -cities, yet there were heights that had baulked its frothy -turmoil, mountains that had hurled it back upon the valleys. -Victory was like a sphere of glass tossed amid the foam of -two contending torrents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the west, Sir Simon of Imbrecour, that old leopard -wise in war, had raised the royal banner at his castle of -Avray. The nobles of the western marches had joined -him to a spear; many a lusty company had ridden in, to -toss sword and shield in faith to the King. From his castle -of Avray Sir Simon had marched south with the flower of -the western knighthood at his heels. He had caught Malgo -on the march from Conan, even as his columns were -defiling from the mountains. Sir Simon had leapt upon the -wild hillsmen and rebel levies like the fierce and shaggy -veteran that he was. A splendid audacity had given the -day as by honour to the royal arms. Malgo's troops had -been scattered to the winds, and he himself taken and -beheaded on the field under the black banner of the house of -Imbrecour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the east, Godamar the free-lance lay with his troops -in Thorney Isle, closed in and leaguered by the warlike -Abbot of Rocroy. The churchman had seized the dyke-ways -of the fens, and had hemmed the rebels behind the -wild morasses. As for the eastern folk, they were poor -gizardless creatures; having faced about, they had declared -for the King, and left Godamar to rot within the fens. -The free-lance had enough ado to keep the abbot out. His -marching to join Fulviac was an idle and strategetical -dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Last of all, the barons of the north--fierce, rugged -autocrats, had gathered their half-barbarous retainers, and were -marching on Lauretia to uphold the King. They were -grim folk, flint and iron, nurtured amid the mountains and -the wild woods of the north. They marched south like -Winter, black and pitiless, prophetic of storm-winds, sleet, -and snow. Some forty thousand men had gathered round -the banner of Sir Morolt of Gorm and Regis, and, like the -Goths pouring into Italy, they rolled down upon the -luxurious provinces of the south.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fortune had decreed that about Lauretia, the city of the -King, the vultures of war should wet their talons. It was -a rich region, gemmed thick with sapphire meres set in -deep emerald woods. Lauretia, like a golden courtesan, lay -with her white limbs cushioned amid gorgeous flowers. -Her bosom was full of odours and of music; her lap littered -with the fragrant herbs of love. No perils, save those -of moonlit passion, had ever threatened her. Thus it -befell that when the storm-clouds gathered, she cowered -trembling on her ivory couch, the purple wine of pleasure -soaking her sinful feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a broad valley, five leagues south of the city, Fulviac's -rebels fought their first great fight with Richard of the Iron -Hand. A warrior's battle, rank to rank and sword to sword, -the fight had burnt to the embers before the cressets were -red in the west. Fulviac had headed the last charge that -had broken the royal line, and rolled the shattered host -northwards under the cloak of night. Dawn had found -Fulviac marching upon Lauretia, eager to let loose the lusts -of war upon that rich city of sin. He was within three -leagues of the place, when a jaded rider overtook him, to -tell of Malgo's death and of the battle in the west. Yet -another league towards the city his outriders came galloping -back with the news that the northern barons had marched -in and joined the King. Outnumbered, and threatened on -the flank, Fulviac turned tail and held south again, trusting -to meet Godamar marching from the fens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He needed the shoulders of an Atlas those September -days, for rumour burdened him with tidings that were -ominous and heavy. Godamar lay impotent, hedged in -the morasses; Malgo was dead, his mountaineers scattered. -Sir Simon of Imbrecour was leading in the western lords -to swell the following of the King. Vengeance gathered -hotly on the rebel rear, as Fulviac retreated by forced -marches towards the south.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was at St. Gore, a red-roofed town packed on a -hill, amid tall, dreaming woods, that Colgran, with the -ten thousand who had leaguered Gambrevault, drew to the -main host again. Fulviac had quartered a portion of his -troops in the town, and had camped the rest in the -meadows without the crumbling, lichen-grown walls. He -had halted but for a night on the retreat from Lauretia, -and had taken a brief breath in the moil and sweat of the -march. His banner had been set up in the market-square -before a rickety hostel of antique tone and temper. His -guards lounged on the benches under the vines; his -captains drank in the low-ceilinged rooms, swore and argued -over the rough tables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evening when Colgran's vanguard entered the -town by the western gate. His men had tramped all day -in the sun, and were parched and weary. None the less, -they stiffened their loins, and footed it through the streets -with a veteran swagger to show their mettle. Fulviac -came out and stood in the wooden gallery of the inn, -watching them defile into the market-square. They tossed -their pikes to him as they poured by, and called on him by -name--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was glad enough of their coming, for he needed -men, and the rough forest levies were in Colgran's ranks. -Ten thousand pikes and brown bills to bristle up against -the King's squadrons! There was strength in the glitter -and the rolling dust of the columns. Yet before all, the -man's tawny eyes watched for a red banner, and a woman -in armour upon a white horse, Yeoland, wife of Flavian -of Gambrevault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In due season he saw her, a pale, spiritless woman, wan -and haggard, thin of neck and dark of eye. The bloom -seemed to have fallen from her as from the crushed petals -of a rose. The red banner, borne by a man upon a black -horse, danced listlessly upon its staff. She rode with slack -bridle, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, -but into the vague distance as into the night of the past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Around her tramped Colgran's pikemen in jerkins of -leather and caps of steel. The woman moved with them -as though they were so many substanceless ghosts, stalking -like shadows down the highway of death. Her face was -bloodless, bleached by grievous apathy and chill pride. The -bronzed faces round her were dim and unreal, a mob of -masks, void of life and meaning. Sorrow had robed her -in silent snow. The present was no more propitious to -her than a winter forest howling under the moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before the hostelry the column came to a halt with -grounded pikes. The woman on the white horse stirred -from her stupor, looked up, and saw Fulviac. He was -standing with slouched shoulders in the gallery above her, -his hands gripping the wooden rail. Their eyes met in -a sudden mesmeric stare that brought badges of red to -the girl's white cheeks. There was the look upon his -face that she had known of old, when perilous care -weighed heavy upon his stubborn shoulders. His eyes -bewildered her. They had a light in them that spoke -neither of anger nor reproach, yet a look such as Arthur -might have cast upon fallen Guinivere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They took her from her horse, and led her mute and -passive into the steel-thronged inn. Up a winding stair -she was brought into a sombre room whose latticed -casements looked towards the west. By an open window -stood Fulviac, chin on chest, his huge hands clasped -behind his back. Colgran, in dusky harness, was speaking -to him in his rough, incisive jargon. The woman knew -that the words concerned her heart. At a gesture from -Fulviac, the free-lance cast a fierce glance at her, and -retreated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man did not move from the window, but stood -staring in morose silence at the reddening west. Hunched -shoulders and bowed head gave a certain powerful pathos -to the figure statuesque and silent against the crimson -curtain of the sky. The very air of the room seemed -burdened and saturated with the gloomy melancholy of -the man's mood. War, with its thousand horrors, -furrowed his brow and bowed his great shoulders beneath -its bloody yoke. Her woman's instinct told her that he -was lonely, for the soul that had ministered to him breathed -for him no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned on her suddenly with a terse greeting that -startled her thoughts like doves in a pine wood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome to you, Lady of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a bluff bitterness in his voice that forewarned -her of his ample wisdom. Colgran had surrendered her, -heart and tragedy in one, to Fulviac's mercy. A looming -cloud of passion shadowed the man's face, making him -seem gaunt and rough to her for the moment. She remembered -him standing over Duessa's body in Sforza's palace at -Gilderoy. Life had too little promise for her to engender -fear of any man, even of Fulviac at his worst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I trust, Madame Yeoland, that you are merry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The taunt touched her, yet she answered him listlessly -enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do what you will; scoff if it pleases you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac shrugged his shoulders, and tossed his lion's mane -from his broad forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a grim world this," he said; "when thrones -burn, should we seek to quench them with our tears! -Whose was the fault that God made you too much a -woman? Red heart, heart of the rose, a traitorous -comrade art thou, and an easy foe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had no answer on her lips, and he turned and -paced the room before her, darting swift glances into her -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So they killed him?" he said, more quietly anon; -"poor child, forget him, it was the fate of war. Even to -the grave he took the love I might never wear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered and hid her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, have pity!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a judgment, God help my soul!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A judgment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For serving my own heart before the Virgin's words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stopped suddenly in his stride, and looked at -her as though her words had touched him like a bolt -betwixt the jointings of his harness. There was still the -morose frown upon his face, the half closure of the lids -over the tawny eyes. He gripped his chin with one of -his bony hands, and turned his great beak of a nose upwards -with a gesture of self-scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since the damned chicanery of chance so wills it," he -said, "I will confess to you, that my confession may ease -your conscience. The Madonna in that forest chapel was -framed of flesh and blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of flesh and blood, my innocent, tricked out to work -my holy will. We needed a Saint, we cleansers of Christendom; -ha, noble justiciaries that we are. Well, well, the -Virgin served us, and tripped back to a warm nest at -Gilderoy, reincarnated by high heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland stood motionless in the shadows of the room, -like one striving to reason amid the rush of many thoughts. -She showed no wrath at her betrayal; her pale soul was -too white for scarlet passion. The significance of life had -vanished in a void of gloom. She stood like Hero striving -to catch her lover's voice above the moan of the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac unbuckled his sword and threw it with a crash -upon the table. He thrust his arms above his head, -stretched his strong sinews, took deep breaths into his -knotted throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth is out," he said to her; "come, madame, -confess to me in turn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland faced him with quivering lips, and a tense -straining of her fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have I to tell?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save that I loved the Lord Flavian, and that he is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are avenged," she said, "you have crushed my -heart; may the thought comfort you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her parched apathy seemed to elapse of a sudden, and -she lost her calmness in an outburst of passion. She was -athirst for solitude, to be cloistered from the rough cavil of -the world. Colour glowed upon her sunken cheeks as she -stretched out her arms to the man with a piteous vehemence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac----"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, for God's love, end now this mockery. Take -this armour from me, for it burns my bosom. Let me go, -that I may hide my wounds in peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace!" he said, with a twinge of scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, can you not pity me? I am broken and -bruised, men stare and jeer. Oh, my God, only to be out -of sight and alone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood by the window looking out into the sky -with lowering brows. The west burnt red above the -house-tops; from the street came the noise of men marching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not kill yourself," he said with laconic brevity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is truth in the suspicion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, what is life to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We Christians still have need of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's seeming scorn scourged her anguish to a -shrill despair. The hot blood swept more swiftly through -her worn, white body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cursed be your ambition," she said to him; "must you -torture me before the world?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I renounce this lying part."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will, madame; it will only make you look the -greater fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are brutal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to her with the look of one enduring -unuttered anguish in the spirit. His strong pride throttled -passion, twisting his rough face into tragic ugliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, believe it not," he said; "I desire even for your -heart's sake that you should make the best of an evil -fortune. Learn to smile again; pretend to a zest in life. -I have fathomed hell in my grim years, and my words are -true. Time loves youth and recovers its sorrow. Know -this and ponder it: 'tis better to play the hypocrite than to -suffer the world to chuckle over one's tears."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxviii"><span class="large">XXXVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The royal host had massed about the walls of Lauretia, -and marched southwards to surprise Fulviac at St. Gore. -Half the chivalry of the land had gathered under the -standard of the King. Sir Simon of Imbrecour had come -in from the west with ten thousand spears and five thousand -bowmen. The Northerners under Morolt boasted -themselves twoscore thousand men, and there were the loyal -levies of the midland provinces to march under "The -Golden Sun" upon the south. Never had such panoply -of war glittered through the listening woods. Their march -was as the onrush of a rippling sea; the noise of their -trumpets as the cry of a tempest over towering trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chivalry, golden champion of beauty, had much to -avenge, much to expurgate. The peasant folk had plunged -the land into ruin and red war. Castles smoked under the -summer sky; the noble dead lay unburied in the high places -of pride. To the wolf cry of the people there could be no -answer save the hiss of the sword. Before the high altar -at Lauretia, the King had sworn on relics and the -Scriptures, to deal such vengeance as should leave the land -cowering for centuries in terror of his name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Southwards from St. Gore there stretched for some -fifteen leagues the province of La Belle Forêt, a region -of rich valleys and romantic woods, green and quiet under -the tranquil sky. Its towns were mere gardens, smothered -deep in flowers, full of cedars and fair cypresses. Its -people were simple, happy, and devout. War had not set -foot there for two generations, and the land overflowed -with the good things of life. Its vineyards purpled the -valleys; its pastures harboured much cattle. Its houses -were filled with rich furniture and silks, chests laden -with cloth of gold, caskets of gems, ambries packed with -silver plate. The good folk of La Belle Forêt had held -aloof from the revolt. Peace-loving and content in their -opulence, they had no fondness for anarchy and war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was into this fair province that Fulviac led his arms -on the march south for Gilderoy and the great forest by -the sea. Belle Forêt, neutral and luxurious, was spoil for -the spoiler, stuff for the sword. Plundering, marauding, -burning, butchering, Fulviac's rebels poured through like -a host of Huns. Strength promised licence; there was -little asceticism in the cause, though the sacred banner -flew in the van with an unction that was truly pharisaical. -From that flood of war, the provincials fled as from a -plague. It was Fulviac's policy to devastate the land, to -hinder the march of the royal host. Desolation spread -like winter over the fields; Fulviac's ravagers left ruin -and despair and a great silence to mark their track.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The march became a bloody parable before three days -had passed. Fulviac had taken burning faggots upon his -back, and the iron collar of war weighed heavy on him -that autumn season. It was a grim moral and a terrible. -He had called up fiends from hell, and their antics mocked -him. Storm as he would, even his strong wrath was like -fire licking at granite. Death taunted him, and Murder -rode as a witness at his side. The mob of mad humanity -was like a ravenous sea, hungry, pitiless, and insatiate. -Even his stout heart was shocked by the bestial passions -war had roused. His men were mutinous to all restraint. -Fight they would when he should marshal them; but for -their lusts they claimed a wolf-like and delirious liberty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland the Saint rode on her white horse through La -Belle Forêt, like a pale ghost dazed by the human miseries -of war. A captive, she had surrendered herself to Fate; -her heart was as a sea-bird wearied by long buffetings in -the wind. There was no desire in her for life, no spark of -passion, no hope save for the sounding of a convent bell. -She imagined calmly the face of death. Her grave -stretched green and quiet to her fancy, under some forest tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even her hebetude of soul gave way at last before the -horrors of that bloody march. She saw towns smouldering -and flames licking the night sky, heard walls crack -and roofs fall with a roar and an uprushing of fire. She -saw the peasant folk crouching white and stupefied about -their ruined homes. She heard the cry of the children, the -wailing of women, the cracked voices of old men cursing -Fulviac as he rode by. She saw the crops burnt in the -fields; cattle slaughtered and their carcases left to rot in -the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The deeds of those grim days moved in her brain with -a vividness that never abated. War with all its ruthlessness, -its devilry, its riotous horror, burnt in upon her soul. -The plash of blood, the ruin, the despair, appalled her till -she yearned and hungered for the end. Life seemed to -have become a hideous purgatory, flaming and shrieking -under the stars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She appealed to Fulviac with the vehemence of despair. -The man was obdurate and moody, burdened by the -knowledge that these horrors were beyond him. His -very impotence was bitterness itself to his strong spirit. -In the silent passion of his shame, he buckled a sullen -scorn about his manhood, scoffed and mocked when the -woman pleaded. He was like a Titan struggling in the -toils of Fate, flinging forth scorn to mask his anguish. -He had let war loose upon the land, and the riot mocked -him like a turbulent sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One noon they rode together through a town that had -closed its gates to them, and had been taken by assault. -On the hills around stood the solemn woods watching -in silence the scene beneath. Corpses stiffened in the -gutters; children shrieked in burning attics. By the cross -in the market-square soldiers were staving in wine casks, -the split lees mingling with the blood upon the cobbles. -Ruffians rioted in the streets. Lust and violence were -loose like wolves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac clattered through the place with Yeoland and -his guards, a tower of steel amid the reeking ruins. He -looked neither to the right hand nor the left, but rode with -set jaw and sullen visage for the southern gate, and the -green quiet of the fields. His tawny eyes smouldered -under his casque; his mouth was as stone, stern yet -sorrowful. He spoke never a word, as though his -thoughts were too grim for the girl's ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland rode at his side in silence, shivering in thought -at the scenes that had passed before her eyes. She was as -a lily whose pure petals quailed before the sprinkling plash -of blood. Her soul was of too delicate a texture for the -rude blasts of war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned on Fulviac anon, and taunted him out of the -fulness of her scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is your crusade for justice," she said to him; -"ah, there is a curse upon us. You have let fiends loose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not retort to her for the moment, but rode -gazing into the gilded glories of the woods. Even earth's -peace was bitter to him at that season, but bitterer far was -the woman's scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"War is war," he said to her at last; "we cannot leave -the King fat larders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And all this butchery, this ruin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blame war for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And brutal men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mark you," he said to her, with some deepening of -his voice, "I am no god; I cannot make angels of devils. -The sea has risen, can I cork it in a bottle, or tie the -storm wind up in a sack? Give me my due. I am human, -not a demi-god."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood his mood, and pitied him in measure, -for he had a burden on his soul sufficient for a Hercules. -His men were half mutinous; they would fight for him, -but he could not stem their lusts. He was as a stout ship -borne upon the backs of riotous waves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well would it have been," she said, "if you had never -raised this storm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easy to be wise at the eleventh hour," he answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you not stay it even now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woman, can I stem the sea!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The blood of thousands dyes your hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He twisted in the saddle as though her words gored him -to the quick. His face twitched, his eyes glittered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, keep silence!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Taunt me no longer. Have I not half hell boiling in -my heart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Fulviac and his rebels passed on spoiling towards -Gilderoy and the sea, where Sforza lay camped with forces -gathered from the south. The great forest beckoned them; -they knew its trammels, and hoped for strategies therein. -Like a vast web of gloom it proffered harbour to the wolves -of war, for they feared the open, and the vengeful onrush -of the royal chivalry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, the armies of the King came down upon -Belle Forêt, a great horde of steel. From its black ashes -the country welcomed them with the dumb lips of death. -Ruin and slaughter appealed them on the march; the -smoke of war ascended to their nostrils. Fierce was the -cry for vengeance in the ranks, as the host poured on like -a golden dawn treading on the dark heels of night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxix"><span class="large">XXXIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In a cave whose narrow mouth cut a rough cameo from -the snow and azure of the sky, a man lay sleeping upon a -bed of heather. The surge of the sea rose from the -bastions of the cliff, where foam glittered and swirled over -the black rocks that thrust their dripping brows above the -tide. Gulls were winging over the waves, whose green -crests shone brilliant under the sun. On a distant -headland, bleak and sombre, the towers of a castle broke the -turquoise crescent of the heavens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In one corner of the cave a feeble fire flickered, the -smoke therefrom curling along the roof to vanish in a -thin blue plume of vapour. Beside the bed lay a pile of -armour, with a broken casque like a cleft skull to crown -it. Dried herbs and a loaf of rye bread lay on a flat -boulder near the fire. The figure on the heather was -covered by a stained yet gorgeously blazoned surcoat, -that seemed an incongruous quilt for such a couch. Near -the cave's entry a great axe glittered on the floor, an axe -whose notched edge had tested the metal of many a bassinet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down a rough path cut in the face of the cliff scrambled -a gaunt, hollow-chested figure, doubleted in soiled scarlet, -battered shoes on feet, a black beard bristling on the -stubborn chin. A red cloth was bound about the man's head. -He breathed hard as he clambered down the cliff, as though -winded by fast running. Sweat stood on his forehead. -Beneath him ran the sea, a pit of foam, swirling and -muttering amid the rocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached the entry of the cave and dived therein like -a fox into an "earth." Standing by the bed, he looked for -a moment at the unconscious figure with the air of one -unwilling to wake a weary comrade from his sleep. At -last he went down on his knees by the heather, and -touched the sleeping man's cheek with the gentle gesture -of a woman. The figure stirred at the touch; two thin -hands groped over the green and azure quilt. The kneeling -man gripped them in his great brown paws, and held -them fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice was toneless, husky, and without spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, these waking moments. It had been better if -you had let me rot in Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, sire, you wake to a better fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is new life in your voice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The King has come at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the heather raised himself upon one elbow. -His face looked grey and starved in the half gloom of the -cave. He lifted up one hand with a gesture of joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The King!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred of the black beard smiled at him like a father. -His hands trembled as he put the man back gently on the -heather, and smoothed the coverlet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie still, sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, this is life, once more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Patience, patience. Let us have no woman's moods, -no raptures. Ha, I am a tyrannous dog. Did I drag you -for dead out of Gambrevault to let you break your heart -over Richard of Lauretia! Lie quiet, sire; you have no -strength to gamble with as yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the heather reached out again for Modred's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The rough dog should have been born a woman," he -said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a great heart under that hairy chest of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moist mutterings of the sea came up to them from -the rocky shore beneath. Clouds in white masses pressed -athwart the arch of day. Modred, seated on a boulder -beside the bed, eyed the prostrate figure thereon with a gaunt -and tender pity. He was a stark man and strenuous, yet -warm of heart for all his bull's strength and steely sinew. -Youth lay at his feet, thin and impotent, a white willow -wand quivering beside a black and knotty oak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred rose up and stood by the opening of the cave, -his broad shoulders well-nigh filling the entry as he looked -out over the sea. Far over the amethystine waters, a -hundred pearl-white sails glimmered beyond the cliffs of -Gambrevault. The sun smote on gilded prow and blazoned -bulwark, and upon a thousand streamers tonguing to the -breeze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred stretched out his great arms and smiled, a grim -shimmer of joy over his ruffian's face. Standing at the -mouth of the cave, he began to speak to the man couched -in the inner gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yonder, beyond Gambrevault," he said, "I see a hundred -sails treading towards us over the sea. They are the -King's ships: God cherish them; their bulwarks gleam in -the sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian twisted restlessly amid the heather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A grand sight, old friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred stood silent, fingering his chin. His voice -broke forth again with a bluff exultation that seemed to -echo the roar of the waves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Philip, that is well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More ships?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, they raise the royal banner on the keep of -Gambrevault. I see spears shine. Listen to the shouting. -The King's men hold the headland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time the voice from the cave was less eager, -and tinged with pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred, old friend, I lie here like a stone while the -trumpets call to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, say not so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, for an hour's youth again, one day in the sun, -one moment under the moon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, I would change with you if God would grant it me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless you, old friend; I would not grant it you if I -were God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A trumpet cried to them from the cliff, sudden, shrill, -and imperious. Modred, leaning against the rock with his -hand over his eyes, started from the cave, and began to -climb the path. He muttered and swore into his beard as -he ascended, queer oaths, spasmodic and fantastic. His -black eyes were hazy for the moment. Contemptuous -and fervid, he brushed the tears away with a great brown hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the green downs above him rolling to the peerless -sky, he saw armour gleam and banners blush. A fanfare -of trumpets rolled over the sea. It was Richard the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred bent at the royal stirrup, and kissed the jewelled -hand. Above him a keen, steely-eyed visage looked out -from beneath a gold-crowned bassinet. It was the face of -a soldier and a tyrant, handsome, haughty, yet opulently -gracious. The red lips curled under the black tusks of -the long moustache. The big, clean-shaven jaw was a -promontory of marble thrust forth imperiously over the -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, man, what of our warden?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred crossed himself, pointed to the cliff, muttered a -few words into the King's ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," came the terse response, "that was an evil -fortune. So splendid a youth, a bright beam of chivalry. -Come, lead me to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The royal statue of steel dismounted and stalked down -with knights and heralds towards the cliff. Leaning upon -Modred's shoulder, Richard of the Iron Hand trod the -rough path leading to the little cave. He bowed his -golden crown at the entry, stooped like a suppliant, stood -before the Lord Flavian's bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gloom troubled him for a moment. Anon, he saw -the recumbent figure on the heather, the pile of harness, -the brown loaf, and the meagre fire. He throned himself -on the boulder beside the bed, and laid a white hand on -the sick man's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie still," he said, as Flavian turned to rise; "to-day, -my lord, we can forego ceremony."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtesy is the golden crown of power, forged from a -poet's song, and the wisdom of the gods. The royal -favour donned its robe of red that day, proffered its -gracious signet to the lips of praise, held forth the sceptre -of a radiant pity. Even the iron of truth becomes as -silver on the lips of kings. Justice herself flatters, when -ranged in simple white before a royal throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord of Gambrevault," quoth Richard of the Iron -Hand, "be it known to you that your stout walls have -saved my kingdom. You held the barbican of loyalty till -true friends rallied to the country's citadel. Bravely have -you sounded your clarions in the gate of fame. My lord, -I give to you the gratitude of a king."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flattery strutted in the cave, gathering her robes with -jewelled hand, gorgeous as an Eastern queen. Concerning -the fate of a certain rebel Saint, the royal pardon -waxed patriarchal in laconic phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no more, my lord; the boon is yours. Have I -not a noble woman queening it beside me on my throne, -flinging the beams of her bright eyes through all my life? -This quest shall be heralded to the host; I will offer -gold for the damsel's capture. Take this ring from me, no -pledge as betwixt Jews, but as a talisman of good to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So spoke the royal gratitude. When the King had -gone, Modred returned to carry his lord heavenwards to -the meadows. He found him prone upon the heather, -covering his eyes with his thin hands as the western -sunlight streaked the gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire," said Modred, kneeling down beside the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effigy on the heather stirred itself and reached out a -hand into Modred's bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Man, man, I am in great darkness of soul. Who shall -comfort me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred bent to him, laid a great palm on the white forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, sire, courage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the pity of it, to lie here like a log when swords -ring and peril threatens her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we shall win her back again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, only to touch her hands once more, to feel -the warmth of her pure bosom, and the thrill of her rich hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall win her, sire. Doubt it not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All life is a doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, I swear it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, I swear it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang up, thrust out his arms till the sinews -cracked, filled his great chest with the breath of the sea. -Suddenly he stopped, strained at a rock lying at the cave's -mouth, lifted it, and hurled it from him, saw it smite -foam from the water beneath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fate, take my gauge," he cried, with a fierce glorying -in his strength; "come, sire, put your hands about my -neck. I will bear you to your castle of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xl"><span class="large">XL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac and his rebels had plunged into the great pine -forest for refuge from the multitudinous glitter of the royal -spears. The wilderness engulfed them, throwing wide its -sable gates to take the war wolves in. The trees moaned -like tall sibyls burdened with prophetic woe. The gold -had long fallen from the gorse; the heather's purple hills -were dim. Mystery abode there; a sound as of tragedy -rose with the hoarse piping of the autumn wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the north and from the west the royal "arms" -had drawn as a glittering net towards the sea of pines. -A myriad splendid warriors streaked the wilds, like rich -rods flowering at some magic trumpet cry. The King's -host swept the hills, their banners blazing towards the -solemn woods. Gambrevault was theirs, and Avalon of -the Mere. Morolt's northerners had marched upon -Geraint, to find it a dead city, empty of life and of human -sound. Only Gilderoy stood out for Fulviac. The King -had failed to leaguer it as yet, for reasons cherished in his -cunning brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some twoscore thousand men had marched with Fulviac -into the forest's sanctuary. Over the hills the royal horse -had pressed them hard, cutting down stragglers, hanging on -their rear. Fulviac's host was a horde of "foot"; he had -not a thousand riders to hurl against the chivalry of the -King. On the bold, bleak uplands of the north and west -the royal horsemen would have whelmed him like a sea. -Necessity turned strategist at that hour. Fulviac and his -rebels poured with their stagnant columns into the wilds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thickets teemed with steel; the myriad pike points -glittered like silver moths through the dense green gloom. -Once more the great cliff echoed to the clangour of war -and the sword. Fulviac had drawn thither and camped -his men upon the heights, and under the shadow of its -mighty walls. Watch-fires smoked on the hills. Every -alley had its sentinel, a net of steel thrown forth to await -the coming of the King. Fulviac had gathered his cubs -into this lair, trusting to trammel the nobles in the -labyrinths of the forest. It was a forlorn hope, the cunning -purpose of despair. The spoilers of Belle Forêt were wise -in their generation; little mercy would they win from the -Iron Hand of Richard of Lauretia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a pale pearl set in ebony, Yeoland the Saint had -been established again in her bower of stone. The room -was even as she had left it that misty summer dawn. -Prayer-desk, lute, and crucifix were there, mute relics of -a passionate past. How much had befallen her in those -packed weeks of peril; how great a guerdon of woe had -been lavished on her heart! Love was as the last streak -of gold in a fading west; only the stars recalled the -unwavering lamps of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cliff-room and its relics tortured her very soul. -She would glance at the Sebastian of the casement, and -remember with a shuddering rush of woe the man in -whose arms she had slumbered as a wife. Death had -deified him in her heart. She remembered his grey eyes, -his splendid youth, his passion, his pure chivalry. He -gazed down on her like a dream hero from a gloom of -dusky gold. The bitter ecstasy of the past spoke to her -only of the infinite beneficence of death. The grave -yearned for her, and she had no hope to live.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those drear days she saw little of Fulviac. The man -seemed to shirk her pale, sad face and brooding eyes. -Her grief stung him more fiercely than all the flames -nurtured in the glowing pit of war. Moreover, he was -cumbered with the imminent peril of his cause, and the -facing of a stormy fortune. His one hope lay in some -great battle in the woods, where the King's mailed chivalry -would be cumbered by the trees. He made many a feint -to tempt the nobles to this wild tussle. The cliff stood as -adamant, a vast bulwark to uphold the rebels. Yet -Nature threatened him with other arguments. His stores -were meagre, his mouths many. Victory and starvation -dangled upon the opposing beams of Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Fulviac feared procrastination, Richard of Lauretia -favoured the same. Wise sluggard that he was, he curbed -the vengeance of his clamorous soldiery, content to -temporise with the inevitable trend of fortune. His light horse -scoured the country, garnering food and forage from the fat -lands north of Geraint. Time fought for him, and the -starving wolves were trapped. Sufficient was it that he -held his crescent of steel upon the hills, leaving unguarded -the barren wilds that rolled on Gilderoy towards the east.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A week passed, dull and lustreless. The forest waved -dark and solemn under the autumn sky; no torrents of steel -gushed from its sable gates; no glittering squadrons plunged -into its shadows. The King's men lay warm about their -watch-fires on the hills, fattening on good food, tingling for -the trumpet cry that should herald the advance. Richard -of the Iron Hand smiled and passed the hours at chess in -his great pavilion pitched on the slopes towards Geraint. -Simon of Imbrecour held the southern marches; Morolt -and his northerners guarded the west.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was grey weather, sullen and storm-laden, eerie of -voice. The Black Wild tossed like a sombre sea over hill -and valley, its spires rocking under the scurrying sky, its -myriad galleries shrill with the cry of the wind. There -was no rest there, no breathless silence under the frail moon. -The trees moaned like a vast choir wailing the downfall of -a god. The wild seemed full of death, and of the dead, as -though the souls of those slaughtered in the war screamed -about Fulviac's lair. The sentinels, grey figures in a -sombre atmosphere, watched white-faced in the thickets. -The clarions of the storm might mask the onrush of the -royal chivalry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland the Saint lay full length upon a carved settle -before a dying fire. She was listening to the wind as it -roared over the cliff, amid the shrill clamour of the trees. -It was such an eve as when Flavian had rattled at the -postern to offer her love, and a throne at Avalon. She had -spoken of war, and war had sundered them, given death to -desire, and a tomb to hope. The glow of the fire played -upon the girl's face and shone in her brooding eyes. Night -was falling, and the gloom increased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard footsteps in the gallery, the clangour of a -scabbard against the rock. The door swung back, and Fulviac -stood in the entry, clad in full harness save for his casque. -There were deep furrows upon his forehead. His lids -looked heavy from lack of sleep, and his eyes were bloodshot. -The tinge of grey in his tawny hair had increased -to a web of silver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came in without a word, set his hands on the back -of the settle, and stared at the fire. Yeoland had started -up; she sat huddled in the angle, looking in his face with -a mute surmise. Fulviac's face was sorrowful, yet strong -as steel; the lips were firm, the eyes sullen and sad. He -was as a man who stared ruin betwixt the brows, nor -quailed from the scrutiny though death stood ready on -the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cloak yourself," he said to her at last; "be speedy; -buckle this purse to your girdle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sprang up as the leather pouch rattled on the settle, -and stood facing Fulviac with her back to the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whither do we ride?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I send you under escort to Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled, tightened his sword belt with a vicious -gesture, and still stared at the hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lot lies here," he said to her; "I meet my doom -alone. What need to drag you deeper into the dark?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood him on the instant, and the black thoughts -moving in his mind. Disasters thickened about the cliff; -perils were clamorous as the wind-rocked trees. Fulviac -feared the worst; she knew that from his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You send me to Gilderoy?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have so determined it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you doubt my discretion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The flames flashed and gleamed upon his breastplate, -and deepened the shadows upon his face. His eyes were -sorrowful, yet full of a strenuous fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sky darkens," he said to her, "and the King's -hosts watch the forest. I had thought to draw them into -the wilds, but the fox of Lauretia has smelt a snare. Our -stores lessen; we are in the last trench."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved away into a dark corner of the room, raised -the carved lid of a chest, and began to draw clothes -therefrom, fingering them listlessly, as though her thoughts -wavered. Fulviac leant with folded arms upon the settle, -seemed even oblivious of her presence under the burden of -his fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac," she said at last, glancing at him over a -drooping shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his head and looked at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I go then to Gilderoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The road is open," he answered, with no obvious -kindling of his sympathy; "there will be bloody work here -anon; you will be safer behind stone walls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the King?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened suddenly, like a man tossing some great -burden from off his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, girl! are you blind as to what shall follow? -Richard of the Iron Hand waits for us with fivescore -thousand men. We shall fight--by God, yes!--and make a -bloody end; there will be much slaughter and work for the -sword. The King will crush us as a falling rock crushes -a scorpion. There will be no mercy. Death waits. Put -on that cloak of thine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood motionless a moment, listening to the moaning -of the wind. The man's grim spirit troubled her. -She remembered that he had bulwarked her in her homeless -days, had dealt her much pity out of his rugged heart. -He was alone now, and shadowed by death. Thus it -befell that she cast the cloak aside upon the bed, and stood -forward with quivering lips before the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! God pardon me; I have been a weak and graceless -friend. You have been good to me, beyond my gratitude. -The past has gone for ever; what is left to me -now? Shall I not meet death at your side?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood back from her, looking in her eyes, breathing -hard, combating his own heart. He loved the girl in his -fierce, staunch way; she was the one light left him in the -gathering gloom. Now death offered him her soul. He -tottered, stretched out his hands to her, snatched them back -with a great burst of pride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, this cannot be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have dared the storm; alone will I fall beneath its -vengeance. You shall go this night to Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust out her hands to him, but he turned away his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! little sister, this war was conceived for God, but -the devil leavened it. I have gambled with fire, and the -ashes return upon my head. I give you life; 'tis little I -may give. Come now, obey me, these are my last words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned from him very quietly in the shadow, -hiding her face with her arm. Picking up her cloak, she -drew it slowly about her shoulders, Fulviac watching her, -a pillar of steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They wait for you in the forest," he said; "go down -the stair. Colgran rides with you to Gilderoy. He is -to be trusted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drooped her head, staggered to the door, darted back -again with a low cry and a gush of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you! Kiss me, this once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent to her, touched her forehead with his lips, thrust -her again towards the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she went forth slowly from him, weeping, into the night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xli"><span class="large">XLI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The prophecies of the King proved the power of their -pinions before fourteen suns had passed over the Black -Wild's heart. Richard of Lauretia had plotted to starve -Fulviac into giving him battle, or into a retreat from the -forest upon Gilderoy. The royal prognostications were -pitiless and unflinching as candescent steel. It was no -mere battle-ground that he sought, but rather an -amphitheatre where he might martyr the rebel host like a mob -of revolted slaves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever tidings may have muttered on the breeze, -riders came in hotly to the royal pavilion towards the -noon of the fourteenth day. There was soon much stir -on the hills hard by Geraint. Knights and nobles -thronged the royal tent, captains clanged shoulders, -gallopers rode south and west with fiery despatches to -Morolt and Sir Simon of Imbrecour. Battle breathed -in the wind. Before night came, the King's pavilion -had vanished from the hills; his columns were winding -round the northern hem of the forest, to strike the road -that ran from Geraint to Gilderoy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The royal scouts and rangers had not played their -master false. A river of steel was curling through the -black depths of the wild, threading the valleys towards -the east. The King's scouts had caught the glimmer of -armour sifting through the trees. They had slunk about -the rebel host for days while they lay camped in their -thousands about the cliff. Colgran and his small company -had passed through unheeded, but they were up like hawks -when the whole host moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That midnight Fulviac's columns rolled from the outstanding -thickets of the wild, and held in serried masses -for the road to Gilderoy. The King's procrastination had -launched them on this last desperate venture. They -would have starved in the forest as Fulviac had foreseen; -their hopes lay in reaching Gilderoy, which was well -victualled, throwing themselves therein, making what terms -they could, or die fighting behind its walls. Thus under -cover of night they slipped from the forest, trusting to -leave the King's men guarding an empty lair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The brisk forethought of Richard of Lauretia had -out-gamed the rebels, however, in the hazardous moves of war. -They were answering to his opening like wild duck paddling -towards a decoy. Ten miles west of Gilderoy there -stretched a valley, walled southwards by tall heights, banded -through the centre by the river Tamar. At its eastern -extremity a line of hills rolled down to touch the river. -The road from Geraint ran through the valley, hugging -the southern bank of the river after crossing it westwards -by a fortified bridge. Fulviac and his host would follow -that road, marching betwixt the river and the hills. It -was in this valley that Richard of Lauretia had conceived -the hurtling climax of the war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forewarned in season, Sir Simon of Imbrecour and -his bristling squadrons were riding through the night on -Gilderoy, shaping a crescent course towards the east. -Morolt and the giants of the north were striding in his -track, skirting the southern spires of the forest, to press -level with the rebel march, screened by the hills. The -King and his Lauretians came down from Geraint. -They were to seize the bridge across the Tamar, pour -over, and close the rebels on the rear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was near dawn when Fulviac's columns struck the -highroad from Geraint, and entered the valley where the Tamar -shimmered towards Gilderoy. Mist covered the world, -shot through with the gold threads of the dawn. The -river gleamed and murmured fitfully in the meadows; -the southern heights glittered in the growing day; the -purple slopes of the Black Wild had melted dimly into the -west.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mist stood dense in the flats where the Geraint -road bridged the river. The northern slopes seemed -steeped in vapoury desolation, the road winding into a -waste of green. Fulviac and his men marched on, chuckling -as they thought of the royal troops watching the empty -alleys of the forest. Fulviac took no care to secure the -bridge across the Tamar. With the line of hills before -them breasted, they would see the spires of Gilderoy, -glittering athwart the dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The columns were well in the lap of the valley before -two light horsemen came galloping in from the far van, -calling on Fulviac, who rode under the red banner, that -the road to Gilderoy had been seized. Fulviac and -Sforza rode forward with a squadron of horse to -reconnoitre. As they advanced at a canter, the mists cleared -from the skirts of the encircling hills. Far to the east, -on the green slopes that rolled towards the Tamar, they -saw the sun smite upon a thousand points of steel. -Pennons danced in the shimmering atmosphere, shields flickered, -armour shone. A torrent of gems seemed poured from the -dawn's lap upon the emerald bosoms of the hills. They were -the glittering horsemen of Sir Simon of Imbrecour, who had -ridden out of the night and seized on the road to Gilderoy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac halted his company, and standing in the stirrups, -scanned the hillside under his hand. He frowned, thrust -forth his chin, turned on Sforza who rode at his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trapped," he said with a twist of the lip; "Dick of -the Iron Hand has fooled us. 'Twas done cunningly, -though it brings us to a parlous passage. They hold the road."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gonfaloniere tugged at his ragged beard, and looked -white under the arch of his open salade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better advance on them," he said; "I would give good -gold to be safe in the streets of Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sneered, and shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are ten thousand spears on yonder slopes, the -lustiest blood in the land. Count their banners and their -pennons, the stuff tells an honest tale. Pah, they would -drive our rapscallions into the river. Send back and bid our -banners halt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They wheeled and cantered towards the long black -columns plodding through the meadows. Far to the west -over the green plain they saw spears flash against the sun, -a glimmering tide spreading from the river. The -Lauretians had crossed the bridge and were hurrying on the -rebels' heels. Fulviac's trumpets sounded the halt. He -thundered his orders to his captains, bade them mass their -men in the meadows, and hedge their pikes for the crash -of battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shout reached him from his squadrons of horse who -had marched on the southern wing. They were pointing -to the heights with sword and spear. Fulviac reined round, -rode forward to some rising ground, and looked southwards -under his hand. The heights bounding the valley shone -with steel. A myriad glistening stars shimmered under the -sun. Morolt's northerners had shown their shields; the -hills bristled with their bills and spears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac shrugged his shoulders, lowered his beaver, and -rode back towards his men. He saw Yeoland the Saint's -red banner waving above the dusky squares. He remembered -the girl's pale face and the hands that had toyed with -the gilded silks in the dark chamber upon the cliff. Though -the sun shone and the earth glistened, he knew in his heart -that he should see that face no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard of Lauretia had forged his crescent of steel. -South, east, and west the royal trumpets sounded; -northwards ran the Tamar, closing the meadows. Fulviac and -his men were trapped in the green valley. A golden girdle -of chivalry hemmed the mob in the lap of the emerald -meadows. All about them blazed the panoply of war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, pessimist that he was, took to his heart that -hour the lofty tranquillity of a Scandinavian hero. His -courage was of that stout, sea-buffeting fibre that stiffened -its beams against the tide of defeat. He set forth his shield, -tossed up his sword, rode through the ranks with the spirit -of a Roland. Life leapt the stronger in him at the -challenge of the Black Raven of death. His captains could -have sworn that he looked for victory in the moil, so bluff -and strenuous was his mood that day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza came cringing to him, glib-lipped and haggard, -to speak of a parley. Fulviac shook his shield in the man's -white face, set his ruffians to dig trenches in the meadows, -and to range the waggons as a barricade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Parley, forsooth," quoth he; "talk no more to me of -parleys when I have twoscore thousand smiters at my back. -Let Dick of the Iron Hand come down to us with the -sword. Ha, sirs, are we stuffed with hay! We will rattle -the royal bones and make them dance a fandango to the devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His spirit diffused itself through the ranks of the rough -soldiery. They cheered wheresoever he went, kindling -their courage like a torch, and tossed their pikes to him -with strenuous insolence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My children," he would roar to them as he passed, -"the day has come, we have drawn these skulkers to a -tussle. See to it, sirs, let us maul these velvet gentlemen, -these squires of the cushion. By the Lord, we will feast -anon in Gilderoy, and rifle the King's baggage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Richard of the Iron Hand, he was content to -claim the arduous blessings of the day. He held his men -in leash upon the hills, resting them and their horses after -the marchings of the night. Wine was served out; -clarions and sackbuts sounded through the ranks; the King -made his nobles a rich feast in his pavilion pitched by Sir -Morolt's banner. As the day drew on, he thrust strong -outposts towards the meadows, ordered his troops to sleep -through the long night under arms. Their watch-fires -gemmed a lurid bow under the sky, with Tamar stringing -it, a chord of silver. In the meadows the rebel masses -lay a black pool of gloom under the stars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sat alone in his tent at midnight, his drawn -sword across his knees. His captains had left him, some -to watch, others to sleep on the grass in their armour, -Sforza the Gonfaloniere to sneak in the dark to the King's -lines. Silence covered the valley, save for the voices of -the sentinels and the sound of the royal trumpets blowing -the changes on the hills. Their watch-fires hung athwart -the sky like a chain of flashing rubies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sat motionless as a statue, staring out into the -night. Death, like a grey wraith, stood beside his chair; -the unknown, a black and unsailed sea, stretched calm and -imageless beneath his feet. Life and the ambition thereof -tottered and crumbled like a quaking ruin. Love quenched -her torch of gold. The man saw the stars above him, -heard in the silence of thought a thousand worlds surging -through the infinitudes of the heavens. What then was -this mortal pillar of clay, that it should grudge its dust to -the womb of the world?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And ambition? He thought of Yeoland and her wounded -heart; of Gambrevault and Avalon; of La Belle Forêt -smoking amid its ruins. He had torched fame through the land, -and painted his prowess in symbols of fire. Now that death -challenged him on the strand of the unknown, should he, -Fulviac, fear the unsailed sea!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His heart glowed in him with a transcendent insolence. -Lifting his sword, he pressed the cold steel to his lips, -brandished it in the faces of the stars. Then, with a -laugh, he lay down upon a pile of straw and slept.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xlii"><span class="large">XLII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn rolled out of the east, red and riotous, its crimson -spears streaming towards the zenith. Over the far towers -of Gilderoy swept a roseate and golden mist, over the -pine-strewn heights, over Tamar silvering the valley. A wind -piped hoarsely through the thickets, like a shrill prelude to -the organ-throated roar of war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landscape shimmered in the broadening light, green -tapestries arabesqued with gold. To the east, Sir Simon's -multitudinous squadrons ran like rare terraces of flowers, -dusted with the scintillant dew of steel. Westwards -dwindled the long ranks of the Lauretians. On the -heights, Morolt's shields flickered in the sun. About a -hillock in the valley, the rebel host stood massed in a great -circle, a whorl of helmets, bills, and pikes; Fulviac's red -pavilion starred the centre like the red roof of a church -rising above a town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the southern heights, Richard of Lauretia had -watched the dawn rise behind the towers of Gilderoy. -He was on horseback, in full panoply of war, his gorgeous -harness and trappings dazzling the sun. Knights, nobles, -trumpeters were round him, a splendid pool of chivalry, -while east and west stretched the ranks of the grim and -gigantic soldiery of the north.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hard by the royal standard with its Sun of Gold, a -corpse dangled from the branch of a great fir. It swayed -slightly in the wind, black and sinister against the gilded -curtain of the dawn. It was the body of Sforza the -adventurer from the south, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, -whom the King had hanged to grace his double treachery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the light increased, sweeping along the glittering -frieze of war, Morolt of Gorm and Regis stood forward -before the King. He was a lean man, tall and vigorous -as a bow of steel, his black eyes darting fire under his -thatch of close-cropped hair. The nobles had put him -forward that morning as a man born to claim a boon upon -the brink of battle. Fierce and virile, he bared his sword -to the sun, and pointed with mailed hand to the rebel host -in the valley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, a boon for your loyal servants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The King's face was as a mask of steel heated to white -heat, ardent and pitiless. He had the spoilers of his -kingdom under his heel, and was not the man to flinch at -vengeance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say on, Morolt, what would ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are men, sire, and these wolves have slaughtered -our kinsfolk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I held to be a lamb, sirs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A rough laugh eddied up. Morolt shook his sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give them into our hand, sire," he said; "there shall -be no need of ropes and dungeons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The iron men cheered him. Richard the King lifted -up his baton; his strong voice swept far in the hush of the -dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs," he said to them, "take the Black Leopard of -Imbrecour for your pattern, rend and slay, let none escape -you. Every man of my host wears a white cross on his -sword arm. Let that badge only stay your vengeance. -As for these whelps of treason, they have butchered our -children, shamed our women, clawed and torn at their -King's throne. To-day who thinks of mercy! Go down, -sirs, to the slaughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A roar of joy rose from those rough warriors; they -tossed their swords, gripped hands and embraced, called on -the saints to serve them. Strong passions were loose, -steaming like the incense of sacked cities into heaven. -There was much to avenge, much to expurgate. That -day their swords were to drink blood; that day they were -to crush and kill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the valley, Fulviac's huge coil of humanity lay sullen -and silent, watching the spears upon the hills. Their -russets and sables contrasted with the gorgeous colouring -of the feudalists. The one shone like a garden; the other -resembled a field lying fallow. The romance and pomp -of war gathered to pour down upon the squalid realism of -mob tyranny. Beauty and the beast, knight and scullion -faced each other on the stage that morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallopers were riding east and west bearing the King's -commands to Sire Julian, Duke of Layonne, who headed -the Lauretians, and to Simon of Imbrecour upon the hills. -The King would not tempt the moil that day, but left the -sweat and thunder of it to his captains, content to play the -Cæsar on the southern heights. His commands had gone -forth to the host. The first assault was to be made by -twenty thousand northmen under Morolt, and a like force -under Julian of Layonne. The whole crescent of steel -was to contract upon the meadows, and consolidate its iron -wall about Fulviac and his rebels. Simon of Imbrecour -was to leash his chivalry from the first rush of the fight. -His knights should ride in when the rebel ranks were broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour before noon, the royal trumpets blew the -advance, and a great shout surged through the shimmering -ranks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Black Leopard of Imbrecour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Golden Sun of Lauretia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Grey Wolf of the North."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With clarions and fifes playing, drums beating, banners -blowing, the whole host closed its semilune of steel upon -the dusky mass in the meadows. The northerners were -chanting an old Norse ballad, a grim, ice-bound song of the -sea and the shriek of the sword. Sir Simon's spears were -rolling over the green slopes, their trumpets and bugles -blowing merrily. From the west, the Lauretians were -coming up with their pikes dancing in the sun. The -thunder of the advance seemed to shake the hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac watched the feudalists from beneath his banner -in the meadows. His captains were round him, grim men -and silent, girding their spirits for the prick of battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By St. Peter," said the man under the red flag, -"these fireflies come on passably. A fair host and a -splendid. If their courage suits their panoply, we shall have -hot work to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," quoth Colgran, who had returned from -Gilderoy, "I would rather sweep a flower-garden than a -muck-heap. We are good for twice their number, massed as we -are like rocks upon a sea-shore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To your posts, sirs," were Fulviac's last words to -them; "whether we fall or conquer, what matters it if we -die like men!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Billows of red, green, and blue, dusted with silver, -Morolt and his Berserkers rolled to the charge. They -had cast aside their pikes, and taken to shield and axe, such -axes as had warred in the far past for the faith of Odin. -Fulviac's rebels had massed their spears into a hedge of -steel, and though Morolt's men came down at a run, the -spear points stemmed the onrush like a wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Despite this avalanche of iron, the rebel ring stove off -the tide of war. They were stout churls and hardy, -these peasant plunderers; death admonished them; despair -tightened their sinews and propped up their shields. -The shimmering flood swirled on their spear points like -tawny billows tossing round a rock. It lapped and eddied, -rushed up in spray, seeking an inlet, yet finding none. -The Lauretian feudatories had swarmed to the charge. -Fulviac withstood them, and held their panoply at bay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard the King watched the battle from the southern -heights. He saw Morolt's men roll down, saw the fight -seethe and glitter, swirl in a wild vortex round the rebel -spears. The war wolves gathered, the tempest waxed, -and still the black ring held. Like steel upon a granite -rock the onslaughts sparked on it, but clove no breach. -Under the late noon sun the valley reeked with dust and -din. The royal host was as a dragon of gold, gnashing -and writhing about an iron tower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that the King smote his thigh, plucked off -his signet, sent it by Bertrand his herald to Sir Simon and -his knights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go down at the gallop," ran the royal bidding, "cleave -me this rock, and splinter it to dust. Spare neither man nor -horse. Cleave in or perish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The black banner of Imbrecour flapped forth; the -trumpets clamoured. Sir Simon's knights might well -have graced Boiardo's page, and girded Albracca with -their stalwart spears. They tightened girths, set shields -for the charge, and rode down nobly to avenge or fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a great ship sails to break a harbour boom, so did -the squadrons of the King crash down with fewtred spears -on Fulviac's host. They rode with the wind, leaping -and thundering like an iron flood. No slackening was -there, no wavering of this ponderous bolt. It rushed -like a huge rock down a mountain's flank, smoking and -hurtling on the wall of spears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The corn was scythed and trodden under foot. Ranks -rocked and broke like earth before a storm-scourged sea. -The spears of Imbrecour flashed on, smote and sucked -vengeance, cleaving a breach into the core of war. The -knights slew, took scarlet for their colour, and made -the moment murderous with steel. Into the breach the -King's wolves followed them; Morolt's grim axemen -stumbled in, rending and hurling the black mass to shreds. -Battle became butchery. The day was won.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What boots it to chronicle the scene that travelled as -a forest fire in the track of Sir Simon's chivalry? The -iron hand of the King closed upon the wrecked victims -in the valley. Knight and noble trampled the peasantry; -rapine and lust were put to the sword. The Blatant -Beast was slain by the spear of Romance. The boor and -the demagogue were trodden as straw before the threshing-floor -of vengeance. The fields were a shroud of scarlet; -Tamar ran like wine; thorn and bramble were fruited -red with blood. On the heights the tall pines waved -over the splendid masque of death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late in the day when Morolt and his hillsmen, -with certain of Sir Simon's knights, forced their way -through the wreckage of the fight, to the hillock where -stood the banner of the Saint. South, east, and west the -rout bubbled into the twilight, a riot of slaughter -seething to the distant woods. About Yeoland's banner had -gathered the last of the Forest brotherhood, grey wolves -red to the throat with battle. Sullen and indomitable, -they had gathered in a dusky knot of steel as the day sped -into the kindling west. Even Morolt's fierce followers -stood still, like hounds that had brought the boar to bay. -Simon of Imbrecour spurred out before the spears, lifted -a shattered sword, and called on Fulviac by name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Traitor, we challenge ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A burly figure in harness of a reddish hue towered up -beneath the fringe of the banner of the Saint. He carried -an axe slanted over his shoulder, as he stood half a head -above the tallest of his men. As Sir Simon challenged -him, he lifted his salade, and bared his face to the war dogs -who hemmed him in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Black Leopard of the West, we meet again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Imbrecour peered at him keenly from -under his vizor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, sirs, and end it," quoth the man in red, "buffet -for buffet, and sword to sword. I fling ye a gauge to -death and the devil. Come, sirs, let us end it; I bide -my time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morolt sprang forward with sword aloft.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Traitor and rebel, I have seen your face before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac laughed, a brave burst of scorn. He tossed his -axe to them, and spread his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Morolt, I have foined with ye of old. Saints and -martyrs, have I avenged myself upon the lap-dogs of the -court! Here will we fight our last battle. Bury me, sirs, -as Fulk of Argentin, the King's brother, whom men -thought dead these seven years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden silence hovered above that remnant of a beaten -host. The red banner drooped, hung down about its staff. -Morolt, uttering a strange cry, smote his bosom with his -iron hand. Old Simon crossed himself, turned back and -rode thence slowly from the field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morolt's voice, gruff and husky, sounded the charge. -When he and his war dogs had made an end, they took -Fulviac's head and bore it wrapped in Yeoland's banner to -the King.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xliii"><span class="large">XLIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Under the starry pall of night, the last cry of the clarion -of tragedy sounded over wood and meadow. Gilderoy, -proud city of the south, had closed her gates against the -royal host, wise at the eleventh hour as to the measure of -the King's mercy. The wreckage from the battle in the -valley had washed on Tamar's bosom past the walls, -corpses jostling each other in the stream of death. -Vultures had hovered in the azure sky. There was no doom -for Gilderoy save the doom of the sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon rose red amid a whorl of dusky clouds, veiled -as with scarlet for the last orgies of war. Gilderoy had -been carried by assault. Morolt's barbarians were pouring -through the streets; the gates yawned towards the night; -bells boomed and clashed. The townsfolk were scurrying -like rats for the great square where the remnant of the -garrison had barricaded the entries, gathering for a -death-struggle under the umbrage of the cathedral towers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard the King had ridden into Gilderoy by the -northern gate with Sir Simon of Imbrecour and a strong -guard of knights and men-at-arms. Fulviac's head danced -on a spear beside the Golden Banner of Lauretia. The -citadel had opened its gates to Sire Julian of Layonne. In -the square before the ruined abbey of the Benedictines the -King and his nobles gathered to await the judgment of -the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great bell boomed through the night, a deep panting -sound in the warm gloom. Torrents of steel clashed -through the narrow streets, gleaming under the torch flare, -bubbling towards the last rampart of revolt. From the -cathedral square arose a wild, whimpering outcry, the -wailing of women mingling with the hoarse clamour of the -last assault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Word was brought to the King by one of Morolt's -esquires, that the townsfolk were holding the great square -behind their barricades, and pouring a hot fire from the -houses upon his troops. Morolt desired the King's ring -and his commands before taking to the resource of the -sword. Richard of the Iron Hand was in no mood for -mercy. His decree went forth from before the gate of the -ruined abbey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider no church as a sanctuary. Fire the houses -about the square. Gilderoy shall burn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The city's doom was sealed by those iron words. The -torch took up the handiwork of the sword. A gradual -glow began to rise above the house-tops; smoke billowed -up, black and voluminous, dusted with a myriad ruddy -stars. Flames rose from casement and from gable, from -chimney, spirelet, roof, and tower. The houses were faced -with wood, dry as tinder, crisp for the torch as a -summer-bleached prairie. The flames ran like a red flood from -roof to roof, with a roar as from huge reptiles battling in a -burning pit. The great square, with the glittering -pinnacles of its cathedral, was girded in with fire and sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men were stabbing and hewing upon the barricades -where Morolt's feudatories had stormed up from the -gloom of the streets. Beneath the light of the burning -houses, swords were tossed, the dead forgotten and trodden -under foot. It was not long before the barriers were -carried by assault and the avengers of Belle Forêt poured -pitiless into the great square.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The citizens of Gilderoy had packed their women and -children into the sanctuary of the cathedral choir. They -were penned there amid the gorgeous gildings of the place, -a shivering flock swarming in the frescoed chapels, huddled -beneath the painted figures of the saints. The glow of -the burning city beat in through the jewelled glass, building -the huge aisles in a glittering cavern windowed with living -gems. Darkness and dawn struggled and fought under the -thundering vaults. From without came the wild babel, the -hoarse death-moan of a people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the great square the fight went on, a ruthless mêlée, -strong and terrible. Gilderoy had slaughtered her noblesse. -She made expiation for the deed that night with the heart's -blood of her children. Vengeance and despair grappled -and swayed in that great pit of death. The blazing streets -walled in a red inferno, where passions ran like Satanic -wine. Gilderoy, proud city of the south, quivered and -expired beneath the iron gauntlet of the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred of Gambrevault moved through the press with -Morolt of the North fighting at his side. They had a -common quest that night, a common watchword, chastening -the vengeance of their men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seek the Saint. Save Yeoland of Gambrevault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was as a hoarse shout, feeble and futile amid the bluster -of a storm. What hope was there for this pale-faced -Madonna amid the burning wreck of Gilderoy? She was -as a lily in a flaming forest. Modred sought for her with -voice and sword, thinking of Flavian and the vow upon the -cliff. Though the city lightened, black Modred's heart -was steeped in gloom. Death and despair seemed armed -against his hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the eastern quarter a little court stood back from the -great square. A fountain played in the centre, the -water-jet, thrown from a mermaid's bosom, sparkling like a plume -of gems. The walls of the court were streaked with flame, -its casements tawny with yellow light. The breath of the -place was as the breath of a furnace; a quaking crowd -filled it, driven to bay by the swords shining in the square.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modred was a tall man, a pine standing amid hollies. -Staring into the murk of the court wreathed round with a -garland of fire, he saw, above the heads of the crowd, a -woman standing on the steps of the fountain, leaning -against the brim of the basin. Her hair blew loose from -under her open bassinet; her white face like a flower was -turned mutely to the night. A cuirass glimmered under -her cloud of hair. Modred, when he saw her, sent up a -shout like that of a wrecked mariner sighting a sail over -tumbling waves. He tossed his sword, charged forward -into the court, began to buffet his way towards the figure -by the fountain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A knot of soldiery, taking his shout as a rallying cry, -stormed after him into the court. There was a great crush -in the entry, men tumbling in, and using their swords as -poniards. The townsfolk were scattered like blown leaves -towards the burning houses. In the hot turmoil of the -moment the girl was swept from the fountain steps, and -carried by a struggling bunch of figures towards a corner -of the court. Modred lost sight of her for the moment, as -he ploughed forward through the press.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flames were rushing from casement and from roof; the -breath of the place was as the breath of a burning desert. -The Gilderoy rebels pent in the court were being put to -the sword. Through the swirl of the struggle Yeoland's -bassinet shone out again. Modred saw her standing alone, -shading her face with her hands like some wild, desperate -thing, knowing not whither to escape. He pushed on, -calling her by name. Before he could reach her the -gabled front of a house undermined by the fire lurched -forward, tottered, and came down with a roar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A blazing brand struck Modred on the helmet. He -staggered, beheld a shower of sparks, felt a scorching wind -upon his face. The stones were littered with crackling -woodwork, glowing timber, reeking tiles. He was stunned -for a moment as by the blow of a mace. Flames were -leaping heavenwards from the houses, wiping out the mild -faces of the stars with their ruthless hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a great cry Modred had started forward like a -charging bull. He dragged aside the smouldering wreckage -of gable and roof, tore the rafters aside, nor heeded the -heat, for his harness helped him. His great body quivered -as he drew the girl out and lifted her from the stones. Her -green kirtle was alight, and with the strong instinct of the -moment he ran with her to the fountain and plunged her -bodily in the broad basin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Panting, he bore her across the great square in his arms. -Yeoland was making a little moaning whimper, but for all -else lay quiet as a half-dead bird. Modred dared not look -into her face; the scent of her scorched hair beat up into -his nostrils. He ground his teeth and cursed Fate as he ran. -Was it for this that they had bulwarked Gambrevault?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xliv"><span class="large">XLIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Autumn had cast her scarlet girdle about Avalon; the -woods were aflame with the splendours of the dying year. -The oaks stood pavilions of green and gold; the beeches -domes of burnished bronze; from their silver stems, birches -fountained forth showers of amber. It was a season of -crystal skies, of cloud galleons, bulwarked with gold, sailing -the wine-red west. Wild Autumn wandered in the ruined -woods, her long hair streaking the gilded gloom, her voice -elfin under the stars. Even as she passed, the crisp leaves -swirled and fell, a pall for the dying year.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Avalon slumbered amid her lilies and the painted woods, -gorgeous as rare tapestries, curtaining her meadows. Her -mere laughed and glimmered amid the flags and lily leaves, -and lapped at the lichened bases of her towers. Avalon -had arisen from her desolation. No longer were her -chambers void, her gates broken, her courts the haunt of -death. The bat and the screech-owl had fled from her -towers. She had lifted up her face to the dawn, like a -mourner who turns from the grave to gaze again upon -the golden face of joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time with his scythe of silver rested on the hills. The -black dragon of war had crawled sated to the labyrinths of -the past; the red throne of ambition had been consumed -by fire. Peace came forth with her white-faced choir, -swinging their golden censers, shedding a purple perfume -of hope over the blackened land. The death wolves had -slunk to the wilds, the vultures had soared from the fields. -A splendid calm had descended upon the land, a silence -as of heaven after the hideous masque of war. The -cloud-wrack and thunder had passed from the sky. Men heard -again the voice of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Six weeks had gone since the sacking of Gilderoy, and -dead Duessa's bower in Avalon had been garnished for a -second mistress. A white rose lurked in a whorl of green. -The oriel, with its re-jewelled glass, looked out upon the -transient splendours of the woods. Tapestry clothed the -walls, showing knights and maidens wandering through -flowering meads. Rare furniture had been taken from the -wrecked palaces of Gilderoy and given to the Lord Flavian -by the King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That autumntide Modred played seneschal in Avalon. -He had cleansed and regarnished the castle by his lord's -command, and garrisoned it with men taken from the -King's own guard. Moreover, in Gilderoy he had found -an old man groping miserlike amid the ruins, filthy and -querulous. The pantaloon when challenged had confessed -to the name of Aurelius, and the profession of Medicine -by royal patent in that city. The townsfolk had spared -his pompous neck for the sake of the benefits of his craft. -From the fat, proud, prosperous worthy he had cringed -into a wrinkled, flap-cheeked beggar. Him Modred had -caught like a veritable pearl from the gutter, and brought -with other household perquisites into Avalon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this rich refuge Aurelius awoke as from an unsavoury -and penurious dream. He regained some of his plump, sage -swagger, his rotund phraseology, his autocratic dogmatism -in matters Æsculapian. The atmosphere of Avalon agreed -with his gullet. Above all things, he was held to be a man -of tact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In dead Duessa's bower there still hung her mirror of -steel, whose sheeny surface had often answered to her -languorous eyes and moon-white face. Duessa's hair had -glimmered before this good friend's flattery. Gems, -necklet, broideries, and tiars had sunk deep into its magic -memory. The mirror could have told truths and expounded -philosophies, had there been some Merlin to conjure with -the past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius of Gilderoy played the necromancer under -more rational auspices. He was a benignant soul, subtle, -sympathetic to the brink of dotage. His professional hint -was that dead Duessa's mirror should be exiled from the -bower of Avalon. The oracle spoke with much beneficence -as to the delusions of the sick, and the demoniac -influence of melancholy upon the brain. Yet his wisdom -was withstood in the very quarter where he had trusted to -find obedience and understanding. Dead Duessa's mirror -still hung in the Lady Yeoland's bower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One calm evening, when the west stood a great arch of -ruddy gold, a slim girl knelt in the oriel with her face -buried in her hands. She was clad in a gown of peacock -blue, fitting close to her slight figure, and girded about the -hips with a girdle of green leather. Her black hair poured -upon her shoulders, clouding her face, yet leaving bare the -base of her white neck where it curved from her pearly -shoulders. She drooped her head as she knelt before the -casement, where the light entered to her, azure and green, -vermilion and purple, silver and rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she rose softly, turned towards the mirror hanging -on the wall, gazed into its depths with a species of -bewitched fear. One glance given, she turned away with -a shudder, hid her face in her hands, walked the room in -a mute frenzy of self-horror. Presently she knelt again -before the window-seat, struggled in prayer, turning her face -piteously to an open casement where the golden woods -stood under the red wand of the west. The light waned a -little. She rose up again from her knees, shook her hair -forward so that it bathed her face, trod slowly towards the -mirror, stared at herself therein.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crystal bowl was broken, the ivory throne -dishonoured! The blush of the rose had faded, the gleam of -the opal fallen to dust. Youth and its sapphire shield had -passed into the gloom of dreams. The stars and the moon -were magical no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wavered away from the window to a dark corner, -hid her face in the arras. The same wild cry rang like a -piteous requiem through her brain. The man lived and -loved her, and she had come to this! Burning Gilderoy -had stolen her beauty, made her a mockery of her very self. -God, that Fate should compel her to lift her scars to the -eyes of love!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the gathering dusk, she went again to the mirror, -peered therein, with strained eyes and a tremor of the lip. -The twilight softened somewhat the bitterness of truth. -She shook her hair forward, saw her eyes gleam, fingered -her white throat, and smiled a little. Presently she lit a -taper, held it with wavering hand, peered at the steel panel -once again. She cried out, jerked away, and crushed the -frail light under her foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Darkness increased, seeming to clothe her misery. She -wandered through the room, twisting her black hair about -her wrist, moaning and darting piteous glances into the -gloom. Once she took a poniard from a table, fingered -the point, pressed her hand over her heart, threw the knife -away with a gesture of despair. On the morrow the man -would come to her. What would she see in those grey -eyes of his? Horror and loathing, ah God, not that!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she grew calmer and less distressed, prayed -awhile, lit a lamp, delved in an ambry built in the wall. -That night her hands worked zealously, while the moon -shimmered on the mere, setting silver wrinkles on its agate -face. The woods were still and solemn as death, deep -with the voiceless sympathy of the hour. Black lace hung -upon Yeoland's hands; the sable thread ran through and -through; her white fingers quivered in the light of the lamp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her few hours of sleep that night were wild and feverish, -smitten through with piteous dreams. On the morrow she -bound a black fillet about her brows, and let the dusky -mask of lace fall over face and bosom. She prayed a long -while before her crucifix, but she did not gaze again into -dead Duessa's mirror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That same evening Modred the seneschal blasphemed -Aurelius in the garden of Avalon. The man of the sword -was in no easy humour; his convictions emerged from his -hairy mouth with a vigour that was not considerate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dotard, you have no more wit than a pelican."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, I embrace truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn truth; what eyes have you for a goodly close!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius spread his hands with the air of a martyr.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The physician, my lord," he said, "should ever deserve -the confidence of his patron."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For retort, Modred shouldered him into the thick of a -rose bush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pedant," quoth he, "crab-apple, say a word on this -matter, and I will drown you in the moat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius gathered his robes and still ruffled it like an -autocrat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbarity, sir, is the argument of fools."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bag of bones, rot in your wrinkled hide, keep your -froth for sick children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have as much soul as a rat in a sewer. Come, -list to me, breathe a word of this, and I'll starve you in -our topmost turret. Leave truth alone, gaffer, with your -rheumy, broken-kneed wisdom. You have no wit in these -matters, no, not a crust. Blurt a word, and I pack you -off to grovel in Gilderoy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic shrugged his shoulders, seemed -grieved and incredulous, prepared to wash his hands of the -whole business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have your way, my lord; you are too hot-blooded for -me; I will meddle no further."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Master Gallipot, you shall acknowledge anon -that I have a soul."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xlv"><span class="large">XLV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trumpets were blowing in Avalon of the Twelve -Towers, echoing through the valley where the sun shone -upon the woods, the sere leaves glittering like golden -byzants as they fell. The sky was a clear canopy, drawn as -blue silk from height to height, tenting the green meadows. -Avalon's towers rose black and strong above the sheen of -her quiet waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From Gambrevault came the Lord Flavian to claim his -wife once more. Through the brief days of autumn -Aurelius of Gilderoy had decreed him an exile from the -Isle of Orchards, pleading for the girl's frail breath and her -lily soul that might fade if set too soon in the noon of love. -In Gambrevault the Lord Flavian had moped like a prisoned -falcon, listening to the far cry of the war, hungry for -the touch of a woman's hand. Modred had snatched the -Madonna of the Pine Forest from burning Gilderoy. She -had been throned at last above the tides of violence and -wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That day the Lord Flavian rode in state for Avalon, -even as an Arthurian, prince coming with splendour from -some high-souled quest. The woods had blazoned their -banners for his march. Trumpets hailed him from the -towers and battlements. The sun, like a great patriarch, -smoothed his gold beard and beamed upon the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over the bridge and beneath the gate, Modred led his -master's horse. The garrison had gathered in the central -court; they tossed their swords, and cheered for -Gambrevault. Trumpets set the wild woods wailing. Bombards -thundered from the towers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the court, amid the panoply of arms, Flavian -dismounted, took Modred's hand, leant upon the great man's -shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old friend, is she well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, youth turns to youth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my minstrels play below the stair some old song -of Tristan and Iseult. And now I go to her. Lead on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In dead Duessa's bower a drooping figure knelt before a -crucifix in prayer. Foreshadowings of misery and woe -were stirring in the woman's heart. She had heard the -bray of trumpets on the towers, the thunder of cannon, the -shouts of strong men cheering in the court. She heard lute, -viol, and flute strike up from afar a mournful melody sweet -with an antique woe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time seemed to crawl like a wounded snake in the -grass. The figures on the arras gestured and grimaced; -the jewelled glass in the oriel burnt in through the dark -lattice of her veil. She heard footsteps on the stairs; -Modred's deep voice, joyous and strangely tender. A hand -fumbled at the latch. Starting up, she ran towards the -shadows, and hid her face in the folds of the arras.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door had closed and all was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cry smote through her like joy barbed with bitterness. -She shuddered and caught her breath, swayed as she -stood with the arras hiding her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wife, wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With sudden strength, compelling herself, she peered -round, and saw a figure standing in the shadow, a man with -white face turned towards the light, his hands stretched out -like a little child's. She stood motionless, breathing fast -with short, convulsive breaths, her lips quivering beneath -her veil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here," she said to him, husky, tremulous, and faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear your voice; come near to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wavered forward three steps into the room, stood -staring strangely at the figure by the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland, are you near?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I give myself to you, a broken man. Ah, where are -your hands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sudden comprehension seized her; she went very near -to him, gazing in his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wife, I shall never see the sky again, nor watch the -stars at night, nor the moon, nor the sea. I shall never -look on Avalon, her green woods and her lilies, and her -sleeping mere. I shall never behold your face again. I am -blind, I am blind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a great cry, tore the veil from her face, and -cast it far from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Husband, I come to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hands were groping in the dark, groping like souls -that sought the light. She went near him, weeping, caught -his fingers, kissed them with her lips. The man's arms -circled her; she hung therein, and buried her head in his -bosom.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 87%" id="figure-50"> -<span id="his-hands-were-groping-in-the-dark"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""HIS HANDS WERE GROPING IN THE DARK."" src="images/img-294.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"HIS HANDS WERE GROPING IN THE DARK."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My love, my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am blind; your hair bathes my face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are blind, mine eyes are yours, and I your -wife will be your sun. No more pain shall compass you; -there shall be no more grieving, no more tears."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God in heaven, I give Thee thanks for this."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42284"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42284</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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