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diff --git a/old/52139-h/52139-h.htm b/old/52139-h/52139-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d9b9355..0000000 --- a/old/52139-h/52139-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18197 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -.half-title -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - line-height:2; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - - .ph2,.ph3,.ph4 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - -.mt2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.mt4 {margin-top: 4em;} - -.mb4 {margin-bottom: 4em;} - -.half-title {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -table.toc { /* Table of Contents */ - margin: auto; - width: auto; - max-width: 40em; - margin-top: 4em; -} -th { - padding-bottom: 10px; -} - -td.book { - text-align: center; - vertical-align: middle; -} - -td.cht { - text-align: left; - vertical-align: top; - padding-left: 1em; - text-indent: -1em; -} -td.pag { - text-align: right; - vertical-align: bottom; - padding-left: 2em; -} - -td.pag a { - color: black; - font-weight: bold; - text-decoration: none; -} - -.pagenum { /* page numbers */ - visibility: hidden; - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} - -/* text formatting */ - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} -.oldeng {font-family: "Old English Text MT", serif;} - - -/* Images */ - -img {max-width: 100%; height: auto;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.caption p -{ - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; - margin: 0.25em 0; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container - { - text-align: center; - margin: -1em 0; - } - -.poetry - { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; - } - -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - -.poetry .verse - { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; - } - -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: 0.5em;} - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -/* ePub stylings */ - -.break-before { page-break-before: always; } -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - -@media screen -{ - .half-title - { - margin: 6em 0; - } -} - -@media handheld /* Place this at the end of the CSS */ -{ - body - { - margin: 0; - padding: 0; - width: 95%; - } - - .poetry - { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - - .half-title - { - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; - margin: 0; - padding-top: 6em; - } -} - -@media print -{ - .half-title - { - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; - margin: 0; - padding-top: 6em; - } -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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 Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Uther and Igraine - -Author: Warwick Deeping - -Illustrator: W. Benda - -Release Date: May 23, 2016 [EBook #52139] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UTHER AND IGRAINE *** - - - - -Produced by Christopher Wright and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - - -<p class="half-title"> -UTHER AND IGRAINE -</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/i_003.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>“PELLEAS WATCHED HER AS HER GREY GOWN WENT AMID THE - GREEN AND RED”</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h1 class="mt4 break-before">UTHER AND IGRAINE</h1> - - -<p class="ph4">BY</p> - -<p class="ph2">WARWICK DEEPING</p> - - -<p class="ph3 mt2"><i>ILLUSTRATED BY W. BENDA</i></p> - - -<p class="mt4 mb4 ph3"> -NEW YORK<br /> -THE OUTLOOK COMPANY<br /> -1903 -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="ph4"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1903, by</span></p> -<p class="ph3">THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.</p> - -<p class="ph4">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.</p> - -<p class="ph4"><span class="smcap">Published October, 1903.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="oldeng ph3">To</p> - -<p class="ph2">MAUDE MERRILL</p> - -<p class="ph3">WITH THE AUTHOR’S HOMAGE</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="toc" summary="Contents"> -<tr> - <th> </th> - <th><span class="smcap">PAGE</span></th> -</tr><tr> - <td class="book" colspan="2">BOOK I</td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The Way to Winchester</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="book" colspan="2">BOOK II</td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Gorlois</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="book" colspan="2">BOOK III</td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">The War in Wales</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="book" colspan="2">BOOK IV</td> -</tr><tr> - <td class="cht"><span class="smcap">Tintagel</span></td> - <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>BOOK I</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">THE WAY TO WINCHESTER</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>I</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Beneath the dark cornices of a thicket of wind-stunted -pines stood a small company of women looking out into the -hastening night. The half light of evening lay over the -scene, rolling wood and valley into a misty mass, while -the horizon stood curbed by a belt of imminent clouds. In -the western vault, a vast rent in the wall of grey gave out -a blaze of transient gold that slanted like a spear-shaft to a -sullen sea.</p> - -<p>A wind cried restlessly amid the trees, gusty at intervals, -but tuning its mood to a desolate and constant moan. -There was an expression of despair on the face of the west. -The woods were full of a vague woe, and of troubled breathing. -The trees seemed to sway to one another, to fling -strange words with a tossing of hair, and outstretched hands. -The furze in the valley—swept and harrowed—undulated -like a green lagoon.</p> - -<p>The women upon the hill were garbed after the fashion -of grey nuns. Their gowns stood out blankly against the -ascetic trunks of the pines. They were huddled together -in a group, like sheep under a thorn hedge when storms -threaten. The dark ovals of their hoods were turned -towards the south, where the white patch of a sail showed -vaguely through the gathering grey.</p> - -<p>Between the hill and the cliffs lay a valley, threaded by -a meagre stream, that quavered through pastures. A mist -hung there despite the wind. Folded by a circle of oaks -rose the grey walls of an ecclesiastical building of no inconsiderable -size, while the mournful clangour of a bell came -up upon the wind, with a vague sound as of voices chanting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -Valley, stream, and abbey were rapidly melting into the -indefinite background of the night.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a snarling murmur seemed to swell the plaining -of the bell. A dark mass that was moving through the -meadows beneath like a herd of kine broke into a fringe of -hurrying specks that dissolved into the shadows of the circle -of oaks. The bell still continued to toll, while the women -beneath the pines shivered and drew closer together as -though for warmth and comfort. There was not one -among them who had not grasped the full significance of -the sinister sound that had come to them from the valley. -A novice, taller than her sisters, stood forward from the -group, as though eager to catch the first evidence of the -deed that was to be done on that drear evening. She held -up a hand to those behind her, in mute appeal to them to -listen. The bell had ceased pulsing. In its stead sounded -a faint eerie whimper, an occasional shrill cry that seemed -to leap out of silence like a bubble from a pool where death -has been.</p> - -<p>The women were shaken from their strained vigilance as -by a wind. The utter grey of the hour seemed to stifle -them. Some were on their knees, praying and weeping; -one had fainted, and lay huddled against the trunk of a pine. -It was such a tragedy as was often played in those days of -disruption and despair, for Rome—the decrepit Saturn of -history—had fallen from empire to a tottering dotage. Her -colonies—those Titans of the past—still quivered beneath -the doom piled upon them by the Teuton. In Britain, the -cry of a nation had gone out blindly into the night. -Vortigern had perished in the flames of Genorium. Reculbuum, -Rhutupiæ, and Durovernum had fallen. The fair -fields of Kent were open to the pirate; while Aurelius, -stout soldier-king, gathered spear and shield to remedy the -need of Britain.</p> - -<p>The women upon the hill were but the creatures of -destiny. Realism had touched them with cynical finger. -The barbarians had come shorewards that day in their ships,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -and at the first breathing of the news the abbey dependants -had fled, leaving nun and novice to the mercies of the -moment. It had become a matter of flight or martyrdom. -Certain fervent women had chosen to remain beside their -abbess in the abbey chapel, to await with vesper chant and -bell the coming of sword and saexe. Those more frail of -spirit had fled with the novices from the valley, and now -knelt numb with a tense terror on the brow of that windswept -hill, watching fearfully for the abbey’s doom. They -could imagine what was passing in the shadowy chapel -where they had so often worshipped. The face of the -Madonna would be gazing placidly on death—and on more -than death. It was all very swift—very terrible. Thenceforward -cloister and garden were theirs no more.</p> - -<p>A red gleam started suddenly from the black mass in the -valley. The nuns gripped hands and watched, while the -gleam became a glare that poured steadily above the dark -outline of the oaks. A long flame leapt up like a red finger -above the trees. The belfry of the chapel rose blackly from -a circlet of fire, and gilded smoke rolled away nebulously -into the night. The barbarians had set torch to the place. -The abbey of Avangel went up in flame.</p> - -<p>The tall novice who had been kneeling in advance of the -main company rose to her feet, and turned to those who -still watched and prayed under the pines. The girl’s hood -had fallen back; the hair that should have been primly -coifed rolled down in billowy bronze upon her shoulders. -There was infinite pride on the wistful face—a certain -scorn for the frailer folk who wept and found sustenance in -prayer. The girl’s eyes shone largely even in the meagre -light under the trees, and there was a straight courage about -her lips. She approached and spoke to the women who -knelt and watched the burning abbey in a cataleptic stupor.</p> - -<p>“Will you kneel all night?” she said.</p> - -<p>The words were scourges in their purpose. Several of -the nuns looked up from the flames in the valley.</p> - -<p>“Shame on you, worldling!” said one of thin and thankless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -visage; “down on your knees, brat, and pray for the -dead.”</p> - -<p>The novice gave a curt, low laugh. The reproofs of a -year rankled in her like bitter herbs.</p> - -<p>“Let the dead bury their dead,” quoth she. “I am for -life and the living.”</p> - -<p>“Shame, shame!” came the ready response. “May the -Mother of Mercy melt your proud heart, and punish you -for your sins. You are bad to the core.”</p> - -<p>“Shame or no shame,” said the girl, “my heart can grieve -for death as well as thine, Sister Claudia; and now the -abbey’s burnt, you may couch here and scold till dawn if -you will. You may scold the heathen when they come to -butcher you all. I warrant they will give such a beauty -short shrift.”</p> - -<p>The lean nun ventured no answer. She had been -worsted before by this rebellious tongue, and had discovered -expediency in silence. Several of the women had risen, and -were thronging round the novice Igraine, querulous and -fearful. Implicit faith, though pious and admirable in the -extreme, neither pointed a path nor provided a lantern. -Southwards lay the sea and the barbarians; the purlieus of -Andredswold came down to touch the ocean. There was -night in the sky; no refuge within miles, and wild folk -enough in the world to make travelling sufficiently perilous. -Moreover, the day’s deed had harried the women’s emotions -into a condition of vibrating panic. The unknown seemed -to hem them in, to smother as with a cloak. They were -like children who fear to stir in the dark, and shrink from -impalpable nothingness as though a strange hand waited to -grip them to some spiritual torture. As it was, they were -fluttering among the pines like birds who fear the falcon.</p> - -<p>“It grows dark,” said one.</p> - -<p>“Let Claudia pray for us.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine, you are wiser in the world than we!”</p> - -<p>“Truth,” said the girl, “you may bide and snivel with -Claudia if you will. I am for Anderida through the woods.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But the woods,” said a child with wide, dark eyes, -“the woods are fearful at night.”</p> - -<p>“They are kinder than the heathen,” said Igraine, taking -the girl’s hand. “Come with me; I will mother you.”</p> - -<p>Even as she spoke the novice saw a point of fire disjoint -itself from the dark circle of the oaks below. Another and -another followed it, and began to jerk hither and thither in -the meadows. The dashes of flame gradually took a -northern trend, as though the torch-bearers were for -ascending the long slope that idled up to the ragged thicket -of pines. She turned without further vigil, and made the -most of her tidings in an appeal to the women under the -trees.</p> - -<p>“Look yonder,” she said, pointing into the valley. “Let -Sister Claudia say whether she will wait till those torches -come over the hill.”</p> - -<p>There was instant hubbub among the nuns. Cooped as -they had been within the mothering arms of the Church, -peril found them utterly impotent when self-reliance and -natural instinct were needed to shepherd them from danger. -The night seemed to sweep like a wheel with the burning -pyre in the meadows for axle. The torches were moving -hither and thither in fantastic fashion, as though the men -who bore them were doubling right and left in the dark, like -hounds casting about for a scent. The sight was sinister, -and stirred the women to renewed panic.</p> - -<p>“Igraine, help us,” came the cry.</p> - -<p>Even tyranny is welcome in times of peril. Witless, -resourceless, they gathered about her in a dumb stupor. -Even Claudia lost her greed for martyrdom and became -human. They were all eager enough for the forest now, -and hungry for a leader. Igraine stood up among them -like a tall figure of hope. Her eyes were on the east, where -a weird glow above the tree tops told her that the moon -was rising.</p> - -<p>“See,” she said, "we shall have light upon our way. -There is a bridle-path through the wold here that goes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -north, and touches the road from Durovernum. I am going -by that path, follow who will."</p> - -<p>“We will follow Igraine,” came the answer.</p> - -<p>North, east, and west lay Andredswold, sinister as a sea -at night. The hill, tangled with gorse and bracken, and -sapped by burrows, dipped to it gradually like an outjutting -of the land. To the east they could see a wide tangle of -pines latticing the light of the moon. It was dark, and the -ground more than dubious to the feet. The women, nine -in all, herded close on Igraine, who walked like an Eastern -shepherdess with the sheep following in her track. First -came Claudia, who had held sway over the linen, with -Malt, the stout cellaress, next Elaine and Lily, twin sisters, -two nuns, and two novices. There was much stumbling, -much clutching at one another in the dark; but, thanks to -holy terror, their progress was in measure ungracefully -speedy.</p> - -<p>The girl Igraine led with a keen gleam in her eyes and -a queer cheerfulness upon her face, as she stepped out -blithely for the dark mass where the wold began. Her -sojourn in the abbey had been brief and stormy, a curt -attempt at discipline that had failed most nobly. One -might as well have sought to hem in spring with winter as -to curb desire that leapt towards greenness and the dawn -like joy. She had ever thought more of a net for her hair -than of her rosary. The little pool in the pleasaunce had -served her as her mirror, casting back a full face set with -amber shadowed eyes, and a bosom more attuned to passion -than to dreams of quiet sanctity. She had been the wayward -child of the abbey flock, flooded with homilies, surrendered -to eternal penances, yet holding her own in a fair -worldly fashion that left the good women of the place -wholly to leeward.</p> - -<p>Thrust out into the world again she took to the wild -like a fox to the woodland, while her more tractable comrades -were like caged doves baffled by unaccustomed freedom. -Matins, complines, vespers were no more. Cold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -stone arched no more to tomb her fancies. Above stretched -the free dome of the sky; around, the wilderness free and -untainted; in lieu of psalms she heard the gathering cry of -the wind, and the great voice of the forest at night.</p> - -<p>In due course they came to where a dark mass betokened -the rampart thickets of the wold, rising like a wall across -the sky. Igraine hoped for the track, and found it running -like a white fillet about the brow of a wood. They followed -till it thrust into the trees, a thin thread in the shadows. -As they went, great oaks overreached them with sinuous -limbs. The vault was fretted innumerably with the faint -overdome of the sky. Now and again a solitary star -glimmered through. To the women that place seemed -like an interminable cavern, where grotto on grotto dwindled -away into oblivious gloom. But for the track’s narrow -comfort, Igraine and her company would have been impotent -indeed.</p> - -<p>The prospect was sad for these folk who had lived for -peace, and had tuned their lives to placid chants and the -balm of prayer. In Britain Christ was worshipped and the -Cross adored, yet abbeys were burnt, and children martyred, -and strong towns given over to sack and fire. Truth -seemed to taunt them with the apparent impotence of their -creed. The abbess Gratia had often said that Britain, for -its sloth and sin, deserved to meet the scourge of war, and -here were her words exampled by her own stark death. -The nuns talked of the state of the land, as they plodded -on through the night. There was no soul among them -that had not been grossly stirred by the fate that had overtaken -Avangel, Gratia, and her more zealous nuns. It was -but natural that a cry for vengeance should have gained -voice in the hearts of these outcast women, and that a certain -querulous bitterness should have found tongue against -those in power.</p> - -<p>Igraine, walking in the van, listened to their words, and -laughed with some scorn in her heart.</p> - -<p>“You are very wise, all of you,” she said presently over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -her shoulder. “You speak of war and disruption as though -the whole kingdom were in the dust. True, Kent is lost, -the heathen have burnt defenceless places on the coast, and -have stormed a few towns. The abbey of Avangel is not -all Britain. Have we not Aurelius and the great Uther? -Our folk will gather head anon, and push these whelps into -the sea.”</p> - -<p>“God grant it,” said Claudia, with a smirk heavenward.</p> - -<p>“We need a man,” quoth Igraine.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you will find him, pert one.”</p> - -<p>“Peril will,” said the girl; “there is no hero when there -is no dragon or giant in need of the sword. Britain will -find her knight ere long.”</p> - -<p>“Lud,” said Malt, the cellaress, “I wish I could find -my supper.”</p> - -<p>Thereat they all laughed, Igraine as heartily as any.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps Claudia will pray for manna dew,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Scoffer!”</p> - -<p>“It will be cranberries, and bread and water, till better -seasons come. I have heard that there are wild grapes in -the wold.”</p> - -<p>“Bread!” quoth Malt; “did some kind soul say bread?”</p> - -<p>“I have a small loaf here under my habit.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, girl, I would chant twenty psalms for a -morsel of that loaf.”</p> - -<p>“Chant away, sister. Begin on the ‘Attendite, popule.’ -I believe it is one of the longest.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t trifle with a hungry wretch.”</p> - -<p>“The psalms, Malt, or not a crust.”</p> - -<p>“Keep it yourself, greedy hussy; I can go without.”</p> - -<p>“We will share it, all of us, presently,” said the girl, -“unless Malt wants to eat the whole.”</p> - -<p>They held on under the ban of night, following the track -like Theseus did his thread. At times the path struck out -into a patch of open ground, covered with scrub and bracken, -or bristling thick with furze. Igraine had never seen such -timid folk as these nuns from Avangel. If a stick cracked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -they would start, huddle together, and vow they heard footsteps. -They mistook an owl’s hoot for a heathen cry, and -a night-jar’s creaking note made them swear they caught -the chafe of steel. Once they suffered a most shrewd fright. -They drove a herd of red deer from cover, and the rush and -tumultuous sound of their galloping created a most holy -panic among the women. It was some time before Igraine -could get them on the march again.</p> - -<p>As the night wore on they began to lag from sheer -weariness. Two or three were feeble as sickly children, and -the abbey life had done little for the body, though it had -done much to deform the mind. Igraine had to turn tyrant -in very earnest. She knew the women looked to her for -courage and guidance, and that they would be hopeless -without her stronger mind to lead them. She put this -knowledge to effect, and held it like a lash over their -weakly spirits.</p> - -<p>Igraine found abundant scope for her ingenuity. When -they voted a halt for rest, she vowed she would hold on alone -and leave them. The threat made the whole company trail -after her like sheep. When they grumbled, she told tales of -the savagery and lust of the heathen, and made their fears -ache more lustily than did their feet. By such devices she -kept them to it for the greater portion of the night, knowing -that the shrewdest kindness lay in seeming harshness, -and that to humour them was but mistaken pity.</p> - -<p>At last—heathen or no heathen—they would go no -further. It was some hours before dawn. The trees had -thinned, and through more open colonnades they looked out -on what appeared to be a grass-grown valley sleeping peacefully -under the moon. A great cedar grew near, a pyramid -of gloom. Malt, the cellaress, grumbling and -groaning, crept under its shadows, and commended Igraine -to purgatorial fire. The rest, limp and spiritless, vowed -they would rather die than take another step. Huddling -together under the branches, they were soon half of them -asleep in an ecstasy of weariness. Igraine, seeing further<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -effort useless, surrendered to the inevitable, and lay down -herself to sleep under the tree.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Day came with an essential stealth. The great trees -stood without a rustling leaf, in a stupor of silence. A -vast hush held as though the wold knelt at orisons. Soon -ripple on ripple of light surged from the hymning east, and -the night was not.</p> - -<p>The sleep of the women from Avangel had proved but -brief and fitful, couched as they had been under so strange -a roof. They were all awake under the cedar. Igraine, -standing under its green ledges, listened to their monotonous -talk as they rehearsed their plight dismally under the -shade. The nun Claudia’s voice was still raised weakly -in pious fashion; she had learnt to ape saintliness all her -life, and it was a mere habit with her. The cellaress’s red -face was in no measure placid; hunger had dissipated her -patience like an ague, and she found comfort in grumbling. -The younger women were less voluble, as age and custom -behoved them to be. Unnaturally bred, they were like -images of wax, capable only of receiving the impress of the -minds about them. Such a woman as Malt owed her -individuality solely to the superlative cravings of the -flesh.</p> - -<p>About them rose the slopes of a valley, set tier on tier -with trees, nebulous, silent in the now hurrying light. -Grassland, moist and spangled, lay dew-heavy in the lap -of the valley, with the track curling drearily into a further -tunnel of green.</p> - -<p>Igraine, scanning the trees and the stretch of grassland, -found on a sudden something to hold her gaze. On the -southern side of the valley the walls of a building showed -vaguely through the trees. It was so well screened that a -transient glance would have passed over the line of foliage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -without discovering the white glimmer of stone. She -pointed it out to her companions, who were quickly up -from under the cedar at the thought of the meal and the -material comforts such a forest habitation might provide. -They were soon deep in the tall grass, their habits wet to -the knee with dew, as they held across the valley for the -manor amid the trees.</p> - -<p>The place gathered distinctness as they approached. -Two horns of woodland jutted out—enclosing and holding -it jealously from the track through the valley. There were -outhouses packed away under the trees. A garden held it -on the north. The building itself was modelled somewhat -after the fashion of a Roman villa, with a porch—whitely -pillared—leading from a terrace fringed with flowers.</p> - -<p>The silence of the place impressed itself upon Igraine -and the women as they drew near from the meadowlands. -The manor seemed lifeless as the woods that circled it. -There were no cattle—no servants to be seen, not even a -hound to bay warning on the threshold. Passing over a -small stone bridge, they went up an avenue of cypresses -that led primly to the garden and the terrace. They -halted at the steps leading to the portico. The garden, -broken in places, and somewhat unkempt, glistened with -colour in the early sun; terrace and portico were void and -silent; the whole manor seemed utterly asleep.</p> - -<p>The women halted by the stairway, and looked dubiously -into one another’s faces. There was something sinister -about the place—a prophetic hush that seemed to stand -with finger on lip and bid the curious forbear. After -their march over the meadows, and considering the hungry -plight they were in, it seemed more than unreasonable to -turn away without a word. None the less, they all hesitated, -beckoning each to her fellow to set foot first in this -house of silence. Igraine, seeing their indecision, took -the initiative as usual, and began to climb the steps that -led to the portico. Claudia and the rest followed her in a -body.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<p>Within the portico the carved doors were wide. The -sun streamed down through a latticed roof into a peristylum, -where flowers grew, and a pool shone silverly. There were -statues at the angles; one had been thrown down, and lay -half buried in a mass of flowers. The place looked wholly -deserted, though, by the orderly mood of court and garden, -it could not have been long since human hands had -tended it.</p> - -<p>The women gathered together about the little font in -the centre of the peristylum, and debated together in low -tones. They were still but half at ease with the place, and -quite ready to suspect some sudden development. The -house had a scent of tragedy about it that was far from -comforting.</p> - -<p>Said Malt, “I should judge, sisters, that the folk have -fled, and that we are to be sustained by the hand of grace. -Come and search.”</p> - -<p>Claudia demurred a moment.</p> - -<p>“Is it lawful,” quoth she, “to possess one’s self of food -and raiment in a strange and empty house?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense,” said the cellaress with a sniff.</p> - -<p>“But, Malt, I never stole a crust in my life.”</p> - -<p>“Better learn the craft, then. King David stole the -shewbread.”</p> - -<p>“It was given him of the priests.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, sister, then are we wiser than David; we can -thieve with our own hands. I say this house is God-sent -for our need. May I stifle if I err.”</p> - -<p>“Malt is right,” said Igraine, laughing; “let us deprive -the barbarians of a pie or a crucifix.”</p> - -<p>“Aye,” chimed Malt, “want makes thieving honest. -<i>Jubilate Deo.</i> I’m for the pantry.”</p> - -<p>A colonnade enclosed the peristylum on every quarter. -Beneath the shadows cast by the architrave and roof, showed -the portals of the various chambers. Igraine led the way. -The first room that they essayed appeared to have been a -sleeping apartment, for there were beds in it, the bedding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -lying disordered and fallen upon the floor as though there -had been a struggle, or a sudden wild flight. It was a -woman’s chamber, judging by its mirror of steel, and the -articles that were scattered on floor and table. The next -room proved to be a species of parlour or living-room. A -meal had been spread upon the table, and left untouched. -Platter and drinking cups were there, a dish of cakes, a -joint on a great charger, bread, olives, fruit, and wine. -Armour hung on the walls, with mirrors of steel, and -paintings upon panels of wood.</p> - -<p>The women made themselves speedily welcome after -the trials of the night. Each was enticed by some special -object, and character leaked out queerly in the choosing. -Malt ran for a beaker of wine; the cakes were pilfered by -the younger folk; Claudia—whispering of Saxon desecration—possessed -herself with an obeisance of a little silver -cross that hung upon the wall. Igraine took down a bow, -a quiver of arrows, and a sheathed hunting knife; she slung -the quiver over her shoulder, and strapped the knife to her -girdle. The clear kiss of morning had sharpened the hunger -of a night, and the meal spread in that woodland manor -proved very comforting to the fugitives from Avangel.</p> - -<p>Satisfied, they passed out to explore the rooms as yet -unvisited. A fine curiosity led them, for they were like -children who probe the dark places of a ruin. The eastern -chambers gave no greater revealings than did those upon -the west. The kitchen quarters were empty and soundless, -though there was a joint upon the spit that hung over the -ashes of a spent fire. It seemed more than likely that the -inmates had fled in fear of the barbarians, leaving the house -in the early hours of some previous dawn.</p> - -<p>As yet they had not visited a room whose door opened -upon the southern quarter of the peristyle. Judging by its -portal, it promised to be a greater chamber than any -of the preceding, probably the banqueting or guest room. -The door stood ajar, giving view of a frescoed wall -within.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<p>Malt, who had waxed jovial since her communion with -the tankard, pushed the door open, and went frankly into the -half light of a great chamber. She came to an abrupt halt -on the threshold, with a fat hand quavering the symbol of -a cross in the air. The women crowded the doorway, and -looked in over the cellaress’s stout shoulders.</p> - -<p>In a gilded chair in the centre of the room sat the -figure of a man. His hands were clenched upon the -lion-headed arms of the siege, and his chin bowed down -upon his breast. He was clad in purple; there were rings -upon his fingers, and his brow was bound with a band of -gold. At his feet crouched a great wolf-hound, motionless, -dead.</p> - -<p>The women in the doorway stared on the scene in -silence. The man in the chair might have been thought -asleep save for a certain stark look—a bleak immobility that -contradicted the possibility of life. Here they had stumbled -on tragedy with a vengeance. The mute face of death -lurked in the shadows, and the vast mystery of life seemed -about them like a cold vapour. It was a sudden change -from sunlight into shade.</p> - -<p>Igraine pushed past Malt, and ventured close to the -crouching hound. Bending down, she looked into the dead -man’s face. It was pinched and grey, but young, none the -less, and bearing even in death a certain sensuous haughtiness -and dissolute beauty. The man had been dark, with hair -turbulent and lustrous. In his bosom glinted the silver -pommel of a knife, and there were stains upon cloak and -tessellated pavement. Clasped in one hand was a small cross -of gold that looked as though it had been plucked from a -chain or necklet, and held gripped in the death agony. -The wolf-hound had been thrust through the body with -a sword.</p> - -<p>“Hum,” said Malt, with a sniff,—“Christian work here. -And a comely fellow, too—more’s the pity. Look at the -rings on his fingers; I wonder whether I might take one -for prayer money? It would buy candles.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine was still looking at the dead man with strange -awe in her heart.</p> - -<p>“Keep off,” she said, thrusting off Malt; “the man has -been stabbed.”</p> - -<p>“Well, haven’t I eyes too, hussy?”</p> - -<p>Claudia came in, white and quavering, with her crucifix -up.</p> - -<p>“Poor wretch!” said she; “can’t we bury him?”</p> - -<p>“Bury him!” cried Malt.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sister.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, no. It would spoil my dinner.”</p> - -<p>Claudia gave a sudden scream, and jumped back, holding -her skirts up.</p> - -<p>“There’s blood on the floor! Holy mother! did the -dog move?”</p> - -<p>“Move!” quoth Malt, giving the brute a kick; “what -a mouse you are, Claudia.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure the man’s dead?”</p> - -<p>“Dead, and cold,” said Igraine, touching his cheek, and -drawing away with a shiver. “Come away, the place makes -my flesh creep. Shut the door, Malt. Let us leave him so.”</p> - -<p>The women from Avangel had seen enough of the manor -in the forest. Certainly, it held nothing more perilous than -a corpse, perched stiffly in a gilded chair; but the dead man -seemed to exert a sinister influence upon the spirits of the -company, and to stifle any desire for a further sojourn in the -place. Folk with murder fresh upon their hands might -still be within the purlieus of the valley. The women -thought of the glooms of the forest, and of the strong walls -of Anderida, and discovered a very lively desire to be free -of Andredswold, and the threats of the unknown.</p> - -<p>They left the man sitting in his chair, with the hound at -his feet, and went to gather food for the day’s journey. -Bread they took, and meat, and bound them in a sheet, -while Malt filled a flask with wine, and bestowed it at her -girdle. Igraine still had her bow, shafts, and hunting knife. -Before sallying, they remembered the dead. It was Igraine’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -thought. They went and stood before the door of the -great chamber, sang a hymn, and said a prayer. Then they -left the place, and held on into the forest.</p> - -<p>Nothing befell them on their way that morning. It was -noon before they struck the road from Durovernum to -Anderida, a straight and serious highway that went whitely -amid wastes of scrub, thickets, and dark knolls of trees. -The women were glad of its honest comfort, and blessed -the Romans who had wrought the road of old. Later -in the day they neared the sea again. Between masses of -trees, and over the slopes, they caught glimpses of the blue -plain that touched the sky. From a little hill that gave -broader view, they saw the white sails of ships that were -ploughing westward with a temperate wind. They took -them for the galleys of the Saxons, and the thought hurried -them on their way the more.</p> - -<p>Presently they came to a mild declivity, with a broken -toll-house standing by the roadside, and two horsemen on -the watch there, as the distant galleys swept over the sea -towards the west. The men belonged to the royal forces -in Anderida. They were reticent in measure, and in no -optimistic mood. They told how the heathen had swept -the coast, how their ships had ventured even to Vectis, to -burn, slay, and martyr. The women learnt that Andred’s -town was some ten miles distant. There was little likelihood, -so the men said, of their getting within the walls that -night, for the place was in dread of siege, and was shut up -like a rock after dusk.</p> - -<p>Igraine and the nuns elected, none the less, to hold upon -their way. Despite their weariness, the women preferred to -push on and gain ground, rather than to lag and lose courage. -For all they knew, the Saxons might be soon ashore, ready -to raid and slay in their very path. They left the soldiers -at the toll-house, and went downhill into a long valley.</p> - -<p>Possibly they had gone a mile or more when they heard -the sound of galloping coming in their wake. On the slope -of the hill they had left, they could see a distant wave of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -dust curling down the road like smoke. The two men from -Andred’s town were coming on at a gallop. They were -very soon within bowshot, but gave no hint of halting. -Thundering on, they drew level with the women, shouted -as they went by, and held on fast,—dust and spume flying.</p> - -<p>“God’s curse upon the cravens,” said Malt, the cellaress.</p> - -<p>Cravens they were in sense; yet the men had reason on -their side, and the women were left staring at the diminishing -fringe of dust. There was much frankness in the -phenomenon, a curt hint that carried emphasis, and advised -action. “To the woods,” it said; “to the woods, good -souls, and that quickly.”</p> - -<p>The road ran through the flats at that place, with marsh -and meadowland on either hand. Further westward, the -wold thrust forth a finger from the north to touch the -highway. Southward, scrub and grassland swept away to -the sea. It was when looking southwards that the nuns -from Avangel discovered the stark truth of the soldier’s -warning. Against the skyline could be seen a number of -jerking specks, moving fast over the open land, and holding -north-west as though to touch the road. They were the -figures of men riding.</p> - -<p>The outjutting of woodland that rolled down to edge the -highway was a quarter of a mile from where the women -stood. A bleak line of roadway parted them from the mazy -refuge of the wold. They started away at a run; Igraine -and another novice dragging the nun Claudia between them. -The display was neither Olympic nor graceful; it would -have been ridiculous but for the stern need that inspired it. -Igraine and her fellows made the best of the highway. In -the west, the wold seemed to stretch an arm to them like -a mother.</p> - -<p>The heathen raiders were coming fast over the marshes. -Igraine, dragging the panting Claudia by the hand, looked -back and took measure of the chase. There were some -score at the gallop three furlongs or more away, with others -on foot, holding on to stirrups, running and leaping like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -madmen. The girl caught their wild, burly look even at -that distance. They were hallooing one to another, tossing -axe and spear—making a race of it, like huntsmen at full -pelt. Possibly there was sport in hounding a company of -women, with the chance of spoil and something more -brutish to entice.</p> - -<p>Igraine and her flock were struggling on for very life. -Their feet seemed weighted with the shackles of an impotent -fear, while every yard of the white road appeared -three to them as they ran. How they anguished and prayed -for the shadows of the wood. A frail nun, winded and -lagging, began to scream like a hare when the hounds are -hard on her haunches. Another minute, and the trees -seemed to stride down to them with green-bosomed kindness. -A wild scramble through a shallow dyke brought -them to bracken and a tangled barrier about the hem of the -wood. Then they were amid the sleek, solemn trunks of a -beech wood, scurrying up a shadowed aisle with the dull -thudding of the nearing gallop in their ears.</p> - -<p>It was borne in upon Igraine’s reason as she ran that the -trees would barely save them from the purpose of pursuit. -The women—limp, witless, dazed by danger—could -hardly hold on fast enough to gain the deeper mazes of the -place, and the sanctuary the wold could give. Unless the -pursuit could be broken for a season, the whole company -would fall to the net of the heathen, and only the Virgin -knew what might befall them in that solitary place. Sacrifice -flashed into the girl’s vision—a sudden ecstasy of -courage, like hot flame. These abbey folk had been none -too gentle with her. None the less she would essay to -save them.</p> - -<p>She cast Claudia’s hand aside, and turned away abruptly -from the rest. They wavered, looking at her as though for -guidance, too flurried for sane measures. Igraine waved -them on, with a certain pride in her that seemed to chant -the triumph song of death.</p> - -<p>“What will you do, girl? Are you mad?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Go!” was all she said. “Perhaps you will pray for -me as for Gratia the abbess.”</p> - -<p>“They will kill you!”</p> - -<p>“Better one than all.”</p> - -<p>They wavered, unwilling to be wholly selfish despite -their fear and the sounding of pursuit. There shone a fine -light on the girl’s face as they beheld her—tyrannical even -in heroism. Her look awed them and made them ashamed; -yet they obeyed her, and like so many winging birds they -fled away into the green shadows.</p> - -<p>Igraine watched them a moment, saw the grey flicker of -their gowns go amid the trees, and then turned to front her -fortune. Pursing her lips into a queer smile, she took post -behind a tree bole, and waited with an arrow fitted to her -string. She heard a sluthering babel as the men reined in, -with much shouting, on the forest’s margin. They were -very near now. Even as she peered round her tree trunk -a figure on foot flashed into the grass ride, and came on -at the trot. The bow snapped, the arrow streaked the -shadows, and hummed cheerily into the man’s thigh. -Igraine had not hunted for nothing. A second fellow edged -into view, and took the point in his shoulder. Igraine -darted back some forty paces and waited for more.</p> - -<p>In this fashion—slipping from tree to tree, and edging -north-west—she held them for a furlong or more. The -end came soon with an empty quiver. The wood seemed -full of armed men; they were too speedy for her, too near -to her for flight. She threw the empty quiver at her feet, -with the bow athwart it, put a hand in the breast of her -habit, and waited. It was not for long. A man ran out -from behind a tree and came to a curt halt fronting her.</p> - -<p>He was young, burly, with a great tangle of hair, and a -yellow beard that bristled like a hound’s collar. A naked -sword was in his hand, a buckler strapped between his -shoulders. He laughed when he saw the girl—the coarse -laugh of a Teuton—and came some paces nearer to her, -staring in her face. She was very rich and comely in a way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -foreign to the fellow’s fancy. There was that in his -eyes that said as much. He laughed again, with a -guttural oath, and stretched out a hand to grip the girl’s -shoulder.</p> - -<p>An instant shimmer of steel, and Igraine had smitten him -above the golden torque that ringed his throat. Life rushed -out in a red fountain. He went back from her with a -stagger, clutching at the place, and cursing. As the blood -ebbed he dropped to his knees, and thence fell slantwise -against a tree. He had found death in that stroke.</p> - -<p>A hand closed on the girl’s wrist. The knife that had -been turned towards her own heart was smitten away and -spurned to a distance. There were men all about her—ogrish -folk, moustachioed, jerkined in skins, bare armed, -bare legged. Igraine stood like a statue—impotent—frozen -into a species of apathy. The bearded faces thronged -her, gaped at her with a gross solemnity. She had no glance -for them, but thought only of the man twitching in the death -trance. The wood seemed full of gruff voices, of grotesque -words mouthed through hair.</p> - -<p>Then the barbaric circle rippled and parted. A rugged-faced -old man with white hair and beard came forward -slowly. There was a tense silence over the throng as the -old man stood and looked at the figure at his feet. There -were shadows on the earl’s face, and his hands shook, for -the smitten man was his son.</p> - -<p>Out of silence grew clamour. Hands were raised, fingers -pointed, a sword was poised tentatively above the girl’s head. -The wood seemed full of bearded and grotesque wrath, and -the hollow aisles rang with the clash of sword on buckler. -But age was not for sudden violence, though the blood of -youth ebbed on the grass. The old man pointed to a tree, -spoke briefly, quietly, and the rough warriors obeyed him.</p> - -<p>They stripped Igraine, cast her clothes at her feet, and -bound her to the trunk of the tree with their girdles. Then -they took up the body of the dead man, and so departed -into the forest.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was well towards evening when the men disappeared -into the wood, leaving the girl bound naked to the tree. -The day was calm and tranquil, with the mood of June on -the wind, and a benign sky above. Igraine’s hair had fallen -from its band, and now hung in bronze masses well-nigh -to her knees, covering her as with a cloak. Her habit, shift, -and sandals lay close beside her on the grass. The barbarians -had robbed her of nothing, according to their old earl’s -wishes. She was simply bound there, and left unscathed.</p> - -<p>When the men were gone, and she began to realise what -had passed, she felt a flush spread from face to ankle, a glow -of shame that was keen as fire. Her whole body seemed -rosily flaked with blushes. The very trees had eyes, and -the wind seemed to whisper mischief. There were none to -see, none to wonder, and yet she felt like Eve in Eden when -knowledge had smitten the pure flesh with gradual shame. -Though the place was solitary as a dry planet, her aspen -fancy peopled it with life. She could still see the heavy-jowled -barbaric faces staring at her like the malign masks -of a dream.</p> - -<p>The west was already prophetic of night. There was -the golden glow of the decline through the billowy foliage -of the trees, and the shadows were very still and reverent, -for the day was passing. A beam of gold slanted down -upon Igraine’s breast, and slowly died there amid her hair. -The west flamed and faded, the east grew blind. Soon the -day was not.</p> - -<p>Igraine watched the light faint above the trees, wondering -in her heart what might befall her before another sun could -set. She had tried her bonds, and had found them lacking -sympathy in that they were staunch as strength could make -them. She was cramped, too, and began to long for the -hated habit that had trailed the galleries of Avangel, and -had brought such scorn into her discontented heart. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -was no hope for it. She was pilloried there, bound body, -wrist, and ankle. Philosophy alone remained to her, a poor -enough cloak to the soul, still worse for things tangible.</p> - -<p>Her plight gave her ample time for meditation. There -were many chances open to her, and even in mere possibilities -fate had her at a vantage. In the first place, she might -starve, or other unsavoury folk find her, and her second -state be worse than her first. Then there were wolves in -the wold; or country people might find and release her, or -even Claudia and the women might return and see how she -had fared. There was little comfort in this last thought. -She shrewdly guessed that the abbey folk would not stop -till they happened on a stone wall, or the heathen took -them. Lastly, the road was at no very great distance, and -she might hear perchance if any one passed that way.</p> - -<p>Presently the moon rose upon Andredswold with a -stupendous splendour. The veil of night seemed dusted -with silver as it swept from her tiar of stars. Innumerable -glimmering eyes starred the foliage of the beeches. Vague -lights streamed down and netted the shadows with mysterious -magic. Here and there a tree trunk stood like a ghost, -splashed with a phosphor tunic.</p> - -<p>The wilderness was soundless, the billowy bastions of -the trees unruffled by a breath. The hush seemed vast, -irrefutable, supreme. Not a leaf sighed, not a wind wandered -in its sleep. The great trees stood in a silver stupor, and -dreamt of the moon. The solemn aisles were still as Thebes -at midnight; the smooth boles of the beeches like ebony -beneath canopies of jet.</p> - -<p>The scene held Igraine in wonder. There was a mystery -about a moonlit forest that never lessened for her. The -vasty void of the night, untainted by a sound, seemed like -eternity unfolded above her ken. She forgot her plight for -the time, and took to dreaming, such dreams as the warm -fancy of the young heart loves to remember. Perhaps -beneath such a benediction she thought of a pavilion set amid -water lilies, and a boy who had looked at her with boyish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -eyes. Yet these were childish things. They lost substance -before the chafing of the cords that bound her to the tree.</p> - -<p>Presently she began to sing softly to herself for the -cheating of monotony. She was growing cold and hungry, -too, despite all the magic of the place, and the hours seemed -to drag like a homily. Then with a gradual stealthiness -the creeping fear of death and the unknown began to steal -in and cramp even her buoyant courage. It was vain for her -to put the peril from her, and to trust to day and the succour -that she vowed in her heart must come. Dread smote into -her more cynically than did the night air. What might be -her end? To hang there parched, starved, delirious till life -left her; to hang there still, a loathsome, livid thing, rotting -like a cloak. To be torn and fed upon by birds. She knew -the region was as solitary as death, and that the heathen had -emptied it of the living. The picture grew upon her distraught -imagination till she feared to look on it lest it should -be the lurid truth.</p> - -<p>It was about midnight, and she was beginning to quake -with cold, when a sound stumbled suddenly out of silence, -and set her listening. It dwindled and grew again, came -nearer, became rhythmic, and ringing in the keen air. -Igraine soon had no doubts as to its nature. It was the -steady smite of hoofs on the high-road, the rhythm of a -horse walking.</p> - -<p>Now was her chance if she dared risk the character of -the rider. Doubts flashed before her a moment, hovered, -and then merged into decision. Better to risk the unknown, -she thought, than tempt starvation tied to the tree. She -made her choice and acted.</p> - -<p>“Help, there! Help!”</p> - -<p>The words went like silver through the woods. Igraine, -listening hungrily, strained forward at her bonds to catch -the answer that might come to her. The sound of hoofs -ceased, and gave place to silence. Possibly the rider was -in doubt as to the testimony of his own hearing. Igraine -called again, and again waited.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>Stillness held. Then there was a stir, and a crackling as -of trampled brushwood, followed by the snort of a horse -and the thrill of steel. The sounds came nearer, with the -deadened tramp of hoofs for an underchant. Igraine, full of -hope and fear, of doubt and gratitude, kept calling for his -guidance. Presently a cry came back to her in turn.</p> - -<p>“By the holy cross, who are you that calls?”</p> - -<p>“A woman,” she cried in turn, “bound here by the -heathen.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Here, in a grass ride, tied to a tree.”</p> - -<p>The words that had come to her were very welcome, -heralding, as they did, a friend, at least in race, and there -was a manly depth in the voice, too, that gave her comfort. -She saw a glimmer of steel in the shadows of the wood as -man and horse drew into being from the darkness. Moonlight -played fitfully upon them, weaving silver gleams amid -a smoke of gloom, making a white mist about the man’s -great horse. A single ray burnt and blazed like a halo -about the rider’s casque, and his spear-point flickered like a -star beneath the vaultings of the trees. He had halted, a -solitary figure wrapped round with night, and rendered -grand and wizard by the misty web of the moon.</p> - -<p>The sight was pathetic enough, yet infinitely fair. -Light streamed through, and fell full upon the tree where -Igraine stood. The girl’s limbs were white and luminous -against the dark bosom of the beech, and her rich hair fell -about her like mist. As for the strange rider, he could at -least claim the inspiration accorded to a Christian. The -servant of the Galilean has, like Constantine, a symbol in -the sky, prophetic in all need, generous of all guidance. -The Cross is a perpetual Delphi oracular on trivial matters -as on the destinies of kingdoms. The man dismounted, -knelt for a moment with sword held before him, and then -rose and strode to the tree with shield held before his -face.</p> - -<p>Igraine was looking at the figure in armour, kindly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -redly, from amid the masses of her hair. The small noblenesses -of his bearing towards her had won her trust with a -flush of gratitude. The man saw only the white feet like -marble amid the moss as he cut the thongs where they -circled the tree. The bands fell, he saw the white feet -flicker, a trail of hair waving under his shield. Then he -turned on his heel without a word, and went to tether his -horse.</p> - -<p>The interlude was as considerate as courtesy had intended. -Igraine darted for her habit with a rapturous sigh. -When the man turned leisurely again, a tall girl met him, -cloaked in grey, with her hair still hanging about her, and -sandals on her feet.</p> - -<p>“Mother Virgin, a nun!”</p> - -<p>The words seemed sudden as an echo. Igraine bent her -head to hide the half-abashed, half-smiling look upon her -face. It had been thus at Avangel. Nun and novice had -worn like habits, and there had been nothing to distinguish -them save the final solemn vow. The man’s notions were -plainly celibate, and, with a sudden twinkling inspiration, -she fancied they should bide so. It would make matters -smoother for them both, she thought.</p> - -<p>“My prayers are yours, daily, for this service,” she said.</p> - -<p>The man bent his head to her.</p> - -<p>“I am thankful, madame,” he answered, “that I should -have been so good fortuned as to be able to befriend you. -How came you by such evil hazard?”</p> - -<p>“I was of Avangel,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You speak as of the past,” quoth he, with a keen -look.</p> - -<p>“Avangel was burnt and sacked but yesterday,” she said. -“Many of the nuns were martyred; some few escaped. I -was made captive here, and bound to this tree by the -heathen.”</p> - -<p>Igraine could see the man’s face darken even in the -moonlight, as though pain and wrath held mute confederacy -there. He crossed himself, and then stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -with both hands on the pommel of his sword, stately and -statuesque.</p> - -<p>“And the Lady Gratia?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Dead, I fear.”</p> - -<p>A half-heard groan seemed to come from the man’s -helmet. He bent his head into the shadows and stood stiff -and silent as though smitten into thought. Presently he -seemed to remember himself, Igraine, and the occasion.</p> - -<p>“And yourself, madame?” he said, with a twinge of -tenderness in his voice.</p> - -<p>The girl blushed, and nearly stammered.</p> - -<p>“I am unscathed,” she hastened to say, “thanks to heaven. -I am safe and whole as if I had spent the day in a convent -cell. My name is Igraine, if you would know it. I fear -I have told you heavy tidings.”</p> - -<p>The man turned his face to the sky like one who looks -into other worlds.</p> - -<p>“It is nothing,” he said, gazing into the night; “nothing -but what we must look for in these stark days. Our altars -smoke, our blood is spilt, and yet we still pray. Yet may I -be cursed, and cursed again, if I do not dye my sword for -this.”</p> - -<p>There was a sudden bleak fierceness in his voice that -betrayed his fibre and the strong thoughts that were -stirring in his heart that moment. His face looked almost -fanatical in the cold gloom, gaunt, heavy-jawed, lion-like. -Igraine watched this thunder-cloud of thought and passion -in silence, thinking she would meet the man in the wrack -of life rather as friend than as foe. The brief mood seemed -to pass, or at least to lose expression. Again, there was -that in the kindness of his face that made the girl feel -beneath the eye of a brother.</p> - -<p>“You will ride with me?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Igraine hesitated a moment.</p> - -<p>“I was for Anderida,” she said, “and it is only three -leagues distant. Now that I am free I can go through the -wold alone, for I am no child.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - -<p>“An insult to my manhood,” said the stranger.</p> - -<p>“But the heathen are everywhere, and I should but -cumber you.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, you talk like a fool.”</p> - -<p>There was a sheer sincerity about the speech that pleased -Igraine. His spirit seemed to overtop hers, and to silence -argument. Proud heart! yet without thought of debate -she gave way in the most placid manner, and was content -to be shepherded.</p> - -<p>“I might walk at your stirrup,” she said meekly.</p> - -<p>The man seemed to ponder. He merely looked at her -with dark, solemn eyes, showing a quiet disregard for her -humility.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me,” he said, “you, a woman, must not -attempt Anderida alone. The town will be beleaguered, -or I am no prophet. To Anderida I cannot go, for I have -folk at Winchester who wait my coming. If you can put -trust in me, and will ride with me to Winchester, you will -find harbour there.”</p> - -<p>She considered a moment.</p> - -<p>“Winchester,” she said, “yes, and most certainly I trust -you.”</p> - -<p>The man stretched out a hand to her with a smile.</p> - -<p>“God willing,” he said, “I will bear you safe to the -place. As for your frocks and vows, they must follow -necessity, and pocket their pride. It will not damn you -to ride before a man.”</p> - -<p>“I trow not,” she said, with a little laugh that seemed to -make the leaves quiver. So they took horse together, and -rode out from the beech wood into the moonlight.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p>When they were clear of the solemn beeches, and saw the -road white as white before them, Igraine began to tell the -man of the doom of Avangel, and the great end made by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -Gratia the abbess. The knight had folded his red cloak -and spread it for her comfort. Her tale seemed very -welcome to him despite its grievous humour, and he -questioned her much concerning Gratia, her goodness and -her charity. Now it had been well known in Avangel that -Gratia had come of noble and excellent descent, and seeing -that this stranger had been familiar with her in the past, -Igraine guessed shrewdly that he himself was of some -ancient and goodly stock. To tell the truth, she was very -curious concerning him, and it was not long before she -found a speech ready to her tongue likely to draw some -confession from his lips.</p> - -<p>“I have promised to pray for you,” she said, “and pray -for you I will, seeing that you have done me so great a -blessing to-night. When I bow to the Virgin and the -Saints, what name may I remember?”</p> - -<p>The man did not look at her, for her face was in the -shadow of her hood and his clear and white in the light of -the moon.</p> - -<p>“To some I am known as Sir Pelleas,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And to me?”</p> - -<p>“As Sir Pelleas, if it please you, madame.”</p> - -<p>Igraine understood that she was to be pleased with the -name, whether she liked it or not.</p> - -<p>“Then for Sir Pelleas I will pray,” she said, “and may -my gratitude avail him.”</p> - -<p>There was silence for a space, broken by the rhythmic -play of hoofs upon the road, and the dull jar of steel. -Igraine was meditating further catechism, adapting her -questions for the knowledge she wished for.</p> - -<p>“You ride errant,” she said presently.</p> - -<p>“I ride alone, madame.”</p> - -<p>“The wold is a rude region set thick with perils.”</p> - -<p>“Very true,” quoth the man.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are a venturesome spirit.”</p> - -<p>“I believe that I am often as careful as death.”</p> - -<p>Igraine made her culminating suggestion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Some high deed must have been in your heart,” -she said, “or probably you would not have risked so -much.”</p> - -<p>The man Pelleas did not even look at her. She felt the -bridle-arm that half held her tighten unconsciously, as -though he were steeling himself against her curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” he said very gravely, “every man’s business -should be for his own heart, and I do not know that I have -any need to share the right or wrong of mine with others. -It is a grand thing to be able to keep one’s own counsel. -It is enough for you to know my name.”</p> - -<p>Igraine none the less was not a bit abashed.</p> - -<p>“There is one thing I would hear,” she said, “and that -is how you came to know of the abbess Gratia.”</p> - -<p>For the moment the man looked black, and his lips were -stern—</p> - -<p>“You may know if you wish,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Madame, the Lady Gratia was my mother.”</p> - -<p>Igraine felt a flood of sudden shame burst redly into her -heart. Gratia was the man’s mother, and she had been -plying him with questions, cruelly curious. She caught a -short, shallow breath, and hung her head, shrinking like a -prodigal.</p> - -<p>“Set me down,” she said. “I am not worthy to ride -with you.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” quoth the man; “you did not think, not -knowing I was in pain.”</p> - -<p>“Set me down,” was all she said; “set me down—set -me down.”</p> - -<p>The man Pelleas changed his tone.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” he said, with a sudden gentleness that made -her desire to weep, “I have forgiven you. What, then, -does it matter?”</p> - -<p>Igraine hung her head.</p> - -<p>“I am altogether ashamed,” she said.</p> - -<p>She drew her hood well over her face, and took her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -reproof to heart like a veritable penitent. Even religious -solemnities make little change in the notorious weaknesses -of woman. Igraine was angry, not only for having blundered -clumsily against the man’s sorrow, but also because -of the somewhat graceless part she seemed to have played -after the deliverance he had vouchsafed her. As yet her -character seemed to have lost honour fast by mere brief -contrast with the man’s.</p> - -<p>Pelleas meanwhile rode with eyes watching the wan -stretch of road to the west. On either hand the woods -rose up like nebulous hills bowelled by tunnelled mysteries -of gloom. He had turned his horse to the grass beside the -roadway, so that the tramp of hoofs should fall muffled on -the air. Igraine, close against his steeled breast, with his -bridle-arm about her, looked into his face from the shadows -of her hood, and found much to initiate her liking.</p> - -<p>If she loved strength, it was there. If she desired the -grand reserve of silent vigour, it was there also. The -deeply caverned eyes watching through the night seemed -dark with a quiet destiny. The large, finely moulded face, -gaunt and white in its meditative repose, seemed fit to -front the ruins of a stricken land. It was the face of a man -who had watched and striven, who had followed truth like -a shadow, and had found the light of life in the heavens. -There was bitterness there, pain, and the ghost of a sad -desire that had pleaded with death. The face would have -seemed morose, but for a certain something that made its -shadows kind.</p> - -<p>Instinctively, as she watched the mask of thought -beneath the dark arch of his open casque, she felt that he -had memories in his heart at that moment. His thoughts -were not for her, however much she pitied him or longed -to tell him of her shame and sympathy. Nothing could -come into that sad session of remembrances, save the soul -of the man and the memories of his mother. That he was -grieving deeply Igraine knew well. His was a strong -nature that brooded in silence, and felt the more; it must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -be a terrible thing, she thought, to have the martyrdom -of a mother haunting the heart like a fell dream at night.</p> - -<p>Slipping from such a reverie, the turmoil and weariness -of the past days returned to take their tribute. Despite -the strangeness of the night, Igraine began to feel sleepy as -a tired child. The magnetic calm of the man beside her -seemed to lull to slumber, while the motion of the ride -cradled her the more. The noise of hoofs, the dull clink -of scabbard against spur or harness, grew faint and faint. -The woods seemed to swim into a mist of silver. She saw, -as in a dream, the strong face above her staring calmly into -the night, the long spear poised heavenwards. Her head -was on the man’s shoulder. With scarcely a thought she -was asleep.</p> - -<p>It was then that Pelleas discovered the girl heavy in his -arms, and looked down to find her sleeping, with hood fallen -and a white face turned peacefully to his. Strangely enough, -the sorrow that had taken him seemed to make his senses -vibrate strongly to the more human things of life. The -supple warmth of the girl’s slim body crept up the sinews -of his arm like a subtle flame. From her half-parted lips -the sigh of her breathing came into his bosom. Over his -harness clouded her hair, and her two hands had fastened -themselves upon his sword-belt with a restful trust.</p> - -<p>The man bent his head and watched her in some awe. -Her lips were like autumn fruit fed wistfully on moonlight. -To Pelleas, woman was still wonderful, a creature to be -touched with reverence and soft delight. The drab, the -scold, and the harlot had failed to debase the ideals of a -staunch spirit, and the fair flesh at his breast was as full of -mystery as a woman could be.</p> - -<p>He took his fill of gazing, feeling half ashamed of the -deed, and half dreading lest Igraine should wake suddenly -and look deeply into his eyes. He felt his flesh creep with -magic when she stirred or sighed, or when the hands upon -his belt twitched in their slumber. Pelleas had seen stark -things of late, burnt hamlets, priests slaughtered and churches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -in flames, children dead in the trampled places of the slain. -He had ridden where smoke ebbed heavenwards, and blood -clotted the green grass. Now this ride beneath the quiet -eyes of night, with the bosomed silence of the woods around, -and this lily plucked from death in his arms, seemed like a -passage of calm after a page of tempest. Little wonder that -he looked long into the girl’s face, and thrilled to the soft -sway of her bosom. He thanked God in his heart that he -had plucked her blemishless from gradual death. It was -even thus, he thought, that a good soldier should ride into -Paradise bearing the soul of the woman he loved.</p> - -<p>Igraine stirred little in her sleep. “Poor child,” thought -Pelleas, “she has suffered much, has feared death, and is -weary. Let her sleep the night through if she can.” So -he drew the cloak gently about her, said his prayers in his -heart, and, holding as much as possible under the shadows -of the trees, kept watch patiently on the track before him.</p> - -<p>All that night Pelleas rode, thinking of his mother, with -the girl sleeping in his arms. He saw the moon go down -in the west, while the grey mist of the hour before dawn -made the forest gaunt like an abode of the dead. He heard -the birds wake in brake and thicket. He saw the red deer -scamper, frightened into the glooms, and the rabbits scurrying -amid the bracken. When the east mellowed he found -himself in fair meadowlands lying locked in the depths of -the wold, where flowers were thick as on some rich tapestry, -and where the scent of dawn was as the incense of many -temples. With a calm sorrow for the dead he rode on, -threading the meadowland, till the girl woke and looked up -into his face with a little sigh. Then he smiled at her half -sadly, and wished her good-morning.</p> - -<p>Igraine, wide-eyed, looked round in a daze.</p> - -<p>“Day?” she said, “and meadows? It was moonlight -when I fell asleep.”</p> - -<p>“It has dawned an hour or more.”</p> - -<p>“Then I have slept the night through? You must be -tired to death, and stiff with holding me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Not so,” said Pelleas.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry that I have been selfish,” she said. “I was -asleep before I could think. Have you ridden all night?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” quoth he, with a smile, “and not a soul have -I seen. I have been watching your face and the moon.”</p> - -<p>Igraine coloured slightly, and looked sideways at him -from under her long lashes. Her sleep had chastened her, -and she felt blithe as a bird, and ready to sing. Putting -the man’s scarlet cloak from her, she shook her hair from -her shoulders, and sprang lightly from her seat to the grass.</p> - -<p>“I will run at your side awhile,” she said, “and so rest -you. Perhaps you will halt presently, and sleep an hour or -two under a tree. I can watch and keep guard with your -sword.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas smiled down at her like the sun from behind a -cloud.</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” he said; “a soldier needs no sleep for a week, -and I feel lusty as Christopher. We will go awhile before -breakfast, if it please you. There is a stream near where I -can water my horse, and we can make a meal from such -stuff as I have. When you are tired, tell me, and I will -mount you here again.”</p> - -<p>She nodded at him gravely. Grass and flowers were well-nigh -to her waist. Her gown shook showers of dew from -the feathery hay. Foxgloves rose like purple rods amid the -snow webs of the wild daisy. Tangled domes of dogrose -and honeysuckle lined the white track, and there were -countless harebells lying like a deep blue haze under the -green shadows of the grass.</p> - -<p>Presently they came to where red poppies grew thickly -in the golden meads. Igraine ran in among them, and -began to make a great posy, while Pelleas watched her as -her grey gown went amid the green and red. In due course -she came back to him holding her flowers in her bosom.</p> - -<p>“Scarlet is your colour,” she said, “and these are the -flowers of sleep and of dreams for those that grieve. Hold -them in the hollow of your shield for me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pelleas obeyed her mutely. She began to sing a soft -slumberous dirge while she walked beside the great black -horse and plaited the flowers into its mane. The man -watched her with a kind of wondering pain. The song -seemed to wake echoes in him, like sea surges wake in the -caverns of a cliff. He understood Igraine’s grace to him, -and was grateful in his heart.</p> - -<p>“How long were you mewed in Avangel?” he said, -presently.</p> - -<p>“Long enough,” quoth she, betwixt her singing, “to -learn to love life.”</p> - -<p>“So I should judge,” said Pelleas, curtly.</p> - -<p>His tone disenchanted her. She threw the rest of the -flowers aside, and walked quietly beside him, looking up -with a frank seriousness into his face.</p> - -<p>“I was placed there by my parents,” she said, by way of -explanation, “and against my will, for I had no hope in me -to be a nun. But the times were wild, and my father—a -solemn soul—thought for the best.”</p> - -<p>“But your novitiate. You had your choice.”</p> - -<p>“I had my choice,” she answered vaguely. “Did ever a -woman choose for the best? Avangel was no place for me.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas eyed her somewhat sadly from his higher vantage. -“The nun’s is a sorry life,” he said, “when her thoughts -fly over the convent walls.”</p> - -<p>A level kindness in the words seemed to loose her tongue -like magic. Twelve long months had her sympathies been -outraged, and her young desires crushed by the heel of a -so-called godliness. Never had so kind a chance for the -outpouring of her discontent come to her. Women love an -honest grumble. In a moment all her bitterness found ready -flight into the man’s ears.</p> - -<p>“I hated it!” she said, "I hated it! Avangel had no hold -on me. What were vigils, penitences, and long prayers to -a girl? They made us kneel on stone, and sleep on boards. -The chapel bell seemed to ring every minute of the day; -we had vile food, and no liberty. It was Saint This, Saint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -That, from morning till night. We saw no men. We -might never dress our hair; and, believe me, there were no -mirrors. I had to go to a little pool in the garden to see -my face.</p> - -<p>“And they were so dull,—so dismal. No one ever -laughed; no one ever told romances; all our legends were -of pious things in petticoats. And what was the use of it -all? Was any one ever a jot the better? I used to get -into my cell and stamp. I felt like a corpse in a charnel-house, -and the whole world seemed dead.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas scanned her half smilingly, half sadly.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for your heart,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Sorry! You needs must be when you are a soldier, -with life in your ears like a clarion cry.”</p> - -<p>“Life is a sorry ballad, Sister Igraine, unless we remember -the Cross.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes, I have all the saints in mind—dear souls; but -then, Sir Pelleas, one cannot live on one’s knees. I was -made to laugh and twinkle, and if such is sin, then a sorry -nun am I.”</p> - -<p>“You misunderstand me,” said the man. “I would that -a Christian held his course over the world, with a great cross -set in the west to lead him. He can laugh and joy as he -goes, sleep like the good, and take the fruits of life in his -time. Yet ever above him should be the glory of the cross, -to chasten, purge, and purify. There is no sin in living -merrily if we live well, but to plot for pleasure is to lose it. -Look at the sun; there is no need for us to be ever on our -knees to him, yet we know well it would be a sorry world -without his comfort.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” she said, with a little gesture. “I see you are too -devout for me, despite my habit. Take me up again, Sir -Pelleas, and I will ride with you, though I may not argue.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas halted his horse, and she was soon in the saddle -before him, somewhat subdued and pensive in contrast to -her former vivacity. The man believed her a nun, and she -had a character to play. Well, when she wearied of it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -which would probably be soon, she could tell him and so end -the matter. It was not long before they came to the ford -across the stream Pelleas had spoken of. It was a green -spot shut in by thorn trees, and here they made a halt as -the knight had purposed.</p> - -<p>Before the meal Pelleas knelt by the stream and prayed. -Igraine, seeing him so devout, did likewise, though her eyes -were more on the man than on heaven. Her thoughts never -got above the clouds. When they were at their meal of -meat and bread, with a horn of water from the stream, she -talked yet further of her life at Avangel, and the meagre -blessing it had been to her. It was while she talked thus -that she saw something about the man’s person that fired her -memory, and set her thinking of the journey of yesterday.</p> - -<p>Pelleas was wearing a gold chain that bore a cross hanging -above the left breast, but with no cross over the right. -Looking more keenly, Igraine saw a broken link still hanging -from the right portion of the chain. Instinctively her -thoughts fled back to the silent manor in the wood, and the -dead man seated stiffly in the great carved chair.</p> - -<p>Without duly weighing the possible gravity of her words, -she began to tell Pelleas of the incident.</p> - -<p>“Yesterday,” she said, “I saw a strange thing as we fled -through the wold. We came to a villa, and, seeking food -there, found it deserted, save for a dead man seated in a chair, -and stricken in the breast. The dead man had a small gold -cross clutched in his fingers, and there was a dead hound at -his feet.”</p> - -<p>The man gave her a keen look from the depths of his -dark eyes, and then glanced at the broken chain.</p> - -<p>“You see that I have lost a cross,” he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine nodded.</p> - -<p>“Your reason can read the rest.”</p> - -<p>She nodded again.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing like the truth.”</p> - -<p>Igraine stared at the man in some astonishment. He -was cold as a frost, and there was no shadow of discomfort<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -on his strong face. Knowledge had come to her so sharply -that she had no answer for him at the moment. Yet there -stood a sublime certainty in her heart that this violent deed -was deserving of absolute approval, so soon had her faith in -him become like steel.</p> - -<p>“The man deserved death,” she said presently, with a curt -and ingenuous confidence.</p> - -<p>Pelleas eyed her curiously.</p> - -<p>“How should you know?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I have faith in you,” was all she said.</p> - -<p>Pelleas smiled, despite the subject.</p> - -<p>“No man deserved death better.”</p> - -<p>“And so you slew him.”</p> - -<p>He nodded without looking at her, and she could see -still the embers of wrath in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I slew him in his own manor, finding him alone, and -ready to justify himself with lies. Honour does not love -such deeds; but what would you?—Britain is free of a -viper.”</p> - -<p>“And you have blood on your hand.”</p> - -<p>He winced slightly, and glanced at his fingers as though -she had not spoken in metaphor.</p> - -<p>“All is blood in these days,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And what think you of such laws?” she ventured, with -a supreme reaching after the requirements of her Order. -“What of the Cross?”</p> - -<p>“There was blood upon it.”</p> - -<p>“But the blood of self-sacrifice.”</p> - -<p>Her words moved him more than she had purposed. His -dark face flushed, and light kindled in his eyes as though -the basal tenets of his life had been called in question. He -glowed like a man whose very creed is threatened. Igraine -watched the fire rising in him with a secret pleasure,—the -love of a woman for the hot courage of a man.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me,” he said strongly; "which think you is -the worthier life: to dream in a stone cell mewed from the -world like a weak weed in a cellar, or to go forth with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -red heart and a mellow honour; to strive and smite for the -weak and the wounded; to right the wrong; to avenge the -fatherless? Choose and declare."</p> - -<p>“Choose,” she said, with a shrill laugh and a kindling -colour, “truth, and I will. Away with the rosary; give me -the sword.”</p> - -<p>Like a wild echo to her human choice came the distant -cry of a horn borne hollowly over the sleeping meadows. -Both heard it and started. The great war-horse, grazing -near by, tossed his head, snorted, and stood listening with -ears twitching and head to the east. Pelleas rose up and -scanned the road from under his hand, with the girl Igraine -beside him.</p> - -<p>“A Saxon horn,” he said laconically; “the heathen are -in the woods.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>V</h3> -</div> - - -<p>As they watched, looking down betwixt two thorn trees, -a faint puff of dust rose on the road far to the east, and -hung like a diminutive cloud over the meadows. This -danger signal counselled the pair. Pelleas caught his horse -and sprang to selle; Igraine clambered by his stirrup, and -was lifted to her seat before him. Pelleas slung his shield -forward, and loosened his sword.</p> - -<p>“If it comes to battle,” he said, “I will set you down, -and you must hide in the meadows or woods, while I fight. -You would but cumber me, and be in great peril here. -Rest assured, though, that I shall not desert you while I -live.”</p> - -<p>With that he turned his horse to the road, and halted, -gazing down amid the placid fields to where the little cloud -of dust had hinted at life. It was there still, only larger, -and sounded on by the distant triple canter of horses at the -gallop. Pelleas and Igraine could see three mounted figures -coming up the road amid a white haze, moving fast, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -though pressed by some as yet unseen enemy. It was soon -evident to Pelleas and the girl that one of the fugitives was -a woman.</p> - -<p>“We will abide them,” said the man, “and learn their -peril. We shall be stronger, too, for company, and may -succour one another if it comes to smiting. Look! yonder -comes the heathen pack.”</p> - -<p>A second and larger cloud of dust had appeared, a mile -or less beyond the first. Pelleas watched it awhile, and then -turned and began riding at a trot towards the west, so that -the three fugitives should overtake him. He bade Igraine -keep watch over his shoulder while he scanned the meadows -before them for sign of peril or of friendly harbour.</p> - -<p>“Have no fear, child,” he said; “I could vow, by these -fields, that there is a manor near. I trust confidently that -we shall find refuge.”</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled at him.</p> - -<p>“I am no coward,” she said.</p> - -<p>“That is well spoken.”</p> - -<p>“I would, though, that you would give me your dagger, -so that, if things come to an evil pass, I shall know how to -quit myself.”</p> - -<p>“My dagger!” he said, with a sudden stare. “I left it -in the man’s heart in Andredswold.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Igraine; “then I must do without.”</p> - -<p>The dull thunder of the nearing gallop came up to them—a -stirring sound, full of terse life and eager hazard. Pelleas -spurred to a canter, while Igraine’s hair blew about his -face and helmet as they began to meet the kiss of the wind. -She clung fast to him with both hands, and told what was -passing on the road in their rear.</p> - -<p>“How they ride,” she said; “a tangle of dust and whirling -hoofs. There is a lady in blue on a white horse, with -an armed man on either flank. They are very near now. -I can see the heathen far away over the meadows. They -are galloping, too, in a smoke of dust. Our folk will be -with us soon.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<p>In a minute the lady and her men were hurtling close in -Pelleas’s wake. He spurred to a gallop in turn, and bade -Igraine wave them on to his side. The three were soon -with them, stride for stride. The girl on the white horse -drew up on Pelleas’s right flank. She was habited in blue -and silver—a flaxen-haired damosel, with the round face of -a child. Seemingly she was possessed of little hardihood, -for her mouth was a red streak in a waste of white, and her -blue eyes so full of fear that Igraine pitied her. She cried -shrilly to Pelleas, her voice rising above the din like the cry -of a frightened bird.</p> - -<p>“The heathen!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Many?” shouted the man.</p> - -<p>“Two score or more. There is a strong manor near. -If we gain it we may live.”</p> - -<p>“How far?”</p> - -<p>“Not a mile over the meadows.”</p> - -<p>“Lead on,” said Pelleas; “we will follow as we may.”</p> - -<p>The damosel on the white horse turned from the road, -and headed southwards over the meadows, with her men -galloping beside her. The long grass swayed, water-like, -before them, its summer seed flying like a mist of dew. -Wood and pasture slid back on either hand. The ground -seemed to rise and fall before them as a sea, while -rocks here and there thrust up bluff noses in the grass -like great lizards stirred by the hurtling thunder of the -gallop.</p> - -<p>On they went, with white spume on breast and bridle; -leaping, swerving where rough ground showed. To Igraine -the ride was life indeed, bringing back many a whistling -gallop from the past. She felt her heart in her leaping to -the horse’s stride. Now and again she took a sly look at -Pelleas’s face, finding it calm and vigilant—the face of a -man whose thought ran a silent course unruffled by the -breeze of peril. She felt his bridle-arm staunchly about her -like a girdle of steel. Although she could see the dust -gathering thickly on the distant road, she felt blithe as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -new bride in the man’s company, and there was no fear at -all in her thought.</p> - -<p>The grassland began to slope gradually towards the south. -A quavering screech of joy came back to them from the -woman riding in the van. Pelleas spoke his first word -during the gallop.</p> - -<p>“Courage,” he said. “Southwards lies our refuge.”</p> - -<p>Igraine looked over his shoulder, and saw how their -flight tended down the flank of a gentle hill into the lap -of a fair valley. The grass stretch was broken by great -trees—oaks, beeches, and huge, corniced cedars. Down in -the green hollow below them a mere shone with the soul of -the sky steeped in its quiet waters. It was ringed with -trailing willows, and an island held its centre, piled with -green shadows and the grey shape of a fair manor. The -place looked as peaceful as sleep in the eye of the -morning.</p> - -<p>The woman on the white horse bade one of her men -take his bugle-horn and blow a summons thereon to rouse -the folk upon the island. Twice the summons sounded -down over the water, but there was no answering stir to be -marked about the house or garden. The place was smokeless, -lifeless, silent. Like many another home, its hearths -were cold for fear of the barbarian sword.</p> - -<p>As they held downhill, Igraine wove the matter through -her thought like swift silk through a shuttle.</p> - -<p>“Should there be no boat,” she said, giving voice to her -misgivings, “what can you do for us?”</p> - -<p>“We must swim for it,” said Pelleas, keenly.</p> - -<p>“It is a broad, fair water, and the horse cannot bear us -both.”</p> - -<p>“He shall, if needs be.”</p> - -<p>She felt that the brute would, after Pelleas had spoken -so. She patted the arched black neck, and smiled at the -sky as they came down to the mere’s edge at a canter. -The water was lapping softly at the sedges amid a blaze -of marsh marigolds and purple flags, the surface gleaming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -like glass in the sun. Half a score water-hens went winging -from the reeds, and skimming low and fast towards the -island. A heron rose from the shallows, and laboured -heavenwards with legs trailing.</p> - -<p>Riding round the margin, they found to their joy a -barge grounded in a little bay, with sweeps ready upon the -thwarts, and a horse-board fitted at the prow. A purple -cloak hung over one bulwark, trailing in the water; a small -crucifix and a few trinkets were scattered on the poop, as -though those who had used the ferry last had fled in fear, -forgetful of everything save flight.</p> - -<p>Then came the embarkation. The barge would but -hold three horses at one voyage, so Pelleas ordered Igraine -and the rest into the boat, and bade the men row over and -return. Igraine demurred a moment.</p> - -<p>“Leave your horse,” she said; “they may come before -the boat can take you.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas refused her with a smile, running his fingers -through the brute’s black mane.</p> - -<p>“I have a truer heart than that,” he said.</p> - -<p>The men launched away, and pulled at the sweeps with -a will, Igraine helping, and doing her devoir for the man -Pelleas’s sake. The barge slid away, with ripples playing -from the prow, and a gush of foam leaping from each smile -of the blades. It was a hundred yards or more to the -island, and the craft was ponderous enough to make the -crossing slow.</p> - -<p>Pelleas sat still and watched the meadows. Suddenly—bleakly—a -figure on horseback topped the low hill on the -north, and held motionless on the summit, scanning the -valley. A second joined the first. Pelleas caught a shout, -muffled by the wind, as the two plunged down at full gallop -for the mere, sleeping in its bed of green. Here were two -gentlemen who had outstripped their fellows, and were as -keen as could be to catch Pelleas before the barge could -recross, and set the mere betwixt them. Pelleas saw his -hazard in a moment. Even if the barge came before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -heathen, there would be some peril of its capture in the -shallows.</p> - -<p>He would have to fight for it, unless he cared to swim -the mere. Provided he could deal with these two outriders -before the main company came up, well and good, the -raiders would find clear water between the quarry and their -swords. He thought of Avangel, and grew iron of heart. -Then there was the nun, Igraine, with the wonderful eyes, -and hair warm as the dun woods in autumn. He was her -sworn knight as far as Winchester. God helping him, he -thought, he would yet see her face again. So he rode out -grimly to get fair field for horsecraft, and waited for the two -who swept the meadows.</p> - -<p>Igraine, standing on the wooden stage at the water’s -edge, saw Pelleas taking ground and preparing for a tussle. -The barge had put off again and had already half spanned -the water. She was alone with the woman of the white -horse, who stood beside her still quaking like a reed, and -almost voiceless from the fulsome terror of an unshrived -death. Igraine had no heed for her at the moment. Her -whole thought lurked with the red shield and the black -horse in the meadows. Worldly heart! her desire burnt -redly in her own bosom, and found no flutter for the -powers above.</p> - -<p>She saw Pelleas gathering for the course, while the -heathen slackened so as not to override their mark. A -crescent of steel flashed as the foremost man launched his -axe at the knight’s head. The red shield caught and -turned it. In a trice Pelleas’s spear had picked the rogue -from the saddle, despite his crouching low and seeking to -shun it. The second fellow came in like a whirlwind. -His horse caught the black destrier cross counter and -rolled him down like a rammed wall. Pelleas avoided, and -was up with bleak sword. Smiting low, he caught the -man’s thigh, and broke the bone like a lath. The Saxon -lost his seat, and came down with a snarling yell. The -rest was easy as beating down a maimed wolf.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>The main company had just topped the hill. Pelleas, -with the skirmish ended to his credit, shook his sword at -them, and led his horse into the shallows. The barge -swept in, took its burden from the bank, and held back for -the island, where Igraine stood watching on the stage, -ready with her welcome. She was glad of Pelleas in her -heart, as though the comradeship of half a day had given -her the right to share his honour, and to chime her joy with -his. The woman in her swamped the assumed sanctity of -the nun. As the water stretch lessened between them, -Pelleas, silent and dark-browed as was his wont, found -himself beneath the beck of eyes that gazed like the half-born -wonder of the sky at dawn. It was neither joy nor -great light in them, but a kind of quiet musing, as though -there were strange new music in her soul.</p> - -<p>“Are you hurt?” she asked, as he sprang from the -barge and stood beside her, with head thrown back and his -great shoulders squared.</p> - -<p>“Not a graze.”</p> - -<p>“Two to one, and a fair field,” quoth she, with a quaver -of triumph; “my heart sang when those men went down. -That was a great spear thrust.”</p> - -<p>“Less and less of the rosary!”</p> - -<p>She caught his deep smile, and laughed.</p> - -<p>“I am a greater heathen than either,” she said. “God -rest their souls.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the lady in the blue tunic had somewhat -recovered her squandered wits and courage. She came -forward with a simpering dignity, walking daintily, with -her gown gathered in her right hand, and her left laid over -her heart. Her eyes were very big and blue, their brightness -giving her an eager, sanguine look that was upheld the -more by an assumed simpleness of manner. Her childish -bearing, winsomely studied, exercised its subtleties with a -lavish embellishment of smiles and blushes. Looked at -more closely, and in repose, her face belied in measure the -perspicuous personality she had adopted. A sensual bold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>ness -lurked in mouth and nostrils, and there was more -carnal wisdom there than a pretended child should possess.</p> - -<p>“Courtesy fails me, sir,” she said, letting her shoulders -fall into a graceful stoop, and turning her large eyes to -Pelleas’s face; “courtesy fails me when I would most praise -you for your knightly deed in yonder meadows. I am so -frightened that I cannot speak as I would. My heart is -quite tired with its fear and flutter. Think you—you can -save us from these wolves?”</p> - -<p>Pelleas had neither the desire nor the leisure to stand -juggling courtesies with the woman.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” he said, “we shall fight. Leave the rest to -Providence. I can give you no better comfort.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, “no”—as in a daze.</p> - -<p>Pelleas, reading her misery, repented somewhat of his -abrupt truthfulness.</p> - -<p>“Come,” he said, with a kind strength and a hand on her -shoulder; “go to the house and rest there with Sister Igraine. -I see you are too much shaken. Go in and pray if you -can, while we hold the island.”</p> - -<p>The girl looked at him unreservedly for a moment. -Then she gave a little laugh that was half a sob, and, -bending to him, kissed his hand before he could prevent -her. Giving him yet another glance from her tumbled -hair, she stepped aside to Igraine, and they turned together -towards the manor, and the trees and gardens that ringed -it. The girl had set her hand in Igraine’s with a little -gesture that was intended to be indicative of confidence in -the supposed nun’s greater intelligence.</p> - -<p>“Let us go and sit under that yew tree,” she suggested. -“I cannot stifle within walls now. You are named -Igraine. I am called Morgan—Morgan la Blanche,—and -I am a lord’s daughter. I almost envy you your frock -now, for death cannot frighten you as it frightens me. -Of course you are very good, and the Saints guard and -watch over you. As for me, I have always been very -thoughtless.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Not more than I,” said Igraine, with a smile. “I have -often hummed romances when I should have praised Paul -or Peter.”</p> - -<p>“But doesn’t the fear of death blight you like a frost?”</p> - -<p>“I never think of death.”</p> - -<p>“It seems so near us now that I can hardly breathe. -Do you think we are tortured in the other world, if there -be one?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know, simple one?”</p> - -<p>“I wish the mere were a league broad. I should feel -further from the pit.”</p> - -<p>“Is your conscience so unkind?”</p> - -<p>“Conscience, sister? It is self-love, not conscience. I -only want to live. Look!—the heathen are coming down -to the mere. How their axes shine. Holy Mother!—I -wish I could pray.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, catching the girl’s pinched face, with lips drawn -and twitching, pitied her from her very heart.</p> - -<p>“Come then, I will pray with you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“No, no, my prayers would blacken heaven. I cannot, -I cannot.”</p> - -<p>The wild company had swept down between the great -trees in disorderly array. Their weapons shone in the -sunlight, their round bucklers blickered. They were soon -at the place where Pelleas had slain his men in fair and -open field. Dismounting, they gathered about their dead -fellows, and sent up, after their custom, a vicious, dismal -ululation, a sound like the howling of wolves, drear enough -to make the flesh tingle under the stoutest steel. Lining -the bank among the willows, they shook buckler and axe, -gesticulating, threatening, their long hair blowing wild, -their skin-clad bodies giving them a wolfin look not -pleasant to behold. Round the margin they paddled—searching—casting -about for a boat. They seemed like -beasts behind the gates of some Roman amphitheatre—caged -from the slaughter. The girl Morgan looked -at them, screamed, and hid her face in her tunic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -Igraine found the girl’s quaking hand, and held it fast in -hers.</p> - -<p>“Courage, courage,” she said; “there is no boat, and, even -if they swim, Sir Pelleas is a great knight.”</p> - -<p>“What can he do against fifty?” whined the girl, with -her face still covered.</p> - -<p>“Fifty? There are but a score. I have numbered them -myself.”</p> - -<p>“I would give all the jewels in the world to be in -Winchester.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! girl, I have no jewels to give; but this, I promise -you, is better than a convent.”</p> - -<p>The barbarians had gathered in a group beneath a great -willow. Plainly they were in debate as to what should be -done. Some, by their gestures, their tossing weapons, and -their bombast, were for swimming the mere. Their -councils were palpably divided. Possibly the sager folk -among them did not think the venture worth the loss to -them it might entail, seeing that one of those cooped upon -the island had already given proof of no mean prowess. -They could see the three armed men waiting grimly by -the water’s edge, ready to strike down the swimmer who -should crawl half-naked from the water weeds and mire. -Gradually, but surely, the elder tongues held the argument, -and the balance went down solemnly for those upon the island.</p> - -<p>Pelleas and the two men, watching keenly for any -movement, saw the circle of figures break and melt towards -the horses. They saw them pick up the bodies of their -two dead fellows, and lay them across the saddle. In a -minute the whole troop turned, and held away southwards -at a trot, flinging back a last wild cry over the water. -The meadows rolled away behind them; the gradual trees -hid them from moment to moment. Pelleas and the two -servants stood and watched till the black line had gone -southwards into the thickening woods.</p> - -<p>Under the yew tree Morgan la Blanche had uncased her -white face, and was smiling feebly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am glad I did not pray,” she said; “it would have -been so weak. Look! I have torn my tunic, and my belt’s -awry. Bind my hair for me, sister, quickly,—before Sir -Pelleas comes.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>With the heathen lost in the distant woods, Pelleas and -the women essayed the house, leaving the two servants to -sentinel the island.</p> - -<p>The great gates of the porch were ajar. Pushing in, they -crossed into the atrium, and found it sleepy as solitude. -The water in the impluvium gleamed with the gold flanks -of the fish that moved through its shadows. Lilies were -there, white and wonderful, swooning to their own images -in the pool. The tiled floor was rich with colour. Venturing -further, they found the triclinium untouched, rich -couches and flaming curtains everywhere, gilded chairs, and -deep-lustred mirrors, urns, and flowers. In the chapel -candles were guttered on the altar; dim lights came down -upon a wealth of solemn beauty—saints, censers, crosses, -frescoed walls all green and azure, gold and scarlet. The -viridarium, set betwixt chapel and tablinum, held them -dazed with a glowing paradise of flowers. Here were -dreamy palms, orange trees like mounts of gold, roses that -slept in a deep delight of green. Over all was silence, -untainted even by the silken purr of a bird’s wing.</p> - -<p>Gynœcium and bower were void of them in turn. -Everywhere they found the relics of a swift desertion. The -manor folk had gone, as if to the ferry of death, taking no -worldly store or sumptuous baggage with them. Not a -living thing did they discover, save the fish darting in the -water. The cubicula were empty, their couches tumbled; -the culina fireless, and its hearth cold.</p> - -<p>Pelleas and the women marvelled much at the beauty of -the place; its solitude seemed but a ghostly charm to them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -As for the girl Morgan, she had taken Pelleas into her immediate -and especial favour, holding at his side everywhere, -a-bubble with delight. The luxury of the place pleased her -at every glance; her vanity ran riot like a bee among -flowers. She eyed herself furtively in mirrors, and put a -rose daintily in her hair while Pelleas was not looking. -She had already rifled a cabinet, strung a chain of amethysts -about her neck, and poked her fingers into numberless rings. -Then she would try the couches, queen it for a moment in -some stately chair, or smother her face sensuously in the -flowers growing from the urns. All these pretty vapourings -were carried through with a most mischievous grace. -Igraine, who had seen the girl white and whimpering an -hour before and in deadly horror of the pit, wondered at -her, and hated her liberally in her heart.</p> - -<p>Nor was Pelleas glad of the change her presence had -wrought; for her childish subtleties had no hold on him, and -even her thieving seemed insipid. With solemn and shadowy -thoughts in his heart, her frivolous worldliness came like -some tinkling discord. Igraine seemed to have dimmed -her eyes from him beneath the shadow of her hood. Her -face was set like the face of a statue, and there was no play -of thought upon it. She walked proudly behind the pair—not -with them—like one elbowed out of companionship by -a vapouring rival.</p> - -<p>In the women’s bower Morgan found a lute, and pounced -upon it.</p> - -<p>“One’s whole desire seems here,” she chattered. “This -bower suits my fancy like a dream, and I could lodge here -a month for love of it. What think you, Knight Pelleas? -I never set foot in a fairer manor. I warrant you there are -meat and wine in the cellars. We will feast and have -music anon.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas’s face looked more suited to a burial. Igraine -pitied him, for his eyes looked tired and sad. Morgan -ran on like a jay. In the chapel she found Igraine a -share.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here is your portion, holy Sister,” she said; “mine the -bower, yours the altar. So you see we are all well suited. -Come, though, is it not very horrible having to look solemn -all day, and to wear a grey gown? I should fade in a week -inside such a hood; besides, it makes you look such a -colour.”</p> - -<p>Igraine could certainly boast a colour at that moment -that might have warned the woman of her rising fume. -Pelleas broke in and took up the argument.</p> - -<p>“Men do not consider dress,” he said; “everything is fair -to the comely. I look into a woman’s face and into her -eyes, and take the measure of her heart. Such is my -catechism.”</p> - -<p>“But you like to see rich silks and a smile, and to hear a -laugh at times. What is a girl if she is not gay? No -discourtesy to you, sister; but you seem so far set from Sir -Pelleas and myself.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, lacking patience, flared up like a torch. “Ha! -mark you,” she said, “my habit makes me no coward, nor do -I thieve. No discourtesy to you, my dear lady.”</p> - -<p>Morgan set up a thrill of laughter.</p> - -<p>“How true a woman is a nun,” quoth she; “but you are -too severe, too careful. Thieving, too; why, I may as well -have a trinket or so before the place is rifled, even if I take -a single ring. And what is more, I have been turned from -my own house with hardly a bracelet or a bodkin. Come, -Sir Pelleas, let us be going; the Sister would be at her -prayers. I see we but hinder her.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas had lost both pity and patience in the last minute. -Partisanship is inevitable even in the most trivial differences, -and Pelleas’s frown was strongly for Morgan la Blanche.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it would be well, madame,” said he, “if we all -went on our knees for the day’s deliverance. I cannot see -that there is any shame in gratitude.”</p> - -<p>“Gratitude!” chirped the girl. “Gratitude to whom?”</p> - -<p>“To the Lord Saviour, madame, and the Mother Virgin.”</p> - -<p>She half laughed in his face, but his eyes sobered her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -For a moment she fronted him with an incredulous smirk, -then her glance wavered, and lowered to his breast. It held -there with a tense stare, while her whole face hardened. -Pelleas saw her pupils darken, her cheeks flush and pale in -a moment. He thought nothing of it, or ascribed her -distraught and strange look to some sudden shame or shock -of penitence. In a trice the smile was back again, and she -seemed pert and pleased as ever.</p> - -<p>“I see you are too devout for me,” she said with a glib -laugh, “and that I am too wicked a thing for the moment. -I will leave you to Sister Igraine till you both have prayed -your fill.” Here she laughed again, a laugh that made -Igraine’s cheeks burn. “Remember me to St. Anthony if -you may. If I recollect rightly he was a nice old gentleman, -who cured ‘the fire’ for a miracle, and nearly fell in love -with a devil. Till you have done, I will go and gather -flowers.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas and Igraine looked at one another.</p> - -<p>“A devout child,” said the man.</p> - -<p>“And not bred in a nunnery.”</p> - -<p>“The world’s convent, I should say.”</p> - -<p>For the moment Igraine was almost for telling him of -her own hypocrisy, but the thought found her more troubled -on that score than she could have guessed. She had acted a -lie to the man, and feared his true eyes despite her courage. -“Another day I will tell him,” she thought; “it is not so -great a sin after all.” So they turned and knelt at their -devotions.</p> - -<p>Morgan la Blanche went away like the wind. She ran -through atrium and porch with hate free in her eyes, and -her child’s face twisted into a scowl of temper. In the -garden she idled up and down awhile in a restless fume, like -one whose thoughts bubble bodingly. Sometimes she would -smite a lily peevishly with her open hand, or pluck a flower -and trample it under her feet as though it had wronged her. -Then she would take something from her bosom and stare -at it while her lips worked, or while she bit her fingers as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -though galled by some inward barb. Presently she found -her way by a laurel walk to the orchard, and thence by a -wicket-gate to the island’s rim, where one of her men kept -watch on the further meadows.</p> - -<p>She stood under an apple tree, called to him, and -beckoned. He came to her—a short, burly fellow with the -look of a bull, and brute writ large on his visage. Morgan -drew him under the swooping dome of the tree, plucked -something that shone from her bosom, and dangled it before -his eyes.</p> - -<p>“The cross,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Galerius, -the cross.”</p> - -<p>The man stared at her stupidly. Morgan lifted a finger, -ran this way and that peering into the green glooms and -listening. Then she came back to the man, soft-footed, -glib as a cat, with the cross of gold gripped in her fingers. -She smiled at him, a smile that was almost a leer.</p> - -<p>“Galerius,” she said, “the knight in the house yonder -wears a chain with one cross missing, and the fellow cross -matches this. Moreover, his poniard sheath is empty. I -marked all this as I stood by him a moment ago. This is -the man who slew my lord.”</p> - -<p>The servant’s heavy face showed that he understood her -well enough now.</p> - -<p>“To-night,” she said, almost skipping under the trees -with the intensity of her malice, “it shall be with his own -poniard. I have it here. Galerius, you have always been -a good fellow.”</p> - -<p>The man grinned.</p> - -<p>“Keep silence and leave all to me. I shall need your -hand and no more.”</p> - -<p>“Nor shall he,” said Galerius curtly.</p> - -<p>Morgan grew suddenly bleak and quiet, with the thought -of murder harboured in her heart.</p> - -<p>“Look for yourself, Galerius,” she said; "see that my -eyes have not deceived me. The man must have come -upon Lord Madan when he was alone, after our hirelings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -had deserted the house. He slew him in the winter room—this -whelp sent by Aurelius the king. You and I, -Galerius, found the cross in my lord’s dead hand, and the -poniard in his bosom. I warrant you we will level this -deed before we hold again for Winchester."</p> - -<p>“Trust my hand, Madame Morgan,” quoth the man; -“if you can have the fellow sleeping, so much the better, -one need not strike in a hurry.”</p> - -<p>“Leave it to me,” she said; “I will give you your -knife and your chance to-night.”</p> - -<p>With that she sent the fellow back to his watching, and -threaded the orchard to the manor garden. Pelleas and -Igraine had long ended their prayers in the chapel. Morgan -found them in the atrium, watching the fish in the water -and their own reflections in the pool. The girl had quite -smothered the bleak look that had held her features in the -orchard. She was the same ingenuous, self-pleased little -woman whose blue eyes seemed as clear and honest as a -sleeping sea in summer. Before, she had flown in Pelleas’s -face for vanity’s sake; now she seemed no less his woman—ready -with smiles and childish flattery, and all the pleasantness -she could gather. She was at his side again—quick -with her eyes and tongue. Probably she guessed that the -man despised her, but then that was of no moment now, -seeing that it made the secret in her heart more bitter.</p> - -<p>At noon they dined in the triclinium, with man Galerius -to serve. He had ransacked kitchen and pantry, and from -the ample store discovered, had spread a sufficient meal. -His eyes were ever on Pelleas as he waited. There was -no doubt about cross or poniard sheath; and Galerius found -pleasure in scanning the knight’s armour and looking for -the place where he might strike.</p> - -<p>The afternoon proved sultry, and Pelleas took his turn -in keeping watch by the bank. Cool and placid lay the -water in the sun, while vapoury heat hung over the -meadows and the distant woods. There was still fear lest -the heathen might return, thinking to catch the islanders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -napping. The very abruptness of their retreat had been in -itself suspicious; and Pelleas was all for caution. Igraine’s -face seemed to make him more careful of peril. He thought -much of her as he paced the green bank for three hours -or more, before leaving the duty to Galerius and his -fellow.</p> - -<p>Returning to the manor he found Igraine cushioned on -the tiled floor beside the impluvium, fingering the lute that -Morgan la Blanche had found. The latter lady was still in -the tablinum, so Igraine said, pilfering and admiring at her -leisure, with fruit and a cup of spiced wine ready at her -hand. Pelleas took post on the opposite side of the pool to -Igraine, unarmed himself at his leisure, and began to clean -his harness. No task could have pleased Igraine better. -She put the lute away, took his helmet on her lap, and -burnished it with the corner of her gown. Pelleas had -sword, breast-plate, greaves and shoulder pieces beside him. -Their eyes often met over the pool as they sat with the -scent of lilies in the air, and talked little—but thought the -more.</p> - -<p>Igraine felt queerly happy. There seemed a warm fire -in her bosom, a stealthy, happy heat that crept through -every atom of her frame like the sap into the fibres of some -rich rose. Her heart seemed to unfold itself like a flower -in the sun. She looked often at Pelleas, and her eyes were -very soft and bright.</p> - -<p>“A fair place, this,” she said presently, as the man -furbished his sword.</p> - -<p>“Fair indeed,” said he; “a rich manor.”</p> - -<p>“It is strange to me after Avangel.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps more beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” she said, with a sudden kindling; "I think my -whole soul was made for beauty, my whole desire born for -fair and lovely things. You will smile at me for a dreamer, -but often my thoughts seem to fly through forests—marvellous -green glooms all drowned in moonlight. I love -to hear the wind, to watch the great oaks battling, to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -the sea one laugh of gold. Every sunset harrows me into -a moan of woe. I can sing to the stars at night—songs -such as the woods weave from the voice of a gentle wind, -dew-ladened, green and lovely. Sometimes I feel faint for -sheer love of this fair earth."</p> - -<p>Pelleas’s eyes were on her with a strange deep look. -His dark face was aglow with a new wonder, as though his -soul had flashed to hers. The great sword lay naked and -idle in his hands.</p> - -<p>“Often have I felt thus,” he said, “but my lips could -never say it. Thoughts are given to some without -words.”</p> - -<p>“But the joy is there,” she answered, with a quiet -smile.</p> - -<p>“Joy in beauty?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, girl, a beautiful face, or a blaze of gold and scarlet -over the western hills, are like strange wine to my -heart.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, it is grand to live,” said Igraine.</p> - -<p>Pelleas’s head went down over his sword as though in -thought.</p> - -<p>“It would seem,” he said presently, “that beauty is a -closed book, save to the few. It is good to find a heart -that understands.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that know I well,” she chimed; “in Avangel they -had souls like clay; they saw nothing, understood nothing. -I think I would rather die than be soul blind.”</p> - -<p>“So many folk,” said the man, “seem to live as though -they were ever scanning the bottom of a pot. They never -get beyond reflections on appetite.”</p> - -<p>As they talked, Morgan la Blanche came in from behind -the looped curtains, with silks, samites, siclatons, and -sarcanets in her arms. She had found some rich chest in -the bower accomplice to her fingers, and had revelled -gloriously. She sat herself down near Pelleas, and began to -laugh and chatter like a pleased child. The dainty stuffs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -were tossed this way and that, gathered into scarves or -frills, spread over her lap and eyed critically as to colour, -before being bound in a bale for her journey. Vain and -vapid as her behaviour seemed, there was more in this little -woman’s heart than either Pelleas or Igraine could have -guessed. Her whole mood was false. Foolish as she -seemed on the surface, she was more keen, more subtle by -far than Igraine, whose whole soul spelt fire and courage.</p> - -<p>As the day drew towards evening, Morgan became more -stiff and silent. Her eyes were bright as the jewels round -her neck; they would flash and waver, or fall at times into -long, sidelong stares. More than once Igraine caught the -girl’s face in hard thought, the pert lips straight and cruel, -the eyes hungry and very shallow. It reminded her of -Morgan’s look in the morning, when she was in such stark -fear of the heathen and of death. Yet while she watched -her, smiles and glib vivacity would sweep back again as -though there had been but a transient cloud of thought over -the girl’s face.</p> - -<p>With the shadows lengthening, they turned, all three -of them, into the garden, and found ease on a grass bank -beneath the black boughs of a great cedar. The arch of -the dark foliage cut the sky into a semicircle of azure. All -about them the grass seemed dusted with dim flowers—blue, -white, and violet. A rich company of tiger lilies -bowed to the west. Dense banks of laurels and cypresses -stood like screens of blackest marble, for the sun was sinking. -As they lay under the tree, they could look down -upon the water, sheeny and glorious in the evening peace. -Further still, the willows slept like a mist of green, with -the fields Elysian and full of sweet stupors, the woods beyond -standing solemn and still at the beck of night.</p> - -<p>Morgan, who had brought the lute with her, began to -touch the strings, and to sing softly in a thin, elfin voice—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">My heart is open at the hour of night</div> - <div class="verse">When lilies swoon</div> - <div class="verse">And roses kiss in bed.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> - <div class="verse">When all the dreams of sad-lipped passion rise</div> - <div class="verse">From sleep’s blue bowers</div> - <div class="verse">To die in lover’s eyes.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Come flame,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Come fire,</div> - <div class="verse">A woman’s bosom</div> - <div class="verse">Is but life’s desire.</div> - <div class="verse">So, all my treasures are but held for love</div> - <div class="verse">In scarlet silks</div> - <div class="verse">And tapestries of snow.</div> - <div class="verse">I long, white-bosomed like the stars that sigh</div> - <div class="verse">A bed in heaven</div> - <div class="verse">For love’s ecstasy.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Come flame,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Come fire,</div> - <div class="verse">A woman’s bosom</div> - <div class="verse">Is all man’s desire.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>The birds were nestling and gossiping in the laurel -bushes, taking lodging for the night. From the topmost -pinnacle of the cedar, a thrush, a feathered muezzin, had -called the world to prayer. From the mere came the -cries of water-fowl; the eerie wail of the lapwing rose in -the meadows. Presently, all was still and breathless; a vast -hush seemed to hold the world. The west was fast dying.</p> - -<p>Under the cedar the light lurked dim and magic. -Morgan’s fingers were still hovering on the strings, and she -was singing to herself in a whisper, as though she had care -for nothing, save for that which was in her heart. Pelleas -and Igraine were quite near each other in the shadow. -They had looked into each other’s eyes—one long, deep -look. Each had turned away troubled, yet with a sudden -glory of quick anguish in their hearts. The night seemed -very subtle to them, and the whole world sweet.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Igraine’s thoughts were to music when she went to bed -that night. Pelleas’s eyes stayed with her, darkly, sadly;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -his tragic face seemed to look out of the night, like the face -of one dead. And he more than liked her. She felt sure -of that, even if she did not dream of kinder things sprung -from long looks and quiet sighings. She sat on her bed, -and smiled the whole strange day over to herself again. She -had the man before her in all his looks and poses; how he -sat his horse, the habit he had of looking deeply into nothingness, -his strength and quiet knightliness, and above all his -devout soul. He seemed to please her at every point in a -way that set her thrilling within herself with a delicious -wonder. Last, she thought of the weird twilight under the -grand old tree—rare climax to a day of deeds and memories. -She felt her heart leap as she remembered the great -wistful look that had shone out on her from Pelleas’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The manor house seemed still as the night itself. Morgan -la Blanche had taken herself to a couch in the triclinium, -choosing it rather than one of the cubicles leading from the -atrium. Galerius was on guard, pacing the mere’s bank, -while his comrade slept in the kitchen. Pelleas, armed, -with sword and shield beside him, had quartered himself -on cushions in the great porch, with the doors open.</p> - -<p>It was about ten o’clock. Igraine, full of sweet broodings, -crept into bed, and settled herself for sleep. The -night was wonderfully peaceful. The window of the room -was overgrown with a tangle of roses, the flowers seeming -to mellow the air as it came softly in, and there was a faint -shimmer into the shadows that hinted at moonlight. Igraine -lay long awake, with her eyes on the few stars that peeped -through between the jambs. There was too much in her -heart to let sleep in for the while, and her thoughts were -a’dance within her brain like wild, fleet-footed things. As -she lay in a happy fever of thought, her face grew hot upon -the pillow, and her tumbled hair was like a lustrous lava flow -over the bed. In course, despite her tossing, she fell into -a shallow, fitful sleep that verged between wakefulness and -dreams.</p> - -<p>It was well past midnight when she started, wide awake,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -with the half-dreamt memory of some eerie sound in her -ears. She sat up in bed, and listened, shivering. There -were footfalls, swift and light, on the pavement of the atrium. -From somewhere came a gruff voice, speaking tersely and -in bated tones. Next, there was something that sounded -like a groan, and then silence.</p> - -<p>Igraine crept out of bed, hurried on her habit, opened -the door gently, and looked out. Moonlight streamed in -through the square aperture in the roof of the hall, but all -else lay in darkness. The porch gates were ajar, with a -band of light slanting through upon the tiles. Eager, -tremulous, she fancied as she stood that she heard the beat -of oars. Then the low, groaning cough that she had heard -before thrilled her into action like a trumpet cry.</p> - -<p>She was across the court in a second, and into the darkened -porch. The doors swung back to her hands, and the -night streamed in. Clear before her, lit with a silver -emphasis, lay the water, and on it she saw the dark outline -of the barge, moving with foaming oars towards the further -bank. For the moment her heart seemed to halt within -her.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!” she cried. “Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>A stifled sound answered her from a dark corner of the -porch. With a sudden frost in her bosom she saw a black -rill trickling over the tiles in the moonlight, even touching -her feet. Great fear came upon her, but left her power to -think. In the triclinium she had seen a lamp, with tinder, -steel, and flint in a tray beside it, and in her fear she ran -thither, tore her fingers in her haste with stone and steel, -but had the lamp lit with such speed as she had never learnt -at Avangel. Then she went back trembling into the -porch.</p> - -<p>The knight Pelleas lay in the corner, half propped against -the wall. His head was bowed down upon his chest, and -he had both hands clasped upon the neck-band of his tunic. -Blood was trickling from his mouth, and he seemed to be -hardly breathing, while under the left arm-pit shone the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -silver hilt of the knife that had been thrust there by Galerius’s -hand. To the thought of the girl it seemed as if the man -were in his death agony.</p> - -<p>The utter realism of the moment drove all fear from her. -She set the lamp on the tiles, and kneeling by Pelleas, pulled -the knife slowly from his side. A gush of blood followed. -She strove to staunch it with a corner of her gown. The -man was quite unconscious, and never heeded her, though -he was still breathing jerkily and feebly, with a rattling -stridor in his throat. She lifted his head and rested it upon -her shoulder, while she knelt and pressed her hand over the -wound, dreading to see him die each moment.</p> - -<p>For an hour she knelt, cold and almost bare-kneed, on -the stone floor, holding the man to her, watching his breathing -with a tense fear, pressing upon the wound as though -ethereal life would ebb and mock her fingers. Little by -little she felt the warm flow cease, felt her fingers stiffened -at their task, while the minutes dragged like æons, and the -lamp flickered low in the night. At last she knew that the -issue was stayed, and that Pelleas bled no more. Gradually, -fearfully, lest life should fall away like a poised wand, she -laid the man down, and again watched with her hand over -the stricken side. He was breathing more noticeably now, -with less of the look of death about him. Encouraged thus, -she dared to meditate leaving him to find wine, and sheets -to cover him there. When she essayed to move she found -her habit clotted to the wound where she had held it. It -took her minutes to cut the cloth through with the knife -that had stabbed Pelleas, for she was palsied lest the -wound should break again and lose her her love’s -labour.</p> - -<p>Free at last, she fled into her room, tore the clothes in -which she had lain from the bed, and carried them trailing -into the porch. Then, lamp in hand, she spoiled the triclinium -of rugs and cushions, and found there the chalice of -wine that Morgan had sipped from. Ladened, she struggled -back across the hall, fearing all the while to find the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -parted. No such foul fortune, however. He was breathing -better and better.</p> - -<p>Then she set to to make a bed. She spread cushions and -rugs; and then, so slowly, so gently, that she seemed hardly -to move, she had the man laid upon the couch, with two -cushions under his head. Next she covered him with the -clothes taken from her own bed. Thus much completed -without mishap, she washed his lips and face with water -taken from the pool, trickled some wine down his throat, -and set the doors wide to watch for dawn.</p> - -<p>So pressed had she been by the man’s peril, that even -the right of thought had been denied her. Now, seated -by the lamp, she began to sift matters as well as her -meagre knowledge would suffer, keeping constant watch on -wounded Pelleas the while. She knew that Morgan and -her men were gone in the barge, but as to who gave Pelleas -his wound, she could come to no clear understanding in -her heart. There must have been some deep feud for such -a stroke, though she could find no reason for the deed. -Still, she could believe anything of that chit Morgan la -Blanche, and there the riddle rested for a season.</p> - -<p>Before long she saw the summer dawn stealing silently and -mysteriously into the east. The face of the sky grew grey -with waking light, and the hold of the moon and night -relaxed on wood and meadow. Then the birds began in -the garden, till she thought their shrill piping must wake -Pelleas from his swoon, so blithe and lusty were they. The -east was forging day fast in its furnace of gold. The glare -touched the clouds and rolled them into wreaths of amber -fire.</p> - -<p>A sigh from the couch brought her to her feet like -magic. She went and knelt by the bed in quite a tumult -of expectation. Pelleas’s hands were groping feebly over -the coverlet like weak, blind things. Igraine caught them -in hers, thrilled as they closed upon her fingers, and, bending -low, she waited with her lips almost on the man’s, her hair -on his forehead, her eyes fixed on his closed lids. All her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -soul seemed to droop above him like a lily over a grave. -Presently he sighed again, stirred and opened his eyes full -on Igraine’s, as she knelt and mingled her breath with -his.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas,” she whispered. “Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her for a moment with a dazed stare that -dawned into a smile that made her long to sing.</p> - -<p>“It is Igraine,” she said.</p> - -<p>Pelleas caught a deep breath, and groaned as his stricken -side twinged to the quick.</p> - -<p>Igraine put two fingers on his lips.</p> - -<p>“Lie still,” she said, “lie still if you love earth. You -must not speak, no, not one little word. I must have you -quiet as a child, Pelleas. You have been so near death.”</p> - -<p>She felt the man’s hand answer hers. He did not speak -or move, but lay and looked at her as a little child in a -cradle looks at its mother, or as a dog eyes his master. -Igraine put his hands gently down upon the coverlet, and -smiled at him.</p> - -<p>“Lie so, Pelleas,” she said; “be very quiet, for I am to -leave you, for a minute and no more. You must not move -a finger, or I shall scold.”</p> - -<p>She beamed at him, started up and ran straight to the -chapel, her heart a-whimper with a joy that was not mute. -She went full length on the altar steps with her face turned -to the cross above—the cross whose golden arms were aglow -with the sun through the eastern window. In her mood, -the white Christ’s face seemed to smile on her with equal -joy. She learnt more in that moment than Avangel had -taught her in a year.</p> - -<p>Hardly five minutes had passed before she was with -Pelleas again, bearing fruit and olives, bread and oil. She -made a sweet dish of bread and berries, with some wine in -it for his heart’s sake, and then knelt at his side to feed him. -She would not let him lift a finger, but served him herself -with silver spoon and platter, smiling to give him courage -as he obeyed her like a babe. It seemed very pitiful to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -that so much strength and manliness should have been -smitten so low in one brief night. None the less, the -man’s feebleness brought her more joy than ever his courage -had done, and his peril had discovered clear wells of ruth in -her that might have been months hidden but for the hand -of Galerius. When Pelleas had finished the bread and fruit, -she gave him more wine, and then set to to bathe his hands -and face with scented water taken from the tablinum. -Pelleas’s eyes, with deep shadows under them now, watched -her all the while with a kind of wondering calm. The -sunlight flooded in, and lit her hair like red gold, and made -her neck to shine like alabaster. Meeting his look, she -reddened, and turned to hide her face for a moment, that -he might not see all that was writ there in letters of flame.</p> - -<p>“Now you must sleep, Pelleas,” she said, crossing his -hands upon the quilt.</p> - -<p>He shook his head feebly.</p> - -<p>“I am going to leave you,” she persisted, “so you must -not flout me, Pelleas. I shall be here, ready, when you -wake.”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him, and closed his lids gently with her -finger tips.</p> - -<p>“Sleep,” she said, brushing her hand softly over his forehead, -“for sleep will give you strength again. You may -need it.”</p> - -<p>She left him there, and taking bread and olives with her, -she closed the porch gates to shade him, and went herself -into the garden. After a meal under the old cedar, she -went down to the water’s edge and washed her feet from -the stains of Pelleas’s blood, and bathed her hands and face. -She saw the barge amid the reeds and rushes on the further -bank. There was no sign of life in the meadows, and the -woods were deep with peace.</p> - -<p>Then she remembered Pelleas’s horse. Going to the -stable behind the manor, she found the beast stalled there, -though Morgan’s horses had been taken by the men in the -barge. Igraine took hay from the rack, gave him a measure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -of oats in his manger, and watered him with water from the -mere. Then she stood and combed his mane with her -fingers as he fed. Some of the poppies she had plaited there -were dead and drooping in the black hair. She thought as -she unbound the withered things how nearly Pelleas’s life -had withered with theirs. She was very happy in her -heart, and she sang softly the low tender songs women -love when their thoughts are maying.</p> - -<p>Igraine passed the whole morning in the garden, going -every now and again to the porch to open the doors gently, -and peep in upon the sleeper. She gathered a basket of -fruit and a lapful of flowers. About noon she went in, -and bringing jars from the triclinium, she filled them with -water and garnished them with flowers. These jars she -set in array about Pelleas’s bed, one of tiger lilies and one -of white lilies; a bowl of roses at his head, a jar of hollyhocks -and one of thyme, and fragrant herbs at the foot. -Moreover, she strewed the coverlet with pansies, and -scattered rose leaves on his pillow. Then she went to the -chapel to pray awhile, before sitting down to watch beside -his bed.</p> - -<p>Pelleas woke about an hour after noon had turned. At -his first stirring, Igraine was hanging over him like a -mother, with her hands on his. Pelleas looked up at her, -saw the flowers about his bed, and, risking her menaces, -spoke his first word.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said.</p> - -<p>She put her face down to his.</p> - -<p>“I am much stronger,” he said; “I can talk now.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps a very little,” she answered, with her eyes on his.</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“You are very wonderful.”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!” she said redly.</p> - -<p>“I should have died without you, for I was witless, and -coughing blood.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you would die,” she said very softly, with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -eyes downcast. “I held you in my arms and, God helping -me, staunched the flow from your wound. But tell me, -Pelleas, who was it stabbed you?”</p> - -<p>The man smiled at her.</p> - -<p>“There, I am as ignorant as you,” he said. “I woke with -a fiery twinge in my side, and saw a man running out of -the porch in the dark. I struggled to rise. Blood came -into my mouth, and betwixt coughing and hard breathing I -must have fainted. What of the others?”</p> - -<p>Igraine knelt up from stooping over him, and thought.</p> - -<p>“Morgan and her men,” she said presently, “fled across -the mere in the barge just after you had been stabbed. I -saw them go in the moonlight. It was your cry that woke -me in bed. I came and found you senseless in the corner, -and the woman and her rascals making off in the boat. -One of the men must have smitten you while you slept.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas kept silence for a while, as though he were thinking -hard.</p> - -<p>“Show me the knife,” he said anon.</p> - -<p>Igraine had washed away the stains, and laid it aside in a -corner. She held it up now before Pelleas’s eyes as he lay in -bed. He took it from her with trembling hands, and handled -it, his face darkening.</p> - -<p>“This is my own poniard,” he said, “the poniard I left -in the heart of the man in Andredswold. Look, girl, look! -Search and see, mayhap you may find a cross.”</p> - -<p>Igraine did his bidding, and searched the pavement, but -found nothing. Then she came back to the bed, and began -to turn the cushions up here and there, and to scan the tiled -floor. Sure enough, under the foot of the bed, she found a -small gold cross lying, smeared lightly with dried blood. -She took it up and gave it to Pelleas. He caught and held -it with a terse cry.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Pelleas lay the afternoon through in a half dream of -shifting thought. But for the tangible things about him -there might have been elfin mischief in the air, for the last -few days had passed with such flash of new feeling and desire -that the man’s mind was still in a daze.</p> - -<p>He lay in bed, with jars of lilies round him, and a woman -tending him with the grace of a Diana. It was all very -strange, very pleasant, despite the ague in his ribs and his -inordinate weakness. He was not so sure after all that -he bore Morgan la Blanche any so fervent a piece of malice; -fortune seemed to beckon him towards generosity, seeing -that his condition was so truly picturesque. Uncouth feelings -were swallowed up for the time being by a benignant -stupor of contentment.</p> - -<p>But the balance of human happiness is often very nice and -subtle. Leaden reason tumbled into the scale of melancholy -may even outscale the bowl of dreams. Love and law often -dangle on either beam of a man’s mind, or philosophy -anchored to a rock may sky poor fancy into the clouds. So -it was with Pelleas that day, wisdom being often enough a -miserable nurse. When he thought of Igraine, reason as -he would with himself, his soul began to shimmer like moon-rippled -water. When she looked at him the very pillars of -his manhood seemed to quake. When she passed, light-footed, -from garden to porch, she seemed to come in like -the sun, bringing streams of warmth into his wounded flesh. -Of necessity, he soon met other cogitations less pleasant, and -no less imperative. From legal quarters came that inevitable -pedagogue blear-eyed Verity, paunched up with dogma and -breathing ethical platitudes like garlic. “The woman’s a -nun,” quoth Dom Verity, with a sneer. “Keep your fancy -in leash, my good Pelleas, and forswear romance. Bar your -thoughts from a child of the church or you will rue it. No -man may serve a nun. The world has said.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>What with his wound and his fractious meditations, -Pelleas soon fell into a most dismal temper. Like most sick -folk he had lost for the time that level sense of proportion -that is the sure outcome of health. His thoughts began to -gape at him, and to pull most melancholy grimaces. Even -the dead man squatting in the great chair in the manor in -Andredswold began to haunt him like an ogrish conscience. -Hot and racked, he could stand his own company at last no -longer. Calling Igraine to him, he began to unburden -himself to her with regard to the man he had done to death -in the forest.</p> - -<p>The girl listened, mild as moonlight, and ready to swear -away her soul to soothe him.</p> - -<p>“I am troubled for the deed,” he was saying, “though the -man deserved death, twenty deaths, and though I served -justice to the echo. His blood hangs on my hands, and -makes me restless at heart.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me his sin, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“They were many, and too gross for ears such as thine.”</p> - -<p>“Then palpably he was too gross to live.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt, child.”</p> - -<p>“Then why trouble for his death, Pelleas; you would not -shrink from treading out an adder’s brains?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but there is the man’s soul. I feel for him after my -own down-bringing. What chance had he of penitence?”</p> - -<p>“True,” she said gravely, “but your mother, the Abbess -Gratia, used to tell us that bad men repented only in legends -and in the Bible; never in grim life. Besides, you prevented -the man committing worse offences in the future, -and getting deeper into the pit. Why, Pelleas, hundreds of -good knights have lost life for a mere matter of love; why -trouble for the life of a wretch who perhaps never knew -what truth meant. You would not grieve for men slain in -battle.”</p> - -<p>“In battle the blood is hot and the brain afire. This was -a rank and reasonable stroke.”</p> - -<p>"And therefore the more deserved. Why trouble about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -it, Pelleas? In faith, since your plight makes me tyrant, I -forbid such brooding. It is but the evil fancy of a distraught -mind, an incubus I must chase away. See, your hands are -hot, and your forehead too. Will you sleep again, or shall -I sing to you?"</p> - -<p>“Presently,” he said. “I have more to speak of -yet.”</p> - -<p>Igraine knelt by him on her cushion, serene and -tender.</p> - -<p>“Say on, Pelleas,” she said; “a woman loves a man’s -confidence. If I can give you comfort I will gladly listen -here till midnight. You are not yourself, weak from loss of -blood, and a gnat’s sting is like a lance thrust to you. Tell -me your other troubles.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas groaned, hesitated, looked up into her eyes, and -recanted inwardly. He furbished up a minor woe to serve -the occasion.</p> - -<p>“It is my sword and shield,” he said; “they were given me -blessed and consecrated by my mother. It is in my thought -that I had smirched them by this deed. What think you, -girl?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot think so,” she said stoutly.</p> - -<p>Then since his face was so wistful and troubled, she -racked her fancy for some plan she thought might soothe -him. A sudden purpose came to her like prophecy.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” she said. “I can do this for you. Give me -your shield and sword, and let me lay them on the high -altar under the cross with candles burning, and let me pray -for them there. Will that comfort you, Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, with a sudden sad smile; “pray for me, -go and pray for me, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>It was the impulse of a moment. She bent down with -a great thrill of wonder, and kissed the man’s lips. It was -soon done, soon sped. She saw Pelleas’s blood stream to his -face, saw something in his eyes that made her heart canter. -Then she darted away, took up the great sword and the -shield with its red face, and went to the chapel singing like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -a seraph. Her prayers were a strange jumble of worship -and recollection. “Lord Jesu, cleanse his spirit,” said her -heart one moment; “truth, how he coloured and looked at -me,” it sang with more human refrain the next. “May he -be a knight above knights,” quoth devotion; “and may I -be ever fair in his eyes,” chimed love. Altogether, it was a -most quaint prayer.</p> - -<p>Now, a certain mundane matter had been troubling -Igraine’s thought that day. The barge, seized and put to -use by Morgan and her men, lay amid the reeds on the -nether shore, ready to give passage to any chance wayfarer, -welcome or otherwise, who should choose to cross the mere. -The boat, so fixed, floated as a constant peril to Pelleas and -herself. She felt that peace would flout them so long as the -barge lay ready to play ferry-boat to any casual intruder. -Pelleas’s wound might keep them cooped many days in the -place. She vowed to herself that the boat should be regained, -and blushed when the oath accused her.</p> - -<p>At dusk, when the birds were piping, and there was a -green hush over the world, she went back to Pelleas, a -beautiful shameface, accompliced by the twilight.</p> - -<p>“I have prayed,” she said simply.</p> - -<p>Pelleas touched her fingers.</p> - -<p>“I feel happier,” he said.</p> - -<p>“That is well.”</p> - -<p>“Stay near me, Igraine. It grows dark fast.”</p> - -<p>“I shall be with you till you sleep,” she said.</p> - -<p>Igraine fed him with her own hands, talking little the -while, but feeling very enamoured of her lot. She was -thinking of her new surprise with some mischieful pleasure -as she tended Pelleas. The man was silent, yet very placid -and facile to her willing. When she had bathed his face -and neck, and seen him well couched, she took the lute -Morgan had handled, and began to sing to him softly—wistfully, -as though the song was the song of a quiet wind -through willows. It was a chant for the dusk, for the quiet -gazing of the first fires of heaven. Pelleas heard it like the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -distant touching of strings over charmed water, and with -the breath of lilies over him he fell asleep.</p> - -<p>Igraine held by him still as a mouse in the dark, till she -knew by his breathing that he was deep in slumber. Then -she set the lute aside, put the lamp by the porch door, so -that it should be ready to hand, and stole out into the -garden.</p> - -<p>The moon was just coming up above the distant trees. -Igraine waited under the black-vaulted cedar till the great -ring rode bleak above the fringe of the tops before she -went down between laurels to the water’s edge. There was -a deep cedarn scent on the warm air, and everything seemed -deathly still. Going to the landing stage, she stood there -awhile looking at the water, dark and mysterious, with pale -webs of light upon its agate surface. Then she began to -bind her hair closely on her head, smiling to herself, and -staring down at her vague image in the water.</p> - -<p>Her hair in shackles, she turned to her task in earnest. -Soon habit, shift, and sandals were lying in a heap, and she -was standing clean, rare, gleamingly straight as a statue, -with her arms folded upon her breast. For a moment she -stood, making the night to swoon, before taking to the mere. -Pearly white with an aureole of foam, she swam flankwise -with an overhand stroke, one arm thrusting out like a silver -sickle. Here and there, fretted by the willows, long moonbeams -glinted on her round whiteness, as the maddened foam -bubbled, and the water sighed and yearned amid the sedges. -A fine glow had leapt through her body like wine, and the -mere seemed to sway and sing as she swam for the main -bank, where the willows stood blackly in a mist of phosphor -glory. Soon she reached the shallows at a pleasant place -where stretch of grassland tongued down into the mere. She -climbed out, and stood like a water nymph, her body agleam -and asparkle with its dew, her skin like rare silk, smooth as -a star’s glance. Down fell her hair like smoke. She -stretched her arms to the moon, and laughed, aglow with -the warmth gotten of her swim. Then she went to where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -the barge lay amid the reeds, and boarding it poled out into -the deeps.</p> - -<p>Standing on the poop she used an oar as a paddle, and so -brought the cumbrous barge slowly under way. It stole -out from the fretted shadows of the trees, and glided like a -great ark over the mere in black silence, save for the dip of -the blade and the drip of water. The voyage took Igraine -longer than her swim. At last, with the boat moored at -the stage, she dried her limbs and body with her hair, and -took again to shift and habit. Then she stole back to the -manor, listened a moment to Pelleas’s breathing, and having -lit her lamp she went to bed.</p> - -<p>Next morning Igraine, with her deed locked up in her -heart, was preparing Pelleas a meal. He had just stirred -and roused himself from sleep with a little cry, and he was -watching the girl with the mute reflective look of one just -freed from the visions of the night.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said.</p> - -<p>She turned to him with a soft smile.</p> - -<p>“I have been dreaming,” he confessed gravely.</p> - -<p>“Dreaming, Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>“I thought,” said he, “that I saw a great dragon of gold -come over the meadows with a naked sword in his mouth, -and a collar of rubies round his throat. And he came to -the mere’s edge, ramping and breathing fire. And lo! he -entered into the barge there, and the barge went forth bearing -him, while all the mere’s water boiled and shone about -the boat like flame. So he came to the island, and all -greenness seemed to wither before him, and with the fear -of him I awoke.”</p> - -<p>Igraine shook her head at the man.</p> - -<p>“Your dreams are distraught,” she said; “it is your -wound, Pelleas. In faith we should need the great Merlin -for such a vision.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said he, “I can read you the riddle, Igraine. Our -barge lies by the land bank ready for any foe. That is -where the dream touches us.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine brought him a bowl of crushed bread and fruit, -and made as though to feed him.</p> - -<p>“Never worry,” she said; “the barge is moored safe at -the stage.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas put the bowl aside with one hand, and stared at -her from his pillows.</p> - -<p>“Did the barge swim the mere of herself,” quoth he, -“and anchor for us so fairly?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Then—”</p> - -<p>Igraine went red of a sudden, and looked at her knees.</p> - -<p>“Sooth, Pelleas,” she said, “I must have been the dragon -of your dream; God pardon me.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“I never knew I seemed so fearful a creature.”</p> - -<p>“Honour and praise—”</p> - -<p>He half rose on his pillows in his enthusiasm. Igraine -put him gently back, and took up the bowl of bread and -fruit.</p> - -<p>“That will do, my dear Pelleas,” she said; “now just -lie still and have your breakfast.”</p> - -<p>What boots it to chronicle at length their sojourn in the -island manor. Twelve days Igraine nursed the man there, -giving all her heart for service, tending him from sunrise to -the fall of night. She seemed to have no other joy than to -sit and talk to him, to make music with voice and hand, -to keep his couch posied round with flowers. On waking -Pelleas would find her by him, fresh as the dawn and full -of a golden tenderness; at night his eyes closed upon her -gracious figure as she sat in the gloaming and sang. She -was near to hear his voice, quick to see his needs and to -remedy them with soft hands and softer looks. The very -atmosphere about the man seemed touched and mellowed -by her, and the hours seemed to trip to the measure of a -golden rhyme.</p> - -<p>Pelleas mended very rapidly under her care. His wound, -sweet and innocent, gave him no trouble save some slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -feverishness on the third day. The sixth morning found -him so stalwart of temper that Igraine consented to his -leaving bed for a morning provided he obeyed her to the -letter. His first steps were taken in the atrium with -Igraine’s arm about his waist, and his upon her shoulders. -So well did he bear himself that the girl led him to the -chapel, and there side by side on the altar steps they winged -up their devotion to heaven. Igraine’s prayers, be it known, -were all for love; Pelleas’s for the threatening shadows -over his own soul.</p> - -<p>Daily after this innovation Igraine would make him a -couch under the great cedar tree in the garden, where he -could rest shaded from the sun, and there, morn, noon, and -eve, they had much comradeship and speech together. -They would talk of God, the saints, and the souls of men, -of love and honour, and the needs of Britain. Pelleas -would tell her of his own service with Aurelius, of all the -fair pomp of Lesser Britain, where Conan had begun a -goodly kingdom years ago, and where many British folk -had taken refuge. He had been to Rome as a boy, and he -described that vast city to her, or told her of the bloody -fields he had seen when the steel of Christendom met the -heathen. Fresh streams from either soul welled out, and -mingled much during those summer days. Pelleas and -Igraine looked deep each into the heart of the other, finding -fine store of nobleness, of truth, and of things beautiful, till -the heart of each had treasured everything for love and for -love’s desire. They were fair hours and very sweet to the -two. The day seemed a casket of gold, and the night a -bowl of ebony ablaze with stars.</p> - -<p>About this time the man Pelleas began to go down into -deep waters. Many days had passed with a flare of torches -in the west; their sojourn was drawing to a close, and the -night seemed near. The haler Pelleas grew in body, the -more halt and hopeless waxed his soul. The whole world -seemed to grow wounded to his eyes; the west was wistful -at evening, and the starry sky a sob of pain. When Igraine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -harped and sang, each note flew like winged death into his -heart. He had no joy that was not smitten through with -anguish, no thought that was not crowned with thorns. -It was a very simple matter indeed, but perverse to utter -bitterness. Pelleas saw no hope for himself in the end. -He would rock and toss, and think at night till the darkness -seemed to crush him into a mere mass of misery. -Above all there seemed to rise a great hand holding a cross -of gold, and a voice that said, “Beware thy soul and death.”</p> - -<p>Not so was it with Igraine. To her life had no shroud, -and love prophesied of love alone. She knew what she -knew, and her heart was full of summer and the song of -birds. Pelleas loved her; she would have staked her soul -on it, though she did not realise the desperate turmoil -passing in the man’s clean heart. Knowing what she did, -she was all for sun and moods of radiant thought and -happiness. Each day she imagined that she would tell -Pelleas of her secret; each day she gave the golden moment -to the morrow. She knew how the man’s face would -flame up with the fulness of great wonder, and like a -woman she hoarded anticipation in her heart and waited.</p> - -<p>The day soon came when Pelleas declared himself hale -enough to bear armour, though the admission was made -with no great amount of satisfaction. To test his strength -he armed himself with Igraine’s help, harnessed his black -horse, and rode round the island, first at a level pace with -Igraine running beside him. Then he tried a gallop, -handling spear and shield the while. Lastly, he took -Igraine up to him, and rode with her as he had ridden -through the wold. Suffering nothing from these ventures, -and seeming sure in selle as ever, he declared with heavy -heart that they should sally for Winchester on the morrow.</p> - -<p>Pelleas and Igraine passed their last evening in the -island under the great cedar in the garden. The place had -deep memories for them, and very loth were they to leave -it, so fair and kind a refuge had it proved to them in peril. -Neither said much that evening, for their thoughts were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -busy. As for Pelleas, he was glum and heavy-browed as -thunder, with a look in his deep eyes that spelt misery. It -was as though he were leaving his very soul in the place to -ride out like a corpse on a pilgrimage with despair. How -much she might have eased him, perhaps Igraine never -knew.</p> - -<p>The west was already red and rosy, and there was a -green hush over the meadows, and a canopy of pale porphyry -in the east. All the soul of the world seemed to lift white -hands to the night in a stupor of mutest woe. Yet the -girl’s mood tended towards mere sensitive regret, for the -future was not dark to her imaginings.</p> - -<p>“You are sad, Pelleas,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I am only thinking, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to leave this place.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas sighed for answer. With a contradictory spirit, -born of pain, he longed for night and the peace it would -not bring. Something swore to him that he was more to -the girl than man had ever been, and yet she seemed happy -when he compared her humour with his own. The possibility -that she could dream of broken vows was never in -his thought. He could only believe that her heart was less -deep than his, and the thought only added bitterness to his -mead of sorrow.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said anon.</p> - -<p>She turned to him.</p> - -<p>“You love life?”</p> - -<p>“Truth, Pelleas, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Then love it not, girl.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“’Tis a broken bowl.”</p> - -<p>“How so?” she said, thrilling.</p> - -<p>Pelleas turned his face from her to hide the strife thereon. -He felt as though death was in his heart, yet he spoke as -quietly as though he were telling some mundane tale, and -not words conjured up by a desperate wisdom.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said, "I have lived and learnt something in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -my time, and my words are honest. On earth what do we -find—a lie on truth’s lips, and anguish on the face of joy. -The roses bloom and die, white hands shrivel, and harness -rusts under the green grass. As for fame, it breeds hate -and jealousy, and the curse of the proud. Music is broken -by the laugh of the fool, nor can youth forget the crabbed -noisomeness of age. Women sing and pass. A man -marries one night and is tombed the next. And love, what -of love? I tell you love lives only in the eyes of woe. It -is all mockery, cold damned mockery. I have said."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IX</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Pelleas and Igraine were stirring soon after dawn on the -morning of their sally for Winchester. It was a summer -dawn, still and stealthy; the meadows were full of a -shimmering mist, the mere spirit-wrapped, and dappled here -and there with gold.</p> - -<p>Silent and distraught they made their last meal in the -quiet manor. Everything seemed sad and solemn, as though -the stones could grieve; the lilies by the impluvium seemed -adroop, and the flowers about Pelleas’s bed were withered. -After the meal Pelleas armed himself, and went to harness -his horse, while Igraine put up bread and foodstuff into a -linen cloth for their journey. Before sallying they went all -round the manor, into the chapel, where they prayed before -the altar, into bower, parlour, and viridarium. The porch -with its empty bed and withered flowers they took leave of -last. There was such wistfulness there that even the dumb -things seemed to cry out in pain.</p> - -<p>Pelleas closed the gates with bowed head, and made the -sign of the cross upon them with the pommel of his dagger. -His throat seemed full of one great muffled sob. Together -they wandered for the last time through the garden, while -Igraine plucked some flowers for a keepsake. Pelleas felt -that he loved every leaf in the place like his own soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -Then they went down to the water’s edge, and, getting the -horse on board, they loosed the barge from the bank, and -came slowly to the nether shore. It might have been the -fury of death, so stark and solemn was Pelleas’s face.</p> - -<p>Before turning their backs and riding away, they stood -and looked long at the place girdled with its quiet waters. -The great cedar slept there with a hood of mist over his -green poll. Like a dream island it seemed, plucked by -magic from some southern sea, fair with all fairness. Anon, -despite their grieving, the last strand cracked, and the wrench -was done. They were holding over vapoury meadows with -their faces to the west.</p> - -<p>Pelleas was very stoical that morning. As a matter of -fact he had been awake all night, couched with misery and -with thoughts that wounded him. All night through the -lagging hours he had tossed and turned, cursing his destiny -in his heart—too bitter for any prayer. What mockery -that he who had passed so long unscathed should fall into -hopeless homage to a nun. Desperate, he left his bed in -the dark, and made the garden a dim cloister until dawn. -Yet in the rack of struggle a clear voice had come to -touch and dominate his being, and day had found him steadfast. -He would hold to the truth, he vowed, do his duty, -and let God judge of the measure of his gratitude. He -could obey, but not with humility; he could suffer, but -not with resignation.</p> - -<p>It was after such a night in the furnace of struggle that -he forged his temper for the days to come. He had thought -to meet love with a stark hardihood, to talk lightly, to go -with unruffled brow while his heart hungered. Nothing -should move him to any emotion. He would meet destiny -like a rock, let surges beat and melt back to the sea. It -was better thus, he thought, than to go moaning for the -moon.</p> - -<p>Such was the determination that met Igraine’s lighter -humour that morning. She could make nothing of the -man as she rode before him. He was bleak, dismal, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -striving to seem contented with their lot, now conjuring -up a withered smile, now lapsing into interminable silence. -His eyes were stern in measure, but there was the old light -in them when she looked deeply, and the staunch flame was -there still. After all, Pelleas’s quiet humour did not trouble -her very vastly. She had her own reading of the riddle, and -a word in her heart that could unlock his trouble. Moreover, -she was more than inclined to put him to such a test -as should bring his manhood to a splendid trial. Perhaps -there was some imp of vanity deep down in her woman’s -heart. At all events, she suited herself to the occasion, and -passed much of the time in thought.</p> - -<p>A ride of some seventy miles lay before them before they -should come to the gates of Winchester. Much of that -region was wild forestland and moor, bleak wastes of scrub -let into woods and gloom. Occasional meadows, and rare -acres of glebe ringing some rude hamlet, broke the shadowy -desolation of the land. Great oaks, gnarled, vast, and -terrible, held giant sway amid the huddled masses of the -lesser folk. Here the boar lurked, and the wolf hunted. -But, for the most, it was dark and calamitous—a ghostly -wilderness almost forsaken by man, and given over to the -savagery of beasts.</p> - -<p>Pelleas and Igraine came upon the occasional trail of the -heathen as they went. A smoking villa, a burnt village -with a dun mist hanging over it like a shroud, and once a -naked man, bruised and bloody, bound to a tree, and shot -through with arrows—such were the few sights that remembered -to them their own need of caution. The wild -country had been raided, and its sparse civilisation scattered -to the woods. The crosses at the cross-roads had been -thrown down and broken. A hermitage they came on in -the woods had been sacked, and in it, to their pity, they -found the body of a dead girl. They halted there to pray -for her, and to give her burial. Pelleas dug a shallow grave -under an oak, and they left her there, and went on their -way with greater caution.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>Not a soul did they meet, yet Pelleas kept under cover -as much as possible for prudence’ sake. He scanned well -every valley or piece of open land before crossing it, and -kept under the wooelshawe whenever the track ran near -trees. Fear of the unknown, and the dear burden that he -bore, kept him alert as a goshawk for possible peril. By -noon, despite sundry halts and reconnoitrings, they had -covered nearly twenty miles, and by the evening of the -same day they had added another score, for Pelleas’s horse -was a powerful beast, and Igraine’s weight cumbered him -little.</p> - -<p>Towards evening it began to rain, a heavy, summer, -windless shower, that made moist rattle in the leaves, and -flooded fragrant freshness into the air. Pelleas gave Igraine -his cloak, and made her wear it, despite her excuses. As -luck would have it, they came upon a little inn built in the -grey shelter of a forsaken quarry. The inn folk were still -there—an old woman, and a brat of a boy, her grandson. -Seeing so great a knight, the beldam was ready enough to -give them lodgings, and what welcome she could muster. -She spread a supper of goat’s milk, brown bread, and venison—not -a bad table for such a hovel. The meal over, -she pointed Pelleas with a leer to a little inner room that -boasted a rough bed, a water-pot, and ewer.</p> - -<p>“We will not disturb ye,” she said; “my lad has foddered -the horse. You would be stirring early?”</p> - -<p>Pelleas gave the woman her orders, and sent Igraine into -the inner room. He made himself a bed of dried bracken -before her door, and laid himself there so that none could -enter save over his body. The woman and the boy slept -on straw in a corner. In this wise they passed the -night.</p> - -<p>On the morrow, after more goat’s milk and brown bread, -with some wild strawberries to smooth it, they sallied early, -and held on their way to Winchester. The shower of the -night had given place to fair weather, and a fresh breeze -blowing from the west. Soon the sun was up in such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -strength that the green woods lost their dankness, and -the leaves their dew. It was the very morning for a -ride.</p> - -<p>If possible, Pelleas was even more gloomy than on the -day before. There was such a level air of dejection over -his whole being that Igraine began to have grave qualms of -conscience, and to suffer the reproaches of a pity that grew -more clamorous hour by hour. None the less, maugre the -man’s sorry humour, there was a certain stealthy joy in it -all, for Pelleas, by his very moodiness, flattered her tenderness -for him not a little. She began to see, in very truth, -how staunch the man was; how he meant to honour to the -letter her imagined vows, though his love grieved like a -winged merlion. His great strength became more and more -apparent. A lighter spirit would have gone with the wind, -or made great moan over the whole business. Pelleas, she -saw, was striving to buckle his sorrow deep in his bosom, -to save her the pain of knowing his distress. There was -nothing little about the man. Palpably he had not succeeded -eminently in his attempt to spur a wounded spirit -into light courtliness and easy hypocrisy. Still, that was -not his fault; it only said the more for his love.</p> - -<p>It was not till noon had passed that Pelleas, with a heavy -courage, constrained himself to speak calmly of their parting. -Even then he was so eager to shape his speech into -mere courtesies, that he overdid the thing, more than betraying -himself to the girl’s quick wit.</p> - -<p>He had questioned her as to her friends in Winchester, -and her purposes for the future. His rambling took somewhat -of a didactic turn as he laboured at his mentorship.</p> - -<p>“There is a fair abbey within the walls,” he said; "I -have heard it nobly spoken of both as to devoutness and -comfort. Their rules are not of such iron caste as at some -other holy houses; the library is good, and there is a well-planted -garden. The abbess is a gracious and kindly woman, -and of high family. I have often had speech with her -myself, and can vouch for her courtliness and benevolence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -Assuredly you may find very safe and peaceful harbour -there."</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled to herself at the callous benignity of his -counsel. He might have been her grandfather by his -manner.</p> - -<p>“You see,” she said naively, “I do not like being caged; -it spoils one’s temper so. I have an uncle in the place—an -uncle by marriage—a man not loved vastly by the proud -folk of my own family. He is a goldsmith by trade, and is -named Radamanth.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas’s quick answer was not prophetic of great favour.</p> - -<p>“Radamanth,” he said—“a gentleman who weighs his -religion by the pound, and is seen much at church. Pardon -my frankness, I had this gold chain of him. He is rich as -Rome, and has high rank among the merchants.”</p> - -<p>“So I had heard,” she answered.</p> - -<p>Pelleas looked into space with a most judicial air.</p> - -<p>“You do not think of going to a secular house,” he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled to herself, and halted a moment in her -answer.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” she said.</p> - -<p>“You—a nun?”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, I do not see why it is necessary for holiness to -be bricked up like a frog in a wall in order to escape corruption. -Why, you are eating your own words.”</p> - -<p>“But you have vows,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I have; and doubts also.”</p> - -<p>“Doubts?” quoth the man, with a quick look, thrilling -inwardly.</p> - -<p>“Doubts, Pelleas, doubts.”</p> - -<p>She caught his eyes with hers, and gave him one long, -deep stare that made him quake as though all that had been -flame within him—that which he had sought to tread to -ashes—had but spread redly into her bosom. There was -no parrying such a message. It smote him blind in a -moment. The spiritual bastions of his soul seemed to reel -and rock as though some chaos had broken on their stones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -There was great outcry in his heart, as of a leaguer when -guards and stormers are at grapple on the walls. “Cross! -Holy Cross!” cried Conscience, in the moil. “Yield ye, -yield ye, Pelleas,” sang a voice more subtle, “yield ye, and -let Love in!” He sat stiff in the saddle, and shut his eyes -to the day, while the fight boiled on within him. Now -Love had him heart and hand; now Honour, blind and -bleeding, struggled in and stemmed the rout. He was won -and lost, lost and won, a dozen times in a minute.</p> - -<p>Recovered somewhat, he made bold to question Igraine -yet further.</p> - -<p>“Tell me your doubts, girl,” he said.</p> - -<p>“They are deep, Pelleas, deep as the sea.”</p> - -<p>“Whence came they, then?”</p> - -<p>“Some great power put them in my heart, and they are -steadfast as death.”</p> - -<p>Again the wild flush of liberty swept Pelleas like wind.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Igraine,” he said, in a gasp.</p> - -<p>She put her fingers gently on his lips. “Patience—patience,” -she said, “and perhaps I will tell them to you, -Pelleas, ere long.”</p> - -<p>Thus much she suffered him to go, and no further. -Her quick instinct had read him nearly to the “Explicit,” -and there she halted, content for an hour or a day. Her -love was singing like a lark in the blue. She beamed on -the man in spirit streams of pride and tumultuous tenderness. -How she would comfort him in the end! He should -carry her into Winchester on his horse, and she would lodge -there, but not at the great inn that harboured souls for -heaven. She would have the bow and the torch for her -signs, and possibly the Church might serve her in other -fashion. Like a lotus eater, she dallied with all these -dreams in her heart.</p> - -<p>With the sun low in the west, Pelleas and Igraine were -still three leagues or so from Winchester. The day was -passing gloriously, with the radiant acolytes of evening -swinging their jasper censers in the sky. The two were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -riding on a pine-crowned ridge, and the stretch of wilderness -beyond seemed wrapped in one mysterious blaze of -smoking gold. Hills and woods were glittering shadows, -like spirit things in a spirit atmosphere. The west was a -great curtain of transcendent gold. Pelleas and Igraine -could not look at it without great wonder.</p> - -<p>Presently they came to a little glade, green and quiet, -with a clear pool in it ringed round with rushes. A lush -cushion of grass and moss swept from the water to the bases -of the trees. It was as quaint and sweet a nook as they had -passed that day. The place, with its solitude and stillness, -pleased Igraine very greatly.</p> - -<p>“What say you, Pelleas,” she said, “let us off-saddle, and -harbour here the night. This little refuge will serve us -more kindly than a ride in the dark to Winchester.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas looked round about him, knelt for once without -struggle to his own inmost wishes, and agreed with Igraine.</p> - -<p>“Very good,” he said. “I can build you a bower to -sleep in. There are hazels yonder—just the stuff for a -booth. The water in the pool there looks sweet enough to -drink, and we have ample in the cloth for a supper.”</p> - -<p>Igraine gave him no more leisure to moralise on such -trifles. She sprang down to the cushiony turf, and took his -horse by the bridle.</p> - -<p>“I will be master again for once, Pelleas,” she said, -“since, well of your wound, you have played the tyrant. -At least you shall obey me to-night.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas, half in a stupor, gave up fighting his own heart -for a while, and fell in with Igraine’s humour. She was -strangely full of smiles and quiet glances; her eyes would -meet his, flash, thrill him, and then evade his soul with sudden -mischief. She tethered his horse for him, and then, -making him sit down under a tree, she began to unarm him, -kneeling confidently by his side. Her fingers lingered over-long -on the buckles. When she lifted off his helmet, her hands -touched his face and forehead, and set him blushing like a -boy. The very nearness of her—her breath, her dress, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -lips and eyes so near to his—made him like so much wax—passive, -obedient, yet red as fire.</p> - -<p>When she had ended her task, she gave him his naked -sword and her orders.</p> - -<p>“Now you may cut me hazels for a bower, Pelleas,” she -said. “I will have it here under this tree where the moss -is soft and dry. This summer night one could sleep under -the stars and never feel the dew.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas rose up and did her bidding. The green boughs -were ready to his great sword, as it gleamed and glimmered -in the wizard light. He cut two forked stakes, and set -them upright in the ground, with a pole between them. -Then he built up branches about this centrepiece till the -whole was roofed and walled with shelving green; he spread -his red cloak therein for a carpet. Igraine sat and watched -his labour. Life seemed to have rushed nearly to its zenith, -and her thoughts were soaring in regions of gold.</p> - -<p>The black moth night had come into the sky with his -golden-spotted wings all spread. It was time for idyllic -love, pure looks, and the touch of hands. The billowy -bosoms of the trees rolled sombrously above, and the little -pool was like a wizard’s glass, black and deep with sheeny -mysteries.</p> - -<p>Igraine beckoned Pelleas to a seat on the grass bank at -her feet when he had finished. There was a light on her -face that the man had not seen before, a kind of quiet rapture, -a veil of exultation, as though her maidenhood were -flowering gold under a net of pinkest satin. She had -loosened her hair in straight streams upon her shoulders, -and her habit lay open to the very base of her shapely -throat. She sat there and looked at him, with hands clasped -in her lap, and her grey gown rising and falling markedly -as she breathed. It seemed to Pelleas that there was nothing -in the whole universe save twilight, two eyes, a stirring -bosom, and two wistful lips.</p> - -<p>They had been speaking of their ride, and of the many -strange things that had befallen them during their adven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>tures -together. Igraine had waxed strangely tender in her -talk, and had spoken subtle bodeful words that meant much -at such a season. She was flinging bonds about Pelleas -that made him exult and suffer. His heart seemed great -within him and ready to break, for the blood that bubbled -and yearned in it in glorious anguish.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow,” said the girl, “we enter Winchester, and -I have known you, Pelleas, two weeks and some few hours -more. You seem to have been in my life many years.”</p> - -<p>Words flooded into Pelleas’s heart, and stifled all struggle -for a moment. He was breathing like a hunted thing.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“I never lived till our lives were joined.”</p> - -<p>Igraine gave a little gasp, and bent over him suddenly, -her eyes aglow, her hair falling down into his face.</p> - -<p>“Kiss me, Pelleas,” she said; “in the name of God, -kiss me.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas gave a great groan.</p> - -<p>“Girl, I dare not.”</p> - -<p>“You dare.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine?”</p> - -<p>She bent herself till her lips were over his, and both their -heads were clouded in her hair. Her eyes glimmered, her -breath beat on his, he saw the whiteness of her teeth between -her half-closed lips.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said again, half in a groan.</p> - -<p>She did not answer him, but simply took his face between -her hands and looked into his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Coward, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>Power seemed to go from the man in a moment. He -put his hands upon her shoulders and looked at her as in a -splendid dream. Her face was beautifully peevish, and -there lurked an infinite hunger on her lips. Then with a -great woe in his heart he drew her face down to his and -kissed her. There was such sweet pain in the grand despair -of it all that he felt faint for strength of loving. Before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -he had gathered breath, Igraine had slipped away from him -and was in the bower.</p> - -<p>“Till dawn, Pelleas, till dawn,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“Go and sleep, Pelleas; I will talk to you on the morrow.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>X</h3> -</div> - - -<p>With the girl’s face lost behind the green eaves of the -bower, Pelleas fell of a sudden into great darkness of soul. -It was as though the moon had passed behind a cloud, and -left him agrope in the woods without light and without -guide. Igraine had bidden him to go and sleep. She might -as well have told the sea to be still in the lap of the wind.</p> - -<p>Going aside towards the mouth of the glade so that he -might not disturb the girl, he began to tread the grass -between brake and brake, while he held parley with his -turbulent and seething thoughts. What was Igraine to be -to him on the morrow? She had broken the back of his -determination, and beaten down his strength in those grand -moments of sudden passion. The rich June of her beauty -was still on his sight. Her grace, her infinite tenderness, -the purity of her, were all set about his soul like angels round -a dreamer’s bed. She was light and darkness, sound and -silence; she had the round world in her red heart, and the -stars seemed to go about her in companies of gold. Never -had Pelleas thought idolatry so smooth and swift a sin. He -had never believed that love in so brief a space could make -such wrack of madness in a hale and healthy body.</p> - -<p>As he walked under the giant limbs of the great trees he -tried to grapple the thing with reason, to untangle this knot -by natural logic. These were the bleak facts, and they -stood up like white headstones in the night. He loved -Igraine, and Igraine he knew loved him in turn; but Igraine -was a nun despite her womanliness, and there lay the core -of the whole matter. If he obeyed love he must disgrace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -the girl with broken vows, for like a staunchly taught Christian -of somewhat stern and primitive mould he stood in -honest awe of things spiritual and ecclesiastic. His very -love for the girl made him fearful of in any way dishonouring -her. If he held to the trite observations of a prompted -conscience, then he must forswear love, and leave Igraine to -the miserable celibacy of the Church, that chrysalid state that -never burgeons into the fuller, fairer life of perfect womanhood. -These were the two forces that held him shaken in -the balance.</p> - -<p>Long while he went east and west under the trees with -the old gloom flooding back like thunder. His whole thought -seemed warped into bitterness; the blatant mockery of it -all grinned and screamed like a harpy. Again with clarion -cry and rosy flush of banners love stormed in and held law -at death’s door for a season. Again came the inevitable -repulse, the moaning lapse of desire, while the black banner -of the Church flapped once more over him in dismal sanctity. -Pelleas found no shred of peace wheresoever he looked. -Who has not learnt that when anarchy is in the heart, the -whole world seems out of gear?</p> - -<p>As the night passed, love seemed to faint and wax pale -before an ever-darkening visage that declared despair. A -sense of inevitable gloom seemed to weigh down desire, and -to drown hope in misery. Pelleas grew calmer at heart, -though his thoughts were no less woeful. Love’s voice, -stifled and wistful, came like an elfin voice through woods, -while the cry of conscience was like the thundering surge -of the wind through trees. He grew less restless, more -apathetic. Coming to a halt he leant against an oak’s bossy -trunk, and stood motionless as in a stupor for an hour or -more. The blight of soul-sickness was on him, and he was -like one dazed by a great fever.</p> - -<p>Presently he went back slowly to Igraine’s shelter of -boughs, and stood near it—thinking. Then he dropped on -his hands and knees, crept up close, and parting the leaves -looked in on her as she slept, wrapped in his red cloak. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -could see her face indistinctly white in a wealth of shadows; -he could hear her breathing. Then he crept away again -like a wounded thing, and lay for a time with his face in -his arms, grieving without a sound.</p> - -<p>Again, a second time, he crept to the bower, and listened -there on his knees. Turning his face to the night he tried -to pray, vainly indeed, for his heart seemed dumb. A corner -of Igraine’s gown lay near his hands at the entry; he went -down on hands and knees and kissed it. Then he took -the little gold cross from his bosom, the cross Morgan had -held, and laid it on the grass at Igraine’s feet. He also put -a purse with a few gold coins in it beside the cross. When -he had done this he crept away mutely, and began to arm in -silence.</p> - -<p>Once, as he was buckling on his casque, he thought -he heard Igraine stirring. He kept very still, with a -sudden, wild wish in his heart that she would wake and -save him, but the sound proved nothing. He finished -buckling on his harness, girded his sword, and hung his -shield about his neck. Then he went to the little pool, -and, kneeling down, dashed water in his face, and drank -from his palms. He felt faint and bruised after the night’s -battle.</p> - -<p>Once more he went and stood by the hazel shelter as -though for a last leave-taking before the strong wrench -came. The little pavilion of leaves seemed to hold all hope -and human joy in its narrow compass. Pelleas stood and -took long leave of the girl in his heart. He wished her all -the fair fortune he could think of, prayed for her as well as -he could in a broken, wounded way, and then with a great -sob he turned and left her sleeping. His black horse was -tethered not far away. As he went he staggered, and -seemed blind for a moment. He soon had the girths -tightened, and was in the saddle, riding away dry-eyed and -broken-souled into the night.</p> - -<p>Presently the dawn came, redly, gloriously, like a marriage -pageant. Igraine, reft from dreams, woke with a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -shiver of joy in her pavilion of green boughs. She lay still -awhile, and let her thoughts dance like the motes in the -shimmer of sunlight that stole in between the branches. -The day seemed warm and glorious, for that morning was -she not to tell Pelleas of the secret she had kept from him -so many days, the words she had hoarded in her heart like -love? It would be a fitting end, she thought, to the rare -novitiate each had passed in the heart of the other.</p> - -<p>Hearing no stir about her shelter, she thought Pelleas -asleep, and peeped out presently between the boughs to bid -him wake. Glade and pool lay peacefully in green and -silver, but she saw no knight sleeping, no war-horse standing -under the trees. Starting up, the gold cross glinting on -the grass, with the purse beside it, appealed her with mute -tragedy. She caught them up, trembling, and with sudden -fear in her heart she went out into the glade and searched -from brake to brake. It was barren as her joy. Pelleas -had gone.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>BOOK II</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">GORLOIS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>I</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Radamanth the goldsmith was held in no little honour -and esteem by the townsfolk of Winchester. Even the -market women and the tavern loungers stood aside for him -in the street as he made his stately march in black robe and -chain of gold. He was a man possessed of those outward -virtues so well suited to commend a character to the favour -of the world. He was venerable, rich, and much given to -charity. His coffers were often open to infirmary and -church; his house near the market square was as richly -furnished as any noble’s, and he gave good dinners. No -man in Winchester had a finer aptitude for pleasing all -classes. He was smooth and intelligent to the rich, bland -and neighbourly to his equals, quite a father to the poor, and -moreover he had no wife. Every Sabbath he went at the -head of his household to the great basilica church in the -chief square, worshipped and did alms as a rich merchant -should.</p> - -<p>Disinterestedness is a somewhat unique virtue, and it -must not be supposed that Radamanth lived with his eye on -eternity alone. It must be confessed that self-interest was -often the dial of his philanthropy, and expediency to him -the touchstone of action. Nothing furthers commerce better -than a pious and merciful reputation, and Radamanth -knew the inestimable value of a solid and goodly exterior. -Wise in his generation, he nailed the Cross to his door, and -plied his balances prosperously behind the counter.</p> - -<p>Thus when the girl Igraine trudged sad-eyed into -Winchester in her gown of grey, and appeared before him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -as a homeless child of the Church, he took her in like the -good uncle of the fairy tale, and proffered her his house for -home. Possibly he pitied her for her plight after the burning -of Avangel, for she seemed much cast down in mind -and very deserving of a kinsman’s proper comfort. Then -she was of noble family, a coincidence that no doubt -weighed heavily in Radamanth’s opinion. It was good to -have so much breeding in the house, to be able to say with a -smirk to his friends and neighbours, “My niece, the daughter -of Malgo, Lord of the Redlands, slain and plundered of -the heathen in Kent.” Igraine brought quite a lustre into -Radamanth’s home. He beamed on her with sleek pride -and satisfaction, gave her rich stuffs for dress, a goodly -chamber, and a little Silurian maid to wait. Moreover, he -gave his one child and daughter Lilith a grave lecture on -sisterly companionship, advised her to study Igraine’s gentle -manners, and to profit by her aristocratic and educated influence. -Luckily Lilith was a quiet girl, not given to -jealousy or much self-trust, and Igraine found as warm a -welcome as her unhappy heart could wish.</p> - -<p>No few days had passed since that dawn on the hill above -Winchester when Igraine had started up from under the -green boughs to find Pelleas gone. They had been days of -keen trouble to the girl. Often and often had she hated -herself for her vain delay, her over-tender procrastination, -that had brought misery in place of joy. The past was now -a wounded dream to her, ripe and beautiful, yet fruited with -such mute pain as only a woman’s heart can feel. Igraine -had conjured up love like some Eastern house of magic, only -to see its domes faint goldly into a gloom of night. She -felt as much for Pelleas as for herself, and there was a blight -upon her that seemed as though it could never pass. She -was not a woman given to tears. Her trouble seemed to -live in her eyes with pride, and to stiffen her stately throat -into a pillar of rebellious strength.</p> - -<p>Not a word, not a sign had come to her of Pelleas. -Taken into Radamanth’s house, served, petted, flattered, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -went drearily through its daily round, sat at its board, talked -with the guestfolk, while hope waited wide-eyed in her -heart and kept her brave. Pelleas had told her that he was -for Winchester, and assuredly, she thought, she might find -him and confess all. She often kept watch hour by hour at -her window overlooking the street. In her walks she had -a glance for almost every man who passed on foot or horseback, -till she grew almost ashamed of herself, and feared for -her modesty. Her eyes always hungered for a red shield -and harness, a black horse, a face grieving in dark reserve -and silence. At night she was often quite a child in herself. -She would take the little gold cross from her bosom and -brood over it. She even found herself whispering to the -man as she lay in bed, and stretching out her arms to him -in the dark as in pain. For all her pride and courage she -was often bowed down and broken when no one was near -to see.</p> - -<p>It was not long before she found a confidant to befriend -her in her distress of heart. Lilith, the goldsmith’s daughter, -had great brown eyes, soft and very gentle; her face was -wistful and white under her straightly combed hair; she was -a quiet girl, timid, but very thoughtful for others. The -two appealed each other by contrast. Lilith had soon read -trouble in Igraine’s eyes, and had nestled to her in soul, -ready with many little kindnesses that were like dew in a -dry season. Igraine unbent to her, and suffered herself to -be enfolded by the other’s sympathy.</p> - -<p>One day she told her the whole distressful tale. It was -in the garden behind the house, a green and pleasant place -opening on the river, and flanked with stone. The two -were in an arbour framed of laurels, its floor mosaicked with -quaint tiles. Igraine sat on the bench with Lilith on a stool -at her feet. They were both sad, for Lilith was a girl -whose heart answered strongly to any tale of unhappy mood. -Igraine had made mere truth of the matter, neither justifying -nor embellishing. Her clear bleak words were the more -pathetic for their very simpleness. Lilith had been crying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -softly to herself. Her brown eyes were very misty when she -turned her white face to Igraine’s with a grievous little sigh.</p> - -<p>“What can I say to you?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” said Igraine, taking her hands and smiling -through misery.</p> - -<p>“I have never the words I wish for, and when I feel most -I can say little.”</p> - -<p>“You understand; that is enough for me.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said Lilith, with a fine blush and a shy look, “I -think I can feel for you, Igraine, almost to the full, though -I seem such an Agnes. I am woman enough to have -learnt something that means all to a girl. I am very sad -for your sake.”</p> - -<p>“Child.”</p> - -<p>“I will try to comfort you.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s eyes burned. She kissed Lilith on the lips and -was mute. For a while they sat with their arms about each -other, not daring to look into each other’s eyes. Then the -girl kissed Igraine’s cheek, and touched her hair with her -slim fingers.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I can help you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Help me?”</p> - -<p>Lilith flushed, and spoke very quickly.</p> - -<p>“Yes—to find Pelleas. I tell you what I will do. I will -send a friend of mine to question all the guards at the gates -whether they have seen such a one as you have described -ride in.”</p> - -<p>Igraine hugged the girl.</p> - -<p>“And then you say this Pelleas was in the King’s service. -I have never heard of a knight so named; but there are so -many, and I hear only gossip. I know a girl in the King’s -household. I will go and ask her whether she knows of a -tall, dark knight whose colour is red, who rides a black horse, -and is named Pelleas. You do not know how much I may -not learn from her. I feel wise already.”</p> - -<p>Igraine plucked up heart and spirit. She felt sorry that -she had not spoken of her trouble to Lilith before, for she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -had lost many days trusting to her own eyes and her little -knowledge of the town. She kissed the girl again, and -almost laughed. Then in a flash she remembered a speech -of Pelleas’s which she had forgotten till that moment.</p> - -<p>“Fool that I am,” she said; “the very chain he wore he -had it from your father, and here in my bosom I have the -little cross that nigh lost him his life. Surely this may help -us in some measure.”</p> - -<p>Lilith looked at the cross that Igraine had taken from -under her tunic, where it hung by a little chain about her -neck.</p> - -<p>“We will show it to my father,” said the girl, “and ask -him thereof. He may have record of such a chain, and to -whom it was sold. Who knows? Come, Igraine, we will -show it him after supper if you wish.”</p> - -<p>And again Igraine kissed her.</p> - -<p>It was Radamanth’s custom, after the business of the day -had been capped by an honest supper, to sit in his parlour -and drink wine with certain of his friends. He had a particular -gossip, an old fellow named Eudol, who had been a -merchant in his time, and had retired with some wealth. -These two would spend many an evening together over their -wine, taking enough to make their tongues wag, but never -exceeding the decent warmth of moderation. Eudol was a -lean old gentleman with a white beard and a most patriarchal -manner. He was much of a woman’s creature, and loved a -pretty face and a plump figure, and he would father any -wench who came in his way with a benignity that often -made him odious. He had a soft voice, and a sleek, silken -way with him that made folk think him the most tender-souled -creature imaginable.</p> - -<p>These two were at their wine together when Lilith and -Igraine went in to them that evening. Radamanth since -his spouse’s death had grown as much a father as trade and -the getting of gold permitted. In his selfish, matter-of-fact -way he was fond of this timid, brown-eyed creature he called -daughter. His affections boasted more of science than of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -sentiment. Lilith, unusually bold, went and sat on the -arm of his chair, and patted his face in a half-shy, half-mischievous -fashion. Eudol laughed, and shook his head with -a critical look at Igraine.</p> - -<p>“More begging,” quoth he. “So, cousin Igraine, you -look fresh as a yellow rose in the sun.”</p> - -<p>Igraine laughed, and sat down to talk to him, while -Lilith questioned her father. The goldsmith bore his -daughter’s caresses with a sublime and patient resignation. -She began to tell him about the chain, keeping Igraine and -her tale wholly in the background. When she had said -enough for the sake of explanation, she showed her father -the cross, and waited his words.</p> - -<p>Radamanth fingered it, turned it this way and that, and -found his own mark thereon.</p> - -<p>“I wrought and sold three such chains as you describe,” -he said; “but what is such a chain to you, child, and whence -came this cross?”</p> - -<p>Lilith flushed, hesitated, and glanced at Igraine.</p> - -<p>“The cross is mine,” quoth the latter.</p> - -<p>Radamanth eyed her as though he were not a little -desirous of questioning her further, but there was a very -palpable coldness on his niece’s face that forbade any such -curiosity. He had a most hearty respect for the girl’s pride, -and never dreamt of any degree of tyranny that might seem -vulgarly plebeian to her more noble notions. The remembrance -of her parentage and estate had always a most -emollient effect upon his mind.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” he said, “I’ll meddle discreetly, and go no -further than I am asked.”</p> - -<p>Eudol winked at the company at large.</p> - -<p>“Never ask a lady an uncomfortable question,” quoth he.</p> - -<p>Lilith beamed at him shyly.</p> - -<p>“You are very wise,” she said.</p> - -<p>Radamanth rose from his chair, and going to a great -press took a book from it. He set the book on the table, -and after much turning of pages, discovered the record that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -he sought. Following the scrawling lines with his finger, -he read aloud from the ledger:</p> - -<p>“Gold chain of special weight, large links, two gold -crosses pendant over either breast. Of such three were -wrought and sold.</p> - -<p>“The first to Bedivere, knight of the King’s guard.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nota bene</i>—unpaid for.”</p> - -<p>Eudol set up a sudden brisk cackle.</p> - -<p>“The man, the very man, I’ll swear.”</p> - -<p>Igraine gave him a look that made his mouth close like a -trap and his body stiffen in his chair. Radamanth continued -his reading.</p> - -<p>“The second chain was sold to John of Glastonbury. -The third to the most noble Uther, Prince of Britain.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth closed the book, and returned it to the -press—orderly even in trifles. Lilith and Igraine had -exchanged a mute look that meant everything. Slipping -away without a word to either man, they went to Igraine’s -bedroom, a great chamber hung with heavy red hangings -and richly garnished. A carved bed stood in the centre. -The two girls sat on it and stared into each other’s eyes. -Igraine was breathing fast, and her face was pale.</p> - -<p>“Know you Bedivere?” she said.</p> - -<p>Lilith shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Or John of Glastonbury?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Or Uther?”</p> - -<p>Lilith’s brown eyes brightened.</p> - -<p>“Noble Uther I have often seen,” she said, “riding -through Winchester on a black horse. A dark man, and -sad-looking. He would be much like your Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>Igraine was very white. There seemed a race of -thoughts in her as she played the statue with her eyes at -gaze, and her lips drawn into a line of red. Her hands -hung limply over the edge of the bed, and she seemed -stiffened into musings. Lilith sidled close to her, and put -her warm arms round her neck, her soft cheek to Igraine’s.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We may learn yet,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Uther,” said Igraine as in a dream.</p> - -<p>“Can it be?”</p> - -<p>Igraine drew a long breath and sighed like one waking.</p> - -<p>“I must see him,” was all she said.</p> - -<p>Lilith kissed her.</p> - -<p>“I will go to the King’s house to-morrow,” she said; “the -girl may tell us something of use. I have heard it said -that Uther has not been in Winchester for many a week. -Ah, Igraine, if it should be he.”</p> - -<p>They looked deep in each other’s eyes, and smiled as -only women can smile when their hearts are fast in -sympathy. Then they went to bed in Igraine’s bed, and -slept the night through in each other’s arms.</p> - -<p>Early next day they went together to the King’s house -that stood by the gardens and the river. At the kitchen -quarters Lilith inquired for the girl who served as a maid in -the household. Being constrained by a most polite lackey, -she went in to see the woman, while Igraine kept her -pride and herself in the porch, and watched the people go -by in the street. Presently Lilith came out again with a -frown on her mild face, and her brown eyes troubled. She -took Igraine aside into the gardens that lined the great -highway skirting the palace, and led her to where a -fountain played in the sun, and stone seats ringed a quiet -pool. White pigeons were there, coquetting and sweeping -the ground with their spread tails, their low cooing mingling -with the musical plashing of the water. An old beggar -woman sat hunched in a corner, and three or four children -were feeding the fish in the pool. All about them the -gardens were thickly shadowed with great trees and -glistening lusty laurels.</p> - -<p>Igraine looked into Lilith’s face.</p> - -<p>“I see no news in your eyes,” she said.</p> - -<p>Lilith brooded at the pool and the children, and seemed -disquieted, even angry.</p> - -<p>“I have learnt little, Igraine,” she said, "and am dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>appointed. -I will tell you how it was. The old wretch -who oversees the women found me talking with the girl -Gwenith, read me a sermon on interfering with household -work, scolded me for a young gossip, and had me packed off -like a beggar."</p> - -<p>“What a harridan!”</p> - -<p>“I have learnt a little.”</p> - -<p>“Quick!—I thirst.”</p> - -<p>Lilith hurried on for sympathy.</p> - -<p>“The girl has never heard of a knight named Pelleas,” -she said, “and there are so many dark men about Court that -your description was little guide. As for Uther, no one -knows where he is at present. Folk are not disquieted, for -he seems to be ever riding away into the woods on adventure. -So much gossip could read me.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s face clouded.</p> - -<p>“Did you ask of Bedivere?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; a silly, vain fellow, with a red beard and sandy -hair.”</p> - -<p>“And John of Glastonbury?”</p> - -<p>“Gwenith could tell me nothing of that man. Dame -Martha caught us talking, and it was then she scolded—the -ugly, red-faced old hen. She said”—and Lilith blushed—“that -I was an idle, silly hussy to gad and gossip after -Court gentlemen. Now that wasn’t fair, was it, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear. I should like to have a talk with Dame -Martha.”</p> - -<p>Lilith rose to the notion.</p> - -<p>“She would never scold you, Igraine. You look far too -stately.”</p> - -<p>“Simpleton! a scold would spatter Gabriel.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if I were Gabriel I know what I should do to -Dame Martha.”</p> - -<p>“You quiet-faced thing—why, you are quite a vixen -after all!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, was there ever a woman without a -temper?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, dear, and I wouldn’t give a button for her -either.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as they sat and talked, the beggar woman -lifted up her head to listen, and the children turned from -feeding the fish in querulous, childish wonder. There -was something strange on the wind. Igraine and Lilith -heard a gradual sound rising afar off over the city—a noise -as of men shouting, a noise that waxed and waned like the -roar of surges on a beach. It grew—rushed nearer like a -storm through trees,—deep, sonorous, triumphant. The -girls sat mute a moment, and looked at each other in -conjecture.</p> - -<p>“What can it be?”</p> - -<p>“God knows!”</p> - -<p>“The heathen?”</p> - -<p>“Not that shout.”</p> - -<p>“Then—Uther.”</p> - -<p>Igraine caught a deep breath.</p> - -<p>“Listen! it comes nearer. Come away, I must see.”</p> - -<p>Passing through the gardens they came again to the -highway skirting the palace. Men, women, brats, monks, -all Christendom, seemed swarming up from the city, and -there was already a great throng in the street. The breeze -of shouting came nearer each moment. Igraine climbed -the pediment of a statue that rose above the balustrading -of the gardens; the ledge gave room to both Lilith and -herself. Together they stood and looked down on the -crowd that began to swarm at their feet—soldiers, nobles, -dirty craftsmen, courtezans, fat housewives, churchmen—their -small prides lost in one common curiousness. The -street seemed mosaicked with colour. The broken words -and cries of the crowd were flung up to Igraine like so -much foam.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois, say you?”</p> - -<p>“Noble Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand heathen.”</p> - -<p>“What—all slain!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Under the walls of Anderida.”</p> - -<p>“Come to my house and I will give you red wine, and -play to you on the cithern.”</p> - -<p>“Thank the Virgin.”</p> - -<p>“Great Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“If it is true I’ll burn twenty candles.”</p> - -<p>“Give over trampling me.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand heathen.”</p> - -<p>“Ho! there—some rogue’s thieved my purse.”</p> - -<p>“They are coming.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s shout for him.”</p> - -<p>“Great Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>Up between the stone fronts of the palace and the -dwindling houses and the rolling green of the gardens -came a blaze of gold and purple, of white, green, blue, and -scarlet, a gross glare of steel thundered on with the tramp -of men and the cry of many voices. A river of armour -seemed to flow with a brazen magnificence between the -innumerable heads of the crowd. Clarions were braying, -banneroles adance. The sun flashed on helmet and shield, -and made a brave blaze on the flanks of the great serpent -of war as it swayed through the thundering street, arrogant, -triumphant, glorious.</p> - -<p>Well in the van rode a knight on a great white horse. -His armour was all of gold, his trappings white with gold -borders, and stars of gold scattered thereon. His baldric -was set with jasper, his sword and scabbard marvellous with -beryl and sardonyx. A coronet gemmed with one great -ruby circled his casque, and shot red gleams at the archer -sun.</p> - -<p>Behind him came a veritable grove of spears,—lusty -knights, their saddles weighed down with the spoil of -battle, with torque, bracelet, sword, and axe. Further yet -came pikemen, mass on mass, bearing each on his spear-point -a heathen head,—pageant of leers, frowns, scowls of red -wrath, wild eyes, blood, and blood-tangled hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - -<p>The great knight on the white horse rode with a certain -splendid arrogance, and his eyes were full of fire under the -arch of his casque. It was easy to see that the noise and -pomp were like wine to him, and that his pride blazed like -a beacon in a wind.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois, great Gorlois!” thundered the crowd.</p> - -<p>By the palace there was such a press that the white -horse came to a halt, hemmed in by a sea of vociferous -faces. Igraine, in a gown of violet, was leaning from her -statue, and looking at Gorlois. Her glance seemed to -magnetise him, for he turned and stared full at the girl as -she stood slightly above him in the glory of her beauty and -her pride.</p> - -<p>Long looked Gorlois, like a man smitten with a sudden -charm. Then he wrenched the coronet from his casque, -and spurring his horse through the crowd, rode close to the -statue whose knees were clasped by Igraine’s arm. It was -the statue of Fame crowned by Love with a wreath of -laurels. So, Gorlois, with head bowed, held up the coronet -on the cross of his sword, and gave Igraine his glory.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Splendid in arms, magnificent in fortune, Gorlois of -Cornwall held high place in the war lore and romances of -the green isle of Britain. Ask any pikeman or gallowglass -whose crest he would have advance in the van in the tough -tussle of a charge home, and he would tell you of Gorlois -or of Uther. Question any merchant as to the most -prolific purse in the kingdom, and he would beam seraphically -and talk to you of Gorlois. So much for the man’s -reputation.</p> - -<p>Physically he was tall, big-chested, lean-limbed, with -a square jaw and eyes that shone ever alert, as though -watching a knife in an enemy’s hand. You could read the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -swift, soaring, masterful spirit of him in the bleak lines of -his handsome face, and the soldierly carriage of his head. -He was quick as a hawk, supple and springy as a willow, -keen and eager in his action as a born fighter should be. -When you saw him move, the lean hard fibre of him seemed -as tense and tough as the string of a five-foot bow. Though -he might seem to the eye all impulse, there was a leopard -reason in him that made him the more formidable. He was -no mere fighting machine—rather a man of brain and sinew -whose cunning went far to back his strength.</p> - -<p>Meliograunt ruled in Cornwall in those days, Meliograunt -who was to rear young Tristram for the plaguing of -Mark, and the love of the fair Isoult. Gorlois was Meliograunt’s -nephew, holding many castles, woods, and wild -coastlands towards Lyonesse, lording it also over other lands -in Britain, houses in London and Winchester, and some -mountainous regions in Gore, where Urience held sway. -Mordaunt had been his father, a great knight who had done -many brave deeds in his day. His grandsire, Gravaine, -famed for his wisdom, had fought abroad and died in battle. -Gorlois had ancestry enough to breed worship in him, and -after Ambrosius and black Uther he held undoubted precedence -of all knights in Britain.</p> - -<p>Unblemished fortune is not always the nurse best suited -to the dandling of a man’s mind. It had been so with -Gorlois. He was one of those beings whose life seemed to -promise nothing but triumphal processions and perpetual -bays of victory. Selfishness is such a glittering garment -that it needs a great light to reveal its true texture to the -wearer. Flattered, praised, obeyed, bent to, it became as -natural for Gorlois to expect the homage of circumstance -as to look for the obedience of his cook. There was much -that was Greek about him in the worst sense, a certain -sensuous brilliancy that aimed at making life a surfeit of -rare sensations, with an infinite indifference for the hearts of -others. Gorlois liked to see life swinging round him like a -dance while he stood pedestalled in the centre, an earthly Jove.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<p>The man had given Igraine his coronet on the cross of -his great sword. That meant much for Gorlois. He was -not a gentleman who had need to trouble his wits about -women, for there were many enough ready to ogle their -eyes out in his service. Yet in his keen way he had conceived -a strong liking for the girl’s face. A species of -sudden admiration had leapt out on him, and brought him -in some wonder to a realisation of the power of a pair of -eyes. Igraine was such a one as would attract the man. -In the first place she was very fair to look upon, a point of -some importance. She was tall, big of body, and built for -grace and strength, things pleasant to Gorlois’s humour. -Above all she was proud and implacable, no giggling franion -hardly worth the kissing, and Gorlois had grown past the first -blush of experiences of heart. He was sage enough to know -that a woman lightly won is often soon lost, or not worth -the winning. Let a man’s soul sweat in the taming of her, -and there is some chance of his making an honest bargain.</p> - -<p>Moreover, like many a man of restless, soaring spirit, -Gorlois ever hungered for romance, and the mysterious -discomforts and satisfactions that hedge the way into a -woman’s bosom. Certain men are never happy unless they -have the firebrand of love making red stir for them in heart -and body. Of some such stuff was Gorlois. He had a -soul that doted on nights spent at a window under the moon. -All the thousand distractions, the infinite yet atomic cares, -the logical sweats of reasoning were particularly pleasant to -his fancy. He loved the colour, the exultation, the heroism, -the desperate tenderness of it all. Battle, effort, ambition, -lost half their sting for Gorlois when there was no woman -in the coil.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s home was soon known to him, thanks to the apt -vigilance of a certain page much in favour with Gorlois -for mischief and cunning. The boy had Igraine’s habits to -perfection in a week or two. By making love to the girl -who served her, he put himself into the way of getting almost -any tidings he required. Every morning he would slip out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -early, meet Igraine’s girl, Isolde, under the shadow of the -garden-wall, and, under cover of a kiss, he would inquire -what her mistress might be doing that day, pretending, of -course, that his interest on such a subject merely arose from -his desire to have Igraine out of the way, and her girl free. -The lad quite enjoyed the game, Isolde being a giggling, -black-eyed wench, who loved mischief. Of course he -ended by falling in love with the reckless earnestness of a -boy, but that kept him well to business. Betimes he would -run home and tell his master where Igraine would probably -be seen that day.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s proud face began to come into the girl’s life -at every turn. Igraine would see him often from her -window as he rode by on his white horse, looking up, and -very eager to greet her. He would pass her in the aisles of -the great basilica in the market, walking in gold and scarlet, -amid silks and cloths from the East, vases, armour, skins of -the tiger and camelopard, flowers, fruit, wine, and all -manner of merchandise. On the river which ran by the -end of Radamanth’s garden his barge often swept past with -the noise of oars and music, and a gleam of gold over the -hurrying water. In the orchards without the walls his face -would come suddenly upon her through a mist of green, -and she would be conscious of his eyes and the nearness of -his stride.</p> - -<p>One Sunday morning she found him laving his hands in -the labrum beside her before entering the long narthex -porch of the church, and he was near her all through the -service, watching her furtively, noting the graceful curves -of her figure as she knelt, the profusion of her hair, a -thousand little things that are much to a man. When the -sacrament was given, he knelt close beside her, and touched -the cup where her lips had been. Apparently Gorlois was -content for a while with the rich delight of gazing. His -bearing was courteous enough, and he never exposed her -to any public rudeness that could warrant her in resenting -his persistent, though distant, homage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>The great baths of Winchester stood in a little hollow -near the southern gate of the city, a white pile of stone set -about with quiet gardens. They had fallen into some decay -and disrepute, but still in the summer-time girls and men -of the richer classes went thither to bathe. On sunny -mornings, in the great marble bath of the women, girls -would flash their white limbs, and sport like Naiads in the -laughing water. Afterwards they would have their hair -dressed and perfumed, and then go to sun themselves in -the rose-walks like eastern odalisques. The music of flute -and cithern might often be heard in the grass-grown peristyles. -The library attached to the place had once boasted -many scrolls and tomes, but it had long ago been pillaged -by the monks of the great abbey.</p> - -<p>Lilith had taken Igraine there more than once. One -morning Igraine had bathed, tied her hair, and had passed -out into the garden alone. The place was of some size, -boasting twenty acres or more, full of winding paths, grass -glades, and knolls of bushy shrubs, where one might lose -one’s self as soon as think. Children often played hide-and-seek -there, and idling up some green walk you might catch -a giggling girl, with hair flying, bursting out of some thicket -with a lad in full chase. Or in some shady lawn you might -come upon a company of children dancing as solemnly as -little elves to the sound of a pipe.</p> - -<p>Nooks and grass walks were almost deserted at this hour, -the gardens being most favoured towards evening, when -the day was marked by a deepening discretion. Igraine -had no purpose in the place. She knew that Lilith was -somewhere within its bounds. She also knew that Lilith -had no particular need of her that morning, and as the day -was hot and slothful, Igraine’s only ambition was to waste -her time as pleasantly as possible till noon.</p> - -<p>Turning round a holly hedge that hid a statue of Cupid, -she came full upon a woman seated on the stone bench that -ringed the statue’s pedestal. The woman wore a light -blue tunic, and a purple gown that ran all along the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -seat in curling masses. She was combing her fair hair as -though she had only lately come from the bath. Her white -glimmering arms were bare to the elbow, and she was humming -a song to the sway of her hair, while many rings -laughed on her slim white fingers. She had not heard -Igraine’s step upon the grass, but saw suddenly her shadow -stealing along in the sun. Lifting her face, she stared, -knew on the instant, and went red and grey by turns. -Her comb halted, tangled in a strand of hair, and she was -very quiet, and big about the eyes. Igraine remembered -well enough where she had seen that would-be innocent -stare, and that loose little mouth that seemed to bud for -lawless kisses.</p> - -<p>Morgan, with her face as white as her bosom, drew the -comb from her hair, and flourished it uneasily betwixt her -fingers. She was frightened as a mouse at the tall girl -standing big and imperious so near, and her eyes were -furtive for chance of flight. Igraine in her heart was in no -less quandary than was dead Madan’s wife. She could -prove nothing against the woman, for Pelleas was lost and -away, and even the man’s name might be a myth likely to -involve further mystery. She had as much to fear too -from Morgan’s tongue, as Morgan had from her knowledge -of that night in the island manor.</p> - -<p>Morgan, too flurried for sudden measures, sat biting her -lips, while her blue eyes were fixed on Igraine with a restless -caution. Neither woman said a word for fully a -minute, but eyed each other like a couple of cats, each -waiting for the other to move. The shrubs around were -so still that you might imagine they were listening, while -Cupid, poised on one foot, drew his bow very much at a -venture.</p> - -<p>“Good-morning, holy sister.”</p> - -<p>Igraine said never a word.</p> - -<p>“I am glad to see you so improved in dress, that olive-green -gown looks so well on you.”</p> - -<p>Still no retort.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> - -<p>“By the saints, sister, you are very silent. I hope you -were not kept long on that island?”</p> - -<p>Igraine arched her eyebrows and gave the girl a stare. -She knew what a coward Morgan was, and guessed she was -in a holy panic, despite her cool impudence and seeming -ease of mind. Woman-like, she conceived a sudden strong -desire to have Morgan whimpering and grovelling at her -feet, for there is some satisfaction in terrorising an enemy, -even if one can do no more.</p> - -<p>“I presume, madame,” she said, “you thought me safely -packed away in that island, and likely to die of hunger, or -be taken by heathen.”</p> - -<p>Morgan forced a smile, and began to bind her hair for -the sake of having something to do in the full glare of -Igraine’s great eyes.</p> - -<p>“You did not think I could swim.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, I could think anything of you. Nuns are so -clever.”</p> - -<p>“After all, I am not a nun.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not. You could not be bothered with vows -in summer-time. I turned nun myself once for a month, -it being convenient.”</p> - -<p>Igraine began to fret and to lose patience.</p> - -<p>“You are over venturesome, madame,” she said, “in -coming to Winchester.”</p> - -<p>“So!”</p> - -<p>“I believe they hang folk here at times; they might -even break your slim white neck.”</p> - -<p>Morgan’s lips twitched, but she did not blench from the -argument.</p> - -<p>“You speak of hanging,” she said, “and the inference is -rather peculiar. Listen a moment, my good convent saint: -your knight on the black horse would most certainly have -needed the rope, if my man had not mended vengeance -with that poniard.”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas and the gallows! You’re a fool!”</p> - -<p>Morgan smiled back at her very prettily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>“After all, your man did first murder,” she said.</p> - -<p>“On a traitor cur in Andredswold!”</p> - -<p>“Madame, my husband.”</p> - -<p>The woman’s contention was not so illogical when -Igraine came to consider it in a less personal light. Morgan -may have loved the man Madan for all she knew, and she -could feel for her in such a matter. She looked at her with -less scorn for the moment, and less injustice of thought.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you have grieved much,” she said.</p> - -<p>Morgan gave a blank stare.</p> - -<p>“Grieved?”</p> - -<p>“You loved your husband?”</p> - -<p>“I did, while he lived.”</p> - -<p>“And no longer?”</p> - -<p>“What is the use of wasting one’s youth on a corpse?”</p> - -<p>Igraine retracted her late sympathy, and returned to -enmity. Morgan had risen, and was ruffling herself like a -swan in her part of the great lady, and gathering her purple -gown round her slim figure with infinite affectation.</p> - -<p>“I cannot see that we have cause to quarrel further,” -she suggested.</p> - -<p>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p>“Seemingly we are quits, good Sister Morality. I have -lost my man, you yours.”</p> - -<p>“You are very logical,” said Igraine.</p> - -<p>“Why should we women grieve?”</p> - -<p>“Why indeed?”</p> - -<p>“There are many more men in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, I do not understand you.”</p> - -<p>Morgan gave a malicious little laugh that ended in a -sneer. She touched her hair with her jewelled fingers, blew -a kiss to Cupid, and again laughed in her sly mischief-making -way. In a moment words were out of her lips -that set Igraine’s face ablaze, her heart at a canter, and -mulled all further parley. Morgan saw trouble, dodged, -and ran round the statue. Igraine was too quick for her, -and winding her fingers into the woman’s hair, gave her a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -cuff that would have set a helmet ringing. Morgan tripped -and fell, dragging Igraine with her, and for a moment there -was a struggle, green and purple mixed. Igraine, the -heavier and stronger, came aloft on the other soon. Then -a knife flashed out. Morgan got two quick strokes in, one -on the girl’s shoulder, a second in her left forearm. Igraine -lost her grip, and fell aside in a stagger of surprise and pain, -while Morgan, taking her chance, squirmed away, slipped -up, and ran like a rabbit. She was out of sight and sound -before Igraine had got back her reason.</p> - -<p>Here was a pretty business. The girl’s sleeve was already -red and soaked, and the slit cloth showed a long red streak -in the plump white of her flesh. Blood was welling up, -and dripping fast to the grass at her feet. Despite the -smart of her wounds and her temper, she saw it would be -mere folly to chase Morgan. Following instinct, she ran -for home, holding her right hand pressed over the gash in -her shoulder.</p> - -<p>In the main avenue who should she meet but Gorlois, -carried in a litter, and looking out lazily from behind half-drawn -curtains. His quick eyes caught sight of Igraine as -she passed. He saw the blood and the girl’s white face, -and he was out of the litter like a stag from cover, and at -her side, with spirited concern. Igraine was white and half -dazed, her green gown soaked and stained. Her eyes trembled -up at Gorlois as she showed him her gashed arm, with a smile -and a little whimper that made him storm.</p> - -<p>“Who did this?”</p> - -<p>He had stripped his cloak off, and was tearing it into -strips, while his jaw stiffened.</p> - -<p>“An old foe of mine.”</p> - -<p>“Describe him.”</p> - -<p>“A woman, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“The damned vixen. Her dress?”</p> - -<p>“Blue tunic, and gown of purple.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois turned to certain servants who stood round -gaping at the girl in her blood-stained dress, and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -lord tearing his cloak into bandages with characteristic -furor.</p> - -<p>“Search the gardens—a woman in blue and purple; -have her caught. By my sword, I’ll hang her.”</p> - -<p>He rent Igraine’s sleeve to the shoulder, and wound the -strips of his cloak about her arm with a strength that made -her wince.</p> - -<p>“Pardon,” he said in his quick, fierce way; “this will -serve a season; stern heart, good surgeon.”</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled, and made light of it, while he knotted the -bandage. Some of his men had scattered among the shrubs -and into the dark alleys of the place, for Igraine could hear -them trampling and calling to each other. While she -listened, and before she could hinder him, Gorlois had lifted -her as though she had been but a sheaf of corn, and laid her -in the litter. He drew the curtains. The bearers were at -the poles, and setting off at a good stride they were soon in -the town.</p> - -<p>By the time they reached Radamanth’s doorway Igraine, -despite her spirit, was faint from loss of blood, and all -atremble. Gorlois, tersely imperious, lifted her up as she -lay half dazed and stupid, carried her in his arms into the -house, and taking guidance from a white-faced maid, bore -Igraine above to her chamber, and laid her on her bed. -Then he kissed her hand, and leaving her to the women, -hurried off to send skilled succour.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was not long before Gildas, the court physician, a dear -old scoundrel with a white beard and a portentous face, came -down in state to attend on Igraine. He was an old gentleman -of most solemn soul. His dignity was so tremendous -a thing, that you might have imagined him a solitary Atlas -holding the whole world’s health upon his shoulders.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>He soon dabbled his fingers in Igraine’s wounds that -morning, dropped in oil, and balmed them with myrrh and -unguents under a dressing of clean cloth. He frowned all -the time, as was his custom in the sick chamber, as though -wisdom lay heavy on his soul, or at least as though he -wished folk to think so. The only time you saw Gildas -smile was when you payed him a fee or complimented him -upon his knowledge. Tickle his pocket or his vanity, and -he beamed on you. That morning he told Radamanth that -his niece’s wounds were serious, but that he trusted that they -would heal innocently, treated as they had been by credited -skill. Gildas always pulled a long face over a patient’s possibilities; -such discretion kept him from pitfalls, and enabled -him to claim all the credit when matters turned out happily.</p> - -<p>The streaks of scarlet in the white waste of skin soon -died cleanly into mere bands of pink, and Igraine had little -trouble from her wounds, thanks to the great Gildas. In -fact, she was in bed but three days, while Lilith played -nurse, chatted and sang to her, or leant at the open window -to tell her of those who passed in the street. Master Gildas -came and went morning and evening with the prodigious -regularity of the sun. The girls aped him behind his back, -and Igraine, with some ingratitude to science, made Lilith -empty the ruby-coloured physic out of the window. It -happened to spatter a lean booby of a man as he passed, who, -looking up, flattered himself that Lilith must have sprinkled -him with scented water by way of showing her affection. -So much for Gildas’s rose-water and flowers of dill.</p> - -<p>The man of physic marched each day like a god into -Gorlois’s house to tell how the Lady Igraine fared at his -hands. Such patronage was worth much to Gildas, and -knowing how the wind blew, he puffed religiously upon the -new-kindled fire. The girl’s glamour had caught up Gorlois -in a golden net. He had loved to look upon her and to -dream, but now the perfume of her hair, the warm softness -of her body, the very odour of her shed and scarlet blood -were memories in him that would not fade.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>One evening a posy of flowers came tumbling in at -Igraine’s window.</p> - -<p>Lilith looked out, and saw Gorlois.</p> - -<p>“For the Lady Igraine,” were his words.</p> - -<p>Lilith smiled down, and ventured to tell him that Igraine -was much beholden to his courtesy and succour, and would -thank him with her own lips when well of her wounds. -She took the flowers to Igraine, who was listening in bed in -the twilight.</p> - -<p>“Shall I throw a flower back?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p>“It would be courteous.”</p> - -<p>Lilith did so. The bloom struck Gorlois on the mouth -like a blown kiss. The man put the thing in his bosom -with a great smile, and went home to spend some hours like -a star-gazer in his garden, while his musicians tuned their -strings behind the bushes. At such a season Gorlois loved -sound and colour. The voices, sweetly melancholic, -thrilled up into the night—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Her head is of brighter gold than the broom-flower,</div> - <div class="verse">Her breast like foam under her green tunic;</div> - <div class="verse">Like a summer sky at night are her glances;</div> - <div class="verse">Her fingers are as wood anemones in a daze of dew;</div> - <div class="verse">Of her lips,—who shall tell!</div> - <div class="verse">The gates of a sunset</div> - <div class="verse">Where love dies.</div> - <div class="verse">Her limbs are like May-blossoms</div> - <div class="verse">Bedded on a green couch:</div> - <div class="verse">The night sighs for her,</div> - <div class="verse">And for the touch of her hand.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Of course Morgan had escaped capture. Gorlois’s men -had hunted an hour or more, and had caught nothing, not -even a glimpse of the purple gown for which they searched. -Radamanth, who had had the affair from Gorlois’s own lips, -came and told Igraine, and began to ask her who this woman -foe of hers was. Igraine put him off with a fable. She had -no thought of letting him have knowledge of her love for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -Pelleas, and she was glad in measure that Morgan had -escaped capture, and so left her secret in oblivion. The -woman might have proved troublesome if brought to bay, -for she had as much right to claim the truth as had -Igraine. Better let a snake go than take it by the tail.</p> - -<p>In a week or so there was nothing left to mark the -incident save the red lines in Igraine’s white skin. Flowers -and fruit came daily in from Gorlois, and every evening -there was music under the window, till she began to consider -these perpetual courtesies. She was woman enough to -know whither they all tended. As for Radamanth, he was -more kind to her than ever, seeing how the wind might -blow favours into his ready lap. Gorlois was a great and -noble gentleman, and the goldsmith had an intense respect -for the nobility.</p> - -<p>The very first day that Igraine walked abroad again -after her seclusion, she fell in straight with Gorlois. By -Gildas’s advice, she had gone, presumably for her health’s -sake, to the baths with Lilith; and Gorlois, warned by the -leech himself, followed alone, and overtook them near the -porch. He was very gracious, very sympathetic, very -splendid. He begged a meeting with Igraine after she had -bathed, and since the girl had something in her heart that -made her wish to speak with him, she consented, and left -him in the laconicum, proposing to meet him in the rose-walk -an hour later. Truth to tell, she intended questioning -him as to Pelleas, whether Gorlois had heard of a -knight so named; and also as to Uther, whether he had -yet been heard of in any region of Britain. She knew -Gorlois would take her consent as favour. Still, she imagined -she could venture a little for her heart’s sake without -much prick of conscience.</p> - -<p>An hour later, true to her word, she went alone into the -rose-walk, a grassy pathway banked with yews, and hemmed -with a rich tangle of red blooms. Gorlois was there -waiting as for a tryst. He was full of smiles and staunch -glances as he led her to a seat that was set back in an alcove,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -carved from the dense green of the yews, where they -might talk at leisure, and out of sight. Igraine’s hair lay -loosened over her shoulders to dry in the sun. It had been -perfumed, and the scent of it swept over Gorlois like a violet -mist. He sat watching her for a while in silence, as she -plied her comb with the sun-shaken masses pouring over -her face like ruddy smoke.</p> - -<p>“Lady Igraine,” he said at length.</p> - -<p>The girl’s eyes glimmered at him slantwise from behind -her hair.</p> - -<p>“I knew your father, Malgo, before his death.”</p> - -<p>Igraine merely nodded.</p> - -<p>“I am claiming to be the friend of his daughter, seeing -that I have learnt the very colour of her several girdles, -the number and pattern of her gowns since I rode into -Winchester.”</p> - -<p>The venture in flattery was perhaps more suggestive -than Igraine could have wished.</p> - -<p>“You must waste much time, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“But little.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry I have so poor a wardrobe, that you have -fathomed the whole of it in less than a month. To tell the -truth, when I came into Winchester, I had only one gown, -and that rather ragged.”</p> - -<p>“They did not give you green and gold at Avangel?”</p> - -<p>“No, the good women wore grey to typify the colour of -their souls.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois laughed in his keen quiet fashion. The girl’s -eyes were wonderfully bright and subtle, and he had never -seen such a splendour of hair. He longed to finger it, to -let it run through his fingers like amber wine. Leaning -one elbow on the stone back of the seat, and his head on his -palm, he watched the silver comb rippling at its work, with -a kind of dreamy complacency.</p> - -<p>The girl’s voice broke out suddenly upon him.</p> - -<p>“My lord?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois attended.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You know many of the knights and gentlemen famed -for arms in Britain?”</p> - -<p>“I may so boast myself.”</p> - -<p>“I was once befriended, a piece of passing courtesy, yet -I have always been curious to learn the character and estate -of the man who did me this service. Have you heard of a -knight named Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois fingered his sharp-peaked black beard, and looked -blankly irresponsive.</p> - -<p>“I have never known such a knight,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Strange.”</p> - -<p>“Never so. We men of the woods and moors often ride -under false colours, sometimes to try our friends on the sly, -sometimes to escape cognisance. The man who befriended -you may have been Pelleas in your company.”</p> - -<p>Igraine cut in with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“And Ambrosius at home,” she said; “even Princes -love masquerading in strange arms. Meadow-flower that -I am, I have never seen the stately folk of the court—Ambrosius -or Uther. I have heard Uther is an ugly man.”</p> - -<p>“If strength makes a man ugly, Uther may claim -ugliness.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Picture a dark man with black hair, eyes packed away -under heavy brows, a straight mouth, and a great clean-shaven -jaw that looks sullen as death.”</p> - -<p>“Not beautiful in words.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois stretched his shoulders, and half yawned behind -his hand.</p> - -<p>“Uther is a man with a conscience like a north wind,” -he said; “always lashing him into tremendous effort for the -sake of duty. He has the head and neck of a lion, the grip -of a bear. You have never known Uther till you have seen -him in battle. Then he is like a mountain thundering -down against a sea, a black flood plunging through a pine -forest. A quaint, gentle, devilish, God-ridden madman; I -can paint him no other way.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine laughed softly to herself.</p> - -<p>“A man worth seeing,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I should judge so.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me, is it true that Uther has gone into the wilds, -and been seen of no man many days?”</p> - -<p>“Uther left Winchester more than two months ago, and -no word of him has come to Ambrosius.”</p> - -<p>“Curious.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, nothing is curious in Uther. If I were to -hear some day that he had ridden down to Hades to fight -a pitched battle with Satan, I should say, ‘Poor Satan, I -warrant he has a sore head.’”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” quoth Igraine.</p> - -<p>She shook her hair, tilted her chin, and looked at Gorlois -out of the corners of her eyes. She guessed her power, was -young, and a woman. It tempted her to read this creature -called “man” in his various forms and phases, and hold his -heart in the hollow of her hand. Her interest in Gorlois -was no discourtesy to her love for Pelleas. She had seen few -men in her time; they seemed strange beings, strong yet -weak, wise yet very foolish, sometimes heroic, yet utter -children.</p> - -<p>Gorlois, who had the sun in his eyes, beheld her as in an -unusual mist. He was warming to life, for his brain seemed -full of the sound of harping, and his blood blithe with -summer. Stretching out a hand he touched Igraine’s hair -as it poured over her shoulders, for the red gold threads -seemed magnetic to his fingers, and the glimmer of her eyes -made his tough flesh creep.</p> - -<p>“You have wonderful hair,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I learnt that long ago,” drawing the strand away.</p> - -<p>“The dawn of knowledge.”</p> - -<p>“It reaches not so very far from my feet.”</p> - -<p>Igraine hung out a flag, as it were, to try the man. She -knew the look of Pelleas’s eyes, and she wanted Gorlois for -comparison. Standing up, she shook the glistening shroud -about her while it seemed to drop perfumes and to spark out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -passion. The man’s malady showed plainly enough on his -face, but his eyes did not please Igraine. There was too -much selfishness, not enough abasement. She knew Pelleas -would have looked at her as though she was a saint in a -church, and he but a lad from the brown ploughland. -Igraine thought that she loved mute devotion far better than -the bold impatient hunger on Gorlois’s face.</p> - -<p>The man leant back and tilted his beard at her, while his -eyes were half shut for the sun.</p> - -<p>“I have heard it told that women are ambitious. Is it -truth?”</p> - -<p>Igraine, all gravity again, with her tentative mischief -banished, looked at her knees, and said she could not tell. -Gorlois waxed subtle.</p> - -<p>“Are you ambitious, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Ambitious, my lord?”</p> - -<p>“Have you never wished to stand out like a bright peak -above the world?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Or to have the glory of your beauty filling the gate of -fame like a scarlet sky?”</p> - -<p>Igraine forced a titter.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you are a poet, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Only a fool, madame.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“All poets are fools.”</p> - -<p>“How do you contrive that?”</p> - -<p>“Because they are for ever praising women.”</p> - -<p>“And yet you are a poet, my lord!”</p> - -<p>“How could I be else, madame, since I am a man?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois took a deep breath, and smiled at the dark yews, -sombre and mysterious behind their belt of glowing roses. -Igraine was watching his face in some uneasiness. It gave -the profile of a strong, stark man, whose every feature spelt -alert daring and great hardihood of mind. There was a -keen, half-cruel look about the tight lips and impatient eyes. -She was contrasting him with Pelleas in her heart, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -dark, brooding face of lion-like mould that so haunted her -left little glory for Gorlois’s lighter, leaner countenance.</p> - -<p>They were both strong men, but she guessed instinctively -which was the stronger.</p> - -<p>Gorlois turned suavely again, with his courage strung like -a steel bow.</p> - -<p>“I am a queer fellow,” he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine began to bind her hair.</p> - -<p>“If I ever loved a woman—”</p> - -<p>“Well, my lord?”</p> - -<p>“She could be ambitious to her heart’s content. The -more her pride flamed, the better I should like her.”</p> - -<p>Igraine frowned.</p> - -<p>“She would be intolerable.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois arched his eyebrows, and covered his convictions -with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell how I should win her?”</p> - -<p>“It would be a quaint tale.”</p> - -<p>“In the beginning, I should half-kill any man who -braved it out that she was not the comeliest woman in -Britain.”</p> - -<p>“Somewhat harsh, my lord, but emphatic.”</p> - -<p>“I should make her the envy of every lady, dame, and -damoselle in the land.”</p> - -<p>“Not wise.”</p> - -<p>“Like a golden Helen should she rise in the east; blood -should flow about her feet like water; I would tear down -kingdoms to pile her up a throne. Such should be my -wooing.”</p> - -<p>Igraine looked at her lap, and said never a word for a -minute or more. All these heroics were rather hollow to -her ear, though she did not doubt the man’s sincerity -towards himself, and his earnest mind to please her. Then -she asked Gorlois a very simple question.</p> - -<p>“Imagine, my lord, that the woman loved some other -man?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s answer came swift off his tongue.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I should meet him in open field, sword to sword, and -shield to shield, and kill him.”</p> - -<p>Igraine started suddenly, grave and grey as any beadswoman. -She did not think Pelleas would have taught any -such doctrine.</p> - -<p>“To you, that is love?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“What else!”</p> - -<p>Igraine thrust her silver bodkin into her hair with some -vigour; there was no mirth or patience in her.</p> - -<p>“I name it murder.”</p> - -<p>“Madame!”</p> - -<p>“Stark, selfish murder.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois spread his hands and laughed.</p> - -<p>“What is love?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Should I know!”</p> - -<p>“Stark selfishness,—nothing more.”</p> - -<p>Igraine thought of Pelleas, and the way he had left her -for knowledge of her imagined vows. Something in her -heart told her that that was love indeed that had clasped -thorns in the struggle to embrace truth. Therewith she -wished Gorlois a very formal good-morning, refused his -escort, and went straight home with the clear conviction -that she had learnt something to her credit. Her talk with -Gorlois had set a brighter halo about Pelleas’s head.</p> - -<p>Gorlois of Cornwall was nothing if not subtle. A selfish -man of diplomatic mind may reach the very zenith of unselfishness -to work his ends. Gorlois had so studied the -expediencies and discretions of his purpose that even his love, -headstrong though it may have been, was for the time being -harnessed to the chariot of circumspection, whence intellect -drove with steady hand. He had discovered for himself -that Igraine was of sterner, prouder stuff than the general -mob of women, and that he could not count much upon -her vanity. She was to be won by honour, stark, unflinching -honour, and by such alone, and Gorlois, thanks to the -no mean wit that was in him, had judged that to his credit. -He set about winning her at first with a consistency that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -was admirable, and a wisdom that would have honoured -Nestor.</p> - -<p>Naturally enough, Radamanth was amazed. Gorlois, -one of the first men in Britain, sitting in a goldsmith’s -parlour and soliciting his patronage and countenance with -a modest manliness! Radamanth stroked his beard, strove -to appear at ease under so intense an obligation, struggled -to wed servility with a new-found sense of importance. -The whole business was most astonishing; not that Gorlois -should love the daughter of Malgo of the Redlands, but that -he should come frankly to a Winchester merchant and -make such a Minos of him. Radamanth beamed, stuttered, -excused himself, crept, condescended, in one breath. When -Gorlois had gone, the good man sat down to think in a -sweat of wonder. Probably he would find himself feasting -with the king before long, and certainly it might prove -excellent for trade.</p> - -<p>After a cup of wine and a biscuit to restore his faculties, -he sent for Igraine, who was in the garden, and prepared to -parade his news with a most benevolent pleasure. He took -a most solemn and serious mood, bowed her to a chair in -magnificent fashion, and began in style.</p> - -<p>“My dear niece, I have great honour to lay before you.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, who had heard nothing of Gorlois’s visit, merely -waited for Radamanth to unfold, with a mild and silent -curiosity. The old man was big and benignant with the -news he had, and when he began to speak he rolled his -words with the sonorous satisfaction of a poet reading his -verses to patrons in some Roman peristyle.</p> - -<p>“Lady Igraine,” he said, “honour is pleasant to an old -man, and reverence welcome as savoury pottage. Yet, -honour to those he loves is even sweeter to him than honour -to himself. In honouring a kinswoman of mine, a certain -noble gentleman has poured oil of delicious flattery on my -grey head, and treated me to such an exhibition of grace, -frankness, and courtesy, that my heart still warms to him. -Perhaps, my dear niece, you can guess to whom I refer.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine thrilled to a sudden thought—a thought of Pelleas. -“I cannot tell,” she said.</p> - -<p>Radamanth could have winked, only in his present exalted -frame of mind he remembered that such an expression was -neither dignified nor courtly. If he were to become the -associate of noble folk, it behoved him to raise up new ideals, -and so he contented himself with a most ingenuous smile.</p> - -<p>“Hear, then,” he said, “that my noble visitor was the -Count Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois!”</p> - -<p>“Exactly.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth believed Igraine wholly overwhelmed. He -waxed more and more patriarchal, till his very beard seemed -to grow in dignity.</p> - -<p>“Believe me, a most honourable man. Gentlemen of -his position might well fancy other methods—well, never -mind that. Count Gorlois came to me, like a man, to -frankly crave my sanction for a betrothal.”</p> - -<p>Igraine stared, admired Gorlois’s excellent plan for netting -Faith, Hope, and Charity at one swoop, but said nothing. -Radamanth prosed on.</p> - -<p>“Count Gorlois besought me in most courtly and flattering -fashion to countenance him in his claims. He would -have everything done in the light, he said, in honourable, -manly, and open fashion—no secret loitering after dark, -or sly kisses under hedges. Mark the gentleman, dear -niece.”</p> - -<p>The goldsmith idled over the words as though they were -fat morsels of flattery, and Igraine had never seen him look -so eminently happy before. She understood quite well that -Gorlois’s move had inspired him into complete and glowing -partisanship, and that she was to have those sage words of -advice that young folk love so much. Radamanth climbed -down, meanwhile, to material things, and began to knock -off Gorlois’s possessions in practical fashion on his fingers.</p> - -<p>“A grand match,” he said. "There are the castles in -Cornwall—Terabil and Tintagel; the lands in Gore and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -elsewhere; the palace in London; and the great house here -by the river. In Logria he has lands, I have heard,—miles -of fat pastures, woods, and many manors, lying towards the -great oaks of Brederwode. The man is as rich as any in -Britain, and if death took Ambrosius or Uther—"</p> - -<p>Igraine cut in upon his verbosity.</p> - -<p>“What did you tell him, uncle?”</p> - -<p>Radamanth stared at her, with his fingers still figuring.</p> - -<p>“Tell him, child?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“What a thing to ask. Of course I promised to further -his cause with you in every way possible. I said we should -soon need the priest.”</p> - -<p>Igraine groaned in spirit.</p> - -<p>“It is all useless,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“I have no scrap of love for this man.”</p> - -<p>Now Radamanth had never heard a word of Pelleas, for -Igraine had cautioned Lilith never to speak to her father on -the matter. Like many old people who have spent their -lives in getting and possessing, he had lost that subtle something -that men call “soul.” Sentiment to him was a foolish -and troublesome thing when it interfered with material -advantage or profit, or barred out Mammon, with its rod -twined with red roses. Consequently he was taken aback -by Igraine’s cool reception of so momentous a blessing. -He sat bolt upright in his chair and stared at her.</p> - -<p>“My dear niece.”</p> - -<p>There was such chagrin in his voice that Igraine, remembering -his many kindnesses, hung her head and felt -unhappy.</p> - -<p>“Do not be angry,” she said; “I do not wish you to -speak of this more.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear child, the honour, the fame, the noise -of it!”</p> - -<p>Igraine almost smiled at his palpable dismay, for she -knew that her words must have flustered him not a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -little. Radamanth mopped his bald head, for the season -was sultry.</p> - -<p>“I am astounded,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Uncle!”</p> - -<p>“Let me reason with you.”</p> - -<p>“Love is not reason.”</p> - -<p>“No, niece, it is prejudice. Yet I assure you Gorlois is -a most noble soul.”</p> - -<p>“If he were a seraph, uncle, I could not love him.”</p> - -<p>“You women are all fancy. Why, you have hardly seen -the colour of him. Come, now!”</p> - -<p>“I do not need to see more of Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“Why, bless my soul, my wife never loved me till we -had been married a month, and she had learnt my fibre.”</p> - -<p>Igraine thought a moment. Then she asked Radamanth -a question.</p> - -<p>“Do you love Lilith?”</p> - -<p>“Why, girl, what a question.”</p> - -<p>“Would you marry her to a man she did not love or trust, -simply because it brought gold?”</p> - -<p>Radamanth saw himself rounded in the argument like a -rat in a corner. He sat stroking his beard, and striving to -look pleased.</p> - -<p>“Think over it, my dear,” he said presently.</p> - -<p>“There is no need.”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois will woo you like a hero.”</p> - -<p>“Let him. He will accomplish nothing.”</p> - -<p>“It would be a grand match.”</p> - -<p>Igraine jumped up, kissed him to show she bore no ill -will, and ran away much troubled to find Lilith in the garden. -She flung herself down beside the girl in the bower of laurels, -and told her all that passed that morning in Radamanth’s -parlour. Lilith listened with her brown eyes deep with -thought, and a quiet wonder. When Igraine had finished, -Lilith took both her hands in hers, and, kneeling before her, -looked up into her face.</p> - -<p>“What will you do, Igraine?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Need you ask, dear?”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“You love Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>Igraine put her arms round Lilith’s neck, and kissed her.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - -<p>Radamanth’s words to the girl proved very true before many -days had gone; his prophetic belief in Gorlois’s mood found -abundant justification in the event. Gorlois had the warm -imagination of his race, an imagination that found extravagance -and rich taste ready ministers to work his purpose. -Igraine, met by all manner of devices on all possible occasions, -began to realise the cares of those whom a purblind -world insists on smothering with limitless favours.</p> - -<p>Flowers were poured in upon her, worked into posies, -garlands, shields, harps, crosses,—all bearing with them some -mute plea for mercy. It might have been perpetual May-day -in Radamanth’s house, so flowered and scented was it. -Flowers were followed by things more tangible, a pearl-set -cithern, a great white hound, a gold girdle, a pair of doves -in a cage of silver wire, a necklet of rich stones gotten from -some Byzant mart. Gorlois seemed ready to send her all -the finery in Winchester despite her messages and her words -to him,—“My lord, I can suffer none of these things from -you.” Servants and slaves came down to Radamanth’s house -as though they had been sent from Sheba, while one of -Radamanth’s men went back from Igraine like an echo, -bearing back the unaccepted baubles. It was a patient -game, and rather foolish.</p> - -<p>These were but small flutters in Gorlois’s sweep for the -sun. Had not Igraine been stabbed in the public gardens! -Gorlois put the incident to use. He formed a bodyguard of -certain of the noble youths who were under his patronage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -and warned Igraine with all reverence that he had acted for -her sanctity, and that a dozen gentlemen would follow near -her when she walked abroad, or went to bath or church. -Even her humblest stroll in the street began to partake of -the nature of a triumphal progress. Children would gather -to her in the gardens and throw flowers and laurel branches -at her feet, or she would be followed by music and some -sweet love ditty to the harp. A hundred quaint flatterers -seemed to dog her from door to door, till she hardly dared -to stir out of Radamanth’s garden.</p> - -<p>Naturally enough, her name was soon the one name in -Winchester. The good folk with their Celtic beauty-loving -souls spoke of her with quaint extravagance; her skin was -like the apple-bloom in spring, and her lips like rich red -May; her feet moved soft and swift as sunlight through -swaying branches; her hair was a cloud of gold plucked -from the sky at dawn. She was gaped at and pointed at in -the street like a prodigy. When she went into church on -Sunday half the folk turned to stare at her, and a clear circle -was left about her where she sat in the nave. She was for -the season the city’s cynosure, its poem, its gossip. Aphrodite -might have stepped out of mythology and taken lodging -at Radamanth’s, to judge by the curiosity displayed by the -people, and doubtless many a comfortable piece of business -came to Radamanth thereby.</p> - -<p>Many women would have gloried for self’s sake in such a -pageant of flattery. It was not so with Igraine. She was -a woman who mingled much warmth of heart with strength -of will, and fair measure of innate wisdom; her feelings were -too staunch and vivid to be swayed or weakened by any -fresh circumstance, however strange and magnificent it -might appear. Her love, once forged, could bend to no new -craft. Her thoughts were all for Pelleas, and any glory her -beauty received she kept it in her heart for him. Igraine -was so eternally in love that even worldly prides seemed -dead in her, and she had not vanity enough to be tempted -by Gorlois’s great homage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>The whole business troubled her not a little. There was -a certain mockery in it that hurt her heart. It was as if -she had panted in thirst for water, and some rude hand from -heaven had thrown down gold. Gorlois had her in measure -at his mercy. He seemed to take all her rebuffs with a -sublime stoicism, and she had no one to whom she could -appeal. She wished to bide in Winchester, for the city -seemed to promise her the best chance of seeing Pelleas or -Uther, and of learning if these twain were one.</p> - -<p>One night there was music under her window. Flute, -harp, and cithern with deep voices were pleading for Gorlois -under the stars. Igraine listened, lying quiet, and thinking -only of Pelleas.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Take then my heart,</div> - <div class="verse">My soul, my shield, my sword,—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>sang the voices under the window. Igraine kissed the gold -cross that hung at her bosom, and longed till her heart -seemed fit to break for yearning. If only the song had come -from Pelleas, how fair it would have sounded in the night. As -it was, the whole business made her feel desperately weary.</p> - -<p>Gorlois had begun by holding somewhat aloof. It was -part of his purpose to work behind a glowing and fantastic -screen, serving Igraine more at a distance, in a spirit of -melancholy that should web him round with a mystery that -was more splendid than truth. He bore Igraine’s passive -antagonism for a while with a spirit of enforced fortitude, -going cheerfully by the old and somewhat foolish saying that -a woman’s looks lie against her heart, and that persistence -wins entry in the end. To do credit to Gorlois’s self-favour, -he never considered the ultimate shipwreck of his enterprise -as possible. He had fame, gold, bodily favour on his side, -and what woman, he thought, could gainsay such a chorus. -There are some men who never fail in anticipating success, -and Gorlois possessed that quality of mind.</p> - -<p>As the days went by, and the girl was still stone to him, -he began to chafe and to look for stauncher measures. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -gay gentlemen who served him suggested various expedients; -one, a more passionate appeal; another, sly bribery of -servants; a third, who was young in years, hinted at humble -despair that might evoke pity. Gorlois laughed at them -all, and swore he would win the girl, hook or by crook, in -a month or less, or lose all the honour his sword had won. -He was tired of mere courtesies that ran contrary to his -more stormy spirit. He had a liking for insolent daring, for -a snatch at love as at an enemy’s banner in the full swing of -a gallop on some bloody field. Mere mild homage was all -very well for a season. Gorlois loved mastery, and believed -there was no wine like success.</p> - -<p>About this time a horde of heathen ships came from the -east, sailed past Vectis, and began to pour their wild men -into the country ’twixt Winchester and the sea. Hamlets -and manors were burnt, peasant folk driven to the woods, -the crops fired, the cattle slain. The noise of it came into -Winchester with a rabble of frightened fugitives who had -fled to the city for refuge. Ambrosius the king was in -Caerleon, and Uther errant, so that the chance fell to Gorlois -of driving the heathen into the sea.</p> - -<p>No man could have been more heartily glad of this -innovation. Igraine should see him swoop like a hawk in -his strength; she should hear how he led men, and how his -sword drank blood. In making war on the heathen he -would boast himself before her eyes, and show her the merit -of manhood, and the glory of a strong arm. Winchester -bustled like a camp. Troops poured in from Sarum, and the -sound of war went merrily through the streets. Folk boasted -how Gorlois would harry the heathen. He rode out one -night with picked men at his back, and held straight for the -coast, while Eldol of Gloucester, a veteran knight, marched -southward before dawn with five thousand footmen. It was -Gorlois’s plan to cut the heathen off from their ships, and -crush them between his knights and the spearmen led by -Eldol.</p> - -<p>It was such a venture as Gorlois loved,—keen, shrill, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -full of hazards. Riding straight over hill and dale they saw -the glimmer of waves as the sun rose, and knew they had -touched the sea. Gorlois’s scouts had located the main mass -of the Jutes camped in a valley about a nunnery they had -taken, and the British knights coming up through the woods -saw smoke in the valley and men moving like ants about the -reeking ruin of the holy house. Looking north they saw a -beacon burning on a hill,—Eldol’s signal that he had closed -the woods, north, east, and west, with his footmen, and that -he waited only for Gorlois to sweep up and drive the heathen -on to the hidden spears.</p> - -<p>Never was there a finer light in Gorlois’s eyes than at -such a season. He loved the dance and noise of steel, the -plunging hustle of horses at the gallop, the grand rage of the -shout that curled like the foam on an ocean billow. His -courage sang with the wind as his knights rode down over the -green slopes in a great half-moon of steel, a moving barrier -that rolled the savage folk northwards, and rent them like a -harrow of iron. By the blackened walls of the nunnery -Gorlois caught sight of a line of mutilated bodies tied to -posts,—dead nuns, stripped, and still bleeding. The sight -roused the wolf in him. “Kill! kill!” were his words as -they rode in upon the skin-clad horde. It was savage work, -bloody and merciless. Eldol’s men closed in on every -quarter, and the heathen were cut down like corn in -summer.</p> - -<p>Very few went back to their ships that day. Scores lay -dead with their fair hair drabbled in the blood about the -ruins, and on the quiet slopes of the dale. As they had -measured out violence to the peasant folk and women, so it -was meted to them in turn,—vengeance, piled up, great -measure, running over with blood. Some sixty maimed -men were taken alive, but mere death was too mild for -Gorlois when he remembered the slain nuns. He had -certain of the captured burnt alive, others hacked limb from -limb, the rest crucified near the river for the birds to feed -upon. Then he buried the nuns, and made a great entry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -into Winchester, taking care to ride past Igraine’s window -with his white horse bloody to the saddle, and his armour -splashed as he had come from the field. She should see his -manhood, if she would not have his presents.</p> - -<p>This single slaughter, however, did not end matters on -the southern shores. Bands of Saxons were forraying from -Kent, where they had established themselves, and Gorlois -rode out again and again to crush and kill. There would -be battles in the woods, bloody tussles in the deep shadows -of Andredswold, wild flights over moor and waste, triumph -cries at sunset. Three times Gorlois rode out at the head -of his knights from Winchester; three times he came back -victorious, hacked and war-stained, thundered in by the -people, past Radamanth’s house to the church in the market-square. -Igraine sat at her window and watched him go by, -lowering his spear to her with all his proud love ablaze on -his face. Had he not driven the barbarians into the very -heel of Kent, and left many a tall man from over the seas -rotting in sun and rain?</p> - -<p>It was customary year by year in Winchester to hold a -water pageant on the river, depicting legendary and historic -things that had passed within the shores of Britain. August -was the pageant month, and in this particular year the display -was made more elaborate in order to celebrate the rout -of the heathen by Gorlois, and to please the common folk -who had made him their idol. The pageant was of no -little splendour. Great galleys, fittingly decorated, were -rowed down the narrow stream amid a horde of smaller craft, -each great barge bearing figures famed in British legend -lore. The first barge portrayed Brute the Trojan voyaging -for Britain; others, Locrine’s death by the river Severn, -Rudhudibras, mythical founder of Winchester, the reunion -of Leyr and Cordelia, Porrex the fratricide done to death by -damsels. One barge, draped in white and purple, moralised -the reconciliation of Brennius and Belenus at the intercession -of their mother. A great galley in red and white -bore Joseph of Aramathy and the Holy Grail, and a choir of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -angels who sang of Christ’s blood. Last of all came Alban -the protomartyr, pictured as he knelt to meet his death by -the sword.</p> - -<p>The day was blue and quiet, with hardly the shimmer of -a cloud over the intense gaze of the sky, while banners -of rich cloth were hung over the balustrades of the river -terraces, and the gardens themselves were full of gay folk -who kept carnival, and watched the boats go by. The -great pageant galleys had hardly passed, and the small craft -that had kept the bank were swarming out into mid-stream, -where a great barge with gilded bulwarks and a carved -prow came sweeping down like a swan before the wind. It -was driven by the broad backs of twenty rowers clad in -scarlet and gold. In the stern sat Gorlois, holding the -tiller, with a smile on his keen lips as a quavering clamour -went up from the gardens and the boats that lined the -shallows.</p> - -<p>By Radamanth’s house Gorlois held up a hand, and the -blades foamed as the men backed water. The great barge -lost weigh and lay motionless on the dappled silver of the -stream. Slowly it was poled in to the steps that ran from -the water’s edge to the terrace of Radamanth’s garden. A -light gangway was thrown ashore, and a purple carpet -spread upon the steps, while the men lined the stairway with -their oars held spearwise as Gorlois went up to greet -Igraine.</p> - -<p>Clad in white and gold, with a rose over her ear, she was -sitting between Radamanth and Lilith on a bench at the -head of the stairway. There was an implacable irresponsive -look on her face as Gorlois came up the steps and stood in -front of her like a courtier before a queen’s chair. Radamanth -and the merchant folk present were on their feet, -and uncovered; only Igraine kept her seat in the man’s -presence, and looked him over as though he had been a -beggar.</p> - -<p>They were left alone together on the terrace, Radamanth -shepherding his merchant friends aside for the moment with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -the discreet desire to please the count. Gorlois stood by -the stairhead and told Igraine the reason of his coming, as -though she had not guessed it from the moment his barge -had foamed up beside the steps. He told her frankly that -he wished to speak to her alone, and that his barge gave -her an opportunity of hearing him without his having the -advantage of her in solitude, while the noise of oars would -drown their words. Igraine listened to him with a solemn -face. She began to feel that she must face her destiny and -give the man the truth for good. Procrastination would -avail nothing against such a man as Gorlois. Being so -minded, she gave Gorlois her hand and hardened herself to -satisfy him that day.</p> - -<p>Away went the great barge before the strong sweep of -the long oars. Igraine watched the water slide by—foaming -like a mill race as the blades cut white furrows in the -tide. The river gleamed with colour as innumerable galleys, -skiffs, and coracles drifted in the shallows or darted aside to -give passage to Gorlois’s barge. Fair stone houses, gardened -round with green, slid back on either side. They passed -the spectacular galleys one by one, and the wooden wharfs -packed with the mean folk of the city, and foaming on -under the great water-gate, drew southward into the open -country and the fields.</p> - -<p>Igraine looked at Gorlois, and found his face impenetrable -with thought. A fillet of gold bound his hair, and he -was wearing his great sword, and an enamelled belt over his -rich tunic. The cushions of the barge had been sprinkled -with perfumes, and the floor covered ankle deep with -flowers. Igraine groaned in spirit, and read the old extravagance -that had persecuted her so long, and made a -mockery of her love for Pelleas.</p> - -<p>Gentle meads lapped greenly to the willows, giving -place anon to woods that seemed to stride down and snatch -the river for a silver girdle. The festival folk and their -skiffs were out of sight and hearing, yet Gorlois’s barge ran -on, to plunge into emerald shadows, tunnels whose floors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -seemed of the blackest crystal webbed with nets of green -and blue, whose vaultings were the dense groinings of the -trees. Not a wind stirred. The great curving galleries -in the woods were dark and mysterious, the water like -glistening basalt, the trees dreaming over their own images -in an ecstasy of silence. The foam from the oars was very -white, and the moist swish of the blades made the silence -more solemn by contrast, while the water seemed to catch -a golden flicker from the flanks of the barge.</p> - -<p>Igraine knew well enough what was in the man’s heart -as he sat handling the tiller, and watching her with his -restless eyes. She was quite cold and undisturbed in spite -of her being at his mercy, and the consciousness that in her -heart she did not trust him vastly. Gorlois had spoken -only of the town, and they were running on under dense -foliage into the forest solitudes that edged the river. Yet -Igraine had faith in her own wit, and believed herself a -match for Gorlois, or any man, for that matter, save Pelleas. -Gorlois passed the time by telling her of his battles in -Andredswold, how he had driven the heathen into Thanet, -and freed Andred’s town from leaguer. Igraine began to -wonder how long it would be before he would turn to -matters nearer to his heart. She had marshalled up her -courage for the argument, and this waiting under arms for -the bugle-call did not please her.</p> - -<p>The day had already slipped into evening, for the water -pageant was ordered late, so that it might merge into a -lantern frolic on the river after dusk. Igraine, seeing how -the light lapsed, told Gorlois to have the barge turned for -Winchester. She had hardly spoken when the boat ran -out from the trees into open water. In the west the sky -was already aflame, ridged tier above tier with burning -clouds, while the blaze fainted zenithwards into gold and -azure. A queer cry as from a man weary of torture came -down from the west. On a low hill near the river, bleak -against the sky, stood a black concourse of beams set upright -in the ground, looking like the charred pillars of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -burnt house. They were crosses, and the bodies of men -crucified.</p> - -<p>Gorlois pointed to them with the evening glow on his -face, and taking a horn that hung at his belt, blew a loud -call thereon. At the sound a vulture rose from a crossbeam, -and went flapping heavenwards—a black blot against -the scarlet frieze of the west. Others followed, like evil -things driven from their food. Again the cry, the wail -from one who had hung torn and wracked in the parching -sun, came down from the darkening hill.</p> - -<p>Igraine shuddered and felt cold at the sound, and watched -the figures against the sky with a kind of awe.</p> - -<p>“Who are these?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Dogs from over the sea.”</p> - -<p>“Some are still alive.”</p> - -<p>“These pirates are hard; they die slowly, despite beak -and claw. Such be the death of all who burn holy houses -and homes, and put women and children to the sword.”</p> - -<p>“Take them down, or let them be killed outright.”</p> - -<p>“Never.”</p> - -<p>“At my prayer.”</p> - -<p>“What I have done, I have done.”</p> - -<p>“Cruelly.”</p> - -<p>“Cruelly, madame! You should have seen twenty dead -nuns tied to stakes as I have seen, and you would gloat and -be glad as I am. By God, little mercy had this offal at my -hands in the glades of Andredswold. I burnt, and crucified, -and tore with horses. Mere steel is too good for such as these.”</p> - -<p>“My lord!”</p> - -<p>“What is hate unless it is hate? I can never brook an -enemy to Britain.”</p> - -<p>Igraine had sudden insight into the core of Gorlois’s nature. -She understood, in a vague, swift way, what primæval instincts -were hid in him ready at the beck of baser feelings -such as jealousy or smitten pride. Woman-like, she recoiled -from a man whose strength was so inflexible that it owned -no pity or leavening kindness where malice or anger was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -concerned. She loved strength, and the natural wrath of a -man, but she had no touch of the Semiramis about her, and -her heart could not echo Gorlois’s wolf-like cry.</p> - -<p>The rowers had turned the barge, and they were soon -back again under the shadows of the trees. It was dim and -ghostly with the onrush of night, while a faint fire flickered -through the trees from the west and touched the sullen -water with a reddish flame. Gorlois’s face was in the shadow. -He was leaning over the tiller towards Igraine, and his eyes -seemed to burn out upon her face and to make her heart -beat faster. She sat as much away from him as the gunwale -suffered, and looked ahead over the misty river, or up into -the dense, black bosoms of the trees.</p> - -<p>The foamy rush of the oars and the grind of the looms -in the rowlocks half drowned Gorlois’s words as he spoke to -her.</p> - -<p>“Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“My lord.”</p> - -<p>“You have read me to the heart.”</p> - -<p>Igraine turned and looked him full in the face. Now -that the brunt had come, she was strong and ready to tell -the man the truth, though it might be bleak and bitter to -his pride. Gorlois was very near her, and she could see his -white teeth between his lips, and the glint of his eyes as he -leant towards her in the shadows.</p> - -<p>“Are you ambitious, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“No, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Not even a little?”</p> - -<p>“My lord, I have no more ambition in me than one of -those dead men hanging athwart the sunset.”</p> - -<p>“You are a queer woman.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon, I have a conscience.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois bit his lip, stared in her face, and set a hand upon -her wrist.</p> - -<p>“You can never shirk me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I never shirk the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Come now, give me the word.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My lord, may I save you pain in the telling of it! You -can never come near my heart.”</p> - -<p>“Woman, never be so sure.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois drew back, and said never another word. Igraine -watched him furtively as his keen profile hung near her in -the dusk clear as marble. Now and again his eyes gleamed -out upon her and made her fear the moment, while the oars -swung out over the smiling stream, and the black woods -started by like night.</p> - -<p>Soon the lights of Winchester showed up against the -northern sky, and far ahead over a straight stretch of water -they could see the lanterns and torches of the folk who kept -festival. A golden mist and the noise of music came down -to them, as they surged under the great water-gate and ran -on through the city amid a glimmering web of lights and -laughter. Soon the barge found the shallows under white -walls, and Igraine was standing on the steps leading to -Radamanth’s garden, with a starry sky sweeping like a -wheel above the world.</p> - -<p>Gorlois went slowly from her down the steps, with a -face that was dark and brooding. Torchlight glimmered -on the fillet of gold about his hair, on the splendid setting -of his baldric, and the scabbard of his sword. At the -water’s edge he lifted up his face to her out of the night.</p> - -<p>“It shall be life or death,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then he was swept away with a red flare of torches over -the river, and Igraine went solemn-eyed to bed.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>V</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Not a word of Uther yet, no sound of his name in -Winchester, though Igraine lived on in Radamanth’s house, -and hoped for light in the dark.</p> - -<p>Gorlois had had the truth, and she wondered what would -come of it. Lulled by an ingenuous reasoning into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -belief that she would be free of the man, she began to breathe -again and to take liberty in her hand. She did not think -Gorlois could plague her longer after the blunt answer she -had given him. His pride would drag him aside, make -further homage impossible, and there the matter would end.</p> - -<p>If Igraine believed this, then she was in very gross error. -Many men never show their true fibre till they are given -the blunt lie, and Gorlois was never more himself than when -baffled. There was much of the hawk about him, and -Igraine had underrated his pride if she expected it to take -league with her against its kinsman passion. Her measure -only uncovered the darker side of the man’s nature, and -sounded the doom of a lighter, gayer chivalry. Gorlois’s -pride and self-love never dragged in the wind, but held him -taut to the storm, as though determined to weather all the -perversities of which a woman’s heart is capable. In truth, -Igraine had done the very thing least likely to free her from -the man’s thought; she had taunted his passion and thrown -down a challenge to his pride.</p> - -<p>Gorlois kept his own counsel, and frowned down the -mischievous curiousness of his friends when they laughed -at him and asked how the girl framed for a wife. He struck -Brastias his squire to the ground for daring to jest sympathetically -on the subject. Those who went about his house -and hunted and diced with him soon found that he was in -no temper for light raillery or the sly privileges of an intimate -tongue. The fabric of a mere nice romance had -stiffened into sterner, darker proportions. There was the -look of a dry desire in the man’s eyes, a lean hungry silence -about him that made his men whisper. Some of them had -seen Gorlois when he hunted down the heathen. They -knew his temper, and the cast of his features when there -was some lust of enterprise in his heart.</p> - -<p>About that time a knight came from Wales thrusting a -woman’s beauty upon every man with the point of his spear. -As had been his custom elsewhere, he set up a green pavilion -outside the walls, and daily rode out armed to the sound of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -a trumpet to declare a certain Amoret of Caerleon the -fairest gentlewoman in Christendom. He was a big man, -red and burly, and had overthrown every like fanatic for -love’s sake on this particular adventure. Gorlois heard of -the fellow with no little satisfaction. Every finger of him -itched to spill blood, and he took the deed on him, vowing -it should be the last peace-offering to Igraine.</p> - -<p>Arming one morning, he rode down and fought the -Green Knight in his meadow outside the walls. It took -them an hour to settle the matter. At the end thereof the -errant from Wales was lying impotent and bloody in his -tent, and the name of Amoret aped the ineffectual moon. -Afterwards Gorlois rode into the town, war-stained as he -was, found Igraine at her window, and presented her the -Green Knight’s token on the point of his spear.</p> - -<p>It was a woman’s sleeve in green silk, and edged with -pearls. Igraine saw a crowd of upturned faces about the -man on the white horse. His bright arms seemed to burn -in upon her, and to light a sudden impatience in her heart. -She took the green sleeve from the spear, and looking Gorlois -full in the face, in reckless mood she threw the thing down -under his horse’s hoofs.</p> - -<p>There was a great hush all through the street at the deed, -and Gorlois started red as a man struck across the face with -a whip. His eyes seemed to grow large, like the eyes of an -angry dog. Never had folk seen him look so black. He -stared up a moment at Igraine, shook his spear, and trampling -the green sleeve under the hoofs of his horse, rode away -without a word through the glum and gaping crowd.</p> - -<p>Igraine had thrown down the glove with a vengeance. -It was a mad enough method of beating off the pride of -a man such as Gorlois, whose temper grew with the blows -given, and who knew no moderation in love or in hate. -Gorlois had ridden home through the town that day to have -his wounds dressed, and to spend half the night in a fury of -cursing. Yet for all his bitterness he had the power of -level thought, and of taking ground for the future. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -would read this woman a lesson; that much he swore on -the cross of his sword; and the early morning saw him -again at Radamanth’s, strenuous to speak his mind.</p> - -<p>The goldsmith happened to know that Igraine was alone -in the garden. Without noise or ceremony he sent Gorlois -in to her, locked the door on them both, and went to watch -from a narrow window on the stairs. He swore that Gorlois -should have his own way, and not go balked for a woman’s -whim.</p> - -<p>Igraine was sitting sewing in the arbour of laurels with -the little gold cross hanging down over the bosom of her -dress. A grass walk led to the arbour between beds of -flowers. As she sat stitching she heard the sound of feet -in the grass, and saw a shadow slanting across the entry. -She expected Lilith, but looking up, found Gorlois.</p> - -<p>He was white from his wounds of yesterday and the -blood he had lost by the Green Knight’s sword. His left -arm lay in a sling of red silk. Igraine noted in her sudden -half-fear how his eyes were very bright, and that his beard -looked coal-black below his bloodless cheeks. There was -something in his face too that made Igraine cautious.</p> - -<p>She rose and folded her embroidery in the most unperturbed -and quiet fashion, though she was thinking hard all -the same. Gorlois watched her, and held back for her to -speak, with a hollow fire creeping into his eyes, for the -girl’s passionless mood chafed him. He had no gentleness -towards her for the moment; such love as he knew had -been blown into a red beacon by starved and covetous desire.</p> - -<p>“A word with you,” he said.</p> - -<p>The speech was rough and pertinent, showing the trend -of the man’s purpose. He had abandoned superficialities. -Igraine, gathering up her silks, turned and faced him with -the frankness of a full moon. Gorlois saw her lips tighten, -and there was a temper swimming in her eyes that promised -abundant spirit and no shirking. If he had launched out -to rouse her from passive antagonism, he could not have -chosen a better method.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine made a step towards the house, but two strides -put Gorlois in her path.</p> - -<p>“Make way—”</p> - -<p>“Not a foot till you have the truth out of me.”</p> - -<p>“Have a care,—I will be stormed at by no man.”</p> - -<p>“Woman, look at me.”</p> - -<p>Igraine was looking at him with all the temper she -could summon. If Gorlois thought to ride straight over -her courage, he was enormously mistaken. She would -match him for all his hectoring.</p> - -<p>“If you are not a fool,” she said, “you will end this -nonsense, and go.”</p> - -<p>“Am I a scullion?”</p> - -<p>“You should know, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“I have not bled for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“As you will.”</p> - -<p>“What have you to say to me?”</p> - -<p>Igraine lost all patience, tossed her embroidery aside, and -simply flashed out at him with all her soul.</p> - -<p>“Say!” she said; “I have somewhat to say, and that -bitter; listen if you will. You, Gorlois of Cornwall, who -bade you make my name a byword in Winchester? Listen -to me,—hear the truth, and profit—you who pestered me -with mad tricks till I hated it all and held it insolence. -Who asked you to make me gossip for a city, did I? Who -took your presents? Who told you the truth? Who -threw your token under the hoofs of your horse to shame -you? I have mocked you enough, now leave me in peace, -or rue it.”</p> - -<p>“By God, madame—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t echo me. Go, get out of my sight; I hate -you!”</p> - -<p>Gorlois flushed to the temples in this wind of passion. -The girl looked splendid to him in her great anger, her -head thrown back and her eyes steady on him as stars. -The scorn of her beauty leapt over him like crimson light, -and he was more a sensation than a man. He had a great -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>thirst in him to grip her with his hands, to bend her straight -body as he would bend a bow, to strangle up the scorn in -her throat with his own breath. He went near her, stooping -and staring in her face.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_155.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p>“A SUDDEN MADNESS WHIRLED GORLOIS AWAY”</p></div> -</div> - -<p>“Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Mark my words.”</p> - -<p>“You golden shrew, you temptation of tempers—”</p> - -<p>“Hold off—”</p> - -<p>“By God! I’ll tame you, don’t doubt me.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, very watchful, slipped past him suddenly like -light, and walked for the house with a sweeping air that bade -him keep his distance. Coming to the door of the house, -she tried it but found the lock shot. The red badge of a -new anger showed upon either cheek. She turned on -Gorlois; her eyes blazed out at him.</p> - -<p>“A pretty trick!”</p> - -<p>“What now, madame?”</p> - -<p>“You had this door locked.”</p> - -<p>“Never.”</p> - -<p>“You lie in your throat.”</p> - -<p>“Radamanth—”</p> - -<p>“Open it.”</p> - -<p>“I have no key.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s figure seemed to dilate and grow taller, and -her eyes shone well-nigh as bright in colour as her hair.</p> - -<p>“Obey me.”</p> - -<p>“Not if I had the key.”</p> - -<p>“Obey me.”</p> - -<p>“I will be master before the sun is at noon.”</p> - -<p>“You dog!”</p> - -<p>A sudden madness whirled Gorlois away. He went red -from the neck, clutched at Igraine’s wrist and held it. For -a moment they stood rigid. The girl could not shake him -off although he had but one hand to hold her. His breath was -hot upon her face as he pressed her back against the wall, -and held her there till his lips touched her neck. Igraine, -breathing fast and straining from him with all her strength,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -set a hand on his face and thrust him away. She twisted -her wrist free, and slipped from between him and the wall. -Then the door opened, and Radamanth stood by them.</p> - -<p>Igraine slipped away with a white face, and running -above to her chamber threw herself down on the bed, and -cried for Pelleas. She heard Gorlois stride through the -house, heard the gate crash as he went out into the street. -Shame and loneliness were on her like despair, and she was -weak and shaken after her anger, and very hungry for love -and comfort. The world seemed a dull blank about her, -cold, irresponsive, and grey as a November evening. Every -hand seemed against her. Even Radamanth, the man of -serious years, had turned the key upon her, more kind to -Gorlois than herself. Her thoughts were very bitter as she -lay and brooded over it all.</p> - -<p>Presently she heard some one coming up the stairs. -Darting to the door, she bolted it, and went back to the bed, -while a hand rapped out a somewhat diffident summons, -and Radamanth’s voice came in to her.</p> - -<p>“My dear niece,” it said.</p> - -<p>Igraine made no answer.</p> - -<p>“My dear niece, let me have a word with you.”</p> - -<p>Still no answer. Radamanth tried the door and found it -fastened.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois is gone,” he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine remained obdurate, with face drawn and sullen-eyed. -She heard him shuffle down the stairs again, go into -his parlour, and shut the door very gently, like a man who -is ashamed. Then all was quiet save for casual footsteps -in the street, and the garrulous chatter of a starling on the -tiles.</p> - -<p>Noon had come and gone a long while, and still Igraine -lay in her room and moped. She felt sore and grieved to -the heart, all her sanguine courage was at low ebb. Winchester -seemed a prison-house where she was shut up with -Gorlois. The man’s greed and power of soul seemed to -stare upon her till white honour folded its hands over its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -breast and turned to flee. Oh for Pelleas and the brave look -of those honest eyes, the staunch touch of those great -hands. He seemed to stand up above the world, above the -selfishness, the lust, the violence, like a pine on some lonely -hill. She could trust, she could believe. To find him -would give her peace.</p> - -<p>As she lay there that noontide a new purpose came to -her, and lighted up hope. It was frail and flickering -enough, but still, it burned. She would leave Radamanth’s -house and go afoot into the world to find a shadow. Anything -was better than lying cooped in the place for dread of -Gorlois. She had long contemplated such a measure, and -that morning in Radamanth’s garden gave her decision and -made her strong.</p> - -<p>She rose up from the bed and hunted out her old -Avangel habit from a cupboard in the wall. Then she set -to to doff the rich stuffs Radamanth had given her, the -embroidered tunic, the coloured leather shoes, the goodly -enamelled girdle. In their stead she stood again in the old -grey gown, hood, and sandals, with a little thrill of delicious -recollection. It was like stepping back into the dream of an -enchanted past.</p> - -<p>She had hardly ended the transformation when there -came a shy tap at her door, and a mild voice calling to her -from the landing. It was the girl Lilith. Igraine felt a -sudden warmth at her heart as she let her in and barred the -door again. Lilith stood and stared at her, her great brown -eyes wide with astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Why this old dress, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“I will tell you, dear.”</p> - -<p>“And you have been crying, for your eyes are red.”</p> - -<p>Igraine took the soft-voiced little woman to the window-seat -and told her sadly enough all the doings of the morning. -Even Lilith looked ashamed and showed her anger openly. -Radamanth had confessed nothing of what had passed in -the garden.</p> - -<p>“I never loved my father less before,” she said. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -should never have thought this mean trick of him. I am -ashamed, Igraine."</p> - -<p>“Never trouble, dear, you are my joy in Winchester.”</p> - -<p>“And why this old nun’s habit?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to leave you, child.”</p> - -<p>Lilith clutched at her with both hands, her face suddenly -white and almost piteous.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, no, Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“I must, dear.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive—”</p> - -<p>“It is not that alone. I cannot rest here longer. Gorlois -and the city have crushed the heart out of me.”</p> - -<p>Lilith lifted up her child’s face to her, and then began to -sob unrestrained on Igraine’s bosom.</p> - -<p>“It seems cruel,” she whimpered.</p> - -<p>“No, no, it is best for me after all.”</p> - -<p>“But where will you go, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Heaven knows, dear. I cannot rest here longer after -this morning. I feel as if I should stifle.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t go, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, dear, don’t weaken me. I am hard put as it is.”</p> - -<p>They were both weeping now. Lilith’s slim body -shook as she lifted up her face to Igraine’s, and looked at -her through her tears. She had learnt to love Igraine, and -jealousy of her tall and splendid kinswoman had had no -place in her heart. Lilith possessed to perfection the power -of sympathy, and being a simple little soul who lived wholly -for the present, she perhaps felt the more for that very -reason. She could not say evil enough of Gorlois, nor put -too much kindness into her kisses as she sat with her head -on Igraine’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“You cannot go out alone in the world,” she said -presently.</p> - -<p>Igraine was silent.</p> - -<p>“I know father would never forgive himself.”</p> - -<p>“There are convents, child. They would guard and give -me harbour for a time.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A convent—but you hate the life.”</p> - -<p>“If I could only hear of Uther, I would—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I know. But will you go, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“My mind is made up; nothing can change it.”</p> - -<p>“Then let me come with you.”</p> - -<p>Igraine kissed her, but shook her head at the suggestion.</p> - -<p>“I love you for the wish, dear, but I could never drag -you into my own troubles, and it would be very wrong to -Radamanth.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon they had many words together in -Igraine’s room, and dusk caught them still talking. Igraine -had made Lilith promise that Radamanth should know -nothing of her flight till the following morning. Lilith -proved a little obstinate at first, but yielded in the end for -fear of grieving Igraine. With the dusk she crept downstairs -and brought up food. Igraine made a meal, while -Lilith, with her tears still falling, put up food and a few -trifles into a bundle, slipping in all the little store of money -she had. Then she ran softly downstairs to see if the way -were clear. Radamanth had gone to supper with a merchant -friend, and the house seemed quiet and very lonely. In the -passage-way the two girls took leave of each other, Lilith -clinging to Igraine for a moment with all her heart. With -sad eyes Igraine left her, and went out into the night.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Igraine found lodging that night in the great abbey of St. -Helena that Pelleas had spoken of on their ride from the -island manor. Posing to the portress as one who had -wandered long after her escape from Avangel, she was taken -to the refectory, where supper was being spread by the -juniors. The women of the place gathered round her, and -Igraine inquired with some qualms for any chance news of -Malt, Claudia, and the rest, but getting nothing she felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -more confident. She told them her name was Melibœa, and -she recounted at length the burning of Avangel and her -subsequent wanderings, carefully purging the tale of all that -might seem strange to their virgin ears, or set their tongues -a-clacking. The women were very kind to her, partly for -her own sake, and partly for the interesting gossip she had -brought them.</p> - -<p>At supper she sat next a young and merry nun who -shared her misericords with her. The good women of the -place were suffered to talk between vespers and complines, -and Igraine, sly at heart, edged the talk to a tone for which -she thirsted, and began to speak to her neighbours of Gratia, -Abbess of Avangel.</p> - -<p>“Did any of you know her?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Only by fame,” said a fat nun opposite Igraine.</p> - -<p>“I have heard she was near of kin to the King,” said -another, who drooped her lids in very modest fashion.</p> - -<p>Igraine started in thought.</p> - -<p>“Aurelius?” she said.</p> - -<p>The nun nodded.</p> - -<p>“How were they related?”</p> - -<p>“I have heard Gratia was his aunt.”</p> - -<p>“And aunt to Uther also?”</p> - -<p>“Of course, seeing they are brothers.”</p> - -<p>Igraine looked at her wooden platter, and pressed the -little gold cross to her bosom with her hand. And now a -strange thing happened. The old nun opposite Igraine, -who was the Mistress of the Novices, brought out news -that she had heard in the Abbess’s parlour that very -morning.</p> - -<p>“Uther has been seen again,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Uther?”</p> - -<p>The word snapped out like a bolt from a bow, and -brought the nuns’ eyes on Igraine across the table.</p> - -<p>“The man comes and goes like a shadow. He is ever -riding alone to do some great deed against the beasts, or -against the heathen. A great soul is Uther.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here were tidings dropped like dew out of heaven at the -very hour she stood in need of them. Igraine felt the mist -lighten appreciably in her brain. She popped an olive into -her mouth and spoke almost carelessly.</p> - -<p>“Where is Uther?”</p> - -<p>“At Sarum town. He rode, they say, to the great camp -there looking like a ghost, or as though he had been playing -Simeon on a pillar.”</p> - -<p>Igraine merely nodded.</p> - -<p>“Uther always looks a serious soul. Have you ever seen -him, sister?”</p> - -<p>“Never. A dark man?”</p> - -<p>“With a face like a sun and a thunder-cloud rolled into -one.”</p> - -<p>“A good man!”</p> - -<p>“So they say; he has a clean look.”</p> - -<p>A little bell began to sound to call them away to -complines. Igraine went with the rest into the solemn -chapel, and let the chant sweep into her soul, and the prayers -take her heart to heaven. Incense floated down, colours -shone and glimmered on the walls, the dim lamps shivered -like stars under the roof. Igraine felt her hollow heart -warm as a rose in the full blaze of a golden noon. She said -her prayers very fervently that night, for love was awake in -her and glad of her new-blossomed hope. She would go to -the great camp at Sarum and see this Uther for herself.</p> - -<p>She had little comradeship with sleep in the great dormitory -that night. When the matins bell rang she was up -and ready for her flight like a young lark in the day. After -chapel she begged a pittance from the cellaress and stowed -it with her bundle in the little wallet Lilith had given her, -excusing her early going on the plea that she had far to -walk that day. She set out briskly from the grey shadows -of the abbey. The place lay quite close by the western -gate, so that she was soon beyond the walls and in the fields -and orchards where all was goldly quiet at that early hour.</p> - -<p>Winchester stood like a prison-house, void and fooled, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -the east. Igraine turned and looked down at it awhile -huddled in its great girdle of stone, a medley of towers, -roofs, and mist-wrapped trees. She shook her fist at it with -a noiseless little laugh when she thought of Gorlois. Further -yet to the east she could see the blue pine-smirched ridge -where Pelleas had built her that little bower on the night -he had left her sleeping. Her eyes grew deep with desire -as she thought of it all, even as she had thought of it a -thousand times since then. Pelleas’s dark face was garlanded -with green in her memory, and trouble, as it ever does, had -made love take deeper root in her bosom.</p> - -<p>Cheeriness comes with action. Igraine, fettered no -longer, footed it along the road with snatches of song on -her lips, and her eyes full of summer. A quiet wind came -up from the west, and the clear morning air suited her -courage. All the wide world seemed singing; the trees -had an epithalamium on their whispering tongues, and the -sky seemed strewn with white garlands. The tall corn in -its occasional cohorts bowed down to her with murmuring -acclaim as though it guessed her secret.</p> - -<p>When she had gone a league or so she sat down under a -tree and made a meal from the stuff in her wallet. Country -folk went by on the road, for it was market-day in Winchester. -One apple-cheeked lad seeing a nun sitting there -came devoutly with his palms full of fruit taken from his -ass’s pannier, and made his offering with a shy smile and a -bend of the knee. Igraine, touched, blessed him most -piously, and gave him a kiss to cap it. The lad blushed -and went away thinking he had never seen such a pretty -nun before, and wondering if there were many like her in -the great abbey. Igraine watched him towards Winchester, -and wished some country girl joy of a good husband.</p> - -<p>Presently she held on again in great spirits, nor had she -gone very far when a tinkling of bells came up behind her -with a merry clatter of hoofs. Turning aside to give passage, -she looked back and saw an old gentleman riding comfortably -on a white mule with two servants jogging along behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -him on cobs. The old man’s bridle was fringed with little -silver bells that made a thin jingle as he rode; he was -solidly gowned in plum-coloured cloth turned over with -sable, and seemed of comfortable degree, judging by his trappings. -Igraine looked up in his face as he passed by, while -the old gentleman stared down to see what sort of womanhood -lurked under a nun’s hood. The man on the mule -was Eudol, Radamanth’s bosom gossip.</p> - -<p>“Hey now, on my soul,” said the little merchant, reining -in with a will; “what have we here, my dear, gadding -about nunwise on a high-road? My faith, I must hold a -catechism.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, knowing the old man’s vulnerability, answered -with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Master Eudol, you are a very lady’s man, a gem of -discretion.”</p> - -<p>“So, and truth,” said the merchant, with a chuckle.</p> - -<p>Igraine went close to him and patted the white mule’s -neck, while the serving men held at a wise distance.</p> - -<p>“I am running away from Winchester,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Strange sport, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Now you must not tell a soul, on your honour.”</p> - -<p>“Not a living soul, on my honour.”</p> - -<p>Igraine let her eyes flit a laughing look up at him.</p> - -<p>“Why then, Master Eudol,” she said, “if you will order -one of your men to walk, I will get up and ride along with -you for a league or two. There is trust for you.”</p> - -<p>Eudol appeared entranced with the suggestion. He -ordered one of his fellows to dismount, to spread a cloak -over the saddle, to shorten a stirrup leather and give Igraine -his knee. The girl was soon mounted, seated side fashion -with one sandalled foot in the stirrup and one hand on the -pommel to steady her. She flanked Eudol’s white mule, -and they rode on side by side at a level tramp, with the -henchmen some twenty paces in the rear.</p> - -<p>Eudol soon waxed fatherly, as was his custom. He -twitted Igraine on the temerity of her venture with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -senile and pedantic jocosity of an old man. He said things -that would have been impertinent on the tongue of a -youngster, and exerted to the full that eccentric fad of age, -the supposition that youth needs pleasant patronage and -nothing more. Old men, holding young folk to be fools, -reserve to their rusty brains the privilege of seeming wise. -They are content to straddle the crawling, leather-jointed -circumspection that they call knowledge. The bird flutters -to his mate, sings, soars, and is taken before night by the -fowler. The snail creeps his rheumy round covered with the -slime and slobber of prudence, to rot in the end under a tree-stump, -unless some good throstle cracks him prematurely on -a stone. Eudol had something of the snail about him, but -he assayed none the less to ape the soaring of youth with a -very ragged pair of wings. That morning he flew with a -senile eagerness for Igraine’s favour, and thought himself -a match for any young man in the matter of light chivalry.</p> - -<p>“Come now, my dear,” he said, “let us have a good look -at you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir?”</p> - -<p>“My word, you make a gorgeous nun. Who ever saw -such eyes under a hood before! My dear, you are quite -foolhardy to go pilgrimaging alone; men are such rogues, -and you have such a pretty face.”</p> - -<p>There was a cringing tone about the old sinner that -made Igraine thoroughly despise him. He seemed to combine -elderly bravado with smooth servility, qualities peculiarly -obnoxious to the girl’s spirit. She had never liked or trusted -Eudol overmuch in the past, but she was at pains to be civil -to him now, seeing that he might serve her in sundry ways. -She took his speeches with outward graciousness, and laughed -at him hugely in her heart.</p> - -<p>He began to lecture her in rather egotistical fashion.</p> - -<p>“You must remember, my dear,” he said, "that I am a -man of the world, and one whose experience may be relied -upon. I may tell you that my judgment is much valued by -your good uncle Radamanth, a man of much sagacity, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -yet one who lacks just that subtle insight into events that I -may say has always been my special characteristic. I am so -experienced that I may deserve the infinite honour of advising -you if you care to tell me where you are going. I have had -so much to do with the world, that I can tell you the best -tavern in any town this side of the Thames where clean and -honest lodging may be had. I can inform you as to tolls, -prices, customs, bye-laws. Are you soon returning to -Winchester?"</p> - -<p>Igraine shook her head at him.</p> - -<p>“Who have you been quarrelling with, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“Myself most.”</p> - -<p>“To think of it, syrup quarrelling with honey! What -will your Lord Gorlois do?”</p> - -<p>Igraine stifled the question on the instant.</p> - -<p>“Master Eudol, leave that name alone if you want more -of my company.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon, my dear, pardon. I did not know it was so -unpleasant a topic.”</p> - -<p>“I hate the very name of him.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, such a splendid fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Detestable boaster.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut,—a very popular nobleman; just the very man -for you, and vastly rich. Now when I heard that he—that -gentleman—”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, Master Eudol, leave your chatter.”</p> - -<p>The old merchant for the moment looked a little taken -aback. Then he smiled, pulled his goat’s beard, and grew -epigrammatic.</p> - -<p>“She who wears a gilded shoe,” he said, “will find it -pinch in the wearing. Stick to your sandals, my dear, and -let your pretty white feet go brown in the sun. Better -breathe in the open than freeze in a marble house. Just -play the savage and let ambition go hang.”</p> - -<p>Igraine thanked him as though she held his counsel to -be of the most inestimable value to herself. She was wise -enough to know that to please an old man you must take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -his words in desperate earnest, and appear much caught by -his supreme sagacity. Eudol smacked his lips and was comfortably -warm within himself. He went on to tell the girl -that he was riding to a little country manor that he owned -some few leagues from Winchester. He informed her sentimentally -that he was a very Virgil over his farm and garden. -Igraine thought “Virgil” might well be Greek for “fool,” -but she hid her ignorance under her hood. Eudol ran on to -dilate on the subtleties of husbandry, making a fine parade -of expert phraseology in the doing of it.</p> - -<p>“I see you do not follow me,” he said presently. “Young -folk are not fond of turning over the sods; they love grass -for a scamper, not clay and dull loam. Shall we talk of -petticoats or sarcenet that runs down a pretty figure like -water? Eh, my dear? You set the tune, I’ll follow.”</p> - -<p>Igraine contented herself with keeping him to his hobby.</p> - -<p>“My father loved his violet beds,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Wise man—wise man. A garden makes thoughts -sprout as though they would keep time to the leaves. You -shall see my garden. Let me see, what road are you for -following?”</p> - -<p>“The road to fortune, Master Eudol.”</p> - -<p>“Truth, then, it must run near my doorway. The good -woman who keeps house for me will make you most welcome. -You must rest on your journey.”</p> - -<p>“You are very good.”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it, my dear. I shall call you St. Igraine—hee, -hee!—and you will ripen all the apples in my orchard -by looking at ’em. Faith, am I not a wag?”</p> - -<p>“You ought to be at court, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Hee, hee!”</p> - -<p>“You would make all the young squires red with envy.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, my dear!”</p> - -<p>“Truth.”</p> - -<p>“To flatter an old man so—”</p> - -<p>“But you are really such a courtier.”</p> - -<p>Eudol squirmed and chuckled in the grotesquest fashion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Assuredly we make very good friends,” he said.</p> - -<p>Eudol’s manor nearly halved the mileage between Sarum -and the royal town of Winchester, and Igraine found his -suggestion quite a happy help to her plans. If needs be, she -could bide the night there and make Sarum next day with -but trivial trouble. She was glad in a way that she had -fallen in with Eudol, for the ride had proved quite a charity -to her, and his antique vanities had passed the time better -than more modest characteristics could have done. Her -only fear was lest he should cheat her, and send word to -Radamanth. Accordingly she spoke to him again about her -flight, and made him promise on the Cross that he would -not betray her whereabouts. Eudol, silly soul, was ready -enough by now to promise her almost anything.</p> - -<p>About noon they halted and made a meal, with a flat -stone lying under the shade of a tree for table. Eudol drank -quite enough wine to quicken his failings, and to lull what -common sense he had to sleep. He became so maudlin, so -supremely sentimental, that Igraine had much ado to throttle -her laughter. She quite feared for him when they had to -get to horse again. His men had to hoist him into the -saddle between them. Once there he seemed quite arrogantly -confident of his seat, and being a hardy old gentleman -at the pot he soon steadied down into comparative docility, -managing his mule as though there had been no such luxury -as dinner. He was more garrulous and fatherly than ever; -now and again he had to quench a hiccough; otherwise he -was only an exaggerated portrait of himself.</p> - -<p>An hour’s ride brought them to Eudol’s own pastures. -He pointed out his sheep to Igraine amid the clanking of -their diverse bells, and told her the profits of the last shearing. -Soon the house edged into view, a homely place set back an -arrow’s flight from the road, and ringed round with a score -or so old trees. It was a green and quiet spot, mellow -with the warm comfort of pastureland and wood. A pool -twinkled in the meadows, through which ran a small stream.</p> - -<p>There was no bridge over the brook; the track crossed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -it by a shallow ford where the water gurgled over pebbles. -The banks were loose and crumbling, and the trackway -littered with stones. Eudol’s mule went over sure-footed as -a goat, but Igraine’s horse, slipping on the slope, set a fore-hoof -on a shifting stone, and rolled down with a crash. The -girl did not avoid in time, and the brute’s body pinned her -ankle. She felt the sinews crack, and the stones bruise her -flesh. For a moment she was in danger of the animal’s -plunges to rise, but one of the men came up and seized the -bridle, while his fellow drew Igraine clear.</p> - -<p>Eudol climbed down, splashed through the water, and -came up puffing sympathy. Igraine tried to walk, but -gave up with a wry face. The men helped her to the grass -bank, where she sat down, with Eudol fussing round her -like an old woman. He sent the men on to the manor to -bring a bed; and seeing that Igraine had grown white from -the wrench, he ran for the wine-flask at his saddle-bow and -urged her to drink. The girl had more fear of a spoilt -journey than a cracked bone, and feeling faint for the -moment, she suffered Eudol, and took the wine. The old -man was on his knees by her stroking her hand, his thin -beard wagging, and his glazed eyes vinously sympathetic. -When the men came back with the bed they laid Igraine -thereon, and bore her through the meadows to the house, -Eudol following like a spaniel at their heels.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>While Igraine slept in the abbey dormitory and dreamt -of Pelleas, the man Gorlois burnt on the grid of his own -passions, and found no peace for his soul.</p> - -<p>The night sky was not a whit more black than his spirit, -and his sinister cogitations were chequered ever with palpitating -points of fire. The restless fever of an unfed leopard -seemed his, and he was in and out of his tumbled, sleepless -bed ten times before dawn. Only a boar-hound kept him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -company, a savage red-eyed brute whose temper suited that -of his master; the dog followed Gorlois as he wandered -from bed-chamber to atrium, out from the peristyles to the -garden, down walks of yew and cypress, between the beds -of helicryse and asphodel, over the smooth lawns clear in the -eye of the moon. There was an evil thing in Gorlois’s -thought, a thing fit for beggarly disrelish, yet very white -and lovely to look upon. He stalked like a ghost in the -night, biting his lips, looking into the dark with red and -eager eyes. How often he reached out in naked thought -and clasped only the air. He cursed himself and the woman, -honoured and abused her in one breath, grew hot and cold -like a live coal played upon by a fickle wind.</p> - -<p>As soon as dawn came he had a plunge and a swim in a -pool in the garden, and having suffered the ceremony of a -state toilet, went out unattended into the town. It was -the very hour when Igraine was shaking her fist at Winchester -for thought of him, but Gorlois was spared the prick -of self-knowledge and the frank truth of the girl’s distaste. -He thought her nothing more than a shrew, and the possessor -of a splendid temper. His long legs and the heat at -his heart soon took him down through the quiet streets and -the market square to Radamanth’s house.</p> - -<p>Early as was the hour, the goldsmith had escaped sloth -and was busy at his ledgers in his little counting-house -behind the parlour. Gorlois came in in great state, with the -serving wench who announced him feasting her curiosity on -his face with a sheepish giggle. Radamanth, fetched from -his figures, bowed very low, and made the gentleman a most -obsequious welcome. He was wondering what Gorlois’s -humour might be after the repulse of yesterday. To tell -the truth, Radamanth felt somewhat ashamed of the trick -he had served Igraine, and he was none too eager to meet -his niece, seeing that she still seemed determined to hide her -anger in her room. His doubts as to Gorlois’s mood -were set at rest by that gentleman’s somewhat saturnine -opening.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Radamanth!”</p> - -<p>“Your honour’s servant.”</p> - -<p>“I have come to make peace.”</p> - -<p>“Your lordship’s magnanimity is phenomenal.”</p> - -<p>“Was I over hasty, goldsmith?”</p> - -<p>“A young man’s way, my lord; no fault at all. Many’s -the time I had my face smacked as a youngster, and was -none the worse in favour. Take no serious view, sir, but -press her the harder. She’ll give in—my faith, yes, being -young and full of bone. You are troubled, my lord, with -too much conscience.”</p> - -<p>“Have you seen the woman since?”</p> - -<p>Radamanth raised his eyebrows and shrugged.</p> - -<p>“Well, no,” he said. “I am afraid my niece has rather -a hot spirit—breeding, my lord—proud blood in her.”</p> - -<p>“I know that part of her nobleness well enough.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth refrained a moment from a sense of discretion.</p> - -<p>“My lord would see her?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll not budge till I have done so.”</p> - -<p>“You understand women?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois smiled a peculiar smile.</p> - -<p>“I have wit enough,” he said. “I have my plan.”</p> - -<p>“If it please you, sir, to go into the garden, I will endeavour -to send her to you.”</p> - -<p>“No more locking of doors, goldsmith.”</p> - -<p>“Sir, I contemn my late indiscretion in your service.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois passed out by a long passage into the gardens, -with its green leaves shelving to the river, while Radamanth, -half a coward at heart, went towards the stair that led to -Igraine’s chamber. Halfway up he met the girl Lilith -coming down, very white and frightened looking, as though -she dreaded her father’s face. Radamanth kissed her, and -asked for Igraine. Then her distraught look dawned on -him in the twilight of the stairway, and made him suddenly -suspicious.</p> - -<p>“Is Igraine awake?”</p> - -<p>Lilith hid her face in his sleeve.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Speak, girl, what’s amiss?”</p> - -<p>“The room is empty.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“Igraine has left us,” said the girl with a stifled whimper.</p> - -<p>Radamanth, sage and solemn soul, lapsed into the sin of -blasphemy.</p> - -<p>“When did you learn this, girl?”</p> - -<p>“Father—”</p> - -<p>“Quick now, don’t lie.”</p> - -<p>He shook her by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Father, be gentle with me.”</p> - -<p>“Quick, hussy.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, I can’t.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth took her firmly by the wrist and brought her -with no very considerate care into the parlour.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said, thrusting her into a chair, “you atom -of ingratitude, tell me what you know.”</p> - -<p>Lilith began to sob. She hid her face behind her fingers -and dared not look at Radamanth. The goldsmith chafed -and paced the room, hectoring her.</p> - -<p>“Don’t think to fool me,” he said; “you know more -yet; you would have answered before if there had been any -truth in you.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth’s harshness seemed certainly to calm the girl, -and to conjure up some passing antagonism in her heart.</p> - -<p>“The blame is yours, father.”</p> - -<p>“Impertinent child.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine was angry with you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, have I not treated her like a daughter?”</p> - -<p>“She fled away last night.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“You do.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t, father; ’tis truth.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s brown eyes appealed to him tearfully; she -was honest enough, and Radamanth knew it. He took her -sincerity for granted and proceeded to question her further.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How was she clothed, child?”</p> - -<p>Lilith looked at the floor and plucked at her gown with -her fingers.</p> - -<p>“Do you hear me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father.”</p> - -<p>“Then answer at once.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my soul—”</p> - -<p>“Igraine made me promise.”</p> - -<p>Radamanth lost his temper again and began to bluster -like a March wind. Lilith’s cheeks were wet with her -tears; they ran down and dropped into her lap like little -crystals. She shook and sobbed in her chair, but answered -not a word, a martyr to her promises. Then Radamanth, -man of money-bags and craft, found something wherewith to -loose her tongue.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” he said; “a certain lad never enters this house -again, and you never again have speech with him, unless -you answer me this at once.”</p> - -<p>The mean measure triumphed. Lilith’s tears never -ceased, but she gave way at last, and hating herself, told -Radamanth what he wanted. Then he left her there to -whimper by herself, and went into the garden to speak with -Gorlois.</p> - -<p>The Count of Cornwall guessed from the merchant’s -face that matters had fallen out ill for him somewhere. -He forestalled Radamanth’s confession with an impatient -gust of words.</p> - -<p>“She is still in a deuce of a temper?”</p> - -<p>“My lord, it is otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“Then why so glum—man, have I not uncovered ingots -of gold for you if I wed?”</p> - -<p>Radamanth held his hands up like a priest giving a -blessing. Any one might have thought him grieved to -death by the ingratitude of his niece’s desertion. The -goldsmith dealt in coarser sentiment.</p> - -<p>“My lord, the girl has forsaken my house and fled.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gorlois had half expected some such news. He said -nothing, but merely stared at Radamanth with dark masterful -eyes, while his fingers played with the tassels of his belt. -His heart was already away over moor and dale chasing the -gleam of a golden head of hair.</p> - -<p>“When did you miss her, goldsmith?”</p> - -<p>“She crept away at dusk yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Whither?”</p> - -<p>“Heaven knows, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“How dressed?”</p> - -<p>“As a grey nun.”</p> - -<p>“Has she gone back to the Church?”</p> - -<p>“She did not love such a life, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“By God, no.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois frowned a moment in thought. The scent of -the girl’s dress was still in his nostrils, and her eyes haunted -him. Then he turned past Radamanth to go, hitching up -his sword belt, a significant habit he had learnt long ago.</p> - -<p>“I shall find her,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Good, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“I have your countenance.”</p> - -<p>“Be kind to the girl, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I could go to hell for her.”</p> - -<p>“My lord, why not try heaven?”</p> - -<p>“A good jest.”</p> - -<p>“Men always go to hell for things,” said the goldsmith.</p> - -<p>There was life and stir enough in Gorlois’s great house -when its master came back that morning. Gorlois’s orders -were like a torch to tinder. Men went to every wind, -some to the gates, some to the market, others to the -religious houses and the inns, all bent on striking the -trail of a nun’s grey gown. The men knew their master’s -mood, and the measure of his pulse on such occasions. -Gorlois bided quiet in his garden, more like a leopard than -a lover. He had made up his mind to catch Igraine, and to -win mastery of her, hook or by crook, since she chose to -play the shrew and mar his wooing. It was not likely that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -one of the first men in Britain should be baffled by the -temper of a goldsmith’s niece.</p> - -<p>About noon a certain slave who had gone out to net -news came back with much elation and claimed his lord’s -ear. Brought in before Gorlois, he told how he had talked -with a boy selling fruit in the market-place, and how the -boy, when questioned, had told him of a nun he had seen -sitting under a tree by the road to Sarum that very morning. -The lad had described her as a very beautiful lady with -large eyes, and a cloud of red-brown hair, and that she wore -a grey nun’s habit somewhat torn and travel-stained. -Gorlois thought he recognised Igraine, and gave the slave -fifty acres and his freedom on the instant. Waiting for -further news, word was brought him that a grey nun had -been marked by the guard going out of the western gate -not very long after dawn. Later still Gorlois heard of such -a nun, calling herself Melibœa, having lodged the night at -the great abbey of St. Helena.</p> - -<p>Gorlois held himself in leash no longer. He buckled on -his richly gilt armour, and his great white horse was saddled -and brought into the court. Not a knight would he have -at his back, neither groom nor page. Getting to horse -in the full welt of the afternoon sun, he rode out of -Winchester alone by the western gate, watched of many -people. Once clear of the town he pricked incontinently -for Sarum, lusting much to catch Igraine upon the way.</p> - -<p>About that very same hour Eudol was exerting himself -in Igraine’s service in the manor farm in the meadows.</p> - -<p>The men had carried her up from the ford and set her -at her own seeking in a shady place in the garden where -she might lie at peace. It was a pleasant nook enough -where they had set her bed, a patch of bright green grass -with a bank of flowers on one hand and dense laurel hedge -hiding it from the track to the house on the other. A vine -trained upon poles raised a pleasant pavilion there. Autumn -would soon be whispering in the woods, and already some -few leaves were ribbed with gold and maroon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> - -<p>Eudol played the physician and made a very critical -examination of her ankle. He prided himself, among his -other vanities, on having studied Galen, and since the healing -craft is often a matter of phenomenal words and wise -nothings, Eudol might have outphysicked Gildas at his own -game. The art of medicine is the art of hypocrisy, and the -sage apothecary is often a broken reed trembling in the -wind of ignorance. Eudol, having no reputation at stake, -pronounced Igraine’s hurt to be a mere strain of the ankle-joint, -and, as it happened, he was right. He swathed her -foot in wet linen and set it on a pillow, while the woman -who kept house for him, a red-cheeked piece of buxomness, -brought wine and food-stuff on a tray. Seeing a nun’s -habit the good woman was comforted, and indulged Igraine -with many smiles and much motherly care.</p> - -<p>Eudol came and sat beside her with a great book on his -knee, Virgil’s Bucolics, as he told her, and writ most -learnedly for the edification of the wise. Eudol read very -little of the book that afternoon. The volume abode with -him for effect, but he preferred rather to dwell upon the -more Ovidian interest of the girl beside him, and to talk to -her in his familiar and fatherly fashion. He made many sly -attempts to get the purpose of her pilgrimage from her, but -Igraine had enough wit to keep him discreetly mystified on -the subject. She was wondering all the while how long -her strained ankle would keep her to her bed.</p> - -<p>Eudol smothered her with offers of hospitality.</p> - -<p>“On my word you shall not be dull,” he said, “though -there is only an old man to entertain you. One day you -shall ride out in a litter to my vineyards, another you shall -be carried out a-hunting. I have a little wench here who -can harp and sing like a mermaid. By the poets, I can -make you quite a merry time.”</p> - -<p>Igraine made the best smile she could, and thanked him.</p> - -<p>“You must not put yourself out for me.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense.”</p> - -<p>“You are very good.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>Eudol shook his finger with most earnest expression.</p> - -<p>“My dear lady, it is duty, duty,” he said.</p> - -<p>They had not been so very long in the garden when -Igraine’s quick ear caught the sharp and rhythmic smite of -hoofs on the stony track across the meadows. The sound -disquieted her, for she was in the mood for dreads and -suspicions. Listening to make sure that the sound -approached, she appealed to Eudol and asked him to look -and see who rode for the manor. There was a little wicket-gate -some way down the laurel hedge carefully screened by -shrubs. Eudol went to it, and scanned the meadows under -his hand. He came back somewhat flustered to Igraine, -and told her that a knight in gilded armour mounted on a -white horse was riding up the track to the house.</p> - -<p>Igraine started up on her bed with her eyes very big and -suspicious.</p> - -<p>“It is Gorlois,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Heavens, my dear!”</p> - -<p>“You have not been lying to me?”</p> - -<p>“On my soul—no.”</p> - -<p>Igraine touched her forehead with her hand, and looked -askance at the sun.</p> - -<p>“Master Eudol, if you would serve me, go and fool the -man—send him away.”</p> - -<p>“My dear child—”</p> - -<p>“He must not see the servants or have speech with -them.”</p> - -<p>“But—”</p> - -<p>“I command you, go and speak to him; he is very -near.”</p> - -<p>Eudol looked at her with his lower lip a-droop. His -grey-green eyes met Igraine’s, gleamed, and faltered. He -bent over the bed.</p> - -<p>“I will do my best. Give me a kiss, my dear. By -Augustus, I will get rid of Gorlois if I can.”</p> - -<p>He went out quickly by the wicket-gate, and closing it -after him, waited for the knight to approach. There were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -no slaves about, and Eudol remembered with confidence that -his men were in the corn fields, well away to the north. -Gorlois came up with the splendid arrogance that so suited -him, his rich armour glowing above the white flanks of his -horse, his spear balanced on his thigh. Eudol went forward -some paces to meet him, as though to learn his business. -Igraine, listening behind the laurel hedge, heard their words -as plainly as though the two men were but three paces -away.</p> - -<p>“Greeting, sir,” said Eudol’s thin voice.</p> - -<p>Then she heard Gorlois’s clear sharp tenor questioning -him. She heard him ask whether a grey nun had called for -food, or whether Eudol had seen or heard of such a person. -She heard the old man’s meandering negative, and Gorlois’s -retort that a grey nun had been seen riding beside a merchant -on a white mule. Igraine’s heart seemed to race -and thunder. Eudol, rising to the event, suggested that the -merchant might be a certain fabulous person from Aquæ -Sulis; a man of means, he said, who often came by Sarum -to Winchester in the fur trade. He hinted that the knight -might overtake them on the road, or discover them at Sarum -that evening. Gorlois fell to the suggestion. Igraine -heard him inquire further of Eudol, speak to his horse, and -ride away with a ringing clatter. She sat on her couch -behind her laurel rampart and laughed.</p> - -<p>Eudol came back to her, pleased as possible.</p> - -<p>“How was that done,—sweeting?”</p> - -<p>“Nobly,” laughed Igraine.</p> - -<p>“The Virgin pardon me; what perjury for a pair of -lips.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Nothing is more chafing to the patience than to lie abed -crippled, knowing the while that coveted hours are slipping -through one’s fingers like grains of gold. To Igraine, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -maimed ankle was a very thorn in the flesh. Her thoughts -were tugging to be at Sarum, and she was in continual fear -lest Radamanth or Gorlois should track her to her temporary -refuge, and attempt to mar her freedom. She was not a -woman who could take hindrance with perfect philosophy, -comforting herself with the reflection that care never yet -salved unrest. She chafed at delay, and even blamed Eudol -with great unreason because he had obliged her with a horse -not proof against stumbling.</p> - -<p>The knowledge that Gorlois rode in search of her did not -tend to the easing of her mind. She began to understand -Gorlois to the full. He had betrayed so much of himself -in Radamanth’s garden that her dread grew nearly as great -as her disrelish.</p> - -<p>Eudol had made her comfortable enough in his manor, -she had no need to find fault with his hospitality. She had -her own room, a little girl to wait and sing to her, fruit and -food of the best. She spent the greater part of each day in -the garden, her bed being set under the vine leaves; two of -Eudol’s slaves would carry her down in the morning and -bear her back again at night, so that she should not be too -venturesome in trying her ankle. The old merchant kept -his folk close on the farm and suffered none to go to -Winchester or Salisbury, for fear lest the knowledge of -Igraine’s whereabouts should leak into interested channels.</p> - -<p>The more the girl saw of Eudol the less she relished him -in her heart. The lean look of him, his little green eyes, -his thin goat-like beard, reminded her much of the picture of -some old Satyr she had seen in the frescoes on the walls of -the triclinium at Winchester. He grew more fatherly and -kind to her, would smile like some old saint as he sat and -read moralities to her from the lives of some of the Fathers. -He was very fond of holding her hand and stroking it while -he purred sentiment, and made her colour to hear his -nonsense. He was quite wickedly delighted when he had -fetched a blush to her face. He would sit and chuckle and -hug himself, while his little eyes glistened and his beard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -shook. Igraine, though her cheeks often tingled, did her -best to suffer him, knowing well enough that she was -greatly dependent for her peace of mind upon his good-will. -She would laugh, turn his senile flatteries into jest, and assume -his humour as the most vapoury and fanciful piece of -fun possible. She often hinted that Eudol must be neglecting -his farm for her sake, though her suggestions were -absolutely to no purpose, seeing that Eudol had forgotten -all about such mundane matters as harvesting or the pressing -of cider.</p> - -<p>One afternoon they had a shrewd fright, and the incident -led in its final development to Igraine’s leaving the manor -in the meadows. She was in the garden with Eudol when -two horsemen wearing Gorlois’s livery rode up to the gate -and demanded entertainment with much froth and bombast. -They were sturdy hot-tongued rogues, quick at liquor, -quicker still at blasphemy. Eudol, much flustered, had them -brought into the house and set loose upon a wine flask -while he smuggled Igraine out of the garden. There was a -barn standing on the other side of a little meadow near the -house, and the building was screened by a fringe of pines -and a thorn hedge. Eudol hurried Igraine to the barn, saw -her couched on a pile of hay, closed the door on her, and -scampered back to take great care of Gorlois’s gentlemen.</p> - -<p>Eudol proved a most obsequious and attentive host. He -kept the men primed with wine, watched them like a lynx, -forbade his slaves and servants the room so that there should -be no chance of gossip. The fellows thought themselves -well harboured. Eudol, hardy old tipster, kept them going -with a will, till they swore he was the best old gentleman at -his cups they had met this side of the Thames. He out-drank, -out-yarned, out-jested the pair of them. Grown very -mellow towards evening, they vowed by all the calendar that -they loved him so much they would make a night of it, and -not go to bed till they were carried. Eudol could have -denied himself their great esteem, but there was nothing for -it but to humour them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> - -<p>He got rid of the fellows next morning, when they went -away sadly, very glazed about the eyes, swearing they would -pay him another visit at their very earliest opportunity. -Eudol, when they were out of sight, went out to the barn -and found Igraine comfortably couched there on a mass of -hay. The little maid who served her had brought her -supper on the sly the night before, and she had fared well -enough in her new quarters.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact Eudol had had a parting cup with -the men that morning, and had hardly outbreathed as yet -the maudlin heritage gotten the previous night. He kissed -Igraine’s hand, mumbled his usual courtesies, excused his -long absence with a warmth that nearly brought him to -tears. He was somewhat flushed over the cheek bones; his -eyes were bright, and his breath pregnant with the heavy -scent of wine. Igraine wiped the hand he had kissed on -her gown, looked at him with little love or gratitude, and -told him that she had been trying to walk, and that her -ankle bore her passably.</p> - -<p>Eudol, edging near, proceeded to narrate at preposterous -length how he had kept Gorlois’s men employed, made -them drunk as cobblers, and packed them off innocently to -Winchester that morning. He was hugely sly over it all. -He came and climbed up beside Igraine on the hay, and -pinched her arm with his lean fingers as he talked. There -was a gaunt, red, eager look about his face. It was quite -twilight in the great barn, and a mingled smell of hay and -pitch-pine filled the air, while dusty beams of light filtered -through in steady streams.</p> - -<p>Eudol’s vinous and fatherly solicitude developed abruptly -into an absurd revelation of his inner self. He had hold of -Igraine’s arm with one hand. Leaving go suddenly, he -reached for her waist, poked his grey beard into her face, -and made a clumsy dab at her cheek. In a moment the -girl’s arm had swept him backwards like an impotent bag -of bones. She saw him overbalance and roll off the haycock -on to the edge of a scythe. Without waiting for more, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -with a glimpse of the old fool’s slippers still in the air, she -slipped down from the hay and out of the barn, and shutting -the door, pegged the catch with a piece of wood. Then -she went laughing half resentfully towards the house, and -told Dame Phœbe that her master had gone to the fields to -oversee his slaves.</p> - -<p>The woman had taken a remarkable dislike to Igraine, -being sulky-eyed and dumb-saucy in her presence as far as -she dared. The grey nun told her that she was ending her -sojourn at the farm that morning, and was going on foot -for the west. The woman’s face changed as suddenly as a -spring sky. She was suave and smiling instanter, ready -with queries as to Igraine’s ankle, very eager to pack her -wallet with stuff from Eudol’s larder. Igraine, with an -inward flush, saw how the wind blew. She was keen to be -gone before Eudol should be loosed from the barn; even -the woman’s changed mood seemed a tacit insult in itself.</p> - -<p>She was soon treading the meadows where the backs of -Eudol’s sheep stood out like white boulders on the solitary -stretch of green. The country began to be as flat as a -table, though there were still masses of woodland piled on -either side the great white road. Igraine kept in among -the trees with just a glimpse of the highway to keep her -to her mark. Her grey gown passed almost unperceptibly -among the mould-grown trunks as she went in the chequered -light like a grey mouse through green corn. Her ankle -bore her better than she had prophesied, and she made fair -travelling at a modest pace. Later in the afternoon the -strain began to tell in measure, and her ankle ached and -felt hot, as though she had done enough. Sitting down on -a fallen tree she watched the road, and waited for some one -to pass.</p> - -<p>A charcoal burner went by with a couple of asses -panniered up with a comfortable load. Then came two -soldiers and a couple of light wenches who haunted camp -and castle and lived to the minute. Next, a great wain -half ladened up with faggots came lumbering along, drawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -by a pair of sleepy horses, and driven by a peasant in a -green smock and leather breeches. Igraine took her choice, -and going down from the trees, stood by the roadside, and -begged of the man a lift.</p> - -<p>Seeing a nun looking up at him the man reined in, -climbed down cap in hand, and louted low to her. There -was some clean straw spread over the boards at the bottom -of the cart. The man helped her up on to the tail-board -and raked the straw into a heap to make her a seat. Then -they lumbered on again towards Sarum.</p> - -<p>In due course she began to talk to the man as he sat on -a couple of faggots and held the ropes. He was an honest, -ignorant fellow, with a much whiskered face that wore a -perpetual look of kindly stupidity. Igraine sought to know -whether he was going as far as Sarum. The man shook -his bushy head like an amiable ogre, and told her that he -was for his lord’s manor some two leagues distant, where -he served as woodman and ranger, or soldier when there -was need of steel. He commended his lord’s house to her -for lodging, with a solid faith in the generosity of its board. -Questioned as to other habitations, he told her of a hermit’s -cell set in a little dale in the woods, a cell where wandering -folk often found harbour for the night. Igraine made up -her mind to choose the ascetic’s bread and water, having -had enough of the world’s welcome. Possibly in some dim -and distant way she began to realise the intense and engrained -selfishness of the human heart.</p> - -<p>The man of faggots, believing her a holy woman, soon -began to relate his domestic troubles to her with a most -touching reverence. He told her how his wife had been -abed two months from her last childbirth, and how sad -and dirty his little cabin was for lack of her hands. He -asked Igraine to put the woman in her bede-role, a simple -favour that she granted readily enough. Then the fellow -with some stolid pathos went on to describe how his eldest -lad, a boy of eight, had caught a fever through sleeping in -the woods after rain, and how he had fallen sick.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I went to a good monk,” said the man, “and bought -holy water and a pinch of dust from a saint’s coffin. Pardy! -but it cost me a year’s savings. The good father bade me -pour the water on the boy’s head and shake the dust over -his body. Glad I was, holy sister; I ran five miles home -to cure the lad.”</p> - -<p>“And he is well?”</p> - -<p>The man gave a doleful whistle.</p> - -<p>“The boy died,” said he with pathetic candour, and a -short catch in his voice. “I didn’t sleep two whole nights. -Then I kissed my woman, mopped her eyes, and went and -told the priest.”</p> - -<p>Igraine merely nodded.</p> - -<p>“Ah, the dear father, he told me ’twas God’s will, and -that the blessed dust had drifted the lad straight to heaven, -where he would be singing next King David like any lord. -So he came and buried the boy, and there was an end -on’t.”</p> - -<p>Igraine for the moment felt heavy about the eyes.</p> - -<p>“I should like to see him there in his little white stole,” -she said. “Do you know, goodman, why so many children -die?”</p> - -<p>“Faith, madame, I have no learning,” said the fellow -with a dumb stare.</p> - -<p>“Because the great God loves to have children laughing -for love of him in heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Is’t so?”</p> - -<p>“That is why he took your boy.”</p> - -<p>The man’s face brightened with a new dignity.</p> - -<p>“Little Rual was ever a gentle child,” he said. “I -must tell my woman; it will just make her happy.”</p> - -<p>“I will pray for her health.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you, holy lady, you have a wise, kind heart.”</p> - -<p>Igraine blushed, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>Presently the man stopped his horses, and pointed her to -a little path that led, he said, to the hermitage. He helped -Igraine out of the cart, and knelt on the road for her to give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -him a blessing. Igraine had a Latin phrase or two from -Avangel, and the benediction was earnest enough in spirit, -though it lacked genuine authority. Then she took the -path through trees, and left the man standing cap in hand -by his waggon. Her brief ride with him had done her -heart good.</p> - -<p>A mile’s walk through unkempt pastures and straggling -thickets brought her to an open dale set beneath the shoulder -of a wooded hill. On the grass slope over against her she -saw the hermitage—a grey cell of unfaced stone standing -in a garden in a grove of ancient thorns. By the rivulet -that ran half hid by undergrowth a figure in a brown cassock -was drawing water. Passing down over the water, -Igraine overtook the recluse halfway up the slope to the -hermitage garden. She remarked his bald head fringed with -a mournful halo of hair, his stooping shoulders, his ungainly -weak-kneed gait. Hearing her tread behind him he -turned a tanned face to her, a face that brought forth -a smile of brotherly greeting at sight of a nun. Igraine, -by way of creating good feeling, took his water pot and -carried it for him, pleading youth in extenuation of the -service.</p> - -<p>There was a keen yet kindly sapience about the old -man’s big-nosed face that caught her fancy. He was a bit -of a cynic on the surface, but warm as good earth at heart. -Igraine confessed her need of a lodging for the night, and -the man retorted bluntly with the remark that the hermitage -was not his house,—but only a refuge to bury strangers in. -Pointing to a great slab of stone that stood near the little -cell, he told her that the stone had been his bed, summer and -winter, these fifteen years, and that dew, rain, frost, and -snow had worked their will upon his body and found it -leather. The confession, pithily—almost humorously—put, -without a trace of rodomontade, set the girl smiling. She -looked at the man’s brown buckram skin and congratulated -him, embodying her flattery in a little jest that seemed to -catch the ascetic fancy. He commended it with a patriarchal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -twinkle, and throwing open the door of his cell surrendered -her its shelter.</p> - -<p>Igraine soon fathomed the shallow compass of the hermitage. -It held two pallet beds, some rude furniture and -crockery, and such things as were necessary to the old man’s -craft, namely a scourge, a calthrop set on the end of an iron -chain, a coat made of furze, a garland of thorn twigs, and -a pair of spiked sandals. Gardening tools were piled in a -corner. Over the doorway hung a rusty suit of harness and -a red crusted sword. Here in this narrow place the war -tools of world and church were mingled.</p> - -<p>Igraine turned back into the hermitage garden. It was -a quiet spot, webbed with the faery tracery of flowers and -flowering shrubs, golden with helichryse, full of the mist of -unshorn grass, bright with the water of its little fish-pool, -where the ferns grew thick. A low wattle fence, climbed -about by late-seasoned roses of red, shut the whole within -its rustic pale. Some of the herb beds were cut into -symbols of holy things, and a bay tree had been laboriously -pruned into the rude image of a cross. A number of doves -peopled the place, flocking about the hermit as he worked, -often lighting on his hands or shoulders, while an old hound -dozed in the sun, or followed at his heels. Peace seemed -over the little refuge like a tranquil sky.</p> - -<p>The hermit handed Igraine a hoe, as a matter of custom, -and set her to work on the weeds in a neglected corner, -while he busied his hands with pruning some of his rose -trees, and removing the clay and linen from his grafts. He -was by no means the solemn, dismal soul or the kindly -simpleton Igraine might have expected. He had a keen, -world-wise air about him that made him seem a sort of -Christian Diogenes, and it was plain that he had lived much -among men. The mingled austerity and happiness of his -habits, when set beside his inwardly sympathetic yet somewhat -cynic humour, gave a strong interest to his personality -that quite commanded Igraine’s liking. Despite the vast -responsibilities of man, as he himself put it, he was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -above having a jest at life in general. “For,” said he, as he -pruned his rose bushes, “he who knows and obeys the truth -can of all men afford to be merry.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, smiling through the boughs, agreed with him -from her heart.</p> - -<p>“There are no sour faces in heaven,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Assuredly not,” said the hermit almost fiercely.</p> - -<p>“Then why such mortifications of the flesh, father?”</p> - -<p>Looking up from his pruning, he beamed over the -world.</p> - -<p>“I am a very human rogue.”</p> - -<p>“Human!”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, sister, <i>mea culpa</i>, I loved the world when -I was in it like my own life, and even now if I did not -gnash upon myself I should grow frivolous at times. When -I have spent a night in the rain, or plied my scourge, it is -marvellous how swiftly vain the fabrics of a vaunting pride -become. ‘I am dust, I am dust,’ I cry, and am sound at -heart again. I look upon bread and olives and a draught of -river water as true godsends. Having endured exceeding -discomfort of the flesh, I am as happy in the sun here among -my flowers as a mortal could be.”</p> - -<p>Igraine rested on her hoe, and put her head back, while -the evening light gave her hair a rare metallic lustre.</p> - -<p>“You believe in a life of contrasts, father?”</p> - -<p>The old man became suddenly more serious.</p> - -<p>“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I have found that by -making myself fanatically uncomfortable so many hours a -day, I can attain for the rest of it that simple, contented, and -heaven-soaring mood that belongs to the honest Christian. -Man’s great peril is apathy, and my customs save me from -sleepy ease. There is such a thing as living to pander to -the flesh; it is the creed of the majority. In order to -enjoy a truly spiritual end, I annihilate the appetites of the -body, and <i>ecce homo</i>,—merry, conscience whole, clean.”</p> - -<p>Igraine resumed her harrowing of reprobate green-stuff.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose your doctrine is right for yourself,” she said.</p> - -<p>An answer came back to her leisurely over the rose bush.</p> - -<p>“To the backbone, sister. Yet I am not one who would -thrust my habits down other men’s throats simply because -the said habits happen to suit my soul. All religious -methods are a matter of individual experiment. One man -may feel more Christian if he drinks wine instead of water; -if so—by all the prophets—let him have his wine. I hold -doctrinal tyranny to be the greatest curse in Christendom.”</p> - -<p>Igraine agreed with him like a sister.</p> - -<p>Soon the sun went down with a flood of gold over the -trees, the little pool put off sheeny samite for black velvet, -and the doves flew up to roost. The hermit in a genial -mood went to his vesper meditations. Igraine saw him -kneel down before the great stone with his scourge and -crucifix beside him. She was still carnal enough to prefer -the thin comfort of a pallet bed in the hermitage to stone or -mother earth. When it had grown dark and very still she -heard the swish of the steel scourge, and the man’s mutterings -mingled with the occasional baying of his dog. This -phase of mind was, at her age, quite incomprehensible to her. -She remembered to pray that night for the peasant’s wife -who had been sick in bed so long, and for the little lad who -lay under the green grass. Then she went to sleep thinking -of Pelleas.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IX</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Radamanth the goldsmith had not wasted the hours since -his niece had fled Winchester and his house in the dark. -He was a man who did not let an enterprise slip into the -limbo of the past till he had attempted honestly, and dishonestly, -for that matter, to bring it to a successful issue. -He had set his heart on getting Igraine married to one of -the first lords in the island, and he also had skew ideas as -to brimming up his own coffers. Taking it for granted that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -Lilith and the girl had not been close friends for weeks -together without sharing secrets, and being also strongly -of the opinion that Igraine’s perversity arose out of some -previous affair, he laid methodical siege to his daughter’s -confidences, and cast a parental dyke about her that should -compel her to open every gate and alley to his scrutiny.</p> - -<p>Lilith, amiable, but weak as milk, was soon worn into -surrender by her father’s methods. He had an unfailing -lash wherewith to quicken her apprehension, in that young -Mark, the armourer’s son, should be barred the house unless -she bent to the parental edicts. Lilith soon brought herself -to believe that after all there could not be so much disloyalty -in telling certain of Igraine’s adventures to her father. -Radamanth, bit by bit, had the whole tale of the way from -Avangel to Winchester. Seeing how often Igraine—woman-wise—had -pictured her man to Lilith, the goldsmith -won a clear perception of the strange knight’s person, -how he rode a black horse, wore red armour, bore a red -dragon on a green shield, and was called Pelleas. Radamanth -made a careful note of all these things, and laid the -knowledge of them before Gorlois. Various subtleties -resulted from these facts—subtleties carefully considered -to catch Igraine.</p> - -<p>To turn to Eudol. That lean old satyr had fallen -gravely into error in the conviction that he had fooled Gorlois’s -men so cleverly over the wine-pot. The deceit had -been deeper on the other side, and more effectual, seeing -that there had been a kirtled traitor in the manor camp. -If Eudol had been stirring just after daybreak on the morning -after the carouse, he might have caught one of Gorlois’s -men coming down a little winding stair that led to a -certain portion of the house. A little earlier still he would -have found the fellow with his arm round Dame Phœbe’s -waist in a dark entry on the stairs. The woman did not -love Igraine, nor did she want her in the house; moreover, -Gorlois’s man was young, and had fine eyes, and a most -wicked tongue. Eudol, like most diplomats, was far from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -being infallible when there was a woman in the coil, and -Dame Phœbe was very much a woman.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s fellows had no sooner cleared the meadows that -morning than they were away for Winchester at a dusty -rattle. It was fast going over the clean, straight road, and -the grey walls were not long in coming into view. The -pair swung through the western gate, and went straight -through the streets in a way that set the city folk staring -and dodging for the pathway. At the gate of Gorlois’s -house the porter had a vexatious damping for the spirits of -these fiery gentlemen. Gorlois had ridden out. The men -swore, off-saddled, and made the best of the matter over a -game of dice in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>There was great bustle when Gorlois had heard the -men’s tale. They excused their not having taken Igraine -on the plea that Gorlois had forbidden any to approach -her save himself. The man was in a smiting mood, and -he swore Eudol should rue giving him the lie and sending -him a wild chase miles into the west. Getting to horse at -once, and taking the two men with some ten more spears, -he rode out and held for Sarum.</p> - -<p>There was a swirl of dust before Eudol’s gate, and a -sharp scattering of shingle as Gorlois and his troop rode up. -A slave, who had seen them from the garden, and had taken -them for robbers, was prevented from closing the gate by -a brisk youth wedging it with his foot. There was a short -scuffle at the tottering door. Then Gorlois and his men -burst it in, and cut down those slaves on the threshold who -had tried to close the door. The women folk were herded -screeching into the kitchen, and penned there like sheep. -Out of a cupboard in an upper room they dragged the -woman Phœbe, limp with fright, and hurried the truth out -of her that Igraine had gone that very morning, and that -Eudol was still in the fields. Gorlois, believing her a liar, -had the house searched, beds overturned, cupboards torn -open, every nook and cranny probed. Then they tried the -garden and the stables, with like fortune. One of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -fellows catching sight of the barn across the meadows, half-hidden -by pines, they made a circle round it, closed in, and -forced the door. A blinking, red-eyed face came up out of the -shadows, its beard and thin thatch of hair whisped with hay.</p> - -<p>Eudol, collared with little kindness, began to wonder -after his drunken sleep who these rough folk could be. A -word as to Igraine brought him to his senses. He saw -Gorlois, a dark-bearded, black-eyed man, with a frown that -he did not like the look of. He began to shake in his -slippers, to excuse himself, and to deny all knowledge of -the girl since the morning. Matters were against Eudol. -Gorlois thought that he had plucked the old man from hiding, -and that he was a liar to the bone; his shrift was short, -measured out by the man’s hard malice. They struck him -down at the door of his own barn, covering his grey head with -his hands, and screaming for mercy. His blood soaked the -hay, and shot black streaks into the dusty floor. Then they -cast back to the manor, and half-throttled the woman Phœbe, -till Gorlois was satisfied that he had got all the truth from her -he could. In half an hour they were at gallop again for Sarum.</p> - -<p>Gorlois reined in cruelly more than once to fling hot -questions at the folk they passed upon the road. His horse -was all sweat and foam, and its mouth bloody with the -heavy hand that played on the bridle. Wayfarer after wayfarer -looked up half in awe at the iron-faced man towering -above them in the stirrups. Their blank, irresponsive faces -chafed Gorlois’s patience to the bone. Not a word did -he win of Igraine and her grey gown. Waxing sullen as -granite, and very silent, he looked neither to right nor left, -but plodded on like a baffled sleuth-hound with the rest of -the pack trailing at his tail. The girl’s hair seemed tossing -over the edge of the world, like a golden hue from the west, and -there was a passionate wind through the man’s moody thought.</p> - -<p>It was towards evening when Gorlois with his men—a -bunch of spears—came upon the peasant in the green smock -driving his wain-load of faggots slowly towards the setting -sun. Gorlois drew up and hailed him, and began his cate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>chism -anew. The fellow pulled in his team, and eyeing -the horseman with some caution, acknowledged curtly that -he had carried in his cart a league or more such a woman -as Gorlois had pictured. To further quick queries he proved -stubborn and boorish. Gorlois had lost his temper long -ago. “Speak up, you devil’s dog!”</p> - -<p>The man looked sullen. Gorlois’s sword flashed out. -He spurred close up, and held three feet of menacing steel -over the peasant’s head.</p> - -<p>“Well, you be damned!” he said.</p> - -<p>“What want you with the woman, lording?”</p> - -<p>“Am I to argue with a clod of clay? The woman is -marked for great honour, and must be taken. Will you -spoil her fortune?”</p> - -<p>The man fingered the reins, looking hard at Gorlois with -his stupidly honest face. He guessed he was some great lord, -by his harness and his following. It was not for him to -gainsay such a gentleman, especially when he flourished a -naked sword.</p> - -<p>“I would do my best for the good nun, lording,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Then speak out.”</p> - -<p>“She promised to pray for my woman.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois gave a laugh, and scoffed at the notion.</p> - -<p>“Let prayers be,” he said; “tell me where she -went.”</p> - -<p>The man told Gorlois of the hermitage in the dale where -Igraine had gone for a night’s lodging. He described how -the path could be found, a mile or more nearer Winchester. -Gorlois threw a gold piece into the cart, and let the man -drive on. Then he sat still on his black horse with his -sword over his shoulder, and looked into the wood with dark, -glooming eyes. For a minute he sat like a statue, staring -on nothing in keen thought. His men watched him, looking -for some swift swoop from such a pinnacle of pondering; -they knew his temper. His sword shot back into its scabbard, -and he was keen as a wolf.</p> - -<p>“Galleas of Camelford.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<p>A man with a hooked nose and high cheek bones heeled -his horse forward, and saluted.</p> - -<p>“Ride hard, find the hermitage, be wary, watch at a -distance for sight of the Lady Igraine. If she is at the -hermitage, gallop back to Sarum before nightfall. I shall -be in Sir Accolon’s house. Attend me there.”</p> - -<p>The man saluted again, turned his horse instanter, and -rode hard into the east. Gorlois, with a half smile on his -lips, rode on with his troop for Sarum.</p> - -<p>In Sarum town there was a queer house of stone, very -dark and very saturnine. It was hid away behind high walls, -and hedged so blackly with yews and hollies that it seemed -to stand in the gloom of a perpetual twilight. After dark -a sullen glow often hung above the trees; casements would -blaze blood-red light into boughs creaking and clutching in -the wind; or there would be a moony glimmer on the glass, -and belated folk passing near might hear voices or elvish -music about them as though dropped from the stars. It was -the house of Merlin,—the man of dreams,—wrapped in the -gloom of immemorial yews.</p> - -<p>That night Gorlois sat in a room hung with black velvet, -where a brazier held a dying fire, and a bowl thereon steamed -up perfumes in a heavy vapour. A man with a face of -marble and eyes like an eternal night was chaired before him, -with his long, lean, restless fingers continually touching the -cloud of hair that fell blackly over his ears. His fingers -were packed with rings gemmed with all manner of stones—jasper, -sardonyx, chrysolite, emerald, ruby, and the like. -His gown was of black velvet, twined all about with serpent -scrolls of white cloth. On his breast was brooched a great -diamond that blazed and wavered back the glow from the -fire.</p> - -<p>Gorlois sat in his carved chair stiff as any image. His -strenuous soul seemed mewed up by the psychic influence -of the man before him. He spoke seldom, and then only -at the other’s motion—at a curious gesture of one of those -long, lean hands. The room was as silent as the burial hall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -of a pyramid, and it had the air of being massed above by -stupendous depths of stone.</p> - -<p>Presently the man in the black robe began to speak with -deliberate intent, holding his voice deep in his throat so that -it sounded much like the voice of an oracle declaring itself -in the noise of a wind.</p> - -<p>“The woman is beautiful beyond other women.”</p> - -<p>“Like a golden May.”</p> - -<p>“And true.”</p> - -<p>“As a sapphire.”</p> - -<p>“Yet will not have you.”</p> - -<p>“Not a shred of me.”</p> - -<p>The man with the rings smiled out of his impenetrable -eyes, and fingered the brooch on his breast.</p> - -<p>“The woman has great destiny before her.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“I have seen her star in the night. You dare take her -fate on you?”</p> - -<p>“Like ivy holds a tree.”</p> - -<p>“As a wife?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois laughed.</p> - -<p>“How else?”</p> - -<p>“As a wife—by the church.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“Or no help of my hand.”</p> - -<p>Again there was silence. A coal fell in the brazier, and -seemed like a rock down a precipice. The black eyes that -stared down Gorlois were full of light, and strangely scintillant. -Gorlois listened, with his limbs asleep and his brain -in thrall, while the man spoke like a very Michael out of a -cloud. The clear glittering plot given out of Merlin’s lips -came like a dream vivid to the thought of the dreamer. If -Gorlois obeyed he should have his desire, and catch Igraine -to a white marriage-bed by law and her own willing. The -fire died down in the brazier, and the bowl ceased to smoke -perfumes. Gorlois saw the man gather his black robe with -his glittering fingers, and move like a wraith round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -room, to stand beckoning by the door. In another minute -Gorlois was under the stars, with the house and its yews a -black mound against the sky. Like a sleeper half wakened -he took full breath of the night air, and stretched his arms -up above his head. But it was not to sleep that he passed -back through the void streets to the house of the knight -Accolon.</p> - -<p>To return to Igraine housed for the night in the little -hermitage. At the first creep of dawn, when daffodils were -thrown up against the eastern sky, she left her pallet bed in -the cell and went out into the hermit’s garden. The recluse -was down at the brook drawing water, whither the dog and -the doves had followed him. Igraine passed through the -garden—spun over as it was with webs of dew. To her -comfort she found her ankle scarcely troubling her, for she -had feared pain or stiffness after the walk of yesterday. -Going down the dale, she patted the old dog’s head, and -picked up the pitcher as the recluse gave her good-morning.</p> - -<p>“You are an early soul, sister. My dog and I come -down to the brook each morning as the sun peeps over the -hill.”</p> - -<p>“You are not lonely,” said Igraine.</p> - -<p>The old man tightened his girdle, looked over the solemn -piers of the woods, sniffed the air, and hailed an autumn -savour.</p> - -<p>“Not I,” he said. “I have my dog and my doves, and -folk often lodge here, and I have word of the world and how -the Saxons vex us. The good people near bring me alms -and pittances, or come to ask prayers for their souls, and”—with -a twinkle—“for their bodies, too.”</p> - -<p>Igraine remembered the peasant’s little son.</p> - -<p>“Was it you,” she said, “who gave a peasant fellow near -here a saint’s dust to scatter over a sick child?”</p> - -<p>The old man shook his head and smiled enigmatically.</p> - -<p>“I have no dealings in such marvels,” he said.</p> - -<p>“The boy died.”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They will sell your dust some day.”</p> - -<p>A keen look, cynical with beaming scorn, spread over -the man’s gaunt face.</p> - -<p>“Much good may it do them,” he said; “death is monstrous -flatterer of mere clay. I may feed a rose bush with -my bones; a better fate than the cheating of superstitious -women.”</p> - -<p>He made a sign with his hand, and the birds went -wheeling in circles above him. The dog crept up and -thrust his snout into the old man’s palm. The garden lay -above them, ripe with an autumn mellowness; yet there was -no regret though winter would soon be piping, and the -man’s hair was grey.</p> - -<p>“What think you of life?” said Igraine.</p> - -<p>“You should know, sister, as well as I.”</p> - -<p>“But you see, father, I am not a nun,—only a -novice.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her a moment with a slight smile.</p> - -<p>“Remain a novice,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You advise me so!”</p> - -<p>“Why subordinate your soul to chains forged of men.”</p> - -<p>“These seem strange words.”</p> - -<p>He patted his dog’s head, and, half stooping, looked at -her with keen grey eyes.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever loved a man?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, with a clear laugh and a slight colour.</p> - -<p>“Is he worthy?”</p> - -<p>“I believe him a noble soul.”</p> - -<p>“Naturally.”</p> - -<p>“He ran away and left me because he thought I was a -nun.”</p> - -<p>The hermit applauded.</p> - -<p>“That sounds like honour,” he said critically.</p> - -<p>“I am seeking him to tell him the truth.”</p> - -<p>“And I will pray that you may soon meet,” said the old -man, "for there is nothing like the love of a good man for -a clean maid. If I had married a true woman, I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -never have taken to the scourge or the stone bed. Marry -wisely and you are halfway to Heaven."</p> - -<p>They broke fast that morning in the garden, it being -the man’s custom to make his meals on the granite slab -that served him as a bed. The little dale looked very green -and gracious in the tranquil light, with its curling brook -and dark barriers of trees. Igraine, as she sat on the great -stone and ate the hermit’s bread, followed the brook with -her thoughts, wondering whether it became the stream that -ran through Eudol’s meadows. She was for Sarum that -day, where she would throw off her grey habit and take -some dress more likely to baffle Gorlois. She had enough -money in her purse. Worldling again, she could give -herself to winning sight of this Uther, and to learning -whether he was the Pelleas she sought or no.</p> - -<p>As she sat and fingered her bread, something she saw -down the dale made her rigid and still as a priestess smitten -with the vision of a god in some heathen oratory. Her -eyes were very wide, her lips open and very white, her -whole air as of one watching in a sudden stupor of awe. -Another moment and she had broken from the mood like a -torrent from a cavern. With eyes suddenly amber bright, -she touched the hermit’s hand and pointed down the dale, -gave him a word or so, then left him and ran down the -hill.</p> - -<p>A man on a black horse had ridden out from the trees, -and was pushing his horse over the brook at a shallow spot -not far away. His red armour glowed in the sun with a -metallic lustre. Even at that distance Igraine had seen the -red dragon rampant on a shield of green. As she ran down -the grass slope she called the man by name, thinking to see -him turn and come to her. Pushing on sullenly as though -he had not heard the cry that went after him like winged -love, he drew up the further slope without wavering, and -sank like a red streak into the dense green of the trees.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>X</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Igraine forded the brook and followed the man by the -winding path that curled away into the wood.</p> - -<p>She was ever a sanguine soul, and the mere sinister -influences that might have discouraged her in her purpose -that morning were impotent before the level convictions of -her heart. She had seen Pelleas ride in amid the trees; she -was sure as death as to his cognizance and his armour. -Now Pelleas, she could vow, had not heard her call to him, -and if he had heard he had not understood; if he had seen -he had not recognised. Doubts could have no place in the -argument before such a justification by faith.</p> - -<p>It was not long before she caught sight of the red glint -of armour going through the trees. It came and went, -grew and disappeared, as the path folded it in its curves or -thrust out a heavy screen of green to hide it like a heavy -curtain. The man was going as he pleased, now a walk, -now a casual jog, now a short burst of a canter over an open -patch. One moment Igraine would see him clearly, then -not at all. Sometimes she gained, sometimes lost ground, -yet the knight of the red harness never seemed to come -within lure of her voice.</p> - -<p>In due course she reached the place where the path -ended bluntly on the Winchester high-road, and where the -way ran straight as a spear-shaft, so that she could see -Pelleas riding for Winchester with a lead of a quarter of a -mile. The distant ringing tramp of hoofs came up to her -like a mocking chuckle. Putting her hands to her mouth, -she hallooed with all the breath left her by her run through -the wood; yet, as far as she might see, the man never so -much as turned in the saddle, while the smite of hoofs -died down and down into a well of silence.</p> - -<p>Another halloo and no echo.</p> - -<p>“He’s asleep, or deaf in his helmet.”</p> - -<p>She forgot the distance and the din of hoofs that might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -well have drowned the thin cry that could have reached the -rider. Maugre her heat and her flushed face Igraine had -no more thought of giving in than she had of marrying -Gorlois. With Pelleas so near she had made her vow to -follow him, and follow him she would like a comet’s tail. -If needs be she would wear her sandals to the flesh, but -catch the man she must in the end.</p> - -<p>A mile more on the high-road, with her feet and the hem -of her gown dust-drenched, and she was still little nearer -the man in the red harness for all her hurrying. She could -have vowed more than once that he turned in his saddle and -looked back at her as though to see how near she had come -to him on the road. A mile from the hermitage path he -turned his horse southwards from the track into a grass -valley headed by a ruined tower and hedged densely on -either hand by pine woods. Igraine, seeing from a slight -rise in the road this change of course, cut away crosswise -with the notion of getting near the man or of intercepting -him before he should win clear law again. After all, the -effort added only more vexation. She saw the black horse -pressed to a canter and cross the point where she might -have cut him off, while a great stretch of furze that rolled -away to the black palisading of the pines came down and -threw a promontory in her path. Pelleas was a mile to -the good when she had skirted the furze and the bend of -the wood, and taken a straight course southwards down the -valley between the pines.</p> - -<p>All that morning the sport of hunter and hunted went -on between the novice in grey and the man on the black -horse. For all her trouble Igraine won little upon him, -lost little as the hours went by; while the rider in turn -seemed in no wise desirous of being rid of her for good. -They passed the pine woods with their midnight aisles, -forded a stream, climbed up a heath, went over it amid the -heather. From the last ridge of the heath Igraine saw -the country sloping away into undulating grasslands, piled -here and there with domes of thicketed trees. Far to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -south a dense black mass rose like a rounded hill against -the sky. The man in red was still about a mile in front -of her, riding slowly, a red speck in a waste of green. -Igraine, having him in view from her vantage point, lay -down full length to rest and take some food. She was -tired enough, but dogged at heart as ever. She vowed that -if the man was playing with her she would tell him her -mind, love or no love, when she came up with him in the -end.</p> - -<p>As the sun swam into the noontide arc she went on -again downhill, and found in turn that the man had halted, -for he had been hidden by trees, and getting view of him -suddenly she saw him sitting on a stone with his horse -tethered near. As soon as Igraine was within measurable -distance she took advantage of a hollow, dropped on her -hands and knees, and began to crawl like a cat after a bird. -Edging round a thicket she came quite near the man, but -could not see his face. His spear stood in the ground by -his horse, and he had his shield slung about his neck, and a -bare poniard in his hand. It was clear that he was watching -for Igraine, for despite her craft he caught sight of her face -peering white under the hem of a bush, and climbed quickly -into the saddle. Igraine started up, made a dash across the -open, calling to him as she ran. Perverse as hate his horse -broke into a canter and left her far in the rear. The girl -shook her fist at him with a sudden burst of temper. She -was standing near the stone where the man had been sitting. -Looking at its flat face she saw the reason of the naked -poniard in his hand, for he had been carving out thin -straggling letters in the stone.</p> - -<p>“Sancta Igraine,” she read—</p> - -<p>“Ora pro nobis.”</p> - -<p>The screed dispelled the doubts in Igraine’s mind on the -instant. Palpably the man knew well enough who was -following him, and was avoiding her of set purpose; but -for what reason Igraine racked her wit to discover. She ran -through many things in her heart, the possible testing of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -her devotion, a vacillating weakness on Pelleas’s part that -would not let him leave her altogether, a freakish wish to -give her penance. Then, she knew that he was superstitious, -and the thought flashed to her that he might think -her a wraith, or some evil spirit that had taken her shape -to have him in temptation. Maugre her vexation and her -pride she held again on the trail, eating as she went some -dried plums that she had in her wallet. The man had -slackened down again and was less than half a mile away, -now limned against the sky, now folded into a hollow or -shut out by trees. Like a marsh-fire he tantalised her with -a mystery of distance, holding steadily south at a level tramp, -while Igraine plodded after him, her hair down and blowing -out to the casual wind, her eyes at gaze on the red lure in -the van.</p> - -<p>So the mellower half of the day passed, and towards -evening they neared the mount of trees Igraine had seen -from the last ridge of the heath at noon. The black horse -was heading straight for the cloudy mass in a way that set -Igraine thinking and casting about for Pelleas’s motive. -Perhaps he had some quest in the solitary place that needed -his single hand. Would he take to the wood and let her -follow as before, or had he any purpose in leading her -thither? Drowned in conjecture she gave up prophecy -with a vicious sense of mystification, and accepted inevitable -ignorance for the time being as to the man’s moods and -motives. She was no less obstinate to follow him to the -death. If she only had a horse she would come near the -man, pride or no pride, and tell him the truth.</p> - -<p>Pressing on, with her strained ankle beginning to limp, -she topped the round back of a grass rise and came full in -view of the wood she had long seen in the distance. It -looked very solemn in the declining light. The great -trunks of giant beeches were packed pillar upon pillar into -an impenetrable gloom. The foliage above, densely green, -billowy, touched with red and gold, rolled upwards cloud -on cloud as the ground ascended to the south and east.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -A great bronze carpet of dead leaves swept away into the -night of the trees. There was an eternal hush, a gross -silence, over the glooming aisles that seemed to beckon to -the soul, to draw the heart into the night of foliage as into a -cavern. Over all was the glowing ægis of the setting sun.</p> - -<p>Igraine saw the man on the forest’s edge where an arch -of gloom struck into the inner shadows. He was facing -the west, motionless as stone on his black horse, with the -slanting light plucking a dull red gleam from his harness. -There was a mystery about him that seemed to harmonise -with the stillness of the trees and the black yawn of the -forest galleries. Igraine imagined that he might be in a -mood at last to speak with her if he believed her human. -At all events, if he took to the trees, and she did not lose -him, she would have the vantage of him and his horse in -such a barricaded place.</p> - -<p>It began to grow dark very quickly as she passed down -the gradual slope towards the forest. The trees towered -above her, a black mass rising again towards the east. Keen -to see the man’s mood, she hurried on and found him still -steadfast in the great arch, that seemed like the gate of the -wilderness, ready to abide her. A hundred paces more and -her heart began to beat the faster, and the moil of the day’s -march dwindled before the influx of a rosier idyl. Every -step towards Pelleas seemed to take her higher up the turret -stair of love till her lips should meet those that bent at last -from the gloom to hers. Pride and vexation lay fallen far -below, dropped incontinently like a ragged cloak; a more -generous passion shone out like cloth of gold; she was no -longer weary. Her eyes were very bright, her face full of a -splendid wistfulness, as she neared the man under the trees, -looking up to see his face.</p> - -<p>Twilight lay deep violet under the wooelshawe, while -horse and man were dim and impalpable, great shadows of -themselves. Igraine could not see the man’s face for the -mask over the mezail of his helmet, and he was silent as -death. She was quite close to him now and ready to speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -his name, when he wheeled suddenly, looked back at her, -and pointed into the wood with his long spear. She ran -forward and would have taken hold of his bridle, but he -waved her back and slanted his spear at her in mute warning. -Igraine, heart-hungry, could hold herself no longer.</p> - -<p>“Man—man, are you stone?”</p> - -<p>He rode straight ahead into the night of the trees and -said never a word. Igraine drew her breath.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>The voice that came to her was muffled like the voice -of a mourner, yet the girl thought she caught the old deep -tone of it like the low cry of the wind.</p> - -<p>“Why do you vex me?”</p> - -<p>“Follow!”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, Pelleas, I am no nun!”</p> - -<p>“Follow!”</p> - -<p>“I kept this truth from you too long.”</p> - -<p>“Follow!”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, would you hurt my heart more?”</p> - -<p>“Follow; God shall make all plain and good.”</p> - -<p>She gave in with a half-sob, and bent quietly to the -man’s mood, though she had no notion what he purposed -in his heart, or what his desires were in mystifying her -thus. No doubt it would be well in the end if Pelleas bade -her follow like a penitent and promised ultimate peace. -At least he had not turned her away, and she trusted him -to the death. He was a strong, deep-sensed soul, she knew, -and her deceiving may have made him bitter in measure, -and not easily appeased. In this queer trial of endurance, -this tempting of her temper, she thought she read a penance -laid upon her by the man for the way she had used -his love.</p> - -<p>They were soon far into the wood, with the western -sky dwindling between the innumerable pillars of the trees. -It began to be dark and utterly silent save for the rustle of -the dead leaves as they went, and the shrilling chafe of bridle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -or scabbard, or the snort of the great horse. Wherever the -eye turned the forest piers stood straight and solemn as the -columns in a hypostyle hall in some Egyptian temple. The -fretwork of boughs roofed them in with hardly a glimmering -through of the darkening sky above. There was a pungent -autumn scent on the air that seemed to rise like the incense -of years that had fallen to decay on the brown flooring of -the place, and there was no breath or vestige of a wind.</p> - -<p>Presently as the day died the wood went black as the -winter night, and Igraine kept close by the man, with his -armour giving a dull gleam now and again to guide her. -They were passing up what seemed to be a great arcade cut -through the very heart of the wood, as though leading to -some shrine or altar, relic of Druid days, or times yet more -antique. The tunnel ran a curved course, bending deeper -and deeper as it went into the dense horde of trees. So dark -was the wood that it was possible to see but a few paces in -advance, and Igraine wondered how the man kept the track. -She was close at his stirrup now, with the dark mass of him -and his horse rising above her like a statue in black basalt. -Though he never spoke to her, and though she touched no -part of him, his horse, or his harness, she felt content with -the queer sense of trust and proximity that pervaded her. -There was magic in the mere companionship. As she had -humbled her will to Pelleas’s the night when he had taken -her from the beech tree in Andredswold, so now in like -fashion she surrendered pride and liberty, and became a child.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the trackway straightened out into a great -colonnade that ran due south between trees of yet vaster -girth. Igraine felt the man rein in and abide motionless -beside her as she held to the stirrup and waited for what -next should chance. Silence seemed like depths of black -water over them, and they could hear each other take -breath like the faint flux and reflux of a sea. Igraine saw -the man lift his spear, a dim streak less black than the vault -above, and hold it as a sign for her to listen. Her blood -began to tingle a very little. There was something far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -away on the dead, stagnant air, a sort of swirl of sound, shrill -and harmonious, like a wind playing through the strings of a -harp. It was very gradual, very impalpable. As the volume -of it grew it seemed to rush nearer like a wind, to swell into -a swaying plaintive song smitten through with the wounded -cry of flutes. It gave a notion of wood-fays dancing, of -whirling wings and flitting gossamer moonbright in the -shadows. Igraine’s blood seemed to spin the faster, and -her hand left the stirrup and touched the man’s thigh. He -gave never a word or sign in the dark. She spoke to him -very softly, very meekly.</p> - -<p>“What place is this, Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>She saw him bend slightly in the saddle.</p> - -<p>“It is called the Ghost Forest,” he said.</p> - -<p>“What are the sounds we hear?”</p> - -<p>“Who can tell!”</p> - -<p>Igraine had hardly heard him, when a streak of phosphor -light flickered among the trees, coming and going incessantly -as the great trunks intervened. It neared them in gradual -fashion, and then blazed out sudden into the open aisle, a -man in armour riding on a great white horse, his harness -white as the moon, his face pale and wide-eyed, his hair -like a mass of twisted silver wire. A misty glow haloed him -round, and though he rode close there seemed no sound at -all to mark his passing. As he had come, so he went, with -streaks of flickering light that waxed less and less frequent -till they died in the dark, and left the place empty as before. -Igraine thought the air cold when he had gone.</p> - -<p>She felt the black horse move beside her, and they went -on as before into the night of the trees. The noise of flute -and harp that had ceased awhile bubbled up again quite -near, so that it was no longer the ghost of a sound, but -noise more definite, more discrete. It had a queer way of -dying to a sighing breath, and then gathering gradually into -an ascending burst of windy melody. Igraine could almost -fancy that she heard the sweep of wings, the soft thrill of -silks trailing through the trees, yet the man on the horse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -said never a word as they went on like a pair of mutes to a -grave.</p> - -<p>The colonnade opened out abruptly on a great circular -clearing in the wood shut in by crowded trunks, its open -vault above cut by a dense ring of foliage. A grey light -came down from the sky, showing great stones piled one -upon another, others fallen and sunk deep in rank grass and -brambles. The man halted his horse in the very centre of -the clearing, with Igraine beside him, watchful for what -should happen, and for the moment when Pelleas should -unbend.</p> - -<p>Hardly had she looked over the great cromlechs, black -and sinister in that solitary wilderness, than the whole wood -about them seemed dusted suddenly with points of fire. -North, south, east, and west torches and cressets came jerking -redly out of the night, flitting behind the trees in a wide -circle, gathering nearer and nearer without a sound. They -might have been great fireflies playing through the aisles -and ways, or goblin lamps carried by fairy folk. Igraine -drew very close to the man’s horse for comfort, and looked -up to see his face, but found it dark and hidden. Her hand -crept up past the horse’s neck, rested on the mane a moment, -and ventured yet further to meet the man’s hand, where it -gripped the bridle. For a minute they abode thus without -a sound, watching the weird torch-dance in the wood.</p> - -<p>With a sudden gibber of laughter and a swirl of pipes the -throng of lights seemed to seethe to the very margin of the -clearing. Queer phantastic shapes showed amid the trees, -and the great circle grew wide with light, and the grey -cromlechs surprised in sleep by the glare and piping. At -that very moment Igraine had a thought of some one looking -deep into her eyes, of a will, a power, streaming in -upon her like sunlight into a sleepy pool. Her desire went -from the man on the black horse into the square shadow of -the great central cromlech, where an indefinite influence -seemed to lurk. Looking long under the roofing stone, she -grew aware of a tall something standing there, of a pair of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -eyes like the eyes of a panther, of a lean white hand moving -in the shadows.</p> - -<p>The eyes under the cromlech seemed to follow Igraine -like fire, and to burn in upon her a foreign influence. -Rebellious and wondering, she stiffened herself against a -spiritual combat that seemed moving upon her out of the -dark. She could have smitten the eyes that stared her -down, and yet the magnetic stupor of them kindled up -things in her heart that were strange and newly sensuous. -She felt her strength sway as though her soul were being -lifted from her, and she was warmed from top to toe like -one who has taken wine, and whose being swims into an -idyllic glorification of the senses. Again her desire seemed -turned to the man in red harness, yet when she looked the -saddle was empty, and the horse held by an armed servant, -who wore a wolfs head for covering. Still mute with fear, -desire, and wonder, she saw a tall figure move into the full -glare of the torches, a figure in red harness with a shield of -green, and a red dragon thereon, and with head unhelmed. -The armour was like the armour of Pelleas, but the face -was the face of the man Gorlois.</p> - -<p>And now the eyes under the shadow of the cromlech were -full and strong upon Igraine. Breathing fast with a hand -at her throat she stepped back from Gorlois—hesitated—stood -still. She was very white, and her eyes were big and -sightless like the eyes of one walking in a dream. For all her -strength, her scorn, and the tricking of her heart, she was -being swept like a cloud into the embraces of the sun. -Reason, power, love, sank away and became as nothing. A -shudder passed over her. Presently her hands dropped limp -as broken wings, and her body began to sway like a tall -lily in a breeze. A gradual stupor saw her cataleptic; -she stood impotent, played upon by the promptings of -another soul.</p> - -<p>Gorlois went near to her with hands outstretched, stooping -to look into her face. A sudden light kindled in her -eyes, her lips parted, and new life flooded red into her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -cheeks as at the beck of love. She bent to Gorlois full of a -gracious eagerness, a wistful desire that made her face golden -as dawn. Her hand sought his, while the shadowy shape -under the cromlech watched them with never-wavering -eyes. Gorlois’s arms were round her now all wreathed -in her hair; her face was turned to his; her hands were -clasped upon his neck. Another moment and he had -touched her lips with his.</p> - -<p>A sound of flutes, the tinkling of a bell, and a solemn -company came threading from the trees, guests, acolytes, -torch-bearers, in glittering cloth of gold, with a great crucifix -to lead them. Gorlois and Igraine were hand in hand -near the stone that hid the frame of Merlin. A priest in a -gorgeous cape drew near, and began his patter. The vows -were taken, the pact sealed, with the noise of a chant and -music. Thus under the benedictions of the great trees, -and the spell of Merlin, Gorlois and Igraine were made -man and wife.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>BOOK III</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">THE WAR IN WALES</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a><br /><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>I</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Aurelius Ambrosius the king was dead, taken off in Winchester -by the hand of a poisoner. He had been found -stark and cold in his great carved bed, with an empty wine-cup -beside him, and a tress of black hair and a tress of -yellow laid twined together upon his lips. The signet-ring -had gone from his finger, and by the bed had been discovered -a woman’s embroidered shoe dropped under the -folds of the purple quilt. The truth, sinister enough in its -bare suggestions, was glossed over by the court folk out of -honour to Aurelius, and of love to Uther the king’s brother. -It was told to the country how an Irish monk sent by -Pascentius, dead Vortigern’s son, had gained audience of the -king, and treacherously poisoned him as he drank wine at -supper. The tale went out to the world, and was believed -of many with a sincere and honest faith. Yet a certain -child-eyed woman, wandering on the shores of Wales for -sight of Irish ships, could have spoken more of the truth -had she so dared.</p> - -<p>Uther Pendragon had been hailed king at York before -the bristling spears of a victorious host. But a week before -he had marched against the heathen on the Humber, and -overthrown them with such slaughter as had not been seen -in Britain since the days when Boadicea smote the Romans. -At the head of his men he had marched south in a snowstorm -to be thundered into Winchester as king and conqueror. -Twelve maidens of noble blood, clad in ermine -and minever, had run before him with boughs of mistletoe -and bay. Five hundred knights had walked bareheaded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -with swords drawn, behind his horse. The city had glistened -in a white web of frosted samite, sparkled over by the -clear visage of a winter sun.</p> - -<p>There were many great labours ready to the king’s hand. -Britain lay bruised by the onslaughts of the barbarians; her -monks had been slain, her churches desecrated. The pirate -ships swept the seas, and poured torch and sword along the -sunny shores of the south. Andredswold, dark, saturnine, -mysterious, alone waved them back with the sepulchral -threatening of its trees. Yet, for all the burden of the -kingdom upon his broad shoulders, Uther gave his first care -to the honouring of the dead. Aurelius Ambrosius was -buried with great pomp of churchmen and nobles at Stonehenge, -and a royal mound raised above the tomb. At -Christmastide, with snow upon the ground, a great gathering -was made at Sarum of all the petty kings, princes, and nobles -of the land. Hither came Meliograunt, king of Cornwall, -and Urience of the land of Gore. Fealty was sworn with -solemn ordinance to Uther Pendragon the king, and common -league bonded against the heathen and the whelps of the -north.</p> - -<p>There were other perils brewing for Britain over the sea. -Pascentius, dead Vortigern’s son, had been an outcast and -a wanderer since the days when the sons of Constantine -had sailed from Armorica to save the land from the blind -lust and treason of his father. He had been a drifting fire -beyond the seas, an intriguer, a sower of sedition, a man -dangerous alike to friend and foe. Beaten like a vulture -from the coasts of Britain, he had turned with treasonable -hope to Ireland and its king, Gilomannius the Black, a -strenuous potentate, boasting little love for Ambrosius the -king. Here, in Ireland, a kennel of sedition had arisen. -Pascentius, keen, hungry plotter, had toiled at the task of -piling enmity against those who had destroyed his father -amid the flames of Genorium. A great league arose, a -banding of the barbarians with the Irish princes, a union -of the Saxons who ravaged Kent with the wild tribesmen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -over the northern border. Month by month a great host -gathered on the Irish coast. Many ships came from the -east and from the south. Mid-winter was past before Gilomannius -embarked, and, setting sail with a fair wind, turned -the beaks of his galleys for the shores of Wales.</p> - -<p>Noise of the gathering storm had been brought to Uther -as he journed through the southern coasts, rebuilding the -churches, recovering abbey and hermitage from their desolate -ashes. His zeal was great for God, and his love of -Britain well-nigh as noble. Warned thus in due season, he -marched for the west, calling the land to arms, assigning -for the gathering of the host Caerleon upon Usk, that fair -city bosomed in the fulness of its woods and pastures. -Many a knight had answered to his call; many a city had -sent out her companies; the high-roads rang with the cry of -steel in the crisp winter weather.</p> - -<p>Duke Gorlois had come from Cornwall from his castle of -Tintagel, bringing many knights and men-at-arms by sea, -and the Lady Igraine his wife, in a great galley whose bulwarks -glistened with shields. In Caerleon Gorlois had a -house built of white stone, set upon a little hill in the centre -of the city. To Caerleon he brought this golden falcon of -a woman, this untamable thing that he had kept prisoned -in the high towers of Tintagel. He mewed her up like a -nun in his house of white stone, so that no man should see -the fairness of her face. She was wild as an eyas from the -woods, fierce and unapproachable, and sharp of claw. Robbed -of her liberty, had she not sought to take her own life with -a sword, and to throw herself from the battlements of Tintagel? -Gorlois had won little love by Merlin’s subtlety, -and he feared the woman’s beauty and the spell of her -large eyes.</p> - -<p>It was the month of February and clear crisp weather. -The white bellies of the Irish sails had shown up against -the grey blue stretch of the sea, a white multitude of canvas -that had sent the herdsmen hurrying their flocks to the -mountains. Horsemen had galloped for Caerleon, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -cry of war went up over wood and water. Flames licked -the night sky. From Caerleon to St. Davids, from St. -Davids to Eryri, the red blaze of beacon-fires told of the -ships at sea.</p> - -<p>The cry of the storm arose in Caerleon, and the tramp -of armed men sounded all day in her streets. The great -host lodged about the city broke camp and streamed westwards -along the high-road into Wales. Bugles blew, banners -flapped, masses of sullen steel rolled away into purple of -the winter woods. Bristling spears and lines of skin-clad -shields vanished into the west like the waves of a solemn -sea. On the walls of Caerleon stood many women and -children watching the host march for the west, watching -Uther the king ride out with his great company of knights -and nobles.</p> - -<p>At the casement of an upper room in Gorlois’s house stood -a woman looking out over Caerleon towards the sea. She -was clad in a mantle of furs, and in a tunic of purple linked -up with cord of gold. A tippet of white fur clasped with -a brooch of amethysts circled her throat. Her hair was -bound up in a net of fine silk, and there was a girdle of blue -silk about her loins, and an enamelled cross upon her bosom. -She stood with her elbows resting on the stone sill, and her -peevish face clasped between her hands. Her eyes looked -very large and lustrous as she stared out wistfully over the -city.</p> - -<p>In the great court below horses champed the bit and -struck fire from the ringing flags. Men in armour clanged -to and fro; rough voices cried questions and counter-questions; -bridles jingled; spear-shafts clattered on the stones. -Now a clarion blared as a troop of horse thundered by up -the street, their armour gleaming dully past the courtyard -gate. The growl of war hung heavy over Caerleon, a grim -sullen sound that seemed in keeping with the restless chiding -of the wind.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s face was hard as stone as she watched the men -moving in the courtyard below. She looked older than of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -yore, whiter, thinner in cheek and neck, her great eyes -staunch though sad under her netted hair. Her face showed -melancholy mingled with a constant scorn that had rarely -found expression with her in the old days, save within the -walls of Avangel. She looked like one who had endured -much, suffered much, yet lost no whit of pride in the trial. -Though she may have been blemished like a Greek vase -smitten by some barbaric sword, she was her self still, brave, -headstrong, resolute as ever. The shame of the things she -had suffered had perhaps wiped out the gentler outlines of -her character and left her more stern, more wary, less -honest, more deep in her endeavours. There was no -passive humility or patience about her soul, and she was the -falcon still, though caged and guarded beyond her liberty.</p> - -<p>As she stood at the casement with the prophetic murmur -of war in her ears, it seemed to her as though life surged to -her feet and mocked her bondage like laughing water. The -desire of liberty abode ever with her even to the welcoming -of stagnant death. She thirsted for her freedom, plotted for -it, dreamt of it with a zeal that was almost ferocious. Her -life seemed a speculation, a perpetual aspiration after a state -that still eluded her. In the Avangel days she had been -wild and petulant. Then Pelleas had come through the -green gloom of early summer to soften her soul and inspire -all the best breath of the woman in her. Again, thanks to -Gorlois, she had fallen with the usual reaction of circumstance -upon evil times; the change had discovered the -peevish discontent of the girl hardened into the strong wilfulness -of the woman.</p> - -<p>She hated Gorlois with a fanatical immensity of soul. -When the man was near her she felt full of the creeping -nausea of a great loathing, and she waxed faint with hate -at the veriest touch of his hands. His breath seemed to her -more unsavoury than the miasma of a gutter, and it needed -but the sound of his voice to bring all her baser passions -braying and yelping against him. He had driven the religious -instinct out of her heart, and she was in revolt against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -heaven and the marriage pact forged by the authority of the -Church. She had often vowed in her heart that she could -do no sin against Gorlois, her husband. He had no claim -upon her conscience. The bondage had been of his making; -let God judge her if she scorned his honour.</p> - -<p>Standing by the window watching the knights saddling -for their lord’s sally, she heard heavy footsteps mounting up -the stairs, and the ring of steel-tipped shoes along the gallery. -The footsteps were deliberate, and none too fast, as though -the man walked under a burden of thought. A shadow -seemed to pass over Igraine’s face. She slipped from the -window, ran across the room, shot the bolt of the door, -and stood listening. A hand tried the latch. She knew -well enough whose fist it was that rattled on the oaken -panels. Her face hardened to a kind of cold malevolence, -and she laughed noiselessly in her sleeve.</p> - -<p>A terse summons came to her from the gallery.</p> - -<p>“Wife, we ride at once.”</p> - -<p>The man could not have made a worse beginning. -There was a suggestion of tyranny in a particular word that -was hardly temperate. Igraine leant against the door; she -was still smiling to herself, and her hands fingered the -embroidered tassel of the latch.</p> - -<p>“We are late on the road; I can make no tarrying.”</p> - -<p>The door quivered a moment as though shaken by a -gusty wind. Everything was quiet again, and Igraine -could hear the man breathing. Putting her mouth to the -crack between post and hinge-board she laughed stridently -as though in scorn.</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>The voice was half-imperative, half-appealing.</p> - -<p>“My very dear lord!”</p> - -<p>“Are you abed?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear lord.”</p> - -<p>“Open to me; I would kiss your lips before I sally.”</p> - -<p>“You have never kissed me these many days.”</p> - -<p>“True, wife; is it fault of mine?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Nor shall again, dear lord, if I have strength.”</p> - -<p>She heard the man muttering to himself a moment, but -this time there was no smiting of the door, no fume and -tempest. His mood seemed more temperate, less masterful, -as though he were half heavy at heart.</p> - -<p>“Igraine—”</p> - -<p>“Why do you whimper like a dog?” she said; “go, get -you to war. What are you to me?”</p> - -<p>“When will you learn reason?”</p> - -<p>“When you are dead, sire.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I deserve all this.”</p> - -<p>“Are you so much a penitent?”</p> - -<p>Her mockery seemed to lift Gorlois to a higher range of -passion, and there was great bitterness in his voice as he -tossed back words to her with a quick kindling of desire.</p> - -<p>“Woman, I have been hard in the winning of you, but, -God knows, you are something to me.”</p> - -<p>“God knows, Gorlois, I hate you.”</p> - -<p>His hand shook the door.</p> - -<p>“Let me in, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Break down the door; you shall come at me no other -way.”</p> - -<p>“Woman, woman, I am a fool; my heart smarts at leaving -you.”</p> - -<p>“You sound almost saintly.”</p> - -<p>“I have left Brastias in charge of you.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, lord, for a jailer.”</p> - -<p>Igraine drew back from the door and stood at her full -height with her hands crossed upon her bosom. She -quivered as she stood with the intense effort of her hate. -Gorlois still waited without the door, though she could not -hear him moving. The silence seemed like the deep hush -that falls between the blustering stanzas of a storm.</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>It was a hoarse cry, quick and querulous. Igraine had -both her fists to her chin in an attitude of inward effort, as -though she racked herself to give utterance to the impla<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>cable -temper of her scorn. Her face had a queer parched -look. When she spoke, her voice was shrill like a piping -wind.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“Wife.”</p> - -<p>“Would you have my blessing?”</p> - -<p>“Give it me, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Go then, and look not to me for comfort. When you -are in battle, and the swords cry on your shield, I shall pray -on my knees that you may get your death.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois gave never a sound as he stood by the barred -door with his hand over the mezail of his helmet. It -seemed dark and gloomy in the gallery, and the staunch -oak fronted him like fate. His eyes were full of a dull -light as he turned and went clanging down the stairway -with slow, heavy tread. His sounding footsteps died down -into the din of arms that came from the great court. -Igraine ran to the window and watched him and his men -ride out, smiling a bleak smile as the last mailed figure -gleamed out by the gate.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - - -<p>When Gorlois and his knights had gone, Igraine unbarred -the door, and passed down the narrow stair to the state -chamber of the house, where a fire was burning. It was a -solemn room, shadowed with many arches, with vaults -inlaid with marble, its walls painted green and gold, its -glimmering casements lozenged with fine glass. Furs were -spread upon the mosaic floor; painted urns held flowers -that bloomed in the mock summer of the room.</p> - -<p>Igraine stood and warmed herself before the fire. From -an altar-like pillar near she took storax and galbanum from -brazen bowls, and scattered the resinous tears upon the -flames. A pungent fragrance rose up into her nostrils. -The flicker of the fire played upon her face, and set a lustre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -in her eyes. It was winter weather, and the warmth was -welcome.</p> - -<p>The refrain of her talk with Gorlois still ran at fever -heat like a wild song through her brain. She was stirred -to the deeps of her strong soul. For Gorlois she had no -measure of pity. He was a rotten tree to her, a slab of -granite, anything but quick flesh and blood capable of -aspiration and desire. She hated him more for his pleading -than for his tyranny, fearing to be pleased by one she -dreaded. He was strenuous and obstinate. She knew that -it would be great joy to her if she saw his face no more, and -if his body crumbled in the rain on some bleak coast in Wales.</p> - -<p>As she stood by the fire and looked into it with pondering -eyes she heard a curtain drawn and the sound of a footstep -on the threshold. Turning briskly, like one accustomed -to suspicions, she saw the man Brastias in the doorway -looking at her half-furtively, as though none too proud of -the office thrust upon him. He had great grey eyes and a -calm face. Bending stiffly to Igraine with his hand over -his heart, he turned aside to a cabinet by the wall, took -therefrom an illumined scroll of legendary tales, and sat -down on a bench to read, as though he had no other business -in the room.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s long lip curled. She knew the meaning of the -man’s presence there shrewdly enough. Going to a window -she opened the casement frame and looked out on the -winter scene. Usk winding silver to the sea, the purple roll -of the bleak bare woods, the far sea itself dying a sullen -streak into a sullen sky. It was dreary enough, and yet it -suited her; she could have welcomed thunder and the rend -of forked fire above the woods. Thought was fierce in her -with the wind crying about the house like a wistful voice, -the voice of days long dead.</p> - -<p>To be free of Gorlois!</p> - -<p>To cast off her present self like a rotten cloak!</p> - -<p>To adventure liberty, though the peril were shrill as the -wind through the swaying pines on the hillside!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>To deal with Brastias!</p> - -<p>Now Brastias was a grave-faced knight, neither young -nor old, but a very boy in the matter of the mock wisdom -of the world. He was possessed of one of those generous -natures that looks kindly on humanity with a simple optimism -born of a contented conscience. He was a devout -man, a soldier, and a gentleman. Moreover, he owned a -holy reverence for women, a reverence that led him into a -somewhat extravagant belief in the sincerity of their truth -and virtue. He was blessed too in being nothing of a -cynic in his conceptions of honour.</p> - -<p>Gorlois knew the man to the heart, and trusted him, a -fact well proven by the faith imposed upon him in his -wardenship of the Lady Igraine. Brastias hated the task -as much as he hated the telling of a lie. There are some -men whose whole instinct is towards truth. They are -golden souls, often too easily deceived with a gross dross -that makes an outward show of kindred colour.</p> - -<p>Brastias was no stranger to Igraine, for he had served -her as one of the knights of the guard in the great castle of -Tintagel. He was a man who could look into a woman’s -eyes and make her feel instinctively the clear honour of his -soul. There was nothing of the flesh about Brastias. And -it was in this chivalrous faith of his that Igraine discovered -a credulity that might make him prone to believe a certain -profession of faith that was taking sudden and subtle form -within her mind. Months ago, she would have hesitated -before the man’s grey eyes. But feeling herself sinned -against, and stirred by the shame of the past, she found -ample justification for herself in the lie Gorlois had practised -for her undoing.</p> - -<p>She left the window, and went and stood by the fire, -with her back to the man.</p> - -<p>“Brastias,” she said, quite softly.</p> - -<p>The man looked up from the scroll, and seemed ill at -ease.</p> - -<p>“I trust your duty is pleasant to you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<p>Brastias’s eyelids flickered nervously, and he cleared his -throat.</p> - -<p>“May the Virgin witness,” he said, “I have no love of -the task.”</p> - -<p>“My Lord Gorlois trusts you?”</p> - -<p>“He has said so, madame.”</p> - -<p>“And am I not his wife?”</p> - -<p>Brastias put the scroll aside with a constrained deliberation. -He felt himself wholly in the wrong, as he always -did before a woman, and his wit ran clumsily on such -occasions. It had needed but the observation of a child to -mark the gulf between Gorlois and his wife. Gorlois had -spoken few words on the matter, had given commands -and nothing more. Brastias was not the man to tamper -officiously with the confidences of others. He thought -much, said little, and bided quiet for Igraine to speak.</p> - -<p>She stood half-turned towards the fire, with her face in -profile, and her hands hanging limply at her side. Looking -for all the world like a penitent, she spoke with a certain -unconscious pathos, as though she touched on a matter that -was heavy upon her heart.</p> - -<p>“Brastias, I may call you a friend?”</p> - -<p>“I trust so, madame.”</p> - -<p>“Then there is no reason for me to be backward in -speaking of the truth?”</p> - -<p>The man bowed and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Come then, Brastias, tell me honestly, have I seemed to -you like a woman who loved her husband?”</p> - -<p>The girl’s blue eyes were staring hard into the man’s grey -ones. There was little chance of prevarication before so -blunt a question, and Brastias’s courtesy, like Balaam’s ass, -refused to deny the scrutiny of truth. Igraine could read -the man’s face like a piece of blazened parchment.</p> - -<p>“Never fear to be frank,” she said; “your belief hangs on -your face like an alphabet, and that shows me how much -you know of a woman’s heart.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, madame.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Never blush, man, you would have said that I had as -little love for Gorlois as for the dirtiest beggar in Caerleon?”</p> - -<p>Brastias frowned mildly and agreed with her, remembering -as he did a certain wild scene on the battlements of -Tintagel.</p> - -<p>“And doubtless you would say that it pained me not a -whit to see Gorlois my lord ride out from Caerleon into the -wilds of Wales?”</p> - -<p>There was such reproach in her voice that Brastias fell -into confusion before her eyes, reddened, and began to excuse -himself.</p> - -<p>“Your ladyship’s behaviour,” he said, with an ingenuous -look and an intense striving after propitiation,—“your ladyship’s -behaviour would hardly warrant me in believing that -my Lord Gorlois was vastly dear to you. And, pardon me, -a woman does not seek to run away from her husband.”</p> - -<p>“You insinuate—”</p> - -<p>Brastias felt himself in the mire, and groaned in spirit.</p> - -<p>“Madame, I would say—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I understand you.”</p> - -<p>“Give me leave—”</p> - -<p>“Not another word.”</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled softly to herself, turned her back on -Brastias and stared long into the fire. The man stood by, -watching her with a humbled look, his fingers twisting restlessly -at the broidery of his black tunic. Igraine traced out -the mosaic patterns on the floor with the point of her shoe.</p> - -<p>“I think you men are all fools,” she said.</p> - -<p>Brastias’s silence might have suggested contradiction.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever loved a woman?”</p> - -<p>The man shifted, and went red under his straight fair -hair. His eyes took a dreamy look.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, as though half-ashamed.</p> - -<p>Igraine hung her head and sighed.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” she said, growing suddenly shy and out of -countenance, "perhaps you may have learnt the lesson of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -the froward heart, the heart that comes by love when it is -in peril of great loss."</p> - -<p>Brastias drew a quick, deep breath.</p> - -<p>“By the Virgin, that’s true,” he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine turned to the fire and hid her face from the man. -There was a pathetic droop about her shoulders, a listless -curving of her neck, that made Brastias picture her as -burdened with some immoderate sorrow. He was an impressionable -man, not in any amorous sense, but in the -matter of sympathy towards his fellows. He thought he -heard a catch in the girl’s breathing that boded tears. Her -hair looked very soft and lustrous as it curved over her ears -and neck.</p> - -<p>“Madame Igraine.”</p> - -<p>No answer. Brastias went a step nearer.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me.”</p> - -<p>A slight turning of the head in response.</p> - -<p>“What ails you, madame?”</p> - -<p>“Never trouble.”</p> - -<p>“I beseech you, tell me.”</p> - -<p>The man was quite afire; his face looked bright and -eager, and his eyes shone.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois has gone to the war.”</p> - -<p>The words were jerked out one by one.</p> - -<p>“Madame!”</p> - -<p>“War—and death.”</p> - -<p>“Courage, madame, courage. On my soul, you are not -going to say—”</p> - -<p>“Brastias, you understand.”</p> - -<p>“Then?”</p> - -<p>“Man, man, don’t drag it out of me; don’t you see? -are you blind?”</p> - -<p>Brastias invoked a certain saint by the name of Christopher, -and straightway emphasised his words by falling -down on his knees beside Igraine. She had contrived to -conjure up tears as she bent over the fire. Brastias found -one of her hands and held it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This will be my lord’s salvation.”</p> - -<p>“Think you so?”</p> - -<p>“On my soul, my dear lady, I thank our Lord Jesu -from my heart. For I know my Lord Gorlois, and the -bitterness that weighed him down, though he spoke little -to me on this matter, being staunch to you, and to his -courtesy. And by our Lord’s Passion, madame, I love -peace in a house, and quiet looks, and words like laughing -water, for there is never a home where temper rules.”</p> - -<p>“Brastias, you shame me.”</p> - -<p>“God forbid, dear lady, there’s no gospel vanity in my -heart. I speak but out.”</p> - -<p>The man’s quaint outburst of gladness touched Igraine’s -honesty to the core, but she had no thought of recantation, -for all the pricking of her conscience. She passed back to -the open window and leant against the mullion, while Brastias -rose from his knees and followed her.</p> - -<p>“I am faint,” she said, “and the fresh wind comforts me.”</p> - -<p>“Courage, madame; Duke Gorlois fights for Britain and -the Cross; what better blessing on his shield?”</p> - -<p>Igraine was looking out toward the sea and the grey -curtain of the sky cut in places by dark woods and the -sweep of dull green hills. There was a wistful droop about -her figure that made Brastias molten with intent to comfort, -and dumb with words of sympathy that died inarticulate in -his throat. He stood there, a man muzzled by his own -sincerity, bankrupt of a syllable, though he commanded his -wit to be nimble with stentorian cry of conscience. He -felt hot in his skin and vastly stupid. By the time he had -lumbered up some passable fancy, Igraine had turned from -the window with a quick intelligence kindling in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Brastias.”</p> - -<p>“Madame.”</p> - -<p>“Listen to me, I have come by a plan.”</p> - -<p>A sudden flood of sunlight streamed through a rent in -the grey canopy of clouds. The landscape took a warmer -tinge, the purple of the woods deepened. Brastias saw the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -sudden gleam of light strike on Igraine’s hair. Her head -was thrown back upon her splendid neck, and her eyes -seemed large with love.</p> - -<p>“I will show Gorlois how I love him,” she said.</p> - -<p>Brastias’s face was still hazed in conjecture.</p> - -<p>“I will wipe out the past.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“We will follow Gorlois to the war, you and I, Brastias, -together. What say you to that?”</p> - -<p>The man looked at her with clear grey eyes, and with -a transient immobility of feature that changed swiftly to a -glow of understanding. The words had gone home to him -like a trumpet-cry; their courage warmed him, and he was -carried with the wind.</p> - -<p>“A great hazard—and a noble,” he said, with a flush of -colour; “the peril is on my neck, and yet—I’ll bear it.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s face blazed.</p> - -<p>“Brastias, you will go with me?”</p> - -<p>“By my sword, to the death.”</p> - -<p>“Come hither, man; I must kiss your forehead.”</p> - -<p>Brastias knelt to her again with crossed hands. She looked -into his grey eyes and touched his forehead with her lips.</p> - -<p>“Thus I salute honour,” she said.</p> - -<p>“My lord’s lady!”</p> - -<p>“You have trusted me.”</p> - -<p>“Else had I been ashamed.”</p> - -<p>The man went away to arm, warm at heart as any boy. -Igraine stood a moment looking into the fire with an -enigmatic calm upon her face. For Brastias she felt a -throttled pity, an impossible admiration that only troubled -her. Her lust for liberty bore her like a storm-wind, and -her hate of Gorlois made her iron at heart. She could dare -anything to fling off the moral bondage that cramped and -bound her like a net.</p> - -<p>While Brastias was away arming and ordering horses, -she went to a little armoury on the stairs and filched away -a short hauberk and a sheathed poniard. She wore these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -under a gown of black velvet bound with a silver girdle, and -a cloak of sables hooded and lined with sky-blue cloth. She -had a strange joy of the knife at her girdle as she passed -down the stairway to the court.</p> - -<p>A few silent servants gaped at her as she passed from the -house. Brastias came out to her in armour. In the court -she heard the cry of steel bridles, the sparking of hoofs on -the stones. They were soon mounted and away under the -great gate and free of Caerleon in the decline of the day. -The west had no colour, and a wind pined in the trees as -they swept into the twining shadows of the woods, and saw -the boughs clutch each other against the sullen sky. Soon -night came in a black cowl, and with a winter wind that -roamed the woods like the moan of a prophecy. Igraine, -riding with her bridle linked in that of Brastias, pressed on -for the west with a mood that echoed the roar of the trees.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - - -<p>A man in black armour, a lady in a cloak of sables, a pine -forest under a winter sky.</p> - -<p>Myriad trunks interminably pillared, grey-black below, -changing to red beneath the canopy of boughs; patches of -grey-blue sky between; a floor overgrown with whortleberry -and heather, and streaked seldom by the sun. Through -the tree-tops the veriest sighing of a wind, a sound that -crept up the curling galleries like the softly-taken breath -of a sleeping world. Away on every hand oblivious vistas -black under multitudinous green spires.</p> - -<p>The woman’s face seemed white under the sweep of her -sable hood. Its expression was very purposeful, its mouth -firm and resolute, its air indicative of a deliberate will. Her -eyes stared into the wood over her horse’s head with a constant -care, dropping now and again a quick side-glance at -the man in black armour riding on her flank. She spoke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -seldom to him, and then with a certain assumption of -authority that seemed to trouble his equanimity but little. -Often she would lean forward in the saddle as though to -listen, her eyes fixed, her mouth decisive, her hand hollowed -at her ear to concavitate some sound other than the wind-song -of the trees. It was evident that she was under the -spell of some strong emotion, for she would smile and frown -by turns as though vexed by perpetual alternatives of feeling.</p> - -<p>The man at her side watched with his grey eyes the path -curling uphill between the trees. Having his own inward -exposition of the woman’s mood, he contented himself wisely -with silence, keeping his reflections to himself. He was -not a man who blurted commonplaces when lacking the -means of inspiration. And he was satisfied with the fancy -that he understood completely the things that were passing -through the woman’s mind. He believed her troubled by -those extreme anxieties of the heart that come with war and -the handiwork of the sword. Perhaps he was fortunate in -being ignorant of the truth.</p> - -<p>The interminable trees seemed to vex the woman’s spirit -as their trunks crowded the winding track and shut the pair -in as with a never-ending barrier. But for an occasional -patch of heathland or scrub, no lengthy vista opened up -before them. Tree-boles stood everywhere to baulk their -vision, silent and stiff like sullen sentinels. The horses -plodded on. Igraine’s impatience could be read upon her -face, and discovered in her slighter gestures. It was the -impatience of a mind at war within itself, a mind prone -through the chafe of trouble to be vexed with trifles; sore, -sensitive, and hasty. Brastias watched her, pretending to be -intent the while on the path that wandered away into the -mazes of the wood. He was a considerate creature, and he -suffered her petulance with a placid good-humour, and a -certain benevolence that was the outcome of pity.</p> - -<p>Igraine jerked her bridle, and eyed the trees as though -they were the members of a mob thrusting themselves -between her and her purpose. She was inclined to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -unreasonable, as only a woman can be on occasions. Brastias, -calm-faced and debonair, contented himself with sympathy, -and refrained from reason as from the handling of a whip.</p> - -<p>“That peasant fellow was a liar,” he said, by way of -being companionable.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the whelp.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll swear we’ve ridden two leagues, not one.”</p> - -<p>“The fellow should have a stripe for every furlong.”</p> - -<p>“Rough justice, madame.”</p> - -<p>Igraine laughed.</p> - -<p>“If justice were done to liars,” she said, “the world -would be hideless, scourged raw.”</p> - -<p>Brastias edged his horse past an intruding tree and -chuckled amiably.</p> - -<p>“It would be a pity to spoil so much beauty.”</p> - -<p>“Eh!”</p> - -<p>“The women would come off worst.”</p> - -<p>Igraine flashed a look at him.</p> - -<p>“Balaam’s ass spoke the truth,” she said.</p> - -<p>They had not gone another furlong when Brastias reined -in suddenly and stood listening. He held up a hand to -Igraine, looking at her with prophetic face, his black armour -lustreless under the trees.</p> - -<p>“Hark!”</p> - -<p>Igraine stared into his eyes. Neither moved a muscle -for fully a minute.</p> - -<p>“A trumpet-cry!”</p> - -<p>Brastias lowered his hand.</p> - -<p>“From the host. And the ‘advance,’ by the sound on’t.”</p> - -<p>“Then we shall be out of the woods soon.”</p> - -<p>“Go warily, madame; it would be poor wisdom to -stumble on an Irish legion.”</p> - -<p>“Brastias, I would not miss the day for a year in heaven.”</p> - -<p>As they pushed uphill through the solemn shadows of -the forest, a sound like the raging of a wind through a wood -came down to them faintly from afar. It was a sullen -sound, deep and mysterious as the hoarse babel of the sea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -smitten through with the shrill scream of trumpets like the -cry of gulls above a storm. In the alleys of the pine forest -it was still as death, and calm beneath the beniscus of the -tall trees.</p> - -<p>Igraine and Brastias looked meaningly at each other as -they rode. The sound needed no words to christen it. -The two under the trees knew that they heard the roar of -host breaking upon host, the cataractine thunder of a distant -battle.</p> - -<p>Pushing on as fast as the forest suffered, the din became -more definite, more human, more sinister in detail. It -stirred the blood, challenged the courage, racked conjecture -with the infinite chaos it portended. Victory and despair -were trammelled up together in its sullen roar; life and -death seemed to swell it with the wind-sound of their wings; -it was stupendous, sonorous, chaotic, a tempest-cry of steel -and many voices merged into the grand underchant of war.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s face kindled to the sound like the face of a girl -who hears her lover’s lute at night under her window. -Blood fled to her brain with the wild strength of the strain -humming like a wind through the trees. She was in the -mood for war; the tragedy of it solemnised her spirit, and -made her look for the innumerable flash of arms, the rolling -march of a multitude. For the moment it was life, and the -glorious strength of it; death and the dust were hid from -sight.</p> - -<p>Yet another furlong and the red trunks dwindled, and -the sombre boughs fringed great tracts of blue, and to the -north mountains rose up dim and purple under an umbrage -of clouds. To the west the sea appeared solemn and foamless, -set with pine-spired aisles, and a great company of -ships at anchor. Nigh the shore the grey pile of a walled -town stood out upon green meadows. Igraine and the -man pushed past the outlying thickets, and drew rein upon -a slope that ran gradually down from them like the great -swell of a sea.</p> - -<p>Tented by the dome of the sky lay a natural amphi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>theatre, -shelving towards the sea, but rising in the east by -rolling slopes to a ridge that joined the mountains with the -forest. The valley was a medley of waste land, scrub, -gorse, and thicket, traversed by the white streak of a road, -and closed on the west by the grey walls of the town rising -up above the green. It was a wild spot enough. However -still and solitary it may have seemed in its native desertedness, -however much the haunt of the wolf and the boar, it -seethed now like a cauldron with the boiling stir of battle. -Men swarmed through scrub and thicket; masses of steel -moved hither and thither, met, mingled, broke, and rallied. -Wave rushed on wave. Bodies of horsemen smoked over -the open with flashing of many colours and the glittering -pomp of mail, to roll with clanging trumpets into some -vortex of death. The whole scene was one shifting mass -of steel and strife, dust and disorder, galloping squadrons, -rolling spears, rank on rank of shields a-flicker in the sun. -And from this whirlpool of humanity rose the dull grinding -roar of war, fierce, stupendous, clamorous, grand.</p> - -<p>To the trained eye of the soldier the chaos took orderly -and intelligent meaning, and Brastias stood in his stirrups -and pointed out to Igraine the main ordering of the hosts. -Uther Pendragon held the eastern ridge with his knights -and levies; Gilomannius and Pascentius thrust up at him -from the sea; while the valley between held the wreck of -the countercharges of either host, and formed debatable -ground where troop ran against troop, and man against -man.</p> - -<p>The masses of Uther’s army swept away along the ridge, -their arms glittering over the green slopes, their banners -and surcoats colouring the height into a terraced garden of -war, the whole, a solemn streak of gold against the blue -bosoms of the hills. To the north stood Meliograunt with -his levies from Wales, and next him Duke Eldol and King -Nentres headed the men of Flavia Cæsariensis. South of all -the great banner of Tintagel showed where Gorlois and the -southern levies reared up their spears like a larch-wood in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -winter. Brastias pointed them all out to the girl in turn, -keeping keen watch the while on the shifting mob of mail -in the valley.</p> - -<p>Igraine, stirred by the scene, urged on from the forest, -and the knight following her, they crossed some open -scrubland, wound through a thicket of pines, and stood at -gaze under the boughs. Igraine’s eyes were all the while -turned on the banner of Tintagel, and from the common -mob of mailed figures she could isolate a knight in gilded -harness on a white horse, Gorlois, her husband. The mere -sight of him set her hate blazing in her heart, and seemed -to pageant out all the ills she had suffered at his hands. -Her feud against the man was a veritable insanity, a species -of melancholia that wrapped all existence in the morbid -twilight of self-centred bitterness. As she looked down -upon the host there was a kind of overmastering madness of -malice on her face, an emotion whose very intensity paled -her to the lips, and made her eyes hard and scintillant as -crystal. She was discreet for all her violence of soul. -Turning to Brastias, who was scanning the valley under his -hand, she pointed to the banner with a restless eagerness of -manner that might have hinted at her solicitude for Gorlois, -her lord.</p> - -<p>“See yonder,” she said, “is not that the Lord Gorlois on -the white horse by yonder standard?”</p> - -<p>Brastias turned his glance thither, considered for a -moment, and then agreed decisively.</p> - -<p>“Love is quick of eye,” he said with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Let us ride down nearer.”</p> - -<p>“I care not for the hazard, madame.”</p> - -<p>“Who fears at such a season?”</p> - -<p>“By my sword, madame, not your servant; I am but -careful of your safety.”</p> - -<p>“Fear for me, Brastias, when I fear for myself.”</p> - -<p>“Methinks, madame, that would be never.”</p> - -<p>“Brastias, I believe you.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s courage had risen to too high an imperiousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -for the moment to brook baffling or to endure restraint. -She had been lifted out of herself, as it were, by the storm-cry -of battle, and by the splendour of the scene spread out -before her eyes. A furlong or more down the hillside a -little hillock stood up amid a few wind-twisted thorns, -proffering rare vantage for outlook over wood and dale. -She was away like a flash, and several lengths ahead before -Brastias had roused up, put spur to horse, and cantered after -her. The man saw the glint of her horse’s hinder hoofs -spurning the sod, and though the wind whistled about his -ears, he was left well in the rear for all his spurring. -Igraine, with her hair agleam under her tossed-back hood, -and her cheeks ruddied by the wind, headed for the rising -ground at a gallop, gained it, and drew rein on the very -verge of a small cliff that dropped sheer to the flat below. -The hillock was like a natural pulpit, its front face a -perpendicular some twenty feet high, while its hinder slope -tailed off to merge into the hillside. Gorlois’s mailed -masses stood but a hundred paces away, and Igraine could -see him clearly in his gilded harness under the banner of -Tintagel.</p> - -<p>Brastias galloped up to her with a mild bluster of -expostulation.</p> - -<p>“You court danger, madame.”</p> - -<p>“What if I do, Brastias, to be near my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Your sanctity lies upon my conscience.”</p> - -<p>“I take all such care from you.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, that is impossible; duty is duty both night -and day, in battle and in peace; duty bids me fear for my -lord’s wife.”</p> - -<p>Igraine found certain logic invincible in the argument, -and made good use of it; she meant to rule Brastias for her -own ends.</p> - -<p>“Fear,” she said; "I forget fear when I am nigh Gorlois, -my husband; and who can gainsay me the right of watching -over him? I forget fear when I think of Britain, the -king, and my lord, and had I a hundred lives I could cast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -them down to help to break the heathen, and serve my -country."</p> - -<p>“Amen,” said Brastias, signing the cross upon his breast.</p> - -<p>Sterner interests quashed any further polite bickerings -that might have risen from Igraine’s pride of purpose, for -Brastias, with the instinct of a soldier, marked some large -development in the struggle that had been passing in the -valley below them. The scattered lines of horse and foot -that had been thrown forward by Uther to try the strength -and spirit of the Irish host, were falling back sullenly uphill -before the masses of attack poured up from the flats by -Gilomannius the king. The whole battle had shifted to -the east. Bodies of horse were spurring uphill, driving in -Uther’s men, cutting down stragglers, harrowing the slopes -for the solid march of the black columns of foot that were -creeping up between the thickets, winding like giant dragons -amid furze and scrub. It was a grand sight enough, the -advance of a great host, a rocking sea of spears pouring up -in the lull that had fallen over the valley as though the -battle took breath and waited. Uther’s men kept their -ground upon the ridge, watching in silence the advance of -Gilomannius’s chivalry. Only a brief wild cry of trumpets -betokened the gathering of the waves of war.</p> - -<p>Even at this juncture Brastias racked his wit and courtesy -to persuade Gorlois’s lady to fall back and watch from the -shelter of the woods. He pointed out her peril to Igraine, -besought, argued, cajoled, threatened. All he gained was a -blunt but half-smiling declaration from the woman that she -would hold to her post on the hillock till the battle was over, -or some mischance drove her from the place. Brastias -caught her bridle, spurred round, and tried to drag her back -by main force, but she was out of the saddle instanter, and -obstinate as ever. In the end the man capitulated, and -gave his concern to the fortunes of war.</p> - -<p>The sudden uproar that sounded out along the hillside -made mere individual need dull and impossible for the -moment. The shock of the joining of the hosts had come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -like the fall of snow from a mountain—a sound sweeping -down the valley, echoing among the silent fastnesses of the -hills. Men had come pike to pike, shield to shield, upon -the ridge. Mass rushed upon mass, billow upon billow. -From the mountains to the forest the sweat and thunder of -strife rolled up from the long line of leaping steel, from the -living barrier, steady as a cliff. It was one of the many -Marathons of the world where barbarism clawed at the -antique fabric of the past.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s glance was stayed on Gorlois and the southern -levies about the banner of Tintagel. Her hate surged up -the green slope with the onrush of the Irish horde, and -brandished on the charge in spirit towards the tall figure in -the harness of gold. She saw Gorlois in the press smiting -right and left with the long sweep of his sword. In her -thirst for his destruction she grudged him strength, harness, -sword, the very shield he bore. She was glad of his courage, -for such would militate against him. Moment by moment -her desire honoured him with death as she thought him -doomed to fall beneath the surge of steel.</p> - -<p>A sudden shout from Brastias brought her stare from this -chaos of swords. The man was standing in his stirrups, -and pointing to the west with his face dead white and his -mouth agape.</p> - -<p>“By God, look!”</p> - -<p>Truth to tell, there was little need of the warning. A -dull rumble of hoofs came up like thunder above the shriller -din around. Igraine, looking to the west, saw a black mass -of horsemen at the gallop, swaying, surging, rocking uphill -full for Gorlois’s flank. The sight numbed her reason for -the moment. She was still as stone as the column swept -past the very foot of the hillock—a flood of steel—and -plunged headlong upon Gorlois’s lines, hewing and trampling -to the very banner of Tintagel. An oath from Brastias -made her turn and look at him. He had his hand on his -sword, and his face was twisted into a snarl of wrath and -shame as he stood in his stirrups and watched the fight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My God!” he cried, “my God! they run.”</p> - -<p>It was palpable enough that the southern line was breaking -and crumbling ominously before the rush of Gilomannius’s -knights. Little bunches of men were breaking -away from the main mass like smoke, and falling back over -the ridge. Igraine guessed at Brastias’s pride and fury, saw -her chance of liberty, and took it. She set up a shrill cry -that stirred his courage like a trumpet-cry.</p> - -<p>“My Lord, my Lord Gorlois, Brastias, what of him?”</p> - -<p>The man’s sword had flashed out.</p> - -<p>“Send me to death, lady, only to strike a blow for -Britain.”</p> - -<p>Igraine spread her hands to him like a Madonna, and -made the sign of the cross in the air. Brastias lifted up his -drawn sword, kissed it, and saluted her with the look of a -hero. Then he wheeled his horse, plunged down from the -hillock, and rode full gallop into the battle. Igraine soon -lost sight of his black harness in the mêlée, and since he met -his death there, she saw Brastias alive no more.</p> - -<p>Despite the grim uproar of the overthrow, despite the -taunts of a patriot pride, there was an under-current of gladness -through her thought as she watched Gorlois’s men -giving ground upon the ridge. Her lord’s shame was her -gratification. To such a pitch of passion was she tuned that -she could find laughter for the occasion, and a shrill cry of -joy that startled even her own ears when the banner of -Tintagel quivered and went down into the dust. Men -were falling like leaves in autumn, and the southern wing -of Uther’s host seemed but a rabble—trampled, overridden, -herded, and smitten over the ridge. Everywhere the swords -and spears of Gilomannius’s knights and gallowglasses spread -rout and panic, while the wavering mass gave ground, rallied, -gave again, and streamed away in flight over the hillside. -She could see no sign of Gorlois, and with a whimper of -hate the strong doubt of his escaping the slaughter took hold -on her heart, and found ready welcome there. She was rid -of Brastias—good fellow that he was—and though she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -honoured him, she loved liberty better. Liberty enough! -Gorlois her lord had been slain. Such were her reflections -for the moment.</p> - -<p>Pendragon’s host seemed threatened with overthrow. -The southern wing had been driven off the field by a charge -of horse; Gilomannius held the southern portion of the -ridge, and pressed hard on Meliograunt, both flank and face. -The imminent need of Britain was plain enough even to -Igraine, yet a sense of calm and liberty had come upon her -like the song of birds or the gush of green in springtide. -Even her patriotism seemed dim and unreal for the moment -before the treasonable gratitude that watched the overthrow -of Gorlois’s arms. She was alone at last, solitary among -thousands, able after the bitterness of past months to pluck -peace from the very carnage of battle. Trouble had so -wrought upon her mind that it seemed a negation of all -probable and natural sentiment, a contradiction of the ethical -principles of sense.</p> - -<p>The day was fast passing, and the grand fires of a winter -sunset were rolling all the caverns of the west into a blaze -of gold and scarlet. The pine forest, black and inscrutable -as night, stood with its spines like ebony to the fringe of -the west, while the slanting light lit the glimmering masses -of steel on hill and valley with a web of gold. To the -north the mountains towered in a mystery of purple, a -gleam of amber transient on their peaks.</p> - -<p>Sudden and shrill came a cry of trumpets from the hills, -a sinister sound that seemed to issue in the climax of the -last phase of a tragedy. Igraine’s eyes were turned northwards -to the green slopes of the higher ground where the -great banner of the Golden Dragon had flapped over Uther -the King. Here a great company of knights, the flower of -the host, had stood inactive throughout the day. With a -cry of trumpets this splendid company had moved down to -charge the masses of Gilomannius’s men, who now filled the -shallow valley east of the ridge, and threatened King -Meliograunt and the whole host with overthrow. Uther<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -had ridden out to lead the charge with his own sword. It -was one of those perilous hours when some great deed was -needed to grapple victory from defeat.</p> - -<p>The rest of the scene seemed blotted out as Igraine -watched from her hillock the glittering mass rolling downhill -with the evening sun striking flame from its thousand -points of steel. On over the green slopes, past the pavilions -of the camp, it gathered like a wave lifting its crest against -a rock, on towards the swarm of men squandered in pursuit -of Gorlois’s broken line, on to where Gilomannius formed -his knights for the charge. The green space dwindled and -dwindled with the rush and roar of the nearing gallop. -Igraine saw the rabble of Saxons, light-armed kerns and -Irish gallowglasses, split and crack like a crumbling wall. -For a short breath the black mass held, with Uther’s storm -of mail cleaving cracks and wedges in it—streaks of tawny -colour like lava through the vineyards and gardens of a -village. Then as by magic the whole mass seemed to -deliquesce, to melt, to become as mist. All visible was a -thunderstorm of horsemen tearing like wind through a film -of rain with scattering fringes of cloud scudding swiftly to -the west. The knights had passed the valley and were -riding up the slope, hewing, trampling, crushing, as they -came. Gilomannius’s columns that had pushed Gorlois’s -men into rout had become a rabble in turn—wrecked, scattered -to the wind, trodden down in blood and dust. They -were streaming away in flight over the ridge, scampering -for scrub and thicket, no lust in them save the lust of life. -Igraine saw them racing past on every quarter, a blood-specked, -dust-covered herd, their hairy faces panting for the -west and the ships on the beach. Not a hundred paces -away came the line of trampling hoofs and swinging swords, -a demoniac whirlwind of iron wrath that hunted, slew, and -gave no quarter.</p> - -<p>Beyond the summit of the ridge, and all about the -hillock where Igraine stood, the glittering horde of knights -came to a halt with a great shout of triumph. Right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -beneath Igraine and the straight face of the hillock a man -in red armour on a black horse, with a golden dragon on -his helmet, stood out some paces before the ranks of the -splendid company. A great cry rolled up, a forest of -swords shook in the sun. The knight on the black horse -stood in his stirrups, and with sword and helmet upstretched -in either hand lifted his face to the red triumph fire of the -west. Igraine knew him—Pelleas, Uther, the King.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p>The sun had rolled back between the pylons of the west. -Night was in the sky, night in her winter austerity—keen, -clear, aglitter with stars as though her robe were spangled -with cosmic frost. The mountains’ rugged heads were -dark to the heavens, and the sea lay a faintly glimmering -plain open to the beck of the moon.</p> - -<p>The Irish host had broken and fled at sunset before -Uther’s charge and the streaming spears of Eldol and King -Nentres. The green meadows, the wild scrubland, had been -chequered over with the black swarm of the flying soldiery; -the whole valley had surged with swords and the sound of -the slaughter. By the grey walls of the town it had beleaguered, -the driven host had turned and rallied in despair -to stave off to the last the implacable doom that poured -down from the hills. It was the vain effort of a desperate -cause. Broken and scattered like dust along a highway, -there had been no hope left them but their ships. The -battle had ended in the very foam of the breaking waves. -Crag and cliff, rock-citadel and yellow sand, had had their -meed of blood and the shrill sound of the sword. The -great ships had saved but a remnant, and had put out to -sea in the dusk, their white sails like huge ghosts treading -the swell of the twilight waters. Yet with night there had -come no ceasing of the carnage. Despair had turned to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -front victory; Irish gallowglass and heathen churl, forsaken -by their ships and hemmed in by sea and sword, had fought -on to the end, finding and knowing no mercy. Gilomannius -the King and Pascentius were dead, and the blood of invasion -poured out like water.</p> - -<p>Now it was night, and in the clear passionless light of -the moon a figure in a cloak of sables moved towards the -mound where Gorlois of Cornwall had flown his banner -early in the day’s battle. Everywhere the dead lay piled -like sheaves in a cornfield, their harness glinting with a -ghastly lustre to the moon—piled in all attitudes and -postures, staring blankly with white faces to the sky, or -prone with their lips in blood, contorted, twisted, clutching -at throat and weapon, mouths agape or clenched into a grin, -man piled on man, barbarian upon Briton. Dark quags -chequered the grass with the sickly odour of shed blood, -and sword and spear, shield and helmet, flickered impotently -among the dead.</p> - -<p>Igraine went among the bodies like a black monk seeking -some still quick enough to be shriven before their souls -took flight from the riven clay. Her cloak was gathered -jealously about her as she threaded her way among the -huddled figures, peering under helmets, scanning harness -narrowly in her death-inspired quest. Casting hither and -thither in the moonlight, she came to a tangled bank of -furze, and beyond it a low hillock that seemed piled and -paved with the bodies of the slain. Here had stood the -banner of Tintagel, and here the prowess of Gorlois’s household -knights had fallen before the charge of Gilomannius’s -chivalry. Igraine saw the medley of mail, the dead horses, -jumbled figures, wreck of shield and spear rising out above -her in the moonlight, cloaked with a silence grim and -irrefutable, as though Death himself sat sentinel on the -pyramid of carnage. Half shuddering at the sight like an -aspen, for all the intent that was in her heart, she drew -near, determined and resolved to search the mound. Compelled -to climb over the dead and to set her foot on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -breasts and shoulders of the slain, her tread lighted more -than once on a body that squirmed like a dying snake. -Strong to do the uttermost after that day of revelation she -struggled on, loathing the task, her shoes clammy with the -blood-sweat of death. On the summit of the mound she -came upon Gorlois’s white horse lying dead by the wreathing -folds of the fallen banner of his house.</p> - -<p>A whimper of joy came up into Igraine’s heart. Sinister -as the sign seemed, she was soon searching the mound with -an alert desire in her eyes that prophesied no vestige of -pity for the thing for which she sought. Hunt as she -would, and she was marvellously patient over the gruesome -business, no glint of Gorlois’s golden harness flattered her -hate as she searched the mound. Many a good knight lay -there, some that she had known at Tintagel, and hated -because they served her husband, but of Gorlois she found -no trace. As a last hope, she dragged aside the great -standard and found a dead man there sheeted in its folds, a -man in black armour with his face to the sky—Brastias, -who had ridden with her from Caerleon.</p> - -<p>She stood a moment looking down at him with a sudden -feeling of awe such as had not come upon her through all -that day. A white face lay turned to the sky,—a face that -had looked kindly into hers with a level trust,—and smiled -with a wealth of manly sympathy. It was a simple thing -enough, nothing but one death among many thousands, but -it touched Igraine to the core, and made her ashamed of the -lies she had given him. She found herself wondering like -a child whether Brastias was in heaven, and whether he -watched her and her thoughts with his calm grey eyes. -The notion disquieted her. She bent down, took his naked -sword from his hand, and shrouded him again in the gorgeous -blazonry of the flag for which he had died, and so left -him with a sigh.</p> - -<p>As she climbed back again from the mound, a gashed -and clotted face heaved up and stared at her from a heap of -slain. It was the face of a man who had struggled up on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -his hands to look at her with mouth agape, dazed after a -sudden waking from the stupor of a swoon. For a moment -in the moonlight she thought it was Gorlois by certain -likeness of feature, but discovered her error when the man -spoke to her in gibberish she did not understand. He -began to crawl towards her with a certain air of menace -that made her start back and rear up the sword she had -taken from dead Brastias. The threat of steel proved -needless enough, for the man dropped again with a wet -groan, and seemed dead when she went and bent over him -with thoughts of succour.</p> - -<p>Passing back again to her hillock, she stood there brooding -and looking out towards the west. A great bell in the -town by the sea was pulsing heavily as though for the dead, -and there were many cressets flaring on the walls, and -torches going to and fro in the meadows. The sound of a -triumph hymn chanted by hundreds of deep voices floated -up like a prayer from the western meadows.</p> - -<p>At the sound Igraine’s eyes were strangely full of tears. -By some strange echoing of the mind the idyls of past days -woke like the song of birds after a storm of rain. Clear in -the dusk she seemed to see the red figure on the black horse, -his face lit like a god’s by the slanting light from the west -as he stretched his sword to heaven. Again the scene -changed, and she saw him riding through the flowering -meads of Andredswold, looking down on her with a grave -and luminous pity. She was glad of him, glad of his great -glory, glad that he had kissed her lips, and bewrayed the -love to her that was in his heart. The scene and the occasion -were strange enough for such broodings, yet her -eyes were very dim as she stood in a half-dream and let -the picture drift across her mind.</p> - -<p>The revelation had come upon her with such suddenness -that she had been for the moment like one dazed. She had -watched Uther sweep on with his horde of knights, and had -stood mute and impotent as one smitten dumb while the -red harness and the golden dragon of Britain vanished again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -into the moil of war. Now her whole soul yearned out -with a wistfulness born of infinite regret. If he had only -come to her alone; if he had only come to her as Pelleas in -some gloom of green, she could have fallen down before his -horse’s feet, kissed the scabbard of his sword, wept over his -helmet, and burnished it with her hair. Sight of that dark -sad face had made a beacon of her on the instant.</p> - -<p>And Gorlois! If she had hated him yesterday, she hated -him with a tenfold vigour since she had looked again upon -Pelleas’s face. Certainly her malice had grown with an -Antæan strength with each humbling of her heart to the -dust, and the very thought of Gorlois seemed blasphemy -against her soul at such an hour.</p> - -<p>With the memory of Gorlois a cloud dulled the clear -mirror of her mind, and her mood of dreams melted into -mist. The strong sense of bondage, of ineffectual treason, -came back with a fuller force as though to menace her with -the fateful realism of her lot. A hand seemed to sweep -down and wave her back with a meaning so sinister that -even her hate stood still a moment as in sudden fear; she -had some such feeling as of standing on the brink of a -mysterious sea whose waves sang to her a song of peril, of -misery and desire cooped up together in the dim green -twilight of some coral dungeon. The lure of the unknown -beat upon her eyes, while love and hate, like attendant spirits, -beckoned her over the yawn of an open grave.</p> - -<p>For the moment the importunity of her immediate need -drew her from meditations alike bitter and divine. A -battlefield after dark, with all its lust and pillage, was no -pleasant place for a woman. The lights of the town still -showed up brightly in the west, but Igraine had little desire -of the teeming streets where victory would be matching -blood with wine, and where the revels of the soldiery would -celebrate the day in primal fashion. She was content to -be alone under the stars, and even the dead seemed more -sympathetic than the living at such an hour.</p> - -<p>A wind had risen, and she heard the hoarse “salvé” of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -forest in the night. The thousand voices of the trees -seemed to call to her with a weird perpetual clamour. She -saw their spectral hands jerking and clutching against the -sky, and heard the creak and gibber of the criss-cross boughs -swaying in the wind. Leaving the hillock, and still bearing -Brastias’s sword, she held across the open, seeing as she -went the dark streaks that dotted the hillside—the bodies of -men fallen in the flight. She gained the trees, and was soon -deep among the crowded trunks, pondering on her lodging -for the night.</p> - -<p>Wandering hither and thither, looking for some more -sheltered spot, her glance lighted on a dim swelling of the -ground that proved to be an ancient mound or barrow. It -had been opened in times past, probably in the search for -buried treasure or for weapons. Brambles, weeds, and -heather had roofed the shallow cutting into a little recess -or cave that gave fair shelter from the wind, and Igraine, -braving the notion of barrow ghost or spirit, claimed the -place as a God-send, and took cover therein.</p> - -<p>The last crumbs in her wallet finished, she sat with her -face between her palms, brooding, big-eyed, in the night, -like any Druidess wreathing spells in her forest solitude. -The wind was crying through the trees, swaying them -restlessly against the starry sky, making plaintive moan -through all the myriad aisles. Igraine listened like one -huddled among her thoughts to keep out the cold. Miserable -as was her lodging, her mind seemed packed with the -day’s battle; the whirl and thunder of it were still moving -in her brain, a wild scene towered over by a man bare-headed -on a black horse, holding his helmet to the setting -sun. Often and often she heard the roar of hoofs and saw -the rush of the charge that had trampled the banner of -Tintagel and hurled Gorlois and his men in rout from the -ridge. Had it been death or life with the man? Was he -with the King hearing holy mass and lifting up the wine -cup to heaven under a flare of lights, or lying stiff and -pinched under the mild eyes of night? It was this thought,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -holding hope and doubt in common yoke, that abode with -her all the night in her refuge under the trees.</p> - -<p>It was bleak enough, with a silvering of frost over the -land, when darkness had rolled back over the western sea, -uncovering the wreck of death that lay huddled on ridge -and slope. Igraine was stirring early from the barrow. -With the cold and her own thoughts she had slept but an -hour, and at the first filtering of light through the branches -she was glad and ready for the day. She wandered through -the forest towards the open land that showed glimmering -through the tree-boles, with no certain purpose moving in -her mind. The future as yet was a blank to her, lacking -possibilities, jealous of its secrets, saturnine as death itself. -There shone one light above her that seemed to burn -through the unknown; it had long led her from distant -hills, yet even her red lamp of love beckoned her over -a sepulchre.</p> - -<p>Coming to the forest margin, she came full upon the -incontestable handiwork of war. Under the sweep of a -great pine lay the body of a knight in black harness, all -blazoned with gold, while his grey horse was still standing -with infinite patience by his side, nosing him gently from -time to time. The man’s helmet, a visored casque, somewhat -gladiatorial in type, had fallen off, and a young beardless -face was turned placidly up to the blue, a white oval -pillowed upon a tuft of heather. There was no blood or -sign of violence visible save a blue bruise on his left temple; -it seemed more than probable that he had been pitched from -the saddle and found death in the fall.</p> - -<p>Igraine stood and looked at him in some pity while the -horse snuffed at her, staring with great wistful eyes as -though for help or sympathy. The man was young, with a -certain nobility of early manhood on his face, and it seemed -to her very pitiful that he should be cut off thus in life’s -spring. As she looked at him she noted that he was slim -of figure, and not much above middle height. A sudden -fancy took her on the instant. She tethered the horse, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -kneeling down by the man her fingers were soon busy at -the buckles and joints of his armour. Ungirding his sword, -she drew it from the scabbard and set it upright at his -head, sheathing Brastias’s in its place. Having stripped off -his armour and long surcoat she covered him reverently with -her cloak, slung the horse’s bridle round her wrist, and -gathering up his arms and helmet went back to the barrow -where she had passed the night.</p> - -<p>The wood had received a woman in the dress of a woman; -it gave in exchange a knight on a grey horse—a knight in -black armour blazoned with gold under a surcoat of violet -cloth. The brazen helmet, visored and hooded with mail -over nape of neck and throat, gleamed and flashed under the -green boughs. There were three lilies, snow-white, and a -cloven heart upon the shield, and the horse trappings were -bossed and enamelled gold and blue.</p> - -<p>Igraine rode out from the trees with the pomp of -a Launcelot. The grey horse’s mane tossed in the wind, -the furze rippled on the hillside, the cloud-ships sailed the -blue with white sails spread. The girl was aglow with new -life under her guise of steel. The essence of manhood -seemed to have created itself within her as from the soul of -the dead knight, and she suffered the glory of arms with a -pride that was almost boyish.</p> - -<p>Holding out from the trees at a solemn pace, she headed -westward down the valley along the grass slopes that slid -between scrub and thicket to the sea. On the road below -her a company of spears trailed eastward uphill in a snakelike -column that glittered through the green. Pushing on -boldly across ground where the battle had raged hotly the -night before, she reached the road as the head of the column -swung up at a dull tramp on their march home for Caerleon. -Gruffing her voice in her throat she hailed the knight who -headed the troop for news of the battle of yesterday, posing -as one late on the scene, and sore at having struck no blow -for Britain.</p> - -<p>The knight drew aside, and letting his men tramp by,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -he gave tersely the tale of the fight as he had seen it from -King Nentres’s lines.</p> - -<p>“St. Jude be blessed,” said Igraine at the end thereof. -“I am glad, friend, of these tidings. As for the field, it -looks to have been as bloody a one as ever I set eyes on.”</p> - -<p>“Bloody enough,” quoth the man, giving his moustache -a twirl; “too bloody for Gilomannius and dead Vortigern’s -whelp.”</p> - -<p>“What of Uther?”</p> - -<p>“Scarce a scratch.”</p> - -<p>“King Meliograunt?”</p> - -<p>“Wounded, but drunk as the devil.”</p> - -<p>“And Gorlois of Cornwall?”</p> - -<p>The man laughed as at a jest.</p> - -<p>“Bedded in an abbey,” said he, “with a split face; mere -flesh, mere flesh, nothing deeper.”</p> - -<p>Igraine thanked him with her helm adroop, and turning -her horse, rode back towards the forest heavy of heart.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>V</h3> -</div> - - -<p>The King’s house at Caerleon stood out above the Usk on -a little hill whose slopes were set with shrubberies and -gardens, the white pillars and broad façade glimmering -above the filmy cloud of green that covered the place as -with a garment. A great stairway ran to the river from -the southern terrace that blazed in summer with flower-filled -urns and stacks of roses that overspread the balustrade -with crimson flame. It was a place of dawns and sunsets; -of lights rising amber in the east over purple hills and -amethystine waters; of quiet glows at evening in the west, -with cypresses and yews carven in ebony against primrose -skies; while in the burgeoning of the year birds made the -thickets deep with melody; and all beyond, Caerleon’s -solemn towers, roofs, casements bowered in green, rested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -within the battlemented walls that touched the domes and -leaf-spires of the woods.</p> - -<p>It was noontide in Caerleon, and down the great stairway, -with its rows of cypresses, its banks of yew and myrtle, -a fair company was passing to the river, where many barges -clustered round the water-gate like gilded beetles sunning -their flanks in the shallows. Knights and churchmen in -groups moved down from the palace talking together as they -went. There had been a council of state in the King’s hall, -a great assembling of the noble folk and prelatry, to consider -the need of Britain, the cry of the martyred and the homeless -from Kentlands and the east. Anderida, that great -city of the southern shores, had fallen in a tempest of fire -and sword; no single soul had escaped from its smoking -walls; the barbarian had entered in and made great silence -over the whole city. Now it was told that more galleys -had come bearing the fair-haired churls from the sand-dunes -and pinewoods, the rude hamlets of that Angle land over the -sea. Vectis had been overrun, Porchester burnt to the -ground, even the noble city of Winchester threatened -despite its walls. Beast and robber had sole rule in Andredswold; -much of nether-Britain was a wilderness, a wistful -land given over to solitude and the wild creatures of the -forest. Churches were crumbling; gillyflowers grew on -the high altars, and ivy wrapped the tombs; sanctuary bells -were silent, homes empty and still as death. Desolation -threatened the south, while the valleys of Armorica oversea -gave refuge to many who fled before the Saxon sword.</p> - -<p>In the great hall of the palace Uther still sat in his chair -of ivory under a gilded roof that mingled huge beams with -banners, spears, and rust-rotted harness. The walls were -frescoed with Homeric scenes—Helen meeting Paris in the -house of Menelaus, Achilles slaying Hector, Ulysses and -Calypso. Twelve painted pillars held the crossbeams of the -hall, and from the fire on the great hearth a fragrant scent -of burning cedar wood drifted upon the air. A long table -covered with parchment, tablets, quills and inkhorns, and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -array of empty benches testified to the number of noble -folk who had assembled at the royal conclave. A single -councillor remained before the King—Dubricius, Bishop of -Caerleon, a tall spare man, whose white hair and sensitive -ascetic face bore testimony to an inward delicacy of soul.</p> - -<p>Uther was clad in a tunic of scarlet, with a dragon in -gold thread blazoned upon his breast. No crown, coronet, -or fillet was on his brow; on his finger he wore the signet -of Ambrosius, and his sword was girded to him with a girdle -of embroidered leather. His look was much the same as -when he rode as Pelleas in Andredswold and was nursed of -his wound by Igraine in the island manor. Possibly there -were more lines upon his face, a deeper dignity of sadness in -his eyes. Circumstance had put upon him the cherishing -of an imperilled kingdom, and with the charge his natural -stateliness of soul had risen into a heroism of benignant -chivalry. No more kingly man could have taken a land -under the strong sweep of his sword. With the grand -simplicity of a great heart he had grappled the task as a -thing given of God, bending ever in prayer like a child -before the inscrutable wisdom of heaven.</p> - -<p>There had been grave business on his mind that day, and -his face was dark with a cloud of care as he talked with -Dubricius on certain matters that lay near his heart. Uther, -like the men of old time, was superstitious and ever prone -to regard all phenomena as possessing certain testamentary -authority from the Deity. In mediæval fashion he referred -all human riddles to religious instinct for their solving, and -searched in holy writ for guidance with a faith that was -typical of his character. Wholly a Christian in a superstitious -sense, he gained from the very fervour of his belief -a strength that seemed to justify his very bigotry.</p> - -<p>It was a certain experience, that to his mystic-loving -instinct omened history still dark in the womb of the future, -and kept him closeted with Dubricius that day after knight -and churchman had filed out from the conclave. In the -twilight of the hall, with its painted frescoes and glimmering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -shields, Dubricius listened to the King as he spoke of -portents and visions of the night. Uther, with his elbow -resting on the arm of his chair and his chin upon his palm, -stared at the cedar wood burning pungently upon the hearth -and catechised Dubricius on visionary belief. The old man -looked keenly at the King under his arched white brows. -He was as much a mystic in his creed as this son of Constantine, -a believer in miracles and in manifestations in the -heavens. Certainly unusual powers had been given to the -early Church, and it was not for the atomic mind of man to -deny their presence in any later age.</p> - -<p>“My lord dreamed a dream,” said Dubricius tentatively -when he had heard the tale to the end.</p> - -<p>Uther quashed the suggestion with the calm confidence -of a man sure of his reason.</p> - -<p>“Never a dream, Dubricius.”</p> - -<p>The old man’s eyes were very bright, and his face seemed -full of a luminous sanctity.</p> - -<p>“A vision, then, my lord?”</p> - -<p>“I am no woman, Dubricius; I must believe the thing -a vision, or damn my senses.”</p> - -<p>“My lord, it is no mere woman’s part to see visions; -search holy writ where the chosen of God—the great ones—were -miraculously blessed with portent and with -dream.”</p> - -<p>Uther looked into the old man’s face as though for -succour.</p> - -<p>“I am troubled to know what God would have me -know,” he said. “Dubricius, you are aged in the service -of the Church!”</p> - -<p>“My lord, I have no privilege from heaven in the rendering -of dreams.”</p> - -<p>“Am I then a Pharaoh disappointed of mine own soothsayers?”</p> - -<p>“Sire, what of Merlin?”</p> - -<p>“Merlin—”</p> - -<p>"The man has the gift of prophecy and can speak with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -tongues. Send for him, my lord; he is a child of the -Church, though a mage."</p> - -<p>Uther warmed himself before the fire of cedar wood, his -face motionless in contemplative calm. Presently he turned, -and looked deep into Dubricius’s vigil-hollowed eyes as -though to read the thoughts therein.</p> - -<p>“Merlin, the black-haired man who told Vortigern of -the future!”</p> - -<p>“He spoke the truth, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Sad truth for Vortigern.”</p> - -<p>“Yet who should fear the truth?”</p> - -<p>“Dubricius, to hear of death!”</p> - -<p>“Death, my lord?”</p> - -<p>“Remember Vortigern.”</p> - -<p>“My lord, he was a planet lurid with murder, and so -damned to darkness. Need the sun fear light?”</p> - -<p>Uther smiled sadly in the old man’s face.</p> - -<p>“You are too faithful a courtier, Dubricius.”</p> - -<p>“My lord, you are the pillar of a distraught land; God -be merciful and spare you to us.”</p> - -<p>“I have done my duty.”</p> - -<p>“Amen, sire, to that.”</p> - -<p>Uther went and stood by the great window of the room -with his arms folded upon his breast. His hollow eyes -looked out over the city, and there was a gaunt grandeur of -thought upon his face. He was not a man who galloped -down destiny like a huntsman on the trail of a stag; deliberation -entered into his motives, and he never foundered -reason with over-use of the spur. Dubricius stood and -watched him with the smile of a father, for he loved the -man.</p> - -<p>Presently Uther turned back towards the fire. Dubricius -saw by his face that he had come by decision, and that his -mind was steadfast.</p> - -<p>“Merlin is at Sarum, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not play Saul at Endor.”</p> - -<p>“No, sire.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The man shall come to me with no jugglery in dark -corners.”</p> - -<p>“Wise forethought, my lord king.”</p> - -<p>“I remember me, Dubricius, that you have little leisure -to hear of dreams. I have given you the names of the holy -houses to be rebuilt and consecrated in the name of God. -We will save Britain by the help of the cross. God speed -you.”</p> - -<p>Alone in the half light of the hall Uther stood and stared -into the fire, his eyes luminous in the glow, while the -pungent scent of the burning wood swept up like a savour -of eastern spices. There was intense feeling on his face, -a kind of passionate calm, as he gazed into the red bosom -of the fire. Presently, as though turning in thought from -some enchantment of the past, he sighed wearily, put his -black hair from his forehead with both hands, and looked at -his image in a mirror of steel that hung from a painted -pillar. There was a wistful look upon his strong face; he -had a soul that remembered, a soul not numbed by time -into mere painless recollection of the past. As in some -mysterious temple, love, with solemn sound of flute and -dulcimer, kept fire unquenched night and day upon the altar -of his heart.</p> - -<p>Rising up out of his mood of gloom, an earthly Hyperion -whose face shone anew over Britain, he passed out, and -calling to the guards lounging on the terrace, descended the -stairway that sloped through gardens to the river. His -state barge was in waiting at the gate, and entering in he -was borne downstream towards the town whose white walls -rose up amid the emerald mist of spring. Over all Uther -cast his eye with a lustre look of love, a love that shone like -the smile of a child at a mother’s face. Caerleon was dear -to him beyond all other cities; its white walls held his -heart with the whispered conjure word of “home.”</p> - -<p>Landing at the great quay, where many ships and galleys -lay moored, he passed up towards the market square with -the files of his guard, smiling back on the reverences of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -people, throwing here and there a coin, happy in the honour -that echoed to him from every face. Before the walls of a -pilastered house his guards halted with a fanfare of trumpets, -a sound that rolled the gates wide and brought a mob of -servants to line the outer court. Knights came down from -the house with heads uncovered. It was the King’s first -entry into Gorlois’s atrium since the disbanding of the host -after the war in Wales.</p> - -<p>A face scarred with red across cheek and chin, with nose -askew, one lower lid turned down, came out to Uther from -the doorway of an inner room. There was a drawn look -upon the man’s face, a sullen saturnine air about him as -though he were vexed inwardly with the chafe of some -perpetual pain. The pinched frown, the restless bloodshot -eyes, the hunched shoulders, were all strange to Uther, who -looked for Gorlois, the man of arrogant and imperial pride, -whose splendour of person, carriage of head, and long lithe -stride had marked him a stag royal from the herd of meaner -men.</p> - -<p>Uther, grave as a god, gripped the other’s thin sinewy -fingers, his eyes searching Gorlois’s face with a large-minded -scrutiny inspired by the natural sympathies of his heart. -Gorlois, for his part, half crooked the knee, and drew a -carved chair before the ill-tended fire. He had an Asmodean -pride, and the look in Uther’s eyes was more troublesome -to him than a glare of hate. His face never lightened from -the murk of reserve that covered it like a mask, and it was -the King who spoke the first word over the flickering fire.</p> - -<p>“What of your wounds?” he said.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s black beard was down on his breast, and he -looked only at the fire. He seemed like a man furtive -beneath the consciousness of some inward shame, mocking -his honour.</p> - -<p>“My wounds are well, sire.”</p> - -<p>“You look like a man newly risen from a sick bed.”</p> - -<p>"If I look sick, sire, blame my physician; he has tinctured -me to the level of perdition. Bodily I never felt in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -better fettle. I could hew down a horse, and thrust my -spear through a pine trunk. A man’s face is a fallacy."</p> - -<p>Uther saw the scars, the harsh smile, and caught the -twinge in the seemingly careless voice. He could comprehend -some humiliation in the marring of personal comeliness, -but not the humiliation that seemed to lurk deep -beneath Gorlois’s pride. There was more here than the -scarring of a cheek.</p> - -<p>“There is some care upon you, Gorlois,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Sire, you have much observation.”</p> - -<p>“Your men have spoken of the change to you.”</p> - -<p>“They are too discreet, God save their skins.”</p> - -<p>“Pride, pride.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, you are right; my pride suffers the inquisitiveness -of kings, not subjects. Eagle calls to eagle; men are -mere magpies. Chatter maddens me.”</p> - -<p>“I grip your hand in spirit.”</p> - -<p>Both men were silent for a while, the fire crackling sluggishly -at their feet. Gorlois’s eyes were on the window -and the scrap of green woodland in the distance; Uther’s -eyes were on Gorlois’s face. The latter, with the sore -sensitiveness of a diseased spirit, felt the look and chafed -at it. His petulance was plain enough to Uther as he sat -and watched him, and pondered the man’s trouble in his -heart.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois.”</p> - -<p>“Sire.”</p> - -<p>“I am no gabbler.”</p> - -<p>“True, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“You are trouble ridden.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s eyes flashed up to Uther’s, faltered, and fell.</p> - -<p>“What of that, sire?” he said curtly.</p> - -<p>“You have a deadly pride.”</p> - -<p>“I own it.”</p> - -<p>Uther leant forward in his chair, and looked earnestly -into the other’s face.</p> - -<p>“I too am a proud man in my trouble,” he said, "buck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>ling -up unutterable things from the baseness of the world, -jealous of my inward miseries. Yet when I see a strong -man and a friend chained with the iron of a silent woe, I -cannot keep my sympathy in leash, so tell him to unburden -to a man whose pride feels for the pride of others."</p> - -<p>The words seemed to stir Gorlois from his lethargy of -reserve and silence. Uther’s very largeness of soul, his -stately faith and courtesy, were qualities that won largely -upon the mind, lifting it above factious things to the serene -level of his own soul. Gorlois, impulsive spirit, could not -rebuff such a man as Uther. There was a certain calm -disinterestedness in the King’s nature that made trust imperative -and condemned secretiveness as churlish. Gorlois -was an obstinate man in the extreme rendering of the -epithet. He had spoken to no one of his trouble, leaving -his thoughts to be inferred. Yet staunch sympathy like -Gige’s ring has power over most hidden things of the heart, -and Gorlois was very human.</p> - -<p>“It is a woman, sire.”</p> - -<p>“Mine was a woman, too.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois scattered the half-dead embers with his foot.</p> - -<p>“I married a wife,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I had never heard it.”</p> - -<p>“Few have.”</p> - -<p>“The woman’s name?”</p> - -<p>“Never ask it, sire; it will soon lie with her in the dust.”</p> - -<p>“These are grim words.”</p> - -<p>“Grim enough for the man of my own house,—my -own familiar friend.”</p> - -<p>“Mother of Christ,—your friend!”</p> - -<p>“My brother in arms, sire.”</p> - -<p>“The shedding of such blood seems like justice. Had -I suffered thus—”</p> - -<p>“Sire, you warm to my temper.”</p> - -<p>“It should be the sword.”</p> - -<p>“Mine yet waits white for blood.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois, implacable, grim as a werewolf, threw open the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -door of a closet and led Uther within the narrow compass -of its walls. It was a little oratory, dim and fantastic, with -lamps hanging from the roof, and black curtains over the -narrow casement. Two waxen candles burnt with steady, -windless flames upon the altar, and beneath their light -glimmered a great sword, naked, and a cup half filled with -purple wine. Gorlois took up the sword and touched it -with his lips.</p> - -<p>“For the man,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then he set the sword down beneath its candle and -touched the goblet with his fingers; his black eyes -glittered.</p> - -<p>“For the woman, sire.”</p> - -<p>“And the candles?”</p> - -<p>“I burn them till I have crushed the life out of two souls; -then I can pinch the wicks between my fingers, and snuff -them out in smoke.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was spring at Caerleon, and a web of green had swept -upon the empty purple of the woods and shut the naked -casements to the sun. The meadowlands were plains of -emerald that glimmered gold; the gorge blazed with its -myriad lamps lighting the dark gateways of the pine -forests, and covering all the hillsides as with a garment of -yellow. In the woods the birds sang, and hyacinths and -dog violets spread pools of blue beneath the infinite greenness -of the boughs. In Caerleon’s orchards the fruit trees -stood like mounts of snow flecked with ethereal pink and -a prophecy of green. Yew, cypress, cedar, reared their -dark bosoms betwixt the gentler foliage, and many a bronze-leafed -oak made mimic autumn with a mist of leaves.</p> - -<p>In a forest glade that opened upon the high-road some -three leagues eastward of Caerleon, an old man sat beside a -shallow spring, whose waters lay a pool of tarnished silver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -within the low stone wall that compassed them. The old -man by the pool was clad in a ragged cloak of coarse brown -cloth lined with rabbit skin; he had sandals on his feet, a -staff and wallet by his side, and under the shadow of his -hood of fur a peaky white beard hung down like an icicle -under the eaves of a house. His hands were thin and -white, and he seemed decrepit as he sat hunched by the well -with a crust of brown bread in his lap and a little bronze -pannikin that served him as a cup.</p> - -<p>It was late in the day, and the great oaks that reached -out their arms over the well stood solemn and still in the -evening calm, while the cloud masses bastioned overhead -were radiant with the lustre of the hour. The road curled -away right and left into the twilight of the woods; no folk -passed to and from Caerleon to throw alms to the beggar -who squatted there like any old goblin man out of a tomb. -From time to time he would turn and look long into the -pool as into a mirror, as though he watched the future -glimmering dimly in a magic well. He had finished his -crust of bread, and his head nodded over his lap as though -sleep tempted him after a day’s journey. Rabbits were -scampering and feeding along the edge of the forest; a -snake slid by in the grass like a streak of silver; far down -the glade a herd of fallow deer browsed as though caring -nothing for the huddled scrap of humanity by the well. -The beggar man might have been dead, for all the heed he -gave to the forest life that teemed so near.</p> - -<p>Yet it was soon evidenced that his faculties were keenly -alive to all that passed about him by a marvellous perception -of sound, a perception that made itself plain before the sun -had drifted much further down the west. The old man -had heard something that had not stirred the fallow deer -browsing in the glade. A thin metallic sound shimmered -on the air, the clattering cadence of hoofs far away upon the -high-road. The beggar by the pool had lifted his head, and -was listening with his hooded face turned towards the west, -his thin fingers picking unconsciously at his beard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<p>Presently the deer browsing in the glade reared up their -heads to listen, snuffed the air, and swept back at a trot into -the forest. Jays chattered away over the trees; rabbits -stopped feeding and sat up with their long ears red in the -sunlight. The indifferent suggestion of a sound had grown -into a ringing tramp that came through the trees like a -blunt challenge to the solitary spirit of the place. Through -the indefinite and mazy screens of green a glitter of harness -and a streaking of colour glimmered from the wizard amber -glow of the west. Three horsemen were coming under the -trees,—one in lurid arms before, and two abreast behind in -black. The beggar by the pool pulled his cowl down over -his face, and stood by the roadside with his bronze pannikin -held in a shaky right hand to pray for alms.</p> - -<p>The knights drew rein by the pool, and he in the red -harness flung down money from his belt, and required tidings -in return:</p> - -<p>“The Lord Jesus have mercy on your soul in death,” -came the whine of gratitude; “what would your lordship -learn from an old man?”</p> - -<p>Uther considered him from the shadow of his casque. -He had his suspicions, and was half wise in his conjectures. -He could see nothing of the old man’s face, and so elected -to be innocent for the moment.</p> - -<p>“Grandfather, have you heard in your days of Merlin the -prophet?”</p> - -<p>“Have I heard of the devil, lording!”</p> - -<p>“Were he to ride here, should you know his face?”</p> - -<p>“Sir, I have seen no man these three hours. Yet, in -truth, I did but now smell a savour as of hell; and there -was a raven here, a black villain of a bird that croaked -‘Abracadabra to the letter.’”</p> - -<p>Uther smiled.</p> - -<p>“Are you from Caerleon?” he said.</p> - -<p>“No, sire, it is Uther the King who comes from the City -of Legions.”</p> - -<p>“Uther, say you? Put back that hood.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My lord, lo! I bow myself; I have kept the -tryst.”</p> - -<p>The cowl fell back, the cloak was unwrapped, the beard -twitched from the smooth, strong chin. The bent figure, -feeble and meagre, straightened and dilated to a stature and -bulk beyond mere common mould. A man with hair black -as a raven’s wing, and great glistening eyes, stood with his -moon-face turned up to Uther Pendragon. A smile played -upon his lips. He was clad in a cloak of sombre purple, -wreathed about with strange devices, and a leopard’s skin -covered his shoulders; his black hair was bound with a fillet -of gold, and there were gold bracelets upon his wrists. It -was Merlin who stood before Uther under the arch of the -great trees.</p> - -<p>“The benisons of all natural powers be upon you; the -God of the stars and the spirit fires of the heavens keep you. -Great is your heart, O King, and great your charity. Bid -me but serve you, and the beggar’s pence shall win you a -blessing.”</p> - -<p>The man bowed himself even to the ground. Uther left -his horse tethered to a tree, and faced Merlin over the pool. -Both men were solemn as night in their looks.</p> - -<p>“Merlin,” said the King.</p> - -<p>“Sire.”</p> - -<p>“I have a riddle from the stars.”</p> - -<p>“Speak it, O King.”</p> - -<p>“To your ear alone.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, pass with me into the forest.”</p> - -<p>“Blessed be thy head if thou canst read the testament of -the heavens.”</p> - -<p>It was towards sunset, and the place was solemn and -still as some vast church. In the white roadway the black -knights stood motionless, with spear on thigh, their sable -plumes sweeping like cloudlets under the dark vault of the -foliage. Merlin, with the look of an eternity in his eyes, -bowed down once more before Uther, and pointed with his -hand into the dim cloister of the trees. Red and purple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -passed together from the pool, and melted slowly into an -oblivion of leaves.</p> - -<p>In a little glade under a great oak, whose roots gripped -the ground like talons, Uther told to Merlin the vision that -had come to him in the watches of the night. He had stood -late at his window, looking over Caerleon shimmering white -under the moon, and had seen a star of transcendent glory -smite sudden through the blue vault of the heavens. A -great ray had fallen from the star, and from the ray had -risen a vapour, a golden mist that had shaped itself into a -dragon of gold, and from the dragon’s mouth had proceeded -two smaller rays that had seemed to compass Britain between -two streams of fire. Then, like smoke, both star and dragon -had melted out of the heavens, and only the moon had looked -down on Usk and the sleeping woods about Caerleon.</p> - -<p>When Uther had spoken his whole soul in this mystery -of the night, Merlin withdrew himself a little and looked -long into the sky, his tall figure and strong face clear as -chiselled stone in a slant gleam of the sun. For fully the -third part of an hour he stood thus like a pillar of basalt, -neither moving nor uttering a sound, while the sky fainted -over the tree tops and flashed red fire from the armour -of the King. Suddenly, as though he had caught inspiration -from the heavens, prophecy came upon him like a -wind at sunset. He stretched his hands to the sky. His -body quivered; his eyes were as rubies in a mask of -marble.</p> - -<p>“I have seen, O King! I have looked into the palpitating -web of the stars, into the glittering aisles of the infinite.”</p> - -<p>Uther strode out from the tree trunk where he had leant -watching the man’s cataleptic pose grow into the quick furor -of prophecy.</p> - -<p>“Say on,” he said.</p> - -<p>Merlin swept a hand towards him with a magnificence -of gesture.</p> - -<p>"Thou art the star, the dragon is thy son. He shall -compass Britain with a band of steel, beat back the wolves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -of heathendom, and cast stupendous glory over Britain’s -realm. His name shall shine in history, sun-bright, magnificent, -and pure; his name shall be Arthur. Thus, O -King! Uther of the Dragon, read I this vision of the night."</p> - -<p>Uther, a gradual lustre in his eyes, looked long at the -sun behind the swart pillars of the forest. He seemed to -gather vigour from the glow. Prophecy was in his thought, -a prophecy that tempted the inmost dreamings of the heart, -and linked up the past with promise of the future. To love, -to be loved, to win the woman among women! To beget -a son, a warrior, a king; to harden his body like to an oak, -temper his heart like steel; to set the cross in his hands and -send him forth against the beast and the barbarian like a -god! Such, indeed, were the idyls of a King!</p> - -<p>“Merlin, I have no wife, and you speak to me of a son,” -was his sole answer.</p> - -<p>The retort echoed from the man.</p> - -<p>“The King must wed.”</p> - -<p>“This is no mere choosing of a horse.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, you can learn to love. It is not so difficult a -thing, no more than falling down upon a bed of roses.”</p> - -<p>The retort was in no wise suited to Uther’s humour.</p> - -<p>“I am no boy to be married on the moment to cap the -reading of a vision.”</p> - -<p>“Sire!”</p> - -<p>“Bring me the woman I may love, if you are magical -enough,—then bid me wed.”</p> - -<p>“My lord, you mock me with a dream.”</p> - -<p>“Not so.”</p> - -<p>“She is dead then?”</p> - -<p>“On my soul I know not.”</p> - -<p>“Then, sire—”</p> - -<p>“All women are dead to me save one. Conjure her into -my being, and I will give you the wiser half of myself, even -my heart.”</p> - -<p>For an instant Merlin smiled—a smile like an afterglow -in a winter sky,—clear, cold, and steely. He drew nearer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -Uther, his purple robe with its fantastic scroll-work dim in -the twilight, his black hair falling down about his face. His -words were like silken things purring from his lips.</p> - -<p>“My lord, tell me more.”</p> - -<p>“You are a prophet. Read my past.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, my vision fails at such a depth.”</p> - -<p>“But not thy flattery.”</p> - -<p>“Her name, sire?”</p> - -<p>“I will read you a fable.”</p> - -<p>Uther, his eyes lit as with a lustre of recollection, turned -from Merlin and the ken of his impenetrable face. He leant -against a tree trunk, and looked far away into the dwindling -vistas of the woods. His voice won emphasis from the -absolute silence of the place, and he spoke with the level -deliberation of one reading aloud from some antique book.</p> - -<p>“A woman befriended a knight who was smitten of a -dread wound. It was summer, and a sweet season full of -the scent of flowers,—odours of grass knee deep in dreamy -meadows. The woman had red-gold hair, and eyes like a -summer night; her mouth was more wistful than an opening -rose; her voice was like a flute over moonlit waters. -And the knight lost his soul to the woman. But the -woman was a nun, and so, to save his vows, he battled down -his love and left her.”</p> - -<p>Merlin’s eyes took a sudden glitter.</p> - -<p>“A nun, sire?”</p> - -<p>“A nun.”</p> - -<p>“With hair of red gold and eyes of amethyst. Her -convent, sire?”</p> - -<p>“Avangel. Burnt by the heathen on the southern -shores.”</p> - -<p>“And the nun’s name?”</p> - -<p>“Igraine, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>Merlin gave a shrill, short cry; badges of colour had -stolen into his cheeks, and he looked like a Bacchanal for -the moment.</p> - -<p>“Sire, sire, the woman is no nun.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<p>Uther still leant against the tree, and looked into the -distance with his hand shadowing his eyes. It might have -seemed that he had not heard the words spoken by Merlin, -or at least had not understood their meaning, so unmoved -was his look, so motionless his figure. Unutterable thoughts -were moving in his mind. There was a grandeur of self-suppression -on his face as he turned and fronted Merlin -with the quiet of a great strength.</p> - -<p>“Man, what words are these?”</p> - -<p>Merlin had recoiled suddenly within himself. He was -silent again, subtle as steel, and very debonair.</p> - -<p>“My lord, I swear she is no nun.”</p> - -<p>“Give me fact, not assertion.”</p> - -<p>“The woman is but a novice. I had the whole tale from -one who knew her well at Radamanth’s in Winchester, -where she found a home. She had grieved, sire, for Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas—Igraine! My heart is great in me, Merlin; -where saw you her last?”</p> - -<p>“Wandering in a wood by Winchester.”</p> - -<p>“Alone?”</p> - -<p>“Alone in heart.”</p> - -<p>“Where now?”</p> - -<p>“My lord—I know not.”</p> - -<p>“O God!—to see her face again.”</p> - -<p>Merlin cast his leopard skin across his visage and stood -like a statue, even his immense grandeur of reserve threatened -for the moment with summary overthrow. In the taking -of twenty breaths he had calmed himself again to stand with -bare head and frank face before the King—a promise on -his lips.</p> - -<p>“My lord, give me a moon’s season to stare into this -mystery. On the cross I swear it—I will bring you good -news at Caerleon.”</p> - -<p>“On the cross!”</p> - -<p>“On the cross of your sword.”</p> - -<p>"Merlin, if this thing should come to be, if life returns -to one whose hopes were dead, you of all men in Britain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -shall be next my heart. Behold—on the cross—I -swear it."</p> - -<p>A certain season of youth seemed to have come down -upon Uther, and lighted up the solemn tenor of his mood. -His face grew mellow with the calm of a great content; he -was reasonable as to the future, not moved to any extravagant -outburst of unrest; the constant overshadowing of the -cross seemed to give his faith a tranquil greenness—a rain-refreshed -calm that pervaded his being like moist quiet after -a wind.</p> - -<p>“Merlin, what of the night?”</p> - -<p>“Sire, I am well provided; I have a pavilion near a brook -where a damsel serves me.”</p> - -<p>“I go to Caerleon. You have conjured me back into -the spring of life; my heart is beholden to you. Take my -hand—and remember.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, I am your servant.”</p> - -<p>When Uther had passed, a streak of scarlet, into the blue -twilight of the darkening wood; when the dull clatter of -hoofs had dwindled into an ecstasy of silence, Merlin, white -as the faint moon above, found again the pool under the -trees by the high-road to Caerleon. Going on his knees by -the brink he looked into its waters, black, sheeny, mysterious, -webbed with a flickering west-light, sky mosaics dim and -ethereal between swart-imaged trees. Still as a mirror was -the pool, yet touched occasionally with light as from a -rippling star-beam, or a dropped string from the moon’s -silver sandals. Merlin bent over it, his fateful face making -a baleful image in the water. Long he looked, as though -seeking some prophetic picture in the pool. When night -had come he rose up with a transient smile, folded his cloak -about him, and passed like a wraith into the forest.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>While Gorlois was lowering over an imagined shame, and -Uther given to brooding on a vision, the Knight of the -Cloven Heart wandered through wild Wales and endured -sundry adventures that were hardly in concatenation with -the distaff or the cradle.</p> - -<p>In rough ages might was right, and every man’s inclination -law unto himself. To strike hard was to win crude -justice; to ride a horse, to wear mail, to carry a sword, were -characteristics that ensured considerable reverence from men -less fortunate, by maintaining at least an outward arrogance -of strength. Not only on these grounds alone did the -Knight of the Cloven Heart hold at a disadvantage those -folk of the wilderness who went—to speak metaphorically—naked. -She made brave show enough, had a strong arm -and a strong body, and could match any man in the mere -matter of courage. The moral effect of her great horse, her -shield and harness, and the sword at her side, carried her -unchallenged through wood and valley where meaner wayfarers -might have come to grief, or suffered a tumbling. -The forest folk assumed her a knight under her helmet and -her harness; a certain bold magnificence of bearing in no -wise contradicted the assumption.</p> - -<p>It would be wearisome to record the passage of two -months or more, to construct an itinerary of her progress, to -chronicle the events of a period that was solitary as the wilds -through which she passed. She never slept a night under -populous roof the whole time of these wanderings. Luckily -it was fair weather, and a mild season; forest shade, such as -it was, and the caves of the wilderness, a ruined villa, the -forsaken hut of a charcoal burner, an empty hermitage,—such -in turn gave her shelter from the placid light of the moon, -or the black stare of a starless sky. She never ventured -even among peasant folk unhelmeted. Her food was won -from cottager or herdsman by such store of money as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -had about her, though many she came across were eager to -appease so formidable a person with milk, and pottage, and -the little delicacies of the rude home. Often her fine -carriage and youthful voice won wonders from the bosom -of some peasant housewife. She had her liberty, and was -free to roam; the life contented her instincts for a season, -and at least she was saved the sight of Gorlois. Since war -had failed to loose her from the man, she would essay her -best to keep him at a distance.</p> - -<p>If hate repelled, love drew with dreams. Yet had Igraine -been asked of peace at heart, she would have smiled and -sighed together. There are degrees of misery, and solitary -suffering is preferable to that publicity which is very torture -in itself, a galling whip to the tender flanks of pride. In -being free of Gorlois she was happy; in thinking of Uther -and in contemplation of the shadows of the unknown she -was of all women most miserable. A mood of self-concentration -was settling slowly upon her like an inevitable season -upon the face of the earth. Day by day a dream prophetic -of the future was pictured in the imagery of thought till it -grew familiar as an often looked on landscape that awakes no -wonder and no strange unrest. The ordinances of man had -thrust on her a damnable tyranny, and she was more than -weary of the restrictions of the world. The inevitable -scorn of custom had long taken hold upon her being, and -she had been driven to that state when the soul founds a -republic within itself, and creates its ethics from the promptings -of the heart.</p> - -<p>Uther was at Caerleon; she had heard the truth from -many a peasant tongue. Caerleon therefrom drew her -with magic influence, as a lamp draws a golden moth -from the gloom, or the light in the night sky wings on -the wild-fowl with the prophecy of water. Caerleon -became the bourn of all her holier thoughts; strange -city of magic, it held love and hate for her, desire and -obloquy; though its walls were as a luring net scintillant -with spirit gossamer, her very reason lulled her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -fears to sleep, and turned her southwards towards Uskland -and the sea.</p> - -<p>It came to pass, on the very day that Uther spoke with -Merlin in the forest, that Igraine rode over a stretch of hills -by a sheep-track, and came down into a valley not many -leagues from Caerleon. The place stood thick with woodland, -ranged tier on tier with the peaked bosses of huge -trees. That impenetrable mystery of solitude that abides -where forests grow was deeply hallowed in this silent dale. -The infinite majesty of nature had cast a spell there, and -the vast oaks, like pyramids of gloom, caverned a silence -that was utter and divine.</p> - -<p>Glimmering beneath the huge, stupendous boughs, -through darkling aisles and the colossal piers that held the -innumerable roofing of the leaves, Igraine passed down -through umbrage and still ecstasies of green, by colonnade -and gallery,—interminable tunnels, where stray light struck -slantwise on her armour, that it seemed a moving lustre in -the solemn shade.</p> - -<p>Deep in the woodland lay a valley, a pastureland girt -round with trees, and where the meadows, painted thick -with flowers, seemed all enamelled white and azure, green, -purple, pink, and gold. A peace as from the sun shone -over it like saffron mist. A pool gleamed there, tranquil -and deep with shadows; all the trees that Britain knew -seemed girdled round it—oak, beech and holly, yew, thorn -and cedar, the elfin pine, the larch, whose delicate kirtle -shames even broidery of silk. No sound save the cuckoo’s -cry, and the uncertain twittering of birds, disturbed the -sanctuary of that forest solitude.</p> - -<p>Igraine, halting on the brink of the meadowland, looked -down over wood and water. The quiet of the place, the -clear glint of the pool, the scent of the meadows, brought -back the valley in Andredswold, and the manor in the mere. -She loved the place on the instant. Even a blue plume of -smoke rising straight to the sky, and the grey-brown backs -of a few sheep in the meadows, evidencing as they did the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -proximity of man, failed to disenchant the solitary grandeur -of the scene.</p> - -<p>There is no stable perpetuation of peace in the world; -care treads upon the heels of Mammon, and lust lies down -by the side of love. Even in the quiet of the wilderness -the hawk chases the lark’s song out of the heavens, and -wind scatters the bloom from the budding tree. Thus it -was that Igraine, watching from under the woods, saw the -sheep scampering suddenly in the meadows as though disturbed -by something as yet invisible to her where she stood. -Their bleating came up with a tinge of pathos, to be -followed by a sound more sinister, the cry of one in whom -pain and terror leapt into an ecstasy of anguish—a shrill, -bird-like scream that seemed to cleave the silence like the -white blade of a sword. Igraine’s horse pricked its ears -with a snort of wrath, as though recognising the wounded -cry of some innocent thing. The girl’s pulses stirred as she -scanned the valley for explanation of this discord, sudden -as the sweep of a falcon from the blue. Nor was she long -at gaze. A flickering speck of colour appeared in the -meadowlands, the figure of a woman running through the -grass like a hunted rabbit, darting and doubling with a -whimpering outcry. Near as a shadow a tall streak of -brown followed at full stride, terrible even in miniature. -Hunter and hunted passed before the eye like the figures of -a dream, yet with a fierce realism that whelmed self in an -objective pity.</p> - -<p>Never did Britomart herself, with splendid soul, find fitter -cause in faerie-land than did the Knight of the Cloven -Heart in that woodland dale. Igraine rode down from the -trees, a burning figure of chivalry that galloped through the -green, and bore fast for the scudding forms, that skirted -round the pool. Like a stag pressed to despair, the hunted -one had taken to the water, and was already waist deep in -ripples that seemed to catch the panic of the moment. -Plunging on past tree and thicket, Igraine held on, while -sheep scattered from her, to turn and stare with the stupidest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -of white faces at the horse thundering over the meadows. -The pursuer had passed the water-weeds, and was to his -knees in the pool when the Knight of the Cloven Heart -came down to the bank and halted, like a mailed statue of -succouring vengeance.</p> - -<p>The white heat of the drama seemed cooled for the -moment. Over the flickering scales of the little mere the -girl’s white face, tumbled hair, and blue smock showed, as -she half-floated and half-paddled with her hands. Nearer -still, the leather-jerkined, fur-breeched figure of the man -bent like a baffled satyr baulked of evil. On the green -slope of the bank the mailed splendour of chivalry waited -like Justice to uphold the right.</p> - -<p>The man in the mere wore the short Roman sword, or -parazonium; any more effective weapon that he had possessed -had been thrown aside in the heat of the chase and -in the imagined security of his rough person. He had the -face of a wolf. In girth and stature he seemed a young -Goliath, a savage thing bred in savage times and savage -places, and blessed with the instincts of mere barbarism. -Igraine’s disrelish equalled her heat as she looked at him, -and slanted her great sword over her shoulder.</p> - -<p>In another instant the scene revived, and ceased to be a -mere picture. The girl in the pool had found a footing, -and her half-bare shoulders showed above the water. The -man, with his short sword held behind him, was splashing -through the shallows with a grin on his hairy face that -meant mischief. Igraine, every whit as hot as he, held her -horse well in hand, and put her shield before her. Matters -went briskly for a minute. The man made a rush; Igraine -spurred up and sent him reeling with the charging shoulder -of her horse; the short sword pecked at nothing, the long -one struck home and drew blood. A second panther leap, -a blow turned by the shield, a counter cut that made good -carving of the fellow’s skull. The shallows foamed and -crackled crimson; hoofs stirred up the mire; a plunge; a -noise of crossed steel; a last sweep of a sword, and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -victory. Igraine’s horse, neighing out the spirit of the -moment, trampled the fallen body as it had been the carcase -of a slaughtered dragon.</p> - -<p>The girl in the pool waded back at the sight, her blue -smock clinging about her, and showing an opulent grace of -shoulder, arm, and bosom—a full figure swept by the damp -tangle of her dark brown hair. She had full red lips, eyes -of bright blue, a round and ruddy face, that told of a mind -more for tangible pleasures than for spiritual aspiration. She -came up out of the shallows like a water-nymph, her -frightened face already all aglow with a smile of gratitude, -mild shame, and infinite reverence. Going down on her -knees amid the water-weeds and flags, she held up her -playful hands as to a deliverer direct from heaven. “Grace, -Lord, for thy servant.”</p> - -<p>With the peril past, Igraine could not forego the sly -scrap of mischief that the occasion offered; her white -teeth gleamed in a smile under her helmet, as she wiped -her sword on the horse’s mane, before sheathing it.</p> - -<p>“Give Heaven thy thanks,” she said, with a quaint -sententiousness of gesture. “Be sure in thy heart that it -was a mere providence of God that I heard thy screaming. -As for yon clod of clay, we will bury it later, lest it should -pollute so goodly a pool. For the rest, child, I am an old -man, and hungry, and would taste bread.”</p> - -<p>The girl jumped up instantly, with a shallow and half-puzzled -smile. The voice from the helmet was young, very -young, and full of the free tone of youth; yet both manner -and matter were sage, practical, leavened with a hoary-headedness -of intention that seemed to baulk the inferences -suggested by such panoply of arms. With a bob of a -curtsey, she took the knight’s bridle, and led the horse -some fifty paces round the pool, where, under the imminent -shoulder of a cedar tree, a little cabin nestled under a hood -of ivy. It was built of rough timber from the forest, and -thatched with reeds; honeysuckle clustered over its rude -façade, and thrust fragrant tendrils into its reed-latticed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -windows, where an early rose or so shone like a red star -against the russet-wood. A garden full of flowers lay before -the rustic porch that arched the threshold; and an outjutting -of the pool brought a little fiord of dusky silver up -to the very green of the path, a streak of silver blazoned -with violet flags, golden marigolds of the marsh, and a lace-like -fringe of snowy water-weed in bloom. All around, -the great trees, those solemn senators, stood with their green -shoulders bowed in a strong dream of deep eternal thought.</p> - -<p>Igraine left the saddle and suffered the girl to tether her -horse to a cedar bough. Her surcoat of violet and gold -swept nearly to her ankles, and saved from any marring the -infinite art of the anomaly that veiled her sex. Her man’s -garb seemed every whit as worthy of a woman, nor did it -hinder that loving grace that made her beauty of body the -more admirable and rare.</p> - -<p>The girl came back with more bendings of the knee, and -led Igraine amid the flowers to the porch of the forest -dwelling. Once within, she drew a settle close to the -doorway, spread a rug of skins thereon, and again bowed -herself in homage.</p> - -<p>“Let my lord be seated, and I will serve him.”</p> - -<p>“I am hungry, child; but first put off that wet smock of -thine.”</p> - -<p>The girl crept behind the door of a great cupboard, -with a blush of colour in her cheeks. Cloth rustled for a -moment; a circle of blue and a slim pair of legs showed -beneath the cupboard door; soon she was back again in a -gown of apple green, fastening it with her fingers over the -full swell of her bosom.</p> - -<p>“What will my lord eat?”</p> - -<p>“What you have, child.”</p> - -<p>“Bread and dried fruit, the flesh of a kid, new milk and -cheese, a little cider.”</p> - -<p>“Give me milk, child, a mere flake of meat, some cheese -and bread, and I ask nothing more. I will pay you for all -I take.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Lord, how should you pay me, when I owe more than -life to your sword?”</p> - -<p>The little shepherdess went about her business with a -barefooted tread, soft as any cat’s. The cottage proved a -wonder of a place. The great cupboard disgorged a silver-rimmed -horn, wooden platter, a napkin white as apple -blossom, red fruit piled up in a brazen bowl. The girl set -the things in order on the table, with an occasional curious -look stolen at the figure in mail on the settle—splendid -visitant in so humble a place. And what a rich voice the -knight had,—how mellow, with its many modulations of -tone. His hands too were wonderfully shapen, fingers -long and tapering, with nails pink as sea-shells. There -surely must be a face worth gazing at, for its very nobility, -under that great brazen helmet that glinted in the half -light of the room.</p> - -<p>The meal was spread, but the guest still unprepared. -The forest child dropped a curtsey, and a mild suggestion -that the knight should make a beginning.</p> - -<p>“Will not my lord unhelm?”</p> - -<p>A rich, mischief-loving laugh startled her for answer.</p> - -<p>“Child, take the thing off if you will.”</p> - -<p>The little shepherdess obeyed, and nearly dropped the -helmet in the doing of it. A mass of gold fell rippling -down over the violet surcoat; a pair of deep eyes looked -up with a sparkling laugh; a satin upper lip and chin gave -the lie to the nether part of the picture.</p> - -<p>“Christ Jesu!” quoth the girl with the helmet, and again -“Christ Jesu,” as though she could get no further.</p> - -<p>Igraine caught her smock and drew her nearer.</p> - -<p>“Come, little sister, kiss me for—‘thank you.’”</p> - -<p>With a contradictory impulse the girl fell down on her -knees and began to cry, with her brown hair tumbled in -Igraine’s lap.</p> - -<p>When persuasion and comforting had quieted her somewhat, -she sat on the floor at Igraine’s feet, her round eyes -big with an unstinted wonder. Even Igraine’s hunger and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -the devoir done upon the new milk could hardly persuade the -girl that this being in armour was no saint, but a very real -and warm-blooded woman. She even touched Igraine’s -fingers with her lips, to satisfy herself as to the warmth -and solidity of the slim strong hand. She had never heard -of such a marvel, a woman, and a very beautiful woman, -riding out as a man, and doing man’s bravest work with -courage and cleverness. The girl made sure in her heart -that Igraine was some princess at least, who had been blessed -with miraculous power by reason of her maidenhood and -the magic innocence of her mind.</p> - -<p>Igraine talked to the girl and soon began to win her to -less devotional attitude with that graciousness of manner -that became her so well at such a season. She forgot herself -for the time, in listening to this child of solitude. The -girl’s father—an old man—had died two winters ago, and -she had buried him with her own hands, under a tree in the -dale. Since his death, she had lived on in the cabin, alone, -a forest child nurtured in forest law. Every Sabbath, -Renan, a shepherd lad in a lord’s service, would come over -the hills and pass the day with her. They were betrothed, -and the lord of those parts had promised Renan freedom -next Christmastide; then Renan and Garlotte were to be -married, and the cabin in the dale was to serve them as a -home.</p> - -<p>Garlotte was soon chattering like any child. She talked -to Igraine of her sheep and goats, her little corn-field on a -sunny slope, her garden, her wild strawberry beds and vine, -her fruit trees, and her marigolds. The lad Renan, bronze-haired -and brown-eyed, sprang in here and there with irresistible -romance. He could run like a hound, swim like -an otter, fish, shoot with the bow, and throw the javelin a -great many paces. He had such eyes, too, and such gentle -hands. Igraine’s sympathies were quick and vivid on matters -of the kind. The girl’s head was resting against her -knees before an hour had gone.</p> - -<p>The evening was still and sultry and the sky overcast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -When Igraine went to the porch after supper, rain had begun -to fall, and there was the moist murmur of a heavy, windless -shower through all the valley. The sheep had huddled under -the trees. Infinite freshness, unutterable peace, brooded -over the green meadows and the breathless leaf-clouds of the -woods. For all the sweet, dewy silence a bitter discontent -lay heavy upon Igraine’s heart, and woe made quiet moan in -her inmost soul. Green summer swooned in the branches -and breathed in the odours of honeysuckle, musk, and rose, -yet for her there seemed no burgeoning, no bursting of the -heart into song.</p> - -<p>The girl Garlotte stood by and looked with a quaint awe -into the proud, wistful face.</p> - -<p>“What are you thinking of, lady?” she said.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s lips quivered.</p> - -<p>“Of many things, child.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me of them.”</p> - -<p>“What should you know, child, of plagues and sorrow, -of misery in high places, of despair coroneted with gold, of -hearts that ache, and eyes that burn for the love of the -world that never comes?”</p> - -<p>“I am very ignorant, dear lady, but yet I think you are -not happy.”</p> - -<p>“Is any woman happy on earth?”</p> - -<p>“Yet you are so good and beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“Child, child, beauty brings more misery than joy; it is -a bright fire that burns upon itself.”</p> - -<p>“Renan has told me I am beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“So you are, and to Renan.”</p> - -<p>“I never think of it, lady, save when Renan looks into -my eyes and touches my mouth with his lips; then say in -my heart, ‘I am beautiful, and Renan loves me, God be -thanked!’”</p> - -<p>The words echoed into Igraine’s soul. There was such -pain in her great eyes that the girl was startled from the -simple contemplation of her own affairs of heart.</p> - -<p>“You are sad, lady.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Child, I am tired to death.”</p> - -<p>“Bide with me and rest. See, I will feed your horse -and give him water; he will do famously under the tree. -There is my bed yonder in the corner; I spread a clean sheet -on it this very morning. Shall I help you to unarm?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, child. How the rain hisses into the pool.”</p> - -<p>“I love the sound, and the soft rattle on the green leaves. -All will be fresh and aglister to-morrow, and the flowers -will smile, and the trees shake their heads and laugh. How -clumsy my fingers are; I am so slow over the buckles; -ah! there is the last. I will put the sword and the shield -by the bed. Shall we say our prayers?”</p> - -<p>“You pray, child; I have forgotten how to these many -months.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>There is a charm in simplicity of soul, and in sympathies -green in the first rich burgeoning of the mind, unshrivelled -and untainted by the miserable misanthropies of the world. -The girl Garlotte was as ignorant as you will, but she loved -God, had the heart of a thrush in spring-time, and was possessed -naturally of a warm and delicate appreciation of the -feelings of others that would have put to utter shame the -majority of court ladies.</p> - -<p>Women of a certain gilded class are prone to judge by -superficialities. Living often in an artificial air of courtesy, -the very life about them is a cultured, perfumed atmosphere -unstirred by the deeper wind-throbs of true passion, or the -solemn sweep of the more grand emotions. Hypocrisy, -veneered with mannerisms, propped with etiquette, pegged -up with gold, passes for culture and the badge-royal of fine -breeding. Of such things the girl Garlotte was indeed -flagrantly ignorant; she had lived in solitudes, and had -learnt to comprehend dumb things—the cry of a sheep in -pain, the mute look from the eyes of a sick lamb. Her life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -had made her quick to see, quick to discover. She had all -the latent energy of a child, and her senses were the undebauched -handmaids of an honest heart. She knew nothing -of the trivial prides, the starched and petty arrogances, the -small self-satisfactions, that build up the customs of the -so-called cultured folk. She thought her thoughts, and -they were generous ones, mark you, and spoke out on -the instant without fear, as one whose words were in -very truth the audible counterpart of the vibrations of her -mind.</p> - -<p>To Igraine at first there was some embarrassment in the -ingenuous methods of this child of the forest. It was in -measure disturbing to be confronted with a pair of blue eyes -that looked at one like two pools of truth, and a pair of lips -that naively remarked: “You seem pale, lady, and in pain; -you slept little, and talked even when you slept. I am rosy -and cheerful, and I sleep from dusk till dawn. What is -there in your heart that is not in mine?” Still, with the -abruptness once essayed, there was a refreshing sincerity in -Garlotte’s openness of heart. It was as the first plunge into -a clear, cool pool—a gasp at the first moment, then infinite -warmth, intense kindling of all the senses, with the clean -ripples bubbling at the lips and the swinging water buoying -up the bosom. Garlotte recalled Lilith—Radamanth’s -daughter—to Igraine, only that she had more penetration, -more liberty of thought and character. The one was as a -warm wind that lulled, the other a breeze blowing over open -water—clean, invigorating, kind.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s mood of unrest found refuge in the valley, and -in Garlotte’s cottage. She won some measure of inward -calmness in the simple life, the simple tasks, that kept the -more sinister energies of the mind at bay. It contented her -for a season with its companionship, its air of home, its green -quiet and tranquil beauty. Garlotte’s cheerfulness of soul, -like some penetrating essence, suffused itself upon Igraine, -despite the militant savour of things more turbulent. She -fell into temporary contentment almost against her will,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -even as sleep enforces itself upon a brain extravagantly -possessed by the delirium of fever.</p> - -<p>For all the quiet of the place, circumstances were gathering -and moving down upon her with that ghostly and -inevitable fatefulness that constitutes true tragedy. No one -could have seemed more hidden from the eye of fate than -she in the deep umbrage of the trees, yet often when the -heart imagines itself most secure from the factious meddling -of the world, the far, faint cry of destiny smites on the ear -like some sudden stirring of a wind at night.</p> - -<p>It was late evening, on the fifth day of Igraine’s sojourn -in the valley. The day had been dull, grey, and colourless, -wrapped in a blue haze of rain that had fallen heavily, -drenching the woods and making monotonous music on the -water. Towards evening the sky had melted to a serene -azure; the air was a web of shimmering amber, the west -streamed through a mist of gold, and every leaf glittered -with dew. A luminous vapour hovered over the little mere, -and there were rain pools in the meadows that burnt with -a hundred sunsets like clear brass.</p> - -<p>Garlotte and Igraine had been bathing in the mere. -They had come up from the water to dry themselves upon -a napkin of white cloth, the bronze-gold and brown hair of -each meeting like twin clouds, while their linen lay like -snow on the trailing branches of a tree near the pool. -Their limbs and shoulders gleamed against the silver-black -mirror spread by the mere; their voices made a mellow -sound through the valley as they talked. Igraine had -fastened her violet surcoat about her beneath her breasts; -Garlotte’s blue smock still hung from a branch above her -head.</p> - -<p>As they sat under the tree, drying their hair and looking -over the pool to the forest realm beyond, Igraine told the -girl much of the outer world as she had seen it; nor was -her instruction unleavened by a certain measure of cynicism—a -bitterness that surprised Garlotte not a little. The -girl had great dreams of the glories of old cities, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -splendour of court life, the zest of a mere material -existence.</p> - -<p>“You do not love the great world,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Once, child, I did. Everything outside a convent wall -seemed good to me; I thought men heroes, and the world -a faerie place; who has not! Thoughts change with -time: that which I once hungered for, now I despise.”</p> - -<p>“I have never been into a great city, not even into -Caerleon. My father loved the country and said it was -God’s pasture.”</p> - -<p>“I would rather have a dog for a friend than most men, -child. Man is always thinking of his stomach, his strength, -or his passion; he is vain, dull, and surly often; takes delight -in slaying dumb things; drinks beer, and sleeps like -a log save for his snoring.”</p> - -<p>“But Renan doesn’t.”</p> - -<p>“There are some <i>men</i>, child, among the swine.”</p> - -<p>“And the women?”</p> - -<p>“I have known good women.”</p> - -<p>“In the convent?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose there they were good, just as stones that lie -in the grass are good in that they do very little harm.”</p> - -<p>“But they served God!”</p> - -<p>“Mere habit, just as you eat your dinner.”</p> - -<p>“A hard saying.”</p> - -<p>“Your sayings would be hard, child, if you had learnt -what I have learnt of the world.”</p> - -<p>Garlotte pulled her blue smock from the tree and wrapped -it round her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“But you love God?” she said.</p> - -<p>“What is God?”</p> - -<p>“The Great Father who loves all things.”</p> - -<p>“Methinks then I am nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>"You say God loves all men and women. Why, then, -have I been cursed with perversities ever since I was born, -tormented with contradictions, baffled, and mocked, till the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -eternal trivialities of life now make my soul sick in my -body?"</p> - -<p>“Sorrow is heaven sent to chasten, just as rain freshens -the leaves.”</p> - -<p>“Old, old proverb. Rain comes from clouds; clouds -hide the sun; how can sorrow be good, child, when it -darkens the light of life, hides God from the heart, and -makes the soul bitter?”</p> - -<p>“That seems the wrong spirit, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“So meek folk say; we are not all mild earth to be -smitten and make no moan. There are sea-spirits that lash -and foam, fire-spirits that leap and burn. My spirit is of -the flame; am I to be cursed, then, because I was born with -a soul of fire?”</p> - -<p>“We cannot answer all this, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“I hate to bow down blindly, to cast ashes on the head -because a superstition bids us so.”</p> - -<p>“I have faith!”</p> - -<p>“I cannot see with my heart.”</p> - -<p>“I would you could, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are right.”</p> - -<p>Garlotte put on her shift and frock with a sigh, and -straightway went and kissed Igraine on the forehead. They -sat close together under the tree and watched the valley -grow dim as death, and the pool black and lustrous as a -mirror turned to the twilight. Garlotte’s warm heart was -yearning to Igraine; her arm was close about her, and -presently Igraine’s head rested upon her shoulder. She -began to tell the girl many things in a still, stifled voice; -her bitterness gushed out like fermented wine, and for a -season she was comforted—with no lasting balm indeed, for -there was but one soul in the world that could give her -that.</p> - -<p>“Believe, Igraine, believe,” said Garlotte very softly.</p> - -<p>“Believe—child!”</p> - -<p>“That there is good for every one in the world if we -wait and watch in patience.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I seem to have watched years go by, and life stretches -out from me as a sea at night.”</p> - -<p>“Look not there, Igraine, but into your own heart and -into the gold of faith.”</p> - -<p>“I have no heart to look to, child.”</p> - -<p>“Save into a man’s. And it was a good heart.”</p> - -<p>“Good as a god’s.”</p> - -<p>“Then look into it still.”</p> - -<p>“You speak like a mother.”</p> - -<p>They had talked on into the dusk of night, forgetful of -time, hearing only the dripping from the leaves, seeing -nothing but the short stretch of water and herbage at their -feet. Yet an hour ago a figure in a palmer’s cloak and cowl -had come out from the western forest and stood leaning -upon its staff, to stare out broodingly over the valley. The -laurel green of the man’s cloak harmonised so magically -with the green of grass and tree that it was difficult to isolate -his figure from the framing of wood and meadow.</p> - -<p>The pilgrim had stood long in the shadows and watched -the two white forms come up out of the waters of the pool. -He had seen them sit and dry their hair under the tree as -the dusk crept down. While they talked he had passed -down towards the cottage, accompliced by the trees, slipping -from trunk to trunk, to enter the cottage itself while the -girls’ faces were turned from it towards the pool. From one -of the narrow casements his cowled face had looked out; he -had marked Igraine’s red gold shimmering hair; he had -seen her face for a moment, also the shield hanging in the -room with its cloven heart and white lilies, the sword and -helmet, the harness of workmanship so subtle. When he -had seen all this he had stolen out again into the gloaming, -a thin gliding streak of green under the gnarled thorns and -the night-bosomed cedars. The forest had taken him to -its depths again and the unutterable silence of its shades. -The girls by the pool had heard no sound, nor dreamt of -the thing that had been so near, watching like a veritable -ghost through the mist of the mere’s twilight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - -<p>Caerleon slept under the moon, a dream city in a land of -dreams. Its walls were like ivory in a dark gloom of green. -The tower of the palace of the king caught a coronet from -the stars, while in the window of an upper room a thin flame -flickered like a yellow rose blown athwart the black foliage -of the night. Within blood-red curtains breathed over the -arched door; a little altar stood against the eastern wall, -guarded above by angels haloed with gold, standing in a mist -of lilies with wings of crimson and green. The silence of -the hour seemed embalmed in silver—so pure, so still, so -hallowed was it.</p> - -<p>Uther knelt before the little altar in prayer; the light -from the single lamp slanted down upon him, but left his -face in the shadow. It was past midnight, yet the man’s -head was still bowed down in his devotion. He was in an -ecstasy of spiritual ascent to heaven, a mood that made the -world a Patmos, and his own soul a revelation to itself. At -such a time his imagination could mount with a mystery of -poetic rapture. Angels drumming on golden bells or bearing -diamond chalices of purple wine seemed to gaze deep-eyed -on him from a paradise of snow and amethyst. Above all -shone the Eternal Face, that clear sun of Christendom shining -with wounded love through the crimson transgressions -of mankind.</p> - -<p>Deliberate footfalls and the rustle of a drawn curtain -intervened between solitude and devotion. The curtain fell -again; footfalls echoed away to die down into a well of -silence; a tall man wrapped in a cloak stood motionless in -the oratory. Uther, still upon his knees, turned to the -window and the moonlight, with big prayerful eyes that -questioned the intruding figure.</p> - -<p>“Merlin,” he said, with a breath of prophecy.</p> - -<p>“Even so, sire.”</p> - -<p>“I was praying but now for such a thing.”</p> - -<p>“Sire, pray no longer. I have kept my tryst.”</p> - -<p>Uther rose up straightway from before the altar and stood -before the square of the casement. The moonlight made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -halo of his hair, and lit his face with a whiteness that seemed -almost supernatural. Strong as he was, his hands shook like -aspen leaves; his lips were parted, and his eyes wide with -the shadow of the night. Merlin stood in the dark angle of -the room; his voice seemed to come as from a tomb; the -single lamp flame shook and quivered in a fickle draught.</p> - -<p>“Sire, the moon is not yet full.”</p> - -<p>“And Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Sire.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Suffer me, sire, a moment.”</p> - -<p>“Speak quickly. God knows, I have prayed like a -Samson.”</p> - -<p>Merlin cast his mantle from him, and stood out in the -moonlight wrapped in the mystic symbolism of his robe. -Sapphire and emerald, ruby and sardonyx, flashed with a -ghostly gleam in the pale light, and caught the moonbeams -in their folds. Merlin’s thin hands quivered like a spray of -May blossom waving in the night wind, and his eyes were -like the eyes of a leopard.</p> - -<p>“Sire, thou wert Pelleas once.”</p> - -<p>“I should remember it.”</p> - -<p>“Thou art Pelleas again.”</p> - -<p>“Again?”</p> - -<p>“In thy red harness with thy painted shield, thy black -horse; take them all.”</p> - -<p>“The past rushes back like dawn.”</p> - -<p>“Near Caerleon lies a valley.”</p> - -<p>“There are twenty valleys.”</p> - -<p>“Go north, sire, in thought. Pass the Cross on Beacon -Hill, hold on for the Abbey of the Blessed Mary, take to the -hills, go by a ruined tower, ford Usk, where there is a hermitage. -Pass through a waste, cross more hills, go down into -a valley that runs north and south.”</p> - -<p>“I follow.”</p> - -<p>“Go alone, sire.”</p> - -<p>“Alone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The valley is piled steep with forestland. Go down -and fear not. In the valley’s lap lie meadowlands, a pool, -a cottage. In that cottage you shall find a knight; his -armour is gilded gold, his horse a grey, his shield shows a -cloven heart set amid white lilies. Speak with that knight.”</p> - -<p>“Yet more!”</p> - -<p>“Speak with that knight, sire.”</p> - -<p>“In peace?”</p> - -<p>“If you love your soul.”</p> - -<p>“And Igraine—Merlin, what of her?”</p> - -<p>“That knight shall lead you to her. Sire, I have said.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IX</h3> -</div> - - -<p>It was early and a clear dewy morning when Uther rode -down alone from the palace by a narrow track that curled -through the shrubberies clothing the palace hill. A -generous sky piled its blue dome with mountainous clouds -that billowed up above the horizon. The laurels in the -shrubbery flickered their leaves like innumerable scales of -silver in the sun; amber sun rays slanted through the dense -branches of the yews, and flashed on the red harness that -burnt down the winding track. The wind sang, the green -larches tossed their ’kerchiefs, in the distance the sea -glimmered to the white frescoes of the sky.</p> - -<p>Uther—Pelleas once more—tossed his spear to the tall -trees, and burst into the brave swing of a <i>chant d’amour</i>. -With caracole and flapping mane his horse took his lord’s -humour. It was weather to live and love in, weather for -red lips and the clouding down of perfumed hair. God and -the Saints—what a grand thing to be strong, to have a clean -heart to show to a woman’s eyes! What were all the -baser fevers of life balanced against the splendid madness of -a great passion!</p> - -<p>Down through Caerleon’s streets he rode unknown of -any on his tall black horse. It was pleasant to be unthroned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -for once, and to put a kingdom from off his shoulders. -With what a swing the good beast carried him, how the -towers and turrets danced in the sun, how bright were the -eyes of the women who passed him by. All the world -seemed greener, the sky bluer, the city merrier; the -laughter of the children in the gutter echoed out of heaven; -the old hag who sold golden lemons under a beech tree -seemed almost a madonna—a being from a better world. -Uther laughed in his heart, and blessed God and Merlin.</p> - -<p>It is one of the rare reflections of philosophy dear to the -contemplative mind, how joy jostles pain in the world, and -pleasure in gold and scarlet elbows the grey-cloaked form of -grief. Even innocent merriment may throw a rose in the -face of one who mourns, innocent indeed of the desire to -mock. The throstle sings in the tree while the beggar lies -under it dying. So Uther the King flashed hate in the eyes -of one who watched,—knowing him only that morning -as Pelleas the knight. In an old play the jealous man saw -the devil ride by, and promptly followed him on the chance -of finding his lost wife, deeming, indeed, the devil’s guidance -propitious for such a quest.</p> - -<p>It was the shield that caught Gorlois’s eye as he stood -on a balcony of his house and looked out over Caerleon. -The device smote him sudden as the lash of a whip. The -red harness, the black horse, the painted shield, mingled a -picture that burnt into his brain with a vividness that passed -comprehension. He knew well enough to whom such -arms should belong; had he not carried them fraudulently -to his own doubtful profit? This knight must be that -Pelleas whose past had worked such mischief with his own -machinations, that Pelleas who had won Igraine the novice -fresh from the shadow of her convent trees. Gorlois -watched the man go by with a kind of superhuman envy -twisting in him like a colic. The smart of it made him -stiffen, go pale, gnaw his lip.</p> - -<p>If this was the knight Pelleas, what then? Gorlois -could not reason for the moment; his brain seemed a mass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -of molten metal in a bowl of iron. Convictions settled -slowly, hardened and took form. Igraine had loved the man -Pelleas; Igraine was his wife; he had lost her and Brastias -also; poison and the sword waited to do their work. -Supposing then this Pelleas was in quest of Igraine; supposing -they had come to know each other again; supposing -Brastias and Pelleas were one and the same man. Hell and -furies—what a thought was this! It goaded Gorlois into -action. He would ride after the man, hunt him, track him, -in hope of some fragment of the truth. Hazard and hate, -blood and battle, these were more welcome than chafing -within walls as in a cage, or frying on a bed as on a gridiron.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s voice rang through gallery and hall like a -battle-cry.</p> - -<p>“Ho, there!—my sword and harness.”</p> - -<p>There was a grimness in the sound that made those who -came to arm him bustle for dear life. They knew his -black, furious humour, the hand that struck like a mace, -the tyranny that took blood for trifles. The stoutest of -them were cowards before that marred and moody face. -Be as brisk as they would, they were too slow for Gorlois’s -temper, a temper vicious as a wounded bear’s.</p> - -<p>“God and the Saints—was ever man served by such a -pack of stiff-fingered fools! The devil take your fumbling. -Go and gird up harlots, or hold cooking-pots. On with -that helmet.”</p> - -<p>A fellow, very white about the mouth, clapped the -casque on, and drew a quick breath when the angry eyes -withered him no longer. Armlets, breastplates, greaves, -cuishes, all were on. Gorlois seemed to emit fire like metal -at white heat. He went clanging down stairway and -through atrium to the courtyard, where a horseboy held a -white charger. Gorlois cuffed the lad aside, mounted with -a spring, took his spear from an esquire, and rode straight -for the gate, his horse’s hoofs sparking fire from the courtyard -stones. Half an hour or more had gone since Pelleas -had passed by on his black horse, and Gorlois spurred at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -gallop through Caerleon, bent on catching sight of the red -knight before he should have ridden into the covering -masses of the woods.</p> - -<p>Pelleas meanwhile rode on like a lad whose first quest -led him into the infinite romance of the unknown. Woods -and waters called; bare night and the blink of the stars -summoned up that strangeness in life that is like wine to -the heart of the strong and the brave. He was young again—young -in the first glory of arms; the world shone -glamoured as of old as he turned from the high-road to -a bridle-track that led up through woods towards the -north.</p> - -<p>Holding on at a level pace he passed the woods and saw -them rolling back like a green cataract towards the sea. -Bare hills saluted him; the beacon height with its great -wooden cross stood out against the sky; mile on mile of -wooded land billowed out before him, clouded with a blue -haze where the domes of the trees rose innumerably rank -on rank. The Abbey of the Holy Mary lay low in meadows -on his left, its fish pools shimmering in the sun, its orchards -densely green about its walls. Two leagues or more of -wood and wild, a climb over hills, a long descent, and Usk -again shone out trailing distant in the hollows. A crumbling -tower stood up above the trees. Pelleas passed close to it, -giving antiquity due reverence as was his custom, looking -up at its ivied walls, its crown of gillyflowers, its windows -wistful as a blind man’s eyes. Another mile and Usk ran -at his feet. A hermitage stood by the ford. Pelleas gave -the good man a piece of silver and besought his prayers -before he rode down and splashed through the river to the -further bank. Heathland and scrub rolled to the east, -merging into the blue swell of a low line of hills. It was -wild country enough, haunted by snipe and crested plover, -an open solitude that swept into a purple streak against the -northern sky.</p> - -<p>It was noon before Pelleas had made an end of its -shadeless glare and taken to the hills that rose gently towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -the east. His red harness moving over the green was lost -to Gorlois, who had missed the trail long ago in the woods -beyond St. Mary’s. It was dusk when the Cornishman -came guided to the ford, and learnt from the hermit there -that the chase lay across Usk and eastward over the heath. -Gorlois gave the man no piece of silver, only a savage curse -to gag his alms-seeking. Night came and caught him in -the open, and rather than wander astray in the dark he -spent the night under a whin bush, calming his incontinent -temper as best he might.</p> - -<p>An hour past noon Pelleas stood on the last hill slope -and looked down upon the massed woodland at his feet. -Here at last was Merlin’s valley choked up with trees—a -green lake of foliage that rippled from ridge to ridge. -Pelleas, with the sun at his back, stood and looked down on -it with a kind of quiet awe. So Godfrey and his knights -looked down upon the holy city, so Dante saw Beatrice in -his vision, and Cortez gazed at the Pacific in the west. -Pelleas had taken his helmet from his head and hung it at -his saddle-bow; there was a grand hunger on his face, a -passionate calm, as he abode on the hill top with his tall -spear a black streak against the sun.</p> - -<p>Mystery waved him on to the great oaks whose tops rose -like green flames to the blue of the sky. Could Igraine be -in this valley? Would he set eyes on her that day, and see -the bronze gloss of her hair go shimmering through some -woodland gallery? It was nigh upon a year since he had -seen her. It had been summer then, and it was summer -now; his heart was singing as it had sung on that mere -island when Igraine had looked into his eyes under the -cedar tree. He had borne much, endured much, since then; -time had hallowed memory and shed a crimson lustre over -the past. Manwise, for the great love that was in him, he -almost feared to look on her again lest she should have -changed in face or in heart. Great God, what a thought -was that! It had never smitten him before. Stiffened by his -own strong constancy, he had dowered Igraine with equal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -loyalty of soul, nor had considered the lapse of time and the -crumbling power of hours. The thought brought a dew of -sweat to his forehead and made him cold even in the sun. -No, honour to God, the girl had a heart to be trusted, or -he had never loved her as he did!</p> - -<p>Shaking the bridle, he rode down into the murk of the -trees. He had to slant his spear and to bow his head often -as the great boughs swooped to the ground. The dim -glamour of the place had a sinister effect upon his mind; it -solemnised him, touched the spiritual chords of his heart, -uncovered the somewhat gloomy groundwork of philosophy -that lay deep under the fabric of religious habit. Merlin -had told a tale and nothing more. God’s blessings were -not man’s blessings, God’s ways not man’s ways. Pelleas -had learnt to look for what he might have called the -contradictions of divine charity. We are smitten when we -pray for a blessing, chided when desirous of comfort. Life -would seem at times a gigantic tyranny for the creation of -patience. Pelleas remembered the past, and kept his hopes -and desires well in hand.</p> - -<p>Betimes he judged himself not far from the bottom of -the valley, for through gaps in the foliage overhead he -could see the woods on the further slope towering up -magnificently to touch the sky. Still further the long -galleries of the wood arched out upon grassland gemmed -with summer flowers. Showers of sunlight told of an open -sky. He was soon out of the shadows and standing under -the wooelshawe, with the dale Merlin had pictured stretching -north and south before his eyes.</p> - -<p>The scene smiled up at him from its bath of sunlight—the -green meadows flecked white, blue, and gold, the diverse -foliage of the trees, the little pool smooth as crystal, the -solemn barriers of the surrounding woods. He looked first -of all for the cottage built of timber, and could not see it -for its overshadowing trees. None the less, by the pool a -girl in a blue smock stood looking up towards him, her face -showing oval white from her loosened hair. Pelleas held his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -breath for the moment, then saw well enough that it was not -Igraine. Meanwhile the figure in blue had disappeared as -though in fear of him; he could no longer see the girl from -where he watched on the edge of the wood.</p> - -<p>Riding out, he sallied down through the long grass with -its haze of flowers, his eyes turned with a steadfast eagerness -to the pool in the meadows. His impatience grew -with every step, but he was outwardly cool as any veteran. -First the brown thatch of the cottage came into view, then -the blue smock of the girl who stood by the porch and -watched. Last of all Pelleas saw a gleam of armour through -the gloom of a cedar tree, heard the neigh of a horse, the -jar of a swinging shield. The sight made his heart beat -more briskly than ever ghost or goblin could have done. -Pushing through the trees he came full upon a knight -mounted on a grey horse, who was advancing towards him -bearing on his shield the cognisance of a cloven heart.</p> - -<p>The knight on the grey horse reined in and abode stone -still in the meadows, the sunlight flashing on his helmet -and such points of his harness uncovered by his surcoat. -Pelleas as he rode down took stock of the stranger with an -eagerness that was half jealous maugre his perspicuity of -soul. What had this splendid gentleman to do with -Igraine the novice? Truth to tell, Pelleas would rather -have had some humbler person to serve as guide on such a -quest.</p> - -<p>The knight on the grey horse never budged a foot. -Pelleas saw that he carried no spear and that his sword was -safe in his scabbard. This looked like peace. Drawing up -some three paces away, he scanned the strange knight over -from head to foot, voted him a passable man, and admired -his armour. And since his whole soul was set on a certain -subject, he made no delay over courteous generalities, but -came at once to the point at issue.</p> - -<p>“Greeting, sir; I have ridden from Caerleon to speak -with you.”</p> - -<p>The knight in the violet surcoat swayed in the saddle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -as though shaken by a spear thrust on his painted shield. -Pelleas noted that both his hands were tangled up in the -grey horse’s mane, though nothing could be seen of the -face behind the fixed vizor of the helmet. A voice, husky, -toneless, feeble, answered him after a moment’s silence.</p> - -<p>“What would you with me, knight of the red shield?”</p> - -<p>“There is a lady whose name is Igraine; I seek her. I -have been forewarned that a knight lodging in this valley -has knowledge of her, and you, messire, seem to be that -knight.”</p> - -<p>“That is the truth,” quoth the cracked, husky voice -from the helmet.</p> - -<p>Pelleas considered a moment and held his peace. There -was something strange about this knight, something tragical, -something that touched the heart. Pelleas’s instinct for -superb miseries took hold of him with a queer, twisting -grip that made him shudder. His dark eyes smouldered -as he watched the strange knight, and gave voice to the -grim thought that lay heavy on his mind.</p> - -<p>“The lady is not dead?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said the husky voice with blunt brevity.</p> - -<p>“And she is well fortuned?”</p> - -<p>“Passably.”</p> - -<p>“Thank God,” said Pelleas.</p> - -<p>There was a dry sob in the brazen helmet, but Pelleas -never heard the sound. He was staring into the woods -with large, luminous eyes, and a half smile on his lips, as -though his thoughts pleased him.</p> - -<p>“Is the Lady Igraine far from hence?” he asked presently.</p> - -<p>“If you will follow me, my lord, I can bring you to her -in less than an hour.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas flushed red to the forehead, his dark eyes beamed. -He looked a god of a man as he sat bareheaded on his -black horse, his face aglow like the face of a martyr. The -Knight of the Cloven Heart looked at him, flapped his -bridle, and rode on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pelleas said never a word as they passed up the valley. -There were deep thoughts in his heart, yearnings, and -ecstasies of prayer that held him in a stupor of silence. -His was a grandeur of mind that grew the grander for the -majesty of passion. There was no blurting of questions, no -gabbling of news, no chatter, no flurry. Like a mountain -he was towering, sable-browed, impenetrable, while the -thunder of suspense lasted. The knight on the grey horse -watched him narrowly with a white look under his helmet -that was infinitely plaintive.</p> - -<p>At the northern end of the valley, on the very edge -of the forest, stood a thicket of gnarled thorns still -smothered with the snow of early summer. The Knight of -the Cloven Heart drew rein in the long grass and pointed -Pelleas to these white pavilions under the near umbrage of -the oaks.</p> - -<p>“Look yonder,” said the voice.</p> - -<p>Pelleas answered with a stare.</p> - -<p>“Would you see your lady?”</p> - -<p>“Be careful how you jest, my friend.”</p> - -<p>“I jest not, Uther Pendragon. Get you down and tether -your horse; go in amid yon trees and look into the forest. -I swear on the cross you shall see what you desire.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas gave the knight a long look, said nothing, dismounted, -threw the bridle over a bough. Then he thrust -his spear into the ground and went bareheaded in among -the trees. Standing under the shadow of a great oak, he -peered long into the glooms, saw nothing living but a -rabbit feeding in the grass.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a voice called to him.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>It was a wondrous cry, clear and plaintive, yet tremulous -with feeling. It rang through the woods like silver, bringing -back the picture of a solemn beech wood under moonlight, -and a girl tied naked to the trunk of a tree. A great -lustre of awe swept over Pelleas’s face; his eyes were big and -luminous as the eyes of a blind man; he groped with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -hands as he passed back under the May trees to the -valley.</p> - -<p>In the long grass stood a woman in armour, her helmet -thrown aside, and her red gold hair pouring marvellous in -the sunlight over her violet surcoat. Her head was thrown -back so as to show the full sweep of her shapely throat; her -face was very pale under her parted hair, while her lids -drooped over eyes that seemed to swim with unshed tears. -Her hands, slightly outstretched, quivered as with a shuddering -impulse from her heart, and her half-parted lips looked -as though they were moulded to breathe forth a moan.</p> - -<p>Pelleas stood and stared at her as a dead man might look -at God. He drew near step by step, his face white as -Igraine’s, his eyes as deep with desire as hers. Neither of -them said a word, but stood and looked into each other’s -faces as into heaven—awed, solemnised, silenced. Above -them towered the green woods; the meadows rippled from -them with their broidery of flowers; the scent of the white -May swept fragrant on the air. Solitude was with them, -and the mild smile of Nature glimmered with the sunlight -over the trees.</p> - -<p>Igraine spoke first.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas,” was all she said.</p> - -<p>The man gave a great sob, fell on his knees, and would -have kissed her surcoat. Igraine bent down to him with -eyes that shone like two deep wells of love. Both her -hands were upon Pelleas’s shoulders, his face was turned -to hers.</p> - -<p>“Kneel not to me.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Let me touch you.”</p> - -<p>“There, there, you have my hand.”</p> - -<p>“My God, my God!”</p> - -<p>Igraine gave a low cry, half knelt, half fell before him. -Pelleas’s arms caught her, his face hung over hers, her hair -fell down and trailed a golden pool upon the grass. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -put her hands up and touched his hair, smiled wonderfully, -and looked at him as though she were dying.</p> - -<p>“Kiss me, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas drew a deep breath; his body seemed to quake; -his whole soul was sucked up by the girl’s lips.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” was all he said.</p> - -<p>Her face blazed, her hands clung about his neck.</p> - -<p>“Again, again.”</p> - -<p>“My God, have I not prayed for this!”</p> - -<p>His eyes were large and wonderful to look upon. There -was such awe and love in them that an angel might have -looked thus upon the Christ and have earned no reproach. -Igraine kissed his lips, crept close into his bosom, hid her -face, and wept.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>X</h3> -</div> - - -<p>When Igraine had ended her tears, and grown calm and quiet, -Pelleas took her hand and led her to a grass bank painted -thick with flowers that sloped to the white boughs of a -great May tree. He was radiant in his manhood, and his eyes -burnt for her with such a splendour of pride and tenderness -that she trembled in thought for the secret she had kept -from him in her heart. He could know nothing of Gorlois, -or he would not have come thus to her. The mocking -face of fate leered at her like a satyr out of the shadows, -yet with the joy of the moment she put the thoughts aside -and lived on the man’s lips and the great love that brimmed -for her in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Pelleas sat in the long grass at her feet and looked up at -her as at a saint. Never had she seen such glory of happiness -on human face, never such manhood deified by the -holier instincts of the heart. The sheer strength of his -devotion carried her above her cares and made her content -to live for the present, and to gird time with the girdle of -an hour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are no nun, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him and shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No, no, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Would to God you had told me that a year ago.”</p> - -<p>“Would to God I had.”</p> - -<p>“It would have saved much woe.”</p> - -<p>Igraine hung her head. The man’s words were prophetic -in their honest ignorance, and the whole tale had almost -rushed from her that moment but for a certain selfishness -that held her mute, a fear that overpowered her. She -knew the fibre of Pelleas’s soul. To tell him the truth -would mean to call his honour to arms against his love, and -she dreaded that thought as she dreaded death.</p> - -<p>“I was a fool, Pelleas,” she said, with a queer intensity -of tone that made the man look quickly into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“You did not know.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon, Pelleas, I knew your soul, how true and strong -it was. God knows I tried you to the end, and bitter truth -it proved to me. If you had only waited.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Only a night; you would have had the truth at dawn.”</p> - -<p>“I struggled for your soul and for mine, as I thought.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, you chose the nobler part, thinking me a mere -woman, a frail thing blown about by my own passion. I -loved you, Pelleas, for the deed, though it nigh brought me -to my death.”</p> - -<p>“God knows I honoured you, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Too well; it had been better for us both if you had -been more human.”</p> - -<p>There was an anguish of regret in her voice, a plaintive -accusation that made Pelleas wince to the core. He bent -down and kissed her hand as it lay in her lap, then looked -into her face with a mute appeal that brought her to the -verge of tears.</p> - -<p>“Courage, courage, dear heart.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad of your love.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come now, tell me how the year has passed.”</p> - -<p>Igraine held his hand in hers and began to twist her hair -about his wrist into a bracelet of gold. Her eyes faltered -from his, and were hot and heavy with an inward misery of -thought. The man’s words wounded her at every turn, -and in his innocence he shook her happiness as a wind -shakes a tree.</p> - -<p>“There is little I can tell you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Every hour is as gold to me.”</p> - -<p>“Would I had them lying in my lap.”</p> - -<p>“We are young yet, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>There was a joyousness in his voice that sounded to the -girl like a blow struck upon empty brass, or like the laugh -of a child through a ruined house. His rich optimism -mocked her to the echo.</p> - -<p>“I took refuge in Winchester,” she began, “with Radamanth -my uncle, and lodged there many months. I watched -for you and waited, but got no news of a knight named -Pelleas. Week by week as my knowledge grew I began -to think and think, to piece fragments together, to dream -in my heart. I longed to see this Uther of whom all -Britain talked. Ah, you remember the cross, Pelleas, -which you left at my feet?”</p> - -<p>Pelleas smiled. She put her hand into her bosom with a -little blush of pride and looked into the man’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“I have it here still,” she said, “where it has hung these -many months. This scrap of gold first taught me to look -for Uther.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, am I a king!”</p> - -<p>“My king, sire. And oh! how long it was before I -could get news of you; yet in time tidings came. Then it -was that I left Winchester, went on foot through the land, -and hearing again of you I set out for Wales and Caerleon -with rumours of war in my ears. Even from Caerleon I -followed you, even to the western sea, where I saw the -great battle with Gilomannius, and the noble deeds you did -there for Britain.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pelleas’s dark eyes flashed up to hers. A man loves to -be noble in deed before the face of the woman he serves, a -species of divine vanity that begets heroes. The girl’s -staunch faith was a thing that proffered the superbest -flattery.</p> - -<p>“You are very wonderful, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“It was all for my own heart; and what greater joy -could I have than to see you a king before the thundering -swords of your knights.”</p> - -<p>“You saw that, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Do you remember a hillock by the pine forest on the -ridge, where you reined in after the charge and uncovered -your head to the sun?”</p> - -<p>“As it were yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“I stood on that hillock, Pelleas, and saw your face after -many months.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, said I not you were very wonderful?”</p> - -<p>“No, no, I am only a woman, only a woman.”</p> - -<p>“God give me such a wife.”</p> - -<p>The word was keen as the barb of a lance. Pelleas’s head -was bowed over the girl’s hand as he pressed his lips to the -gold circlet of hair, and he did not see the frown of pain upon -her face. Wife! What a mockery, what bitterness! The -sky seemed black for a moment, the valley bare with the -blasts of winter and the moan of tortured trees. She half -choked in her throat, and her heart seemed to fail within -her like a bowl that is broken. Yet there was a smile on -her face when Pelleas looked up from the circlet of her hair -with the pride of love in his large eyes.</p> - -<p>“What ails you, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“A mere thought of the past.”</p> - -<p>“Tell it me.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, it is a nothing, a mere vapour, and it has -passed. How warm your lips are to my fingers. Tell me -of yourself, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“But this armour, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>"I took it from a dead knight, God rest his soul. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -wandered long in Wales, yet ever drew to Caerleon where -folk spoke your name, yet never might I come near you, -lest—lest you were too great for me."</p> - -<p>“Child, child!”</p> - -<p>“Uther Pendragon, King of Britain!”</p> - -<p>“Let the world die.”</p> - -<p>“And let us live; Pelleas, tell me of yourself.”</p> - -<p>The man looked long over the valley in silence. His -face was very grave, and his eyes were deep with thought -as though the past awed him with the recollection of its -bitterness.</p> - -<p>“May I never pass such another night,” he said.</p> - -<p>The words were curt and calm enough as though leaving -infinite things unsaid. Igraine sat silent by him and still -plaited her hair about his wrist.</p> - -<p>“I went away in the dark, for I thought you were a nun, -Igraine, and I would not break your vows. I was nearly -blind for an hour. Twice my horse stumbled and fell -with me in the woods, and once I was smitten out of the -saddle by a tree. Dawn came, and how I cursed the sun. -I seemed to see your face everywhere, and to hear your -voice in every sound. Days came and went, and I hated -the sight of man; as for my prayers, I could not say them, -and I was dumb in my heart towards God. I rode north -into the wilds, and into the fenlands of the east. Strange -things befell me in many places. I fought often, beast and -wild men and robber ruffians out of the woods. Fighting -pleased me; it eased the wrath in my heart that seemed to -rage up against the world, and against all things that drew -breath. I wandered in the night of the forests, waded -through swamps, took my food by the sword, and never -blessed man or woman. I felt bitter and evil to the core.”</p> - -<p>Igraine bent down and touched his forehead with her lips.</p> - -<p>“Brave heart,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You shall hear how I came by my own soul again.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, tell me that.”</p> - -<p>"It was as though a still voice came to me out of heaven.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -I was riding in the northern wilds not far from rough coastland -and the sea, and riding, came upon a little house of -timber all bowered round with trees. It was a peaceful -spot, flowers grew around, and the sun was shining, and I -drew near, moved in my heart to beg food and rest, for I -was half starved and gaunt as a monk from an African -desert. What did I see there? A dead man tied to a tree -and gored with many wounds; a woman kneeling dead -before his feet, thrust through with a sword; a little child -lying near with its head crushed by a stone or a club. The -sword was a Saxon sword, and I knew who had done the -deed; but sight of the dead folk by their empty home -seemed to smite my pity like the thought of the dead -Christ. I had pitied but myself and you, Igraine, and -had wandered through the land like a brute beast mad with -the smart of my own wound. Here was woe enough, -agony enough, to shame my heart. Straightway I went -down on my knees and prayed, and came through penitence -and fire to a knowledge of myself. ‘Rise up,’ said the -voice in me, ‘rise up and play the man. There is much -sorrow in Britain, much shedding of innocent blood, much -violence, and much brute wrath. Rise up and strike for -woman and for babe, let your sword shine against the -wolves from over the sea, let your shield hurl them from -the ruined hearths of Britain, the smoking churches, and the -children of the cross.’ So I rose up strong again and -comforted, and rode back into the world to do my duty."</p> - -<p>When Pelleas had made an end of speaking, Igraine’s -eyes were full of tears. The simplicity of the man’s words -had awakened to the full all the pathos of the past in her, -and she was as proud of him as when she saw him hurl -Gilomannius and his host down the green slopes towards -the sea. Her lips quivered as she spoke to him—looking -into his face with her eyes dim and shadowy with tears.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me all this.”</p> - -<p>“It has been good for me, Igraine, nor would I alter the -days that are gone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, no.”</p> - -<p>“We have found love again.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>“What more need we ask?”</p> - -<p>“What more?”</p> - -<p>Her voice was half a wail. Again it was winter, and the -wind blew as though at midnight; the flowers and the -green woods were blurred before the girl’s eyes. Gorlois’s -hard face and the grey walls of Tintagel came betwixt her -and the summer. And, though the mood lasted but for a -moment, it seemed like the long agony of days crushed into -the compass of a minute.</p> - -<p>Evening stood calm-eyed in the east. A tranquil heat -hung over wood and valley, a warm silence that seemed to -bind the world into a golden swoon. Not a ripple stirred -in the grass with its tapestries of flowers; every leaf was -hushed upon the bough; nothing moved save the droning -bee and the wings of the butterflies hovering colour-bright -over the meadows. The sky was a mighty sapphire, the -woods carved emeralds piled giantwise to the sun. There -was no discord and no sound of man, as though the curse of -Adam was not yet.</p> - -<p>Igraine had drawn Pelleas’s great sword from its sheath. -She held it slantwise before her, and pressed her lips to -the cold steel.</p> - -<p>“Old friend,” she said, “be ever true to me.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas laughed and touched her hair with his hand. A -kind of exaltation came upon them, and the zest of life -crept through the bodies like green sap in spring. Igraine -had filled her brazen helmet to the brim with flowers, and -she scattered them and sang as they roamed into the hoar -shadows of the woods:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Dear love of mine,</div> - <div class="verse">Where art thou roaming?</div> - <div class="verse">The west is red,</div> - <div class="verse">My heart is calling.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> -<p>Never had the vaults seemed greener, the half light more -mysterious under the massive trees. The far world was out -of ken; they alone lived and had their being; the toil of -man was not even like the long sob of a moonlit sea, or the -sound of rivers running in the night.</p> - -<p>The infinite strangeness of beauty shone over them like -a wizard light out of the west. Igraine’s lips were very red, -her face white in the shadows, her eyes deep with mute -desire. Hand held hand, body touched body. Often she -would lie out upon Pelleas’s arm, her head upon his shoulder, -her hair clouding over his red harness. They were content -to be together, to forget the world save so much of it as -came within the ken of their eyes, and the close grip of their -twined fingers. They said little as they swayed together -under the trees. Soul ebbed into soul upon their lips, and -a deep ecstasy possessed them like the throbbing pathos of -some song.</p> - -<p>As the day deepened Pelleas and Igraine turned back -into the valley, hand in hand. The west burnt gold above -the tree tops, the gnarled trunks were pillars of agate bearing -Byzant domes of breathless leaves. By the white May trees -the two horses stood tethered, black and grey against the -grass. Loosing them, and taking each a bridle, they passed -down through flowers to the cottage and the pool.</p> - -<p>Garlotte met them there with her brown hair pouring -over her shoulders, and a clean white kerchief over her -throat and bosom. She came to them through a little -thicket of fox-gloves that were budding early, white and -purple. Her blue eyes quivered for a moment over Pelleas’s -face as she made him a deep curtsey, and bent to kiss -Igraine’s hand. There was a vast measure of sympathy in -Garlotte’s heart, and yet for all her well-wishing she was -troubled for the two, fearing for them instinctively with -even her small knowledge of the world. She had learnt -enough from Igraine to comprehend in measure that -element of tragedy that had entered with Gorlois into her -life. Her interest in the man Pelleas was no mere vulgar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -curiosity, rather an intense pity that permeated her warm -innocence of spirit to the core.</p> - -<p>She had spread supper on the table, a much meditated -feast that had kept her eagerly busy since she had guessed -the name of the strange knight who had ridden down out -of the woods. She had the pride of a young housewife in -her creamy milk, her bread. She had made a tansy cake, -and there was a rich cream cheese ready in the cupboard, -and a fat rabbit stewing by the fire. Yet for all her ingenuous -pride she felt much troubled when it came to the test -lest her fare should seem rude and meagre to the great -knight in the red harness. Certainly he had a kind face -and splendid eyes, but would he not smile at her humble -supper, her horn cups, and her plates of hollywood? Her -cares were empty enough, but they were very real to the -sensitive child who feared to seem shamed before Igraine.</p> - -<p>Half the happiness of life lies in the kindly sensibility of -others to our desire for sympathy. A surly word, a trivial -ungraciousness, a small deed passed over in thankless silence, -how much these things mean to a sensitive heart! Garlotte, -standing in her cottage door, half shy and timid, found her -small fears mere little goblins of her own invention. -Igraine, radiant as the evening, came and kissed her on the -lips.</p> - -<p>“Little sister, you have been very good to me.”</p> - -<p>The great knight too was smiling at her in quite a fatherly -fashion. What a strong face he had, and what a noble -look; she felt sure that he was a good man, and her heart -went out to him like an opening flower. When he took -her hand, and a lock of her hair and kissed it, she went red -as one of her own roses, and was dumb with an impulsive -gladness.</p> - -<p>“Little sister, you have been very good to me.”</p> - -<p>“Good, my lord, to you!”</p> - -<p>“Child, Igraine can tell you how.”</p> - -<p>“But the Lady Igraine, she saved my life!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I had not heard that. Tell me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - -<p>Garlotte found her ease in a moment. The whole tale -came bubbling up like water out of a spring. Pelleas’s -strong face beamed; he touched Igraine’s hair with his -fingers and looked into her eyes as only a man in love can -look. Garlotte saw that she was giving pleasure, and felt -a glow from head to heart. Surely this great, grave-faced -knight was a noble soul; how gentle he was, and how he -looked into Igraine’s eyes and bent over her like a tall elm -over a slim cypress tree. She caught the happiness of the -two, and from that moment her heart was singing and she -had no more fear for herself and her poor cottage. Even -the horn cups took a golden dignity, and her tansy cake -and her cream seemed fit for a prince.</p> - -<p>The three were soon at supper together round the -wooden table, with honeysuckle and roses climbing close -above their heads. Garlotte would have stood and waited -on Pelleas and Igraine, but they would have none of it; so -she was set smiling at the head of her little table, and constrained -to play the lady under her own roof. It was a dull -meal so far as mere words were concerned. Pelleas’s eyes -were on Igraine in the twilight, and he had no hunger save -hunger of heart; yet that the supper was a success there was -no doubt whatever. Garlotte watched them both with a -quiet delight; young as she was she was wise in the simple -love of love, and so she mothered the pair to her heart’s -content in her own imagination. If only Renan had been -there to help her serve, and touch her hand under the table, -what a perfect guest-hour it would have been.</p> - -<p>When the meal was over she jumped up with a shy -smile, took a rush basket from the wall, and went out into -the garden. Igraine called her back.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going, child?”</p> - -<p>“Up the valley to the dead oak tree where herbs grow. -I must make a stew to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“It will soon be dark.”</p> - -<p>Garlotte swung her basket and laughed from her cloud -of hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You gathered herbs on Sunday, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“You squirrel!”</p> - -<p>“Renan was here; you came home after dusk; good-by, -good-by.”</p> - -<p>They heard her go singing through the garden, a soft -<i>chant d’amour</i> that would have gone wondrously to flute -and cithern. It died away slowly amid the trees like an -elf’s song coming from woodlands in the moonlight. Pelleas -drew a deep breath and listened in the shadow of the -room with his hands clasped before him on the table. He -looked as though he were praying. Igraine’s eyes were -glooms of violet mystery as she watched him, her hands -folded over a breast that rose and fell as with the restless -motion of a troubled sea. She called the man softly by -name; her body bent to him like a bow, her hair bathed -his face with dim ripples of gold as mouth touched mouth.</p> - -<p>They went out into the garden together and stood under -the cedar tree.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, my love, my own.”</p> - -<p>“Heart of mine.”</p> - -<p>“You will never leave me?”</p> - -<p>“How should the sea put the earth from his bosom, or -the moon pass from the arms of the night?”</p> - -<p>“I am faint, Pelleas; hold me in your arms.”</p> - -<p>“They are strong, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“There, let me rest so, for ever. Look, the stars are -coming out, and there is the moon flooding silver over the -trees. My lips burn, and I am faint.”</p> - -<p>“Courage, courage, dear heart.”</p> - -<p>“How close you hold me! I could die so.”</p> - -<p>“What is death to us, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Or life?”</p> - -<p>“God in heaven, and heaven on earth.”</p> - -<p>“Your words hurt me.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>XI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>How the birds sang that evening as a saffron afterglow -fainted over the forest spires, and when all was still with -the hush of night how the cry of a nightingale thrilled from -a tree near the cottage!</p> - -<p>The glamour of the day had passed, and now what -mockery and bitterness came with the cold, calculating -face of the moon. Igraine tossed and turned in her bed -like one taken with a fever; her brain seemed afire, her -hair like so much flame about her forehead. As she lay -staring with wide, wakeful eyes, the birds’ song mocked her -to the echo, the scent of honeysuckle and rose floated -in like a sad savour of death, and the moonlight seemed -to watch her without a quaver of pity. Her heart panted in -the darkness; she was torn by the thousand torments of a -troubled conscience, wounded to tears, yet her eyes were -dry and waterless as a desert. Gorlois’s face seemed to -glare down at her out of the idle gloom, and she could have -cried out with the fear that lay like an icy hand over her -bosom.</p> - -<p>Pelleas slept under the cedar tree, wrapped in an old -cloak, relic of Garlotte’s father. How Igraine’s heart -wailed for the man, how she longed for the touch of his -hand! God of heaven, she could not let him go again, and -starve her soul with the old cursed life. His lips had -touched hers, his arms had held her close, she had felt the -warmth of his body and the beating of his heart. Was all -this nothing—a dream, a splendid phantasm to be rent -away like a crimson cloud? Was she to be Gorlois’s wife -and nothing more, a bitter flower growing under a gallows, -sour wine frothing in a gilded cup?</p> - -<p>God of heaven, no! What had the world done for her -that she should obey its edicts and suffer for its tyrannies? -Gorlois had cheated her of her liberty, let him pay the price -to the fates; what honour, indeed, had she to preserve for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -him? If he was a brute piece of lust, a tyrant, a demagogue, -so much the better, it would ease her conscience. -She owed no fealty, no marriage vow, to Gorlois. Her -body was no more his than was her soul, and a dozen -priests and a dozen masses might as well marry granite to -fire. How could a fool in a cape and frock by gabbling a -service bind an irresponsible woman to a man she hated more -than the foulest mud in the foulest alley? It was a stupendous -piece of nonsense, to say the least of it. No God -calling himself a just God could hold such a bargain -holy.</p> - -<p>And then—the truth! What a stumbling-block truth -was on occasions! She knew Pelleas’s intense love of honour, -the fine sensibility of his conscience, the strong thirst for the -highest good, that made him the victim of an ethical tyranny. -If he had left her after Andredswold because he thought her -a nun, what hope now had she of holding him if he knew -her to be a wife? And yet for all her love she could not -bring herself to keep him wholly from the truth. For all -her passion and the fire in her rebellious heart she was not -a woman who could fling reason to the winds, and stifle up -her conscience with a kiss. Besides, she loved Pelleas to -the very zenith of her soul. To have a lie understood upon -her lips, to be shamed before the man’s eyes, were things -that scourged her in fancy even more than the thought -of losing him. She trembled when she thought how he -might look at her in later days if a passive lie were proven -against her with open shame.</p> - -<p>But to tell him of Gorlois, and the humiliation of that -darkest hour of her life! Could such a man as Pelleas -serve her longer after such a confession? He would become -a king again, a stranger, a man set in high places far beyond -the mere yearning of a woman’s white face. And yet, it -was possible that his love might prove stronger than his -reason; it was possible that he might front the world and -frown down the petty judgments of men. Glorious and -transcendent sacrifice! She could face calumny beside him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -as a rock faces the froth of waves; she could look Gorlois -in the eyes, and know neither shame nor pity.</p> - -<p>Her mood that night was like the passage of a blown -leaf, tossed up to heaven, whirled over the tree tops, driven -down again into the mire. Strong woman that she was, her -very strength made the struggle more indecisive and more -racking. She could not renounce Pelleas for the great love -she bore him, and yet she could not will to play a false part -by reason of this same great love. Her soul, like a wanderer -in the wilds, halted and wavered between two tracks that led -forward into the unknown.</p> - -<p>Garlotte was sleeping in the far corner of the cottage. -The girl had given up her bed to Igraine, who envied her -her quiet, restful breathing as she lay and listened. In her -doubt she called and woke Garlotte from her sleep, hardly -knowing indeed what she desired to say to her, yet half -fearful of lying alone longer in the night with her own -thoughts for company. Garlotte rose up and came across -the room to the bigger bed. She knelt down; two warm -arms crept under the coverlet, and a soft cheek touched -Igraine’s.</p> - -<p>“Why are you awake, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>The warmth of the girl’s body, her quiet breathing, the -sweep of her hair, seemed to bring a scent of peace and -human sympathy into the moonlit room. Igraine put her -arms about her, and drew her down to her side. Their white -faces and clouding hair lay close together on the pillow.</p> - -<p>“You are in trouble, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“How should I be in trouble?”</p> - -<p>“You breathe like one in pain, and your voice is strange.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Garlotte.”</p> - -<p>“Am I not right?”</p> - -<p>“Pelleas must not hear us talking.”</p> - -<p>They were silent awhile, lying in each other’s arms with -no sound save that of their breathing. Igraine’s misery -burnt in her and cried out for sympathy; Garlotte, half wise -by instinct, yearned to share a trouble which she did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -wholly comprehend, to advise where she was partly ignorant. -The girl felt a great stirring of her heart towards Igraine, -but could say nothing for the moment. Having no better -eloquence at command she raised her head and kissed the -other’s lips, a warm, impulsive kiss that seemed as rich in -sympathy as a rose in scent.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s confidence woke at the touch of the girl’s lips; -she hungered even for this child’s comfort, her simple guidance -in this matter of life and love. It was easy enough to -die, hard to exist as a mere spiritless Galatea devoid of soul.</p> - -<p>“Garlotte!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Imagine that you were married to a man you hated, and -you loved Renan.”</p> - -<p>Garlotte raised herself in bed.</p> - -<p>“And Renan loved you and knew nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Would you tell Renan the truth?”</p> - -<p>Garlotte remained motionless, propped on her two hands, -and looking out of the window into the streaming moonlight. -Her brown hair touched Igraine’s face as she lay -still and watched her. The room was very silent, not a -breeze seemed stirring, the roses athwart the window were -still as though carved in wood.</p> - -<p>Garlotte spoke very softly, looking up with her face -white and solemn in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>“I should tell Renan,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because I love him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—go on.”</p> - -<p>“I should not love him rightly in God’s eyes if I kept -him from the truth.”</p> - -<p>The coverlet rose and fell over Igraine’s bosom, and there -was a queer twisting pain at her heart.</p> - -<p>“But if you were never to see Renan again?” she said.</p> - -<p>“If I told him the truth?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, child.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> - -<p>Garlotte dared not look into Igraine’s face; her lips were -twitching, and her eyes were hot with tears.</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” she faltered.</p> - -<p>“Think, child, think!”</p> - -<p>“I should not tell him.”</p> - -<p>In half a breath she had contradicted herself with a little -gasp.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I should tell him.”</p> - -<p>“The truth?”</p> - -<p>“Because I should not be happy even with him if I were -acting a lie.”</p> - -<p>Igraine gave a dry sob, and drew Garlotte down again -to her side. They lay very close, almost mouth to mouth, -their arms about each other’s bodies.</p> - -<p>“I love Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes.”</p> - -<p>“I will tell him the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, it is best, it is best.”</p> - -<p>“But it will kill me if I lose him.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, but he will love you all the more.”</p> - -<p>It was Garlotte who broke into tears, and hid her face in -the other’s bosom. Igraine’s eyes were as dry as a blue sky -parched with a summer sun, and her voice failed her like -the slack string of a lute. The moonlight slanted down -upon them both. Before dawn they had fallen asleep in -each other’s arms.</p> - -<p>How many a heart trembles with the return of day; -what fears rise with the first blush of light in an empty sky! -The cloak of night is lifted from weary faces; the quiet -balm of darkness is withdrawn from the moiling care of -many a heart. To Igraine the dawn light came like a -message of misery as she lay beside the sleeping Garlotte, -and watched the gloom grow less and less in the little room. -This dawn seemed a veritable symbol of the truth that she -feared to look upon—and recognise. The night seemed -kinder, less implacable, less grave of face. Day, like a pale -justiciary, stalked up out of the east to call her to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -assize where truth and the soul meet under the eye of -heaven.</p> - -<p>How different was it with Pelleas under the eaves of the -great cedar. He had slept little that night for mere wakeful -happiness; the moon had kept carnival for him above -the world; at dawn the stars had crept back from the choir -stalls into the chambers of the night. He had known no -weariness, no abatement of his deep calm joy. His heart -had answered blithely to the dawn-song of the birds as -though he had risen fresh from a dreamless sleep. The day -to him had no look of evil; the sky was never grey; the flush -in the east recalled no flashing of torches over a funeral bier. -He rose up in the glory of his clean manhood, the strong -kindliness of his great love. His prayers went to heaven that -morning with the lark, and the Spirit of God seemed like a -wind moving softly in the green boughs above his head.</p> - -<p>Very early before it was light he had taken a plunge and a -swim in the pool, a swinging burst through the still water -that had made him revel in his great strength. He had -come up from the pool like a god refreshed, and had put on -his red harness while the mists rose from the valley, and the -birds chanted in the ghostly trees. When the day was -fully awake he walked the grass-path in the garden like a -watchman, with the scent of honeysuckle and thyme in his -nostrils, and a blaze of flowers at his feet. As he paced up -and down with his face turned to the sky, he sang in a -mellow bass a song of Guyon’s, the Court minstrel—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“When the dawn has come,</div> - <div class="verse">My heart sighs for thee and the gleam of thy hair;</div> - <div class="verse">Eyes deep as the night</div> - <div class="verse">When the summer sky arches the world.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>So sang Pelleas as he paced the grass with his eyes wandering -ever towards the doorway of the cottage.</p> - -<p>Presently Igraine came out to him, and stood under the -shadow of the porch. Her hair hung lustrous about a face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -that was white and drawn, despite a smile. Certainly a haze -of red flushed her cheeks when Pelleas came up with a glory -of love in his eyes, took her hands and kissed them, as though -there was no such divine flesh in the whole wide world. -How wonderful it was to be touched so, to have such eyes -pouring out so strong a soul before her face, to know the -presence of a great love, and to feel the echoing passion of -it in her own heart!</p> - -<p>After the barren months of winter, and the long bondage -in Tintagel, it seemed ah idyllic thing to be so served, so -comforted. And was this faery time but for an hour, a day, -and no longer? Was she but to see the man’s face, to feel -the touch of his hands, the grand calm of his love, before -losing him, perhaps for life? Her heart fluttered in her like -a smitten bird. And Pelleas, too, what a thrust lurked for -the man, a blow to be given in the name of truth. How -could she speak to him of Gorlois when he came and looked -at her with those eyes of his?</p> - -<p>Igraine had never felt such misery as this even in the -gloomy galleries of Tintagel. It tried her courage to the -death to face Pelleas’s wistful gaiety, and the adoration that -beamed on her from his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Dear heart, it is dawn—it is dawn!”</p> - -<p>Pelleas held her hands, and waited for her lips to be -turned to his. Instead, he saw lowered lids and quivering -lashes, lips that were plaintive, a face white beneath a wealth -of hair.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Igraine, you do not look at me.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes trembled up to his with a sudden infinite -lustre.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>“Girl, girl!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I have hardly slept.”</p> - -<p>“Nor I, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“I think I am worn out with thinking of you.”</p> - -<p>“Ha, little woman, you are extravagant; you will die like -a flower even while I hold you in my bosom.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> - -<p>Garlotte came out from the cottage, and was kissed by -Pelleas on the lips. The girl’s eyes were red and heavy; -she had been crying but a moment ago in the shadow of the -cottage room, and she was timid and very solemn. Pelleas -looked at her like a big brother.</p> - -<p>“Come now, little sister,” he said, with a rare smile; -“methinks you must be in love too by your looks.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, lord.”</p> - -<p>“Said I not so? You women take things so to heart.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, lord.”</p> - -<p>“What a solemn face, little sister!”</p> - -<p>Garlotte mastered herself for a moment, then burst into -tears and ran back into the cottage. Pelleas coloured, -looked troubled, glanced at Igraine, thinking he had hurt -the girl’s heart with his words. Igraine’s face startled him -as if the visage of death had risen up suddenly amid the -flowers. He stood mute before her watching her starved -lips, her drawn face, her eyes that stared beyond him with a -kind of cold frenzy.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>It was like the wild cry of a woman over her dead love. -The sound struck Pelleas with a vague sense of stupendous -woe, a dim prophecy of evil like the noise of autumn in -the woods. Before he could gather words, Igraine had -turned and run from him as in great fear, skirting the pool -and holding for the black yawn of the forest aisles. Pelleas -started to follow her in a daze of wonder. Was the girl -mad? Had love turned her brain? What was there hid -in her heart that made her wing from him like a dove from -a hawk?</p> - -<p>By the trees Igraine slackened and turned breathless on -the man as he came towards her through the long grass. -Her eyes were dim and frightened, her lips twitching, and -there was a bleak hunted look upon her face that made her -seem white and old. Pelleas’s blood ran cold in him like -water; a vague dread sapped his manhood; he stared at -Igraine and was speechless.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> - -<p>The girl put her arm before her eyes and shook as she -stood. Pelleas fell on his knees with a cry, and reached -for her hand.</p> - -<p>“Igraine, Igraine!”</p> - -<p>She snatched her arm away and would not look at him.</p> - -<p>“My God, what is this, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t touch me; I am Gorlois’s wife!”</p> - -<p>A vast silence seemed to fall sudden on the world. It -might have been dead of night in winter, with deep snow -upon the ground and no wind stirring in the forest. To -Igraine, swaying in an agony with her arm over her face, -the silence came like the hush that might fall on heaven -before the damning of a lost soul to hell. She wondered -what was in Pelleas’s heart, and dared not look at him or -meet his eyes. God in heaven! would the man never -speak; would the silence crawl on into an eternity!</p> - -<p>At last she did look, and nearly fell at the wrench of -it. Pelleas was standing near her looking at her with his -great solemn eyes as though she had given him his death. -His face seemed to have gone grey and haggard in a -moment.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois’s wife!” was all he said.</p> - -<p>Igraine hung her head, shivered, and said nothing. -Pelleas never stirred; he seemed like so much stone, a mere -pillar of granite misery. Igraine could have writhed at his -feet and caught him by the knees only to melt for a -moment that white calm on his face that looked like the -mask of death.</p> - -<p>A voice that was almost strange to her startled her out -of her stupor of despair.</p> - -<p>“How long have you been wed, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Nine months, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>The man seemed to be struggling with himself as -though he strove after the truth, yet could not confront it -for all his strength. When he spoke his voice was like the -voice of a man winded by hard running. He appeared to -urge himself forward, to goad his courage to a task that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -dreaded. There was great anguish on his face as he looked -into the girl’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“I must speak what I know, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>The words seemed slow with effort. Igraine watched -him in silence, full of a vague dread.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois has spoken to me of his wife.”</p> - -<p>“Say on, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas hesitated.</p> - -<p>“The truth—tell me the truth.”</p> - -<p>She was almost clamorous. Pelleas plunged on.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois told me how his wife was faithless to him, how -she had fled with Brastias, the knight who had ward over -her at Caerleon. I never knew her name until this hour.”</p> - -<p>The words might have fallen like the strokes of a lash. -Igraine stood and stared at the man, her open mouth a -black circle, her eyes expressionless for the moment, like -the eyes of one smitten blind. The full meaning of the -words numbed her and hindered her understanding. A -babel of shame sounded in her ears. The sinister intent of -the man’s accusation rose gradual before her reason like the -distorted image of a dream. She felt cold to the core; a -strange terror possessed her.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, what have you said to me?”</p> - -<p>Her voice was a mere whisper. Pelleas hung his head -and said never a word. His silence seemed to fling sudden -fire into Igraine’s eyes, and her face flamed like a sunset. -It might have been Gorlois who stood and challenged the -honour of her soul.</p> - -<p>“Man, tell me what is in your heart.”</p> - -<p>Her voice was shrill—even imperious. Pelleas hung -his head.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois keeps poison for his wife,” were his words.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s lips curled.</p> - -<p>“A sword for Brastias.”</p> - -<p>“Generous man.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas was watching her as a prisoner watches a judge. -He had a great yearning to believe. Fear, anguish, anger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -were in Igraine’s heart, but she showed none of the three -as she stood forward and looked into the man’s eyes with a -steadfastness no honour could gainsay.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!” she said.</p> - -<p>“Girl!”</p> - -<p>“Look into my eyes.”</p> - -<p>He did so without flinching. Igraine took his sword -and gave it naked into his hand.</p> - -<p>“Listen! Gorlois told you a lie.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe me, Pelleas? If not, strike with the -sword, for I will live no longer.”</p> - -<p>The man gave a sudden cry, like one who leaps over a -precipice, threw the sword far away into the grass, and -falling on his knees, buried his face in his hands.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>XII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Igraine stood and watched Pelleas as he knelt in the grass -at her feet with his face hidden from her by his hands. She -saw the curve of his strong neck, the sweep of his great -shoulders. She even counted the steel plates in his shoulder -pieces, and marked the tinge of grey in his coronal of hair.</p> - -<p>Calm had come upon her with the trust won by the -confessional of the sword. She felt sure of the man in her -heart, and eased of a double burden since she had told him -the truth and brought him to a declaration of his faith. -She knew well from instinct that her honour stood sure in -Pelleas’s heart.</p> - -<p>Going to him, she bent and touched his head with her -hand.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas,” she said very softly.</p> - -<p>The man groaned and would not look at her.</p> - -<p>“Mea culpa, mea culpa!” was his cry.</p> - -<p>Igraine smiled like a young mother as she put his hands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -from his face with a gradual insistence. It was right that -he should kneel to her, but it was also right that she should -forgive and forget like a woman. Yet as she stood and -held his hands in hers, Pelleas hung his head and would not -so much as look into her face. He was convicted in his -own heart, and contrite according to the deep measure of -his manhood.</p> - -<p>Igraine touched his hair softly with her fingers, and there -was a great light in her eyes as she bent over him.</p> - -<p>“Come, Pelleas, and sit by me under the trees, and I will -tell you the whole tale.”</p> - -<p>Never had she seemed so stately or so superb in Pelleas’s -eyes as she stood before him that morning, strong and -sorrowful with the burden of her past. He knelt and -looked up at her, knowing himself pardoned, humbled to -see love in the ascendent so soon upon her face as she -looked down at him from her golden aureole of hair.</p> - -<p>“I am forgiven?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>“You have shamed me; I am a broken man.”</p> - -<p>He rose up half wearily and stood looking at her as -though some mysterious influence had parted them suddenly -asunder. So expressive were his eyes, that Igraine read a -distant anguish in them on the instant, and fathomed his -thoughts, to the troubling of her own heart.</p> - -<p>“Look not so,” she said, “as though a gulf lay deep -between us here.”</p> - -<p>“How else should I look at you, Igraine, when you are -wife to Gorlois?”</p> - -<p>“Never in my soul.”</p> - -<p>“How can that help us?”</p> - -<p>Igraine winced at the words and took refuge in silence. -She went and seated herself at the foot of a gnarled oak. -Pelleas followed her and lay down more than a sword’s -length away, leaving a stretch of green turf between, a -thing insignificant in itself, yet full of meaning to the girl’s -instinctive watchfulness. The man’s face too was turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -from her towards the valley, and she could only see the -curve of his cheek and chin as she began to speak to him of -that which was in her heart.</p> - -<p>“You know the man Gorlois?” she said.</p> - -<p>Pelleas nodded.</p> - -<p>“In Winchester Gorlois saw my face and straightway -pestered me as he had been turned into my shadow. By -chance he had rendered me service, and from the favour -casually conferred plucked the right of thrusting his perpetual -homage upon me. I trusted Gorlois little from the -beginning, and trusted him less as the weeks went by. -His eyes frightened me, and his mouth made my soul -shiver; the more importunate he grew the more I began to -fear him.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas shifted his sword and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“A day came when the man Gorlois grew tired of -courtesies, and would be gainsaid no longer. It was in -Radamanth’s garden; we quarrelled, and the man laid hands -upon me and crushed me against the wall to thieve a kiss. -In my anger I broke from him and ran into my uncle’s -house. The same night I fled to an abbey, the abbey of -St. Helena, and left Winchester in my dress at dawn.”</p> - -<p>Igraine could see the muscles of Pelleas’s jaw standing -out contracted as though his teeth were clenched in an -access of anger. He was breathing deeply through his -nostrils, and his hands plucked at the grass with a terse -snapping sound. These things pleased Igraine, and she -went on forthwith.</p> - -<p>"I left Winchester on foot at dawn and travelled towards -Sarum, for I heard that Uther the King was there, and -it was greatly in my mind, sire, to see his face. An old -merchant friend of Radamanth’s overtook me on the road; -at a ford the horse he had lent me fell and twisted my -ankle. I was carried to Eudol’s house, and lay abed there -many days, learning little to my comfort that Gorlois had -ridden out and was hunting me through the countryside. -Recovered of my strain, and fearful of Gorlois’s trackers, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -held on for Sarum through the woods, and lodged the same -night in a hermitage in a little valley. Here the first piece -of craft overtook me, for early in the morning outside the -hermitage I saw a knight ride by on a black horse, bearing -red harness, and armed at all points like to you."</p> - -<p>Pelleas turned his head for the first time and looked at -her as though with some sudden suspicion of what was to -follow. Igraine saw something in his dark eyes that made -her heart hurry. His face was like the face of a man who -fronts a storm of wind and rain with brows furrowed and -eyes half-closed. There was much that was threatening in -his look, a subdued ominous wrath like a storm nursed in -the bosom of a cloud.</p> - -<p>Igraine told the whole quaint tale, how she followed -Gorlois in faith, how she was led into the forest, bewitched -there, and made a wife, mesmerised into a false affection for -the man by Merlin’s craft. It was a grim tale, with a clear -contour of truth, and credible by reason of its very strangeness. -It was sufficient to manifest to Pelleas how Igraine’s -strong love for him had lost her her liberty and made her -the victim of a man’s lust.</p> - -<p>When she had ended the tale Pelleas left the grass at her -feet and began to pace under the trees like a sentinel on a -wall. His scabbard clanged occasionally against his greaves. -Masses of young bracken covered the ground between the -trees with a rich carpet of green, and his armour shone like -red wrath under the wreathing arcs of foliage. His face -was dark and moody with the turmoil of thought, but there -was no visible agitation upon him; nothing of the aspen, -more of the unbending oak. Igraine leant against her tree -and watched him with a curious care, wondering what -would be the outcome of all this silence. Down in the -valley the pool glistened, and she could see Garlotte walking -in the cottage garden. How different was this child’s lot -to hers. With what warm philosophy could she have -changed Pelleas into a shepherd, and taken the part of -Garlotte to herself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<p>Presently Pelleas stayed in his stride through the -bracken, and came and stood before her, looking not -into her face but beyond her into the deeps of the -wood.</p> - -<p>“Tell me more, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“What more would you hear from me?”</p> - -<p>“That which is bitterest of all.”</p> - -<p>“God, must I tell you that!”</p> - -<p>“Let us both drink it to the dregs.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s face and neck coloured rich as one of Garlotte’s -red roses, and she seemed to shrink from the man’s eyes -behind the quivering sunlight of her hair. She put her -hands to her breast and stood in a strain of thought, of -struggle against the infinite unfitness of the past.</p> - -<p>Pelleas saw her trouble, and his strong face softened on -the instant. He had forgotten milder things in his grappling -of the truth. Igraine’s red and troubled look revived -the finer instincts of his manhood.</p> - -<p>“Never trouble, child,” he said; “I know enough of -Gorlois to read the rest.”</p> - -<p>But Igraine, as by inspiration, had come by other reasons -for telling out the whole to the last pang. She was at pains -to justify herself to Pelleas, nor was she undesirous of inflaming -him against Gorlois, her lord. She had wit enough -to grasp the fact that Pelleas’s wrath might be roused into -insurrection against custom and the edicts of the Church. -A volcanic outburst might throw down the barriers of man -and leave her at liberty to choose her lot. Moreover, her -hate of Gorlois, an iconoclastic passion, had crushed the -reverence of things existing out of her heart. A contemplation -of her evil fortune had brought her to the conviction -that she was exiled from the sympathies of men, a spiritual -bandit driven to compass the instincts of a rebellious soul. -In her hot impulse for liberty and the justification of her -faith, she did not halt from making Pelleas feel the full -malignity of truth. She neither embellished nor emphasised, -but portrayed incidents simply in their glaring nakedness in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -a fashion that promised to inflame the man to the very top -of her desire.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s cheeks kindled, and she could not look at the -man for the words upon her lips. Pelleas’s face was like -the face of man in torture. The woman’s words entered -into him like iron; his wrath whistled like a wind, and the -very air seemed tainted in his mouth. What a purgatory -of passion was let loose into the calm precincts of the place! -This burning vault of blue, was it the same as roofed the -world of yesterday? The feathery mounts of green dappled -with amber, and these flowers, had they not changed with -the noon lust of the sun? There was a rank savour of -fleshliness over the whole earth, and all life seemed impious, -passionate, and unclean.</p> - -<p>“My God, my God!”</p> - -<p>The man’s cry shook Igraine from her rage for truth. -In her confessional she had been carried like a bird with -the wind. Looking into Pelleas’s face she saw that he was -in torment, and that her words had smitten him in a fashion -other than she had foreseen. It was not wrath that burnt -in his eyes, only a deep grieving, a frenzy of shame and -anguish that seemed to cry out against her soul. A -sudden stupor made her mute. With a great void in her -heart she fell down amid the bracken with a sense -of ignominy and abasement overwhelming her like a -deluge.</p> - -<p>Pelleas stood and shut his eyes to the sun. A red glare -smote into his brain; love seemed numb in him and his -blood stagnant. Prayer eluded him like a vapour. Looking -out again over wood and valley, the golden haze, the -torpor of the trees mocked him with a lethargy that smiled -at the impotence of man.</p> - -<p>And Igraine! He saw her prone beneath the green mist -of the fern fronds, lying with her face pillowed on her arms, -her hair spread like a golden net over the brown wreckage -of the bygone year. To what a pass had their love come! -Better, he thought, to have lived a king solitary on a throne<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -than to have wandered into youth again to give and win -such dolor.</p> - -<p>His face was dark as he stood and looked at the woman’s -violet surcoat gleaming low under the bracken. How -symbolical this attitude seemed of all that had fallen upon -his heart—love cast down upon dead leaves! Igraine had -feared his honour. Pelleas feared for it in another sense as -he looked at the woman, and felt his pity clamouring for -life. He could have given his soul to comfort her if no -shame could have come upon her name thereby. As it was, -some spiritual hand seemed at his throat stifling aught of -love that found impulse on his lips. A superhuman sincerity -chilled him into silence, and held him in bondage to the -truth.</p> - -<p>A face stared up from the bracken, wan, tearless, and -tragic. The wistfulness of the face made him quail within -his harness. He knew too well what was in Igraine’s heart, -and the look that questioned him like the look of a wounded -hare. Her eyes searched his face as though to read her -doom thereon. There was no whimpering, no noise, no -passionate rhetoric. A great quiet seemed to take its -temper from the silence of the woods.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me what is in your heart.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas hung his head; he could not look at her for all -his courage. She was kneeling in the bracken with her -hands crossed over her breast and her face turned to his -with the white wistfulness of a full moon. Pelleas felt death -in his heart, and he could not speak nor look into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Child.”</p> - -<p>“You do not look at me.”</p> - -<p>“Great God, would I were blind!”</p> - -<p>The truth came crying to her like the wild cry of a bird -taken by a weasel in the woods. A great sobbing shook -her; she fell down and caught Pelleas by the knees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Pelleas, Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>“My God, Igraine, I stifle!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t leave me, don’t send me away.”</p> - -<p>“What can I say to you?”</p> - -<p>“Only look into my eyes again.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas put his fists before his face; the girl felt him -quiver, and he seemed to twist in an agony like a man -dangling on a rope. Igraine’s hands crept to his shoulders; -she drew herself by his body as by a pillar till her face met -his and she lay heavy upon his breast.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>Her breath was on his lips, and her hair flooded over his -hands like golden wine.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas, Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>The words came with a windless whisper.</p> - -<p>“Have pity, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“I will never leave you.”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois’s wife!”</p> - -<p>“Never, never!”</p> - -<p>“My God!”</p> - -<p>“I am not his. Pelleas, take me body and soul; take -me and let me be your wife.”</p> - -<p>“How can I sin against your soul, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“Is it sin, then, to love me?”</p> - -<p>“You are Gorlois’s wife before God.”</p> - -<p>“There is no God.”</p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“I will have no God but you, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>The man took his hands from his face and looked into -Igraine’s eyes. A strong shudder passed over him, and he -seemed like a great ship smitten by a wave, till every fibre -groaned and quivered in his massive frame.</p> - -<p>A green calm covered the valley, and the whole world -seemed to faint in the golden bosom of the day. Not the -twitter of a bird broke the vast hush of the forest. The -sunlit aisles climbed into a shadowland of mysterious silence, -and an azure quiet hung above the trees. As for Pelleas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -and Igraine, their two lives seemed knotted up with a cord -of gold. They had mingled breath, and taken the savour -of each other’s souls. Yet for all the glory of the moment -it was but autumn with them—a pomp of passion, a red -splendour dying while it blazed into the grey ruin of a -winter day.</p> - -<p>Igraine read her doom in the man’s face. It was the -face of a martyr, pale, resolute, yet inspired. A dry sob -died in her throat, and her hands dropped from the man’s -shoulders. Pelleas stood back and looked at her with a -warm light in his dark eyes, the green woods rising behind -him like a bank of clouds.</p> - -<p>“Igraine.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, felt miserable, and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“I cannot love you easily.”</p> - -<p>Igraine’s eyes stared at him with a mute bitterness. She -was a woman, and thought like a woman; mere saintly -philosophy was beyond her.</p> - -<p>“You are too good a man, Pelleas,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I would hold my love in my heart like a great pearl in -a casket of gold.”</p> - -<p>“What comfort is there in mere splendid misery, and in -such words?”</p> - -<p>“How should I love you best?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Pelleas, ask your own heart.”</p> - -<p>The man was an impossible being for mere mortal argument. -He seemed to bear spiritual pinions that tantalised -the intelligence of the heart. Igraine felt herself adrift and -beaten, and she was hopeless of him to the core.</p> - -<p>“Think you I shall be a saint, Pelleas,” she said, “when -you have given me back to myself?”</p> - -<p>“I shall pray for you.”</p> - -<p>“And for a devil!”</p> - -<p>She gave a shrill laugh, and twined her hair about her -wrist.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Pelleas! you know not what you do.”</p> - -<p>“Too well, Igraine.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are too strong for me, and yet—and yet—I -should not have loved you so well if you had not been -strong.”</p> - -<p>“That is how I think of you, Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“You love me more by leaving me.”</p> - -<p>“I love you more by keeping you pure before my -soul.”</p> - -<p>A great calm had come upon Igraine. She was very pale -and firm about the lips, and her eyes were staunch as steel. -Her voice was as clear and level as though she spoke of -trivial things.</p> - -<p>“I shall not go back to Gorlois,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Beware of the man.”</p> - -<p>“Doubtless you would speak to me of a convent.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas fell into thought, with his dark eyes fixed upon -her face.</p> - -<p>“As a novice.”</p> - -<p>Igraine almost smiled at him.</p> - -<p>“And not a nun?”</p> - -<p>For answer he spoke three simple words.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois might die.”</p> - -<p>The stillness of the woods seemed like the hush of a -listening multitude. A blue haze of heat hung over the -rolling domes of the western trees, and never a wind-wave -stirred the long grass. Mountainous clouds sailed radiant -over ridge and spur, and it might have been Elysium where -souls wandered through meads of asphodel.</p> - -<p>Igraine looked long over the valley with its stately trees, -its flowering grass and quiet pool in the meadows. She -was vastly calm, though her eyes were full of a woe that -seemed to well up like water out of her soul. She still -twisted and untwisted a strand of her hair about her wrist, -but for all else she was as quiet as one of the trees that -stood near and overshadowed her.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas,” she said.</p> - -<p>The man came two steps nearer.</p> - -<p>“Go quickly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Igraine!”</p> - -<p>“Man, man, how long will you torture me? I am only -a little strong.”</p> - -<p>The calm of tragedy seemed to dissolve away on the -instant. Pelleas thrust his hands into the air like a swimmer -sinking to his death. His heart answered Igraine’s -exceeding bitter cry.</p> - -<p>“Would we had never come to this!”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say that, though my heart breaks.”</p> - -<p>Pelleas fell down and clasped her with his arms about -the knees. His face was hidden in the folds of her surcoat. -Presently he loosed his hold, looked up, took a ring -from his hand and thrust it into her palm.</p> - -<p>“The signet of a king,” he said; “keep it for need, -Igraine. Have you money?”</p> - -<p>“I have money, Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“God guard you!”</p> - -<p>Igraine was white to the lips, but she never wavered.</p> - -<p>“Heaven keep you!” she said.</p> - -<p>Her voice was hoarse in her throat, and she began to -shiver as though chilled by a sleety wind.</p> - -<p>“Go quickly, Pelleas; for God’s sake hide your face -from me!”</p> - -<p>“It is death; it is death!”</p> - -<p>He sprang up and left her without a look. Igraine saw -him go through the long grass with his hand over his eyes, -staggering like one sword-smitten to the brain. He never -stared back at her, but held straight for the cottage and the -cedar tree where his black horse was tethered under the -shade. She watched him mount and gallop for the forest, -nor did she move till his red harness had died into the gloom -of the trees.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>XIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Down through the woods that morning rode Gorlois on his -great white horse, with helmet clanging at saddle-bow, shield<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -hung at his left shoulder, spear trailing under the trees. He -was hot, thirsty, and in a most evil temper. His bronzed -face glistened with sweat, and the chequered webs of light -flickering through the leaves flashed fitfully upon his golden -harness. Since dawn he had ridden the hills in the glare of -the sun till his armour blazed like an oven; it was June -weather, and hot at that; his tongue felt like wood rubbing -against leather; it was a damnable month for bearing -harness.</p> - -<p>Casting about over the hills he had come upon Garlotte’s -valley, and seeing it green and shadowy, had plunged down -to profit by the shade. Since the Red Knight was lost to -him, it was immaterial whether he rode by wood or hill. -On this account, too, Gorlois’s temper was as hot as his skin. -He hated a baulking above all things; he was moved to be -furious with trifles, and like the savage who gnashes at the -stone that bruises his foot, he cursed creation and felt -thoroughly at war with the world. A grim unreason had -possession of him, such a mood as makes murder a mere -impulse of the hand, and malice the prime instinct of the -heart.</p> - -<p>As he rode with loose rein the trees thinned suddenly, -and the forest gloom rolled back over his head. Gorlois -halted mechanically under the wooelshawe, and scanned the -valley spread before him under the brown hollow of his hand. -He had expected no such open land in this waste of wood—open -land with water, a cottage, sheep feeding, and horses -tethered under the trees. One of the horses tethered there -was a black. The coincidence livened Gorlois’s torpid, -sunburnt face with a cool gleam of intelligence. He sat -motionless in the saddle and took the length and breadth of -the valley under the keen ken of his black eyes.</p> - -<p>The man swore a little oath into his peaked black beard. -His face grew suddenly rapacious as he stared out under -the hollow of his hand. He had seen a streak of red strike -through the green wall far up the eastern slope that fronted -him, a scrap of colour metallic with the hint of armour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -It went to and fro under the distant trees like a torch -past the windows of a church. Gorlois’s hand tightened -on the bridle. He watched the thing as a hawk watches a -young rabbit in the grass.</p> - -<p>Betimes he gave a queer little chuckle, and turned his -horse into the deeper shade of the trees. He began to make -a circuit round the valley, holding northwards to compass -the meadows. He cast long, wary glances into the wood as -he went; tried his sword to see that it was loose in the -scabbard; took his helmet from the saddle-bow, and let down -the cheek-pieces from the crown. Before long he kicked his -stirrups away, rolled out of the saddle, and tied his horse -to an oak sapling in a little dell. Going silently on foot -over the mossy grass, stopping often to stare into the sunny -vistas of the forest, moving more or less from tree to tree, -he worked his way southwards along the eastern slope. -Streaks of meadowland and the glint of water showed below -him, and he heard the bleat of sheep far away, and the -tinkling of a bell.</p> - -<p>Presently the murmur of voices came to him through the -woods. He ventured on another fifty paces, then stopped -behind a tree to listen. There were two voices, he was -sure of that: one was a woman’s, and the other had the -sonorous vibration of a man’s bass. Gorlois’s eyes took a -queer, far-away look, and his strong teeth showed between -his lips.</p> - -<p>He worked his way on through the trees with the -cautious and deliberate instinct of a hunter. The two -voices gained in timbre, character, and expression. Their -talk was no jays’ chatter; Gorlois could tell that from the -emphasis of sound, and a certain dramatic melody that ran -through the whole. Soon the voices were very near. -Going on his belly, with his sword held in his left hand, he -crawled like a gilt dragon through a forest of springing -fern. He crawled on till he was quite near the two who -stood and talked under the trees. Lying flat, never venturing -to lift his head, he crouched, breathing hard through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -his nostrils and holding his scabbarded sword crosswise -beneath his chin.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s face, scarred and drawn as it was, seemed as he -listened a clear mirror for the portrayal of human passion. -His black moustachios twitched above his angular jaw; his -eyes took a rapacious and glazed look, and a shadow seemed -to cover his face. He turned and twisted as he lay, and -dug the points of his iron-shod shoes into the soft ground as -though in the crisis of some pain. It was the woman’s -voice that did all this for him. Every word seemed like the -wrench of a hook in his flesh, as he cursed and twisted -under the bracken.</p> - -<p>Presently he lay still again, as though to listen the -better. He could hear something of what was said to the -man in the red harness, but the main drift of their talk was -beyond him. Pelleas! Pelleas! He squirmed like a crushed -snake at each sounding of the name. The bracken hardly -swayed as he crawled on some twenty paces and again lay -still, with his cheek resting upon the scabbard of his sword.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois might die.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois heard the words as plainly as though they had -been spoken into his ear. A vast silence hung like thunder -over the forest. Gorlois lay as though stunned with a -stone, his dry mouth pressed to the cold steel of the sword. -His eyes took a stubborn stare under the sweep of his -casque. With gradual labour he raised himself upon -his elbows, drew his knees up under his body, and lifted -his head slowly above the sweep of green.</p> - -<p>The ground fell away slightly from where Gorlois knelt -in the bracken, and he could look down on the two who -stood under the trees, while the fern fronds hid his harness. -He saw a woman in violet and gold, her hair falling straight -on either side of her face, and her arms folded crosswise -over her breast. He saw also the knight in red harness, -with his locked hands twisting above his head as in an agony, -while his face was hidden by his arm. A passionate whisper -of words passed between the two. Even when Gorlois -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>watched, the man in the red harness jerked round and fell -on his knees at the woman’s feet. Gorlois suddenly saw -his face; it was the face of Uther the King.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_329.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p>“LIFTED HIS HEAD SLOWLY ABOVE THE SWEEP OF GREEN”</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Gorlois dropped back under the bracken as though -smitten through with a sword. He lay there a long while -with his head upon his arms. A sudden breeze came up -the valley, sounding through the trees, swaying the green -fronds above the man’s harness, calling a gradual clamour -from the woods. The overmastering image of the King -seemed to frown down Gorlois for the moment, and he -crouched like a dog—with the courage crushed out of his soul.</p> - -<p>Betimes Gorlois’s reason revived from the stroke that had -stunned it for a season. Like Jonah’s gourd a quick purpose -sprang up and shadowed him from the too hasty heat of his -own passions. He was a virile man, capable of great wrath -and great resentment. Yet he was no mere firebrand. -His malice, strangely enough, was one-handed and reached -out only against the woman. For Uther he conceived a -superhuman envy, a passion that rose above mere bloody -expiation by the sword. Gorlois had the wit to remember -the finer cruelties of a spiritual vengeance, the gain of -wounding the soul rather than the flesh. His malice was -a thing fanatical in itself, yet taken from the forge to be -cooled and tempered like steel.</p> - -<p>When he lifted his head again above the bracken, Uther -had gone, and Igraine stood alone under the trees. She -stood straight and motionless as some tall flower, her hair -falling like quiet sunlight, unshaken by a wind. Her great -beauty leapt out into Gorlois’s blood and maddened him. -As she looked out over the valley, Gorlois, straining his -neck above the bracken, could see that she watched Uther -as he went down from her towards the pool. Even to -Gorlois there was something tragic about the solitary figure -under the trees, a stiff, grievous look as though woe had -transformed her into a pillar of stone. To him the affair -seemed a mere assignation, a hazardous passage of romance. -Measuring the souls of others by his own morality, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -guessed nothing of the deeper throes that surged through -the tale like the long moan of a night wind.</p> - -<p>Gorlois saw Uther and his black horse disappear into the -opposing bank of woodland. Viciously satisfied, he lay in -the bracken and watched Igraine, coming by a queer -pleasure in considering her beauty, and in the knowledge -that her very life was poised on the point of his sword. -How little she thought of the man-dragon lying in his -gilded scales under the green of the feathery fronds. Gorlois -felt a kind of arrogance of ownership boasting itself in his -heart. Certainly he held a means more sinister than the -sword wherewith to perfect his vengeance and to preserve -his honour. A very purgatory, bolgia upon bolgia, stretched -out in prospect for the souls of the two who had done him -this great evil. Gorlois made much of it, with a joy that -was hard and durable as iron.</p> - -<p>Igraine stirred at last from her stupor of immobility. -Walking unsteadily, as though faint in the heat, she passed -out from the trees with their mingling of sun and shadow, -and went down through the long grass towards the pool -and the cottage. Gorlois knelt in the bracken, and watched -her with a smile. There was little chance of her escaping, -and he could be as deliberate as he pleased over the matter. -He inferred with reason that the cottage served her as a -lodging in this woodland solitude, where she lay hid from -all the world save from Uther, whose courtezan she was. -Gorlois laughed—a keen, biting laugh—at the thought of it -all. At least he would go back for his horse and spear, and -make a fitting entry before the woman who was his wife.</p> - -<p>Igraine, walking as though in her sleep, came into the -cottage, and almost fell into Garlotte’s arms. The girl -looked frightened, and very white about the lips. She -could find nothing in her heart to say to Igraine; she -helped her to the bed, and ran to the cupboard to get wine.</p> - -<p>“Drink it,” she said, the cup rocking to and fro in her -hand.</p> - -<p>Igraine did her best, but spilt much of the stuff upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -bosom, where it made a stain like blood. She sat on the -edge of the bed, and looked into the distance with expressionless -eyes. Her hands were very cold. Garlotte chafed -them between her own, murmured a word or two, but -could not bring herself to look into Igraine’s face. From -the valley the bleating of sheep came up with a sudden -wind, and the red roses flung their faces across the latticed -casement.</p> - -<p>Igraine was looking through the window into the deep -green of the woods. She could see the place where Pelleas -had left her, even the tree under which she had stood when -she had pleaded with him without avail. How utterly quiet -everything seemed. Surely June was an evil month for her; -had it not brought double misery—and well-nigh broken her -heart? And the end of it all was that she was to go back to -a convent, to grey walls, vigils, and the sounding of a bell. -Even that was better than being Gorlois’s wife.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as she sat and stared out of the casement, her -body grew tense and eager as a bent bow. Her eyes hardened, -lost their dreamy look; the hands that had rested in -Garlotte’s gripped the girl’s wrists with a force that made -her wince.</p> - -<p>“Saddle the horse.”</p> - -<p>The words came in a hard whisper. Garlotte stared at -her, and did not stir.</p> - -<p>“Child, never question me; be quick, on your life.”</p> - -<p>Igraine, a different woman in a moment, had started up -and taken her shield and helmet from the wall. Her sword -was girded to her. Quick as thought, she gathered up her -trailing hair, thrust on the casque, strapped it to the neck-plate -under her surcoat. Garlotte, vastly puzzled, but inspired -by Igraine’s earnestness, had hurried out with saddle -and bridle over her shoulder. As she ran through the garden, -she looked up to the woods and saw the reason of -Igraine’s flurry. A knight had come out from the forest on -a white horse, his armour flashing and blazing in the noonday -sun. He had halted motionless at the edge of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -woodland, as though to mark what was passing beneath -him in the valley.</p> - -<p>Garlotte found Igraine armed beside her, as she stood by -the grey horse under the cedar, and tugged with trembling -fingers at the saddle straps. Bit and bridle were quickly in -place. Igraine, moved by a hurried tenderness, gripped -Garlotte to her with both arms.</p> - -<p>“God guard you, little sister.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you going, Igraine?”</p> - -<p>“God knows!”</p> - -<p>“Who is yonder knight?”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois, my husband.”</p> - -<p>Igraine climbed into the saddle from the girl’s knee. She -dashed in the spurs and went at a gallop over the meadows -towards the south. Gorlois’s white horse was coming at -full stride through the feathery grass. The man was riding -crosswise over the valley, bent on cutting off Igraine from -the southern stretch of meadows, and driving her back upon -the woods. It was Igraine’s hope to overtake Pelleas, and -to put herself behind the barrier of his shield. Gorlois, -guessing her desire, drove home the spurs, and hunted her -in earnest.</p> - -<p>Igraine headed the man and won a lead in the first half -mile. Her grey horse plunged like a galley in a rough sea, -and she held to the pommel of her saddle to keep her seat. -Gorlois thundered at full gallop in her wake, the long grass -flying before his horse’s hoofs like foam. He had thrown -away his spear, and his eyes were set in a long stare on the -galloping horse ahead. The zest of the chase had hold of -him, and he used the spurs with heavy heel.</p> - -<p>The green woods rolled down on them as the valley -narrowed to its southern end. Igraine had never wandered -so far from Garlotte’s cottage, and the ground was strange -to her, nor did she know how the country promised. Riding -at full gallop, she saw with a shudder of fear a barrier of -rock running serrate across her path and closing the narrow -valley like a wall. Gorlois saw it too, and sent up a shout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -that made Igraine’s hate flame up into a kind of rapture. -To have turned right or left up the steep grass slope towards -the woods, would have given back to Gorlois the little start -she had of him. With a numb chill at her heart she -abandoned all hope of Pelleas, and turned to face the inevitable, -and Gorlois her lord.</p> - -<p>The man came up like a wind through the grass, and -drew rein roughly some ten paces away. He laughed as he -stared at Igraine, an uncouth, angering laugh like the yapping -of a dog. He looked big and burly in the saddle, and the -muscles stood out in his neck as he tilted his square jaw and -stared down at his wife. Igraine had not looked upon his -face since he had been smitten in battle. Its ugliness -seemed to match his soul.</p> - -<p>Gorlois lifted up his voice and mocked her.</p> - -<p>“Ha, my brave, you are trapped, are you? Mother of -God, but you make a good figure of a man. These many -months I have missed you, wife in arms. And you have -served in the pay of my lord the King. Good service and -good pay, I warrant, and plenty of plunder. I will have -that harness of yours hung over my bed.”</p> - -<p>Igraine suffered him not so much as a word. She was -furious, and in no mood to be scoffed down and cowed by -mere insolent strength. She looked into Gorlois’s libidinous -face from behind the vizor of her helmet, and thought her -thoughts. Gorlois ran on in his mocking fashion. His -bronzed face gleamed with sweat, and a rough lascivious -smile showed up his strong white teeth to her.</p> - -<p>“Ha, now, madame! deliver, and let us have sight of -you. The King loves your lips, eh! They are red, and -your arms are soft. I warrant he found your bosom a good -pillow. Uther was ever such a solemn soul, such a monk, -such a father. It is good for the heart to hear of him -knotted up in a woman’s hair.”</p> - -<p>Igraine shook with the immensity of her hate.</p> - -<p>“You were ever a foul-tongued hound,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Am I your echo?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I wish you were dead.”</p> - -<p>“So said the King.”</p> - -<p>“So you spied on us?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois set up a scoffing laugh, showing his red throat -like a hungry bird.</p> - -<p>“And saw my wife the King’s courtezan; ha, what a jest! -Come, madame, let us be going; your honest home waits -for you. I will chatter to you of moralities by the way.”</p> - -<p>He had hardly delivered himself of the saying, when -Igraine’s hand clutched at the handle of her sword. She -jerked the spurs in with her heels. Her grey horse started -forward like a bolt; blundered into Gorlois; caught him -cross-counter, and rolled his white stallion down into the -grass. Igraine had lashed out at the shock. Her sword -caught Gorlois’s arm, and cut through sleeve and arm-guard -to the bone. As he rolled with his horse in the grass, she -wheeled round, and clapping in the spurs, rode hard uphill -for the forest.</p> - -<p>Gorlois, hot as a furnace, scrambled to his feet, and -dragged his horse up by the bridle. Half off the saddle, with -empty stirrups dangling, he went at a canter for the yawn -of the wood. His slashed arm burnt as though it had been -touched with a branding-iron; blood dripped down upon his -horse’s white shoulder. He was soon steady in the saddle -and galloping full pelt after Igraine, the ground slipping -under his horse’s hoofs like water, the long grass flying like -spray.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s horse lost ground up the slope; he had less -heart than Gorlois’s beast, and was weaker in the haunches. -By the time they reached the trees, Igraine had twenty -yards to her credit and no more. She saw her chance gone, -and heard Gorlois close in her wake, caught sideways a -glimpse of plunging hoofs and angry harness. Drawing -aside suddenly with all her strength, she let Gorlois sweep -up on her flank and pass her by some yards. Before he -could turn, she rode into him as fast as she could gather; -her sword clattered on his helmet,—sparks flew.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gorlois wrenched round and put his shield above his -head.</p> - -<p>“By God,—hold off,—would you have me fight a -woman?”</p> - -<p>A swinging cut rattled on his shoulder-plate for answer.</p> - -<p>Gorlois rapped out an oath and drew his sword.</p> - -<p>“Hold off!”</p> - -<p>His roar seemed to shake the trees. To Igraine it was -the mere meaningless threatening of a sea. She struck -home again and again while Gorlois foined with her; more -than once she reached his flesh.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s grim patience gave way at last; a clean cut -drew spurting blood from his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“God curse you!—take it then.”</p> - -<p>He swung his sword with a great downward sweep, a -streak of steel that struck crackling fire from the burnished -casque. Igraine’s arm dropped like a broken bough; for -half a breath she sat straight in the saddle, swayed, sank -slantwise, and slid down into the long grass. Her horse -stood still at her side, looking at her with mild blue -eyes.</p> - -<p>Gorlois gave a queer short laugh. He looked frightened -for the moment; the flush of anger had passed and left him -pale. He dismounted, bent over Igraine, unstrapped her -helmet. She was only dazed by the blow; blood trickled -red amid her hair, and her blue eyes stared him in the -face.</p> - -<p>She lifted up a hand with a bitter cry of defiance.</p> - -<p>“Strike, strike, and make an end.”</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s grimness came back, and his eyes hardened.</p> - -<p>“That were too good for you.”</p> - -<p>“Devil!”</p> - -<p>“By God, I shall tame you—never fear!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>BOOK IV</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">TINTAGEL</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a><br /><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>I</h3> -</div> - - -<p>The castle of Tintagel stood out above the sea on a headland -that rose bluffly above the white foam that girdled it. The -waves swinging in from the west seemed to lift ever a hoarse -chant about the place with their perpetual grumbling against -the cliff. Colour shifted upon the bosom of the sea. Blue, -green, and grey it would sweep into the west, netted gold -with the sun, banded with foam, or spread with purple -beneath the drifting shadow of a cloud. Hills rose in the -east. Between these crags and the sea rolled a wilderness -cloven by green valleys and a casual stream. Tintagel -seemed to crown a region grand and calamitous as the sea -itself.</p> - -<p>The sun was going down over the waters, watched by a -flaxen-haired lad squatting on the wall of an outstanding -turret. His legs dangled over the battlements, and his heels -smote against the weathered stone. There was a premature -look of age upon his face, a certain wistful wisdom as though -he had completed his novitiate early in the world. His -blue eyes, large and sensitive as a dog’s, stared away over the -golden edge of the sea.</p> - -<p>This was Jehan the bastard, a pathetic shred of humanity, -thin and motherless, blessed with nothing save a dreamy -nature that stood him in poor stead in such a hold as -Tintagel. Like any mongrel owned of none, he was given -over largely to the cuffs and curses of the community. Men -called him a fool, and treated him accordingly. He was -scullion, horse-boy, pot-bearer, by turns. The men of the -garrison could make nothing of a lad who wept at a word,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -never showed fight, but crept away to mope and snivel in a -corner. He had earned epithets enough, but little else; and -the rude Philistines of the place, beings of beer and bone, -knew little of those finer instincts with which Nature chooses -on occasion to endow a soul.</p> - -<p>At times Jehan would creep away up this turret stair to -live and breathe for a season with no friend save the ever-complaining -sea. He would perch himself on the battlements -with the salt wind blowing through his hair, the rocks -beneath him boiling foam from the waves that swept in from -the west. The perch was perilous enough, but the lad had -no fear of the windy height, or of the waves breaking against -the pediment of the cliff. To him man alone was terrible. -There appeared to be a confident understanding between -Nature and himself, a sense of good fellowship with his -surroundings, such as the chamois may feel for its mountain -pinnacle, and the bird for the tree that bears its nest.</p> - -<p>Jehan’s thin face was turned often towards the central -tower of the castle, a square campanile that stood in the -centre of the main court, forming a species of citadel or keep. -High up in the wall there was a window, a streak of gloom -that showed nothing of the room within. Over Jehan this -window possessed a peculiar influence. It was the casement-royal -of romance. Day by day, ever since Gorlois had come -south again, the lad had watched for the white oval of a face -that would look out momentarily from the shadow. Sometimes -he saw a woman’s hand, a golden head glimmering in -the sun. Jehan had seen Gorlois’s wife brought a second -time into Tintagel. Her staring grief had taken strange -hold upon his heart. Ever since, with the kindled chivalry -of a boy, he had done great deeds in dreams, handled a sword, -taken strong men by the throat. The imagined event had -fired the soul in him, and made him the disciple of these sad -and wistful eyes.</p> - -<p>A bell smote in the court below. Its iron clapper dinned -the fancies out of Jehan’s head, calling him to the menial -realities of life. It was the supper hour, and the men of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -guard would be strenuously inclined over the steaming pot, -the wine-jar, and the twisting spit. Jehan left his turret -with the pathetic cynicism of an autumn twilight. Little -drudge that he was, he yet had the inward independence to -despise the folk who fed like swine, and terrorised him with -pure blatant barbarism. He could listen to their blasphemy, -their ribald songs, and breathe the moral garlic of their -tongues with a disrelish that never wavered. He had none -of the innate impudence of youth. Had he been of coarser -fibre the men would soon have made a lewd and insolent imp -of him, but he was spared such a fate by a certain spiritual -instinct that recoiled from the vapouring brutality of it all.</p> - -<p>There seemed more ribaldry abroad in the guard-room -that night than was customary even in so pious a place. -The company, much like a pack of hounds, hunted jest after -jest from cover, and gave tongue royally with a zest that -would have been admirable in any other cause. Lamps -swirled ill-smelling smoke about the room. There was a -lavish scattering of armour along the benches, and the floor -was dirtier than the floor of any tavern.</p> - -<p>Jehan’s ears tingled as he went among the men, climbing -over sprawling legs, edging between stools and benches. -The air reeked of mead, and the miasma of loose talk rising -from twenty throats. A woman’s name was tossed from -tongue to tongue, bandied about with a familiar insolence -that made him blush for her like a brother. His heart burnt -with the bestial impudence, the sweat, the foul breath of it -all. Yet before these red-bearded faces, these vociferous -mouths, he was a coward, hating himself for his fear, hating -the men for the sheer tyranny of the flesh that awed him.</p> - -<p>To hear in this den such things spoken of a woman, and -of such a woman! That she was true his quick instinct -could aver in the very maw of the world. There was the -silver calm of the full moon in her face, and she had for him -the steadfastness, the incomprehensible eloquence, of the -stars. Were these men blind, that the staring grief, the -divine scorn, that had smitten him from the first with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -vague awe, were invisible to them? Their coarse cynicism -was brutally incomprehensible to Jehan. Having a soul, he -could not see with the eyes of the sot or the adulterer, nor -had he learnt to mistrust the intelligence of his own heart.</p> - -<p>As he laboured from man to man with his jug of mead -to keep the brown horns brimming, he thought of the -golden head that had glimmered in the criss-cross light of -the yews in the castle garden. The woman had been faithless, -to put popular report mildly; and Gorlois was a hard -man; he would see her dead before he pitied her. Jehan -was so far gone in dreams for the moment that he tripped -over an outstretched pair of legs, and shattered his stone jar -on the floor.</p> - -<p>A “God curse you,” and lavish largesse in the way of -kicks, recompensed the dreamer for this contempt of office. -Jehan, bruised, spattered with mead, crawled away under the -benches, and took refuge in a dark corner, where he could -recover his wits behind the piled pikes of the gentlemen who -cursed him. Such incidents were the trivialities of a menial -existence. Jehan wiped his face on his sleeve, choked down -his sobs with a dirty fist, and devoutly hoped to be forgotten.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile a broad figure had stood framed in the doorway, -and drawn the attention of the company from the boy -squirming like an eel along the floor. Jehan, peeping round -the pile of pikes, saw a woman in a scarlet gown standing -under a lamp that flared on the threshold. The woman was -of unusual girth and height. Her black hair streamed about -her sensual red face like clouds about a winter sun. Her -neck was like the neck of a bull, and her bare arms would -have shamed the arms of a smith. Jehan watched her as he -would have watched a natural enemy, a thing whose destiny -was to be brutish and to destroy.</p> - -<p>Men called her Malmain, the evil-handed. She was a -cub of the forest, strong as a bear, cruel as any wolf. Years -ago she had been caught as a child in the woods, tracked -down to a rocky hole, a whelp that clawed and bit, and knew -nothing of the speech of men. She had been brought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -Tintagel and bred in the place, the pet of the soldiery, who -had taught her the use of arms and the smack of wine. In -ten years she had grown to her full strength, a creature wise -in all the uncomely things of life, coarse, bold, and violent. -Last of all, Gorlois, with a genius for vengeance, had given -her charge of Igraine, his wife.</p> - -<p>The woman was good to look upon in a large, florid -fashion. She came in and sat herself down on a stool at the -end of one long wooden table, and stared round with her hard -brown eyes. One man passed her a cup, another the wine jar. -She tossed the former aside with an air of scorn, and buried -her face in the mouth of the jar. When she had taken her -pull she spat on the floor with a certain quaint deliberation, -and wiped her mouth on the back of her bare arm.</p> - -<p>A wicked innuendo came from a man grinning at her -elbow. Malmain laughed and pulled at her lip. Her presence -conferred no leavening influence upon the place, and -her sex made no claim for decorum. She was more than -capable of caring for herself in the company of these gentlemen -of the guard, for she could take her laugh and liquor -with the best of them, and claim a solid respect for a fist -that could smite like a mace.</p> - -<p>She flustered up a sigh that ended in a hiccough. “I am -tired,” she said, stretching her arms and showing the breadth -and depth of her great chest.</p> - -<p>“Go to bed, fragile one, and shake the castle.”</p> - -<p>“Little chance of that; who says I snore?”</p> - -<p>“Gildas the trumpeter.”</p> - -<p>“Curse him; how should he know?”</p> - -<p>The man questioned grinned, and shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“I meddle no further,” he said. “How is the lord’s -wife?”</p> - -<p>Malmain licked her lips and reached for the pot. She -tilted it with such gusto that the liquor overflowed and ran -down her chin. After more cat’s-pawing and a snivel she -waxed communicative with a matter-of-fact coarseness, and -like an old hound soon had the rest tonguing in her track.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Gorlois will break her yet,” quoth one.</p> - -<p>“Or bury her.”</p> - -<p>“A fit fellow, too,—and a gentleman; why can’t she -knuckle to him and play the lady?”</p> - -<p>“The woman’s worth three of that chit with the white -face; a fine brat ought to come of it.”</p> - -<p>Malmain showed her strong white teeth.</p> - -<p>“Somehow,” she said, “there’s no more cross-grained -creature than a woman with a grievance, especially when -she has been baulked of her man. Let a woman speak for -a woman, though I break the spirit of her with a whip. -There’s less fighting now; by Jesus, you should see her -bones staring through her skin.”</p> - -<p>Jehan had listened to their talk behind the pile of pikes -in the corner. The blatant cynicism of it all chilled him -like a March wind. He thought of the sad, strong face, the -patient scorn, the youth, the prophetic May of her of whom -they spoke. There was a certain terrible realism here that -tore the tender bosom of his dreams.</p> - -<p>The room stifled him with its smoke and stew. Crawling -round by the wall on all fours, he gained the door and -crept out unnoticed into the dark. In the sky above the -stars were shining. The world seemed big with peace, and -the face of the heavens shone mild and clear as the face of -God.</p> - -<p>Jehan stood under the shadow of the wall and looked -at the window high up in the tower. It was black and -lustreless, and only the dust of the stars shone up in the -vast canopy of gloom. Jehan shook his fist at the dark pile -of stone. Then he went up to the roof of the little turret -and watched the sea foaming dimly on the rocks below.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - - -<p>“I would have you know, madame, that every woman is -pleasing to man,—saving his own wife.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Who in turn is pleasing to his friend,—even if he -chance to be a king.”</p> - -<p>The woman on the couch tossed her slipper from her -small foot, and struck a series of snapping chords from the -guitar that she held in her bosom. There was a certain -rich insolence in her look,—a sensuous wickedness that was -wholly poetic. The man bent forward from his stool, lifted -the slipper, and kissed the foot whence it had fallen. He -won a smile from the face bowered up in cushions, a smile -like sunlight on a brazen mirror, brilliant, clear, metallic. -There was a fine flush on her face, and the star on her -bosom rose and fell as her breathing seemed to quicken and -deepen for the moment. Her fingers plucked waywardly at -the strings as she looked out from the window towards the sea.</p> - -<p>“I love life,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Surely.”</p> - -<p>“The pomp, the pride, the glory of being great. I have -a future for you.”</p> - -<p>A kind of spiritual echo burnt in the man’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“And my wife?”</p> - -<p>“You are still something of a madman.”</p> - -<p>“So you say.”</p> - -<p>“I—indeed!”</p> - -<p>He bent forward with a sudden eruption of passion and -kissed her foot again, till she drew it away under the folds -of her dress.</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are still a little mad,” she said, turning and -smiling at him with her quick eyes; “bide so, my dear lord; -I can suffer it.”</p> - -<p>“And yet—”</p> - -<p>“I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!”</p> - -<p>“Bah!—she cannot harm you.”</p> - -<p>“I hate her for being a martyr, for being strong, for -thinking herself a saint. Pah!—how I could scratch her -proud, big face. She humiliates me because of her misery, -because she is contented to suffer. It is impossible to -trample such a woman underfoot.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> - -<p>The man gave a queer laugh.</p> - -<p>“You are still envious.”</p> - -<p>“I envious,—I!”</p> - -<p>“Because she is never humbled, never asks mercy.”</p> - -<p>“Curse her, let her die! Come and fan me, I am -sleepy.”</p> - -<p>On the southern side of the central tower, between it and -the State quarters of the castle, lay the garden of Tintagel. -It was a lustrous nook, barriered by grey walls, sheltered -from the sea wind, and open to the full stare of the sun. -Sombre cypresses lifted their spires above flower-beds -mosaicked red, gold, and blue. The paths were tiled with -coloured stones, and bordered with helichryse. In the centre -of all a pool glimmered from a square of bright green -grass.</p> - -<p>The window in the tower that had so seized upon the -lad Jehan’s heart looked out upon this square of colour -that shone beneath the extreme blue of the summer sky. -The casement was an open mihrab whence tragedy could -look out upon the world. The glory of the sea, the sky, -the cliffs, contrasted with the twilight tint of the prison -room.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s wife sat in the window-seat and watched the -waves and the horizon with vacant eyes. She was clad in -a tattered gown of grey. Her hair had been shorn close, -leaving but a golden aureole over neck, ears, and forehead. -One hand was wrapped in a blood-stained cloth, and there -were marks left by a whip upon her face. Her gown -reached hardly to her ankles, showing bare feet and wheals, -where the scourge had been. She was very frail, very worn, -very spiritual.</p> - -<p>Her face was the face of one who looks into the solemn -sadness of the past. Her lips were pressed together as in -pain, and a certain divine despair dwelt in her deep eyes -like light reflected from some twilight pool. The muscles -stood limned in her neck like cords, and the fingers -of one hand were hooked in the neck-band of her gown.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> - -<p>Many days had passed since the life in Garlotte’s valley. -They had taught Igraine the deeds that might result from -the stirring of the passions of such a man as Gorlois. It was -a strenuous age, and men’s souls were cast in large mould -either to the image of good or evil. Even Boethius could -not escape the malice of a great king. Attila had scourged -the nations with a scourge of steel. Old things were passing -amid disruption and despair. Gorlois had caught the -Titanic, violent spirit of the age. His personality had won -a lurid emphasis from tragedies that shook the world.</p> - -<p>Igraine had suffered many things, shame, torture, famine, -since she had fallen again into his power. The man had -shown no pity, only a fine fecundity in his devices for the -breaking of her spirit. He could be barbarous as any Hun, -and though she had guessed his fibre, it was not till these -latter days that she learnt to know him more fully to her -own distress. It was not the physical alone that oppressed -her; Gorlois had imagination, ingenuity; he made her moral -sufferings keener than the lash, and subordinated the flesh -to the spirit. Igraine withstood him through it all. She -felt in her heart that she was going to die.</p> - -<p>As she sat at the window, the sound of laughter came -up suddenly from the garden, glowing in the sunlight. -Mere mockery might have been its inspiration, so light, so -merry, and so mellow was it. Igraine heard it, and leant -forward over the sill to gain a broader view of the tiled -walks and flower-beds below. She saw a woman dart out -of a doorway in the wall opposite, and run in very dainty -fashion, holding her skirts gathered in one hand, the other -flourishing a posy of red roses. As she ran she laughed with -an unrestrained extravagance that had in it something -sensual and alluring.</p> - -<p>Igraine watched her with a badge of colour in her cheeks. -The woman in the garden was clad in a tunic of sky-blue -silk that ran down her body like flowing water. The tunic -was cut low at the neck so as to show her white breast, -whereon shone a little cross of gold. Her hair shimmered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -loose about her in the sunlight like an amber veil. Her -lips were tinctured with vermilion; her face seemed white -as apple blossom, and shadows had been painted under her -lids. She moved with a graceful, sinuous air, her blue gown -rippling about her, her small feet, slippered with silver -embroidery, flashing glibly over the stones.</p> - -<p>A man was following her among the cypresses, and -Igraine saw that it was Gorlois, sunburnt and strong, with -ruddy arms, and the strenuous zest of manhood. There -was something unpleasing in the muscular movement of his -mood. He was Græcian and antique, a Mars striding with -the red face of no godly love; sheer bovine vigour in the -curves of his strong throat.</p> - -<p>Igraine saw the woman run round the garden, laughing -as she went, her hair blowing behind her in the sunlight. -She turned up the central path that led to the pool, with its -little lawn closed by a balustrade of carved stone. Morgan -la Blanche stood by the water and watched Gorlois abjuring -the paths and striding towards her, knee-deep in blue and -purple. He leapt the balustrade, and stood looking at the -woman laughing at him through her hair.</p> - -<p>The red roses were thrust into Gorlois’s face as he came -to closer quarters. There was a short scuffle before the girl -abandoned herself to him with a kind of sensuous languor. -Igraine saw her body wrapped up in the man’s brown arms.</p> - -<p>It was a minute or more before the two became aware -of the face at the window overhead. Igraine found them -staring up at her, Gorlois’s swarthy face close to the -woman’s light aureole of hair as she stood buttressed against -his broad chest. By instinct Igraine drew back into the -room, till pride conquered this shrinking impulse. She -leant forward upon her hands and stared down at the two, -allegorical as Truth shaming Falsehood.</p> - -<p>The woman, meanwhile, had drawn aside from Gorlois’s -arms. She was pulling the roses to pieces, and scattering -the red petals on the water, and there was a peevish sneer -upon her lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ever this white death,” she said.</p> - -<p>Igraine saw the impatient gesturing of Morgan’s hands, -the tap of the embroidered slipper on the grass. The -woman’s words seemed to trouble Gorlois; he stood aside, -and did not look at her, even when she edged away, watching -him over her shoulder. It was a conflict of dishonourable -sensations. Morgan jerked a quick look from her -large blue eyes at the window overhead. There was -nothing but rampant egotism upon her face, and it was -evident that she trusted on Gorlois to follow her. He -was staring swarthily into the water as though he watched -the fish moving in the shallow basin. He hardly heeded -Morgan as she picked up her pride and left him. Other -thoughts seemed to have strong hold upon his mind, and -he stood at gaze till the blue gown disappeared under the -arch of the door it had so lately quitted.</p> - -<p>Gorlois leant against the balustrade and pulled his -moustachios. His eyes had no very spiritual look, and his -red lower lip drooped like an unfurled scroll. More than -once he cast a quick, restless glance at the window in the -tower. Irresolution seemed to run largely through his -mood, and it was some while before he gathered his manhood -and passed up an avenue of cypresses towards the tower. -At the foot of the stairway he stood pulling his lip, and -staring at the stones, oppressed by a certain dubiousness of -thought.</p> - -<p>Climbing the stairs, he found the woman Malmain in an -alcove, asleep on a settle. Her head had fallen back against -the wall, her mouth was agape, and she was snoring with -her black hair tumbled over her face. Gorlois woke her -with his foot.</p> - -<p>The woman started up with the growl of a watch-dog, -stared, and stood silent. Gorlois, curt as a man burdened -with a purpose, spoke few words to her. She opened a -door by a certain, mechanical catch, went in, and closed it -after her.</p> - -<p>Half an hour passed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> - -<p>The door rolled again on its hinges. Malmain came out -and stood before Gorlois on the threshold. She was breathing -hard, and sweat stood on her face. Gorlois gave her -a look and a word, passed in, and slammed the door after -him. Malmain sat down on the settle, wiped her face, and -listened.</p> - -<p>For a minute or more she heard nothing. An indefinite -sound broke the silence, like the moving of branches in a -wind at night. There was the sound of hard breathing, -and the creaking of wood. Something clattered to the -floor.</p> - -<p>“God judge between you and me.”</p> - -<p>The voice was half-stifled as with the choking bitterness -of great shame. Malmain grinned in her corner, and leant -her head against the door to listen the better.</p> - -<p>“What of God!” said the man’s voice with a certain -hot scorn; “what is God?”</p> - -<p>“Take your knife and end it.”</p> - -<p>“Madame wife, there is good in you yet.”</p> - -<p>There was silence again, like a lull betwixt ecstasies of -rain. Presently the woman’s voice was heard, low, sullen, -shamed.</p> - -<p>“Man—man, let me die!”</p> - -<p>“Own me master.”</p> - -<p>“You—you! How can I lie in my throat!”</p> - -<p>“Is truth so new a thing?”</p> - -<p>“You have taught me to love death.”</p> - -<p>Malmain heard Gorlois’s hand upon the door. She -opened it forthwith; he came out upon the threshold. -His hands were trembling, and his face seemed dull, his -eyes passionless.</p> - -<p>“I shall tame you yet,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You can kill me!” came the retort from the room.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - - -<p>There was in Tintagel a certain man named Mark, a -legionary of the guard. The castle had known him two -months or less, when he had come south into Cornwall -with Gorlois’s troop from Caerleon. He was an olive-skinned -mercenary, black of beard and black of eye. In -the guard-room he had become vastly popular; he could -harp, tell a tale, hurl the bar, with any man in the garrison. -He was strong and agile as a panther, and as ready with -his tongue as he was with his sword. His comrades thought -him a merry rapscallion enough, a good fellow whose life -was rounded comfortably by the needs of the flesh. He -could drink and jest, eat, sleep, and be happy.</p> - -<p>Women have quick instinct for a man of mettle, one -whose capabilities for pleasing are somewhat of a perilous -kind. Malmain of the Forest had taken note of Mark’s -black eyes, his olive skin, the immense self-control that -seemed to bridle him. He had a fine leg, and a most -gentlemanly hand. Moreover, his inimitable impudence, -his supple wit, took her fancy, seeing that he was a man who -professed a superb scorn for petticoats, and posed as being -wise beyond his generation. There was a certain insolent -independence about him that seemed to make of him a -philosopher, a person pleased with the puerilities of others.</p> - -<p>It came about that Malmain—clumsy, lumbering creature—took -to heaving stupendous sighs under the very -nose of Mark of the guard. She had not been bred to -reservations. If she liked a man, she told him the truth, -with a certain admirable frankness. If she hated him, he -could always rely upon her fist. Any ethical principle was -like a book to her—very curious, no doubt, but absolutely -beyond her understanding.</p> - -<p>Now the man Mark was a person of intelligence and -discretion. He needed the woman’s friendship for diplomatic -reasons snared up in his own long skull, and since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -such partisanship could be won by a look and a word, he -soon had Malmain very much at his service. Shrewd and -cunning wench that she was in the course of nature, she -was somewhat easily fooled by the man’s suave impudence. -She haunted Mark like a shadow when off her duty,—a -very substantial shadow, be it noted,—and made it extravagantly -plain that she was blessed after all with some of the -sentiments of a woman.</p> - -<p>One evening, being in the mood, she caught him in a -bye-passage as he came off guard. He was in armour, and -carried a spear slanted over his shoulder. His burnished -casque seemed to give a fine setting to his strong, sallow face.</p> - -<p>Malmain, generous creature, filled the passage like a -gate. Her face matched her scarlet smock, and she was -grinning like some grotesque head from the antique. Mark -came to a halt, and leaning on his spear, looked at her in -the most bland manner possible. He did not trust women -overmuch, and he mistrusted Malmain in particular. Moreover, -she smacked of the wine-cask.</p> - -<p>The woman edged close, and shook a fist in his face -with a certain bluff enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“A bargain! a bargain!”</p> - -<p>The passage was open to the west, and a glare of sunlight -shimmered into Mark’s eyes. He could only see the -woman as a great blur, a mass of trailing hair, a loose, -exuberant smock haloed with gold.</p> - -<p>“Ha! my cherub, you seem in fettle.”</p> - -<p>The fist still flickered in his face.</p> - -<p>“A bargain! a bargain!”</p> - -<p>“Mother of mercy! you are in such a devil of a -hurry.”</p> - -<p>“A kiss for what’s in my hand.”</p> - -<p>“A buffet—big one—a rush-ring, or a garter?”</p> - -<p>“That tongue of yours; look and see, look and see!”</p> - -<p>Malmain spread her fingers. The man saw a ring of -gold carved in the form of a dragon, with rubies for eyes, -and a collar of emeralds about its throat. Lying in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -woman’s moist, fat palm, it glimmered in the slant light of -the sun. Mark’s eyes glittered as he looked at it.</p> - -<p>“I had the thing from the woman above,” quoth Malmain, -jerking her thumb over her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“A bribe?”</p> - -<p>“Who’d bribe me? Not a woman!”</p> - -<p>“Honest soul.”</p> - -<p>“‘That ring looks well on your finger,’ said I. ‘I shall -have it.’ ‘Never!’ said she. ‘That’s too big a word,’ -said I. So I forced it off, for all her temper, and broke -her finger in the doing of it.”</p> - -<p>A transient shadow seemed to pass across the man’s face, -the wraith of a ghost-wrath insensible to the world.</p> - -<p>“Close the bargain, cherub.”</p> - -<p>“A buss for it.”</p> - -<p>“Twenty kisses in a week, and my mug of supper beer.” -He had the ring.</p> - -<p>Malmain did not stand alone in her devotion to Mark of -the guard. The man had come by another friend in Tintagel, -a friend without influence, it is true, but one, at least, -who possessed abundant individuality, and the charm of an -ingenuous nature. Mark was no mere bravo when he turned -partisan to the lad Jehan, and took him within the pale of -his mothering wit. He had a profound knowledge of men, -and a philosophic insight into character that had not been -gained solely on the march or in the ale-house. By profession -he appeared a devil-may-care gentleman of the sword, -a man of bone and muscle, the possessor of a vigorous -stomach. These attributes were mere stage properties, so -to speak, necessary to him for the occasion. For the rest, -he knew what he knew.</p> - -<p>Mark had seen more than cowardice in the sensitive face -of the lad. He had discovered the soul beneath the surface, -the warmer, bolder personality behind the deceit of the flesh. -Jehan appealed to him as a friendless thing, a vial of glass -jostled in the stream of life by rough potsherds and sounding -bowls. Mark took the lad in hand and made a disciple of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -him in less than a week. He humoured the lad, encouraged -him, treated him like a comrade, drew the soul out of his -limp, starved body. Jehan had never fallen upon such a -friend before. He was bewitched by the man’s personality. -This Mark with the strong face and the falcon’s eye seemed -to see deep into the finer sentiments of life, to think as he -thought, to conceive as he conceived. Jehan, unconscious -little idealist that he was, bubbled over into innumerable -confidences and confessions of feeling. This dark-eyed -man, who never laughed at him, whose voice was never -blatant and threatening, seemed to exert a magnetic influence -upon his spirit. Jehan throned him a species of demigod, -and idolised him as he had idolised few living things on -earth before.</p> - -<p>There was more method in Mark’s friendship than his -comrades of the guard ever dreamt of in their thick noddles. -They had many a laugh at Malmain and many a jest at her -expense, but their wit never worked beyond vulgar banality. -As for Jehan, his existence certainly seemed to better itself -so far as they were concerned, though what the man Mark -could see worth patronising in the lad, they were at a loss to -discover. Jehan grew less servile, less diffident, more open -of countenance. He hided a cook-boy of his own age in a -casual scuffle. Mark had used a strong arm and a stronger -wit for him on occasion, and the little bastard was no longer -cuffed at the random pleasure of every gentleman of Gorlois’s -guard.</p> - -<p>Jehan often spoke to Mark of the lady of the tower whose -hair was like the red-gold cloak of autumn. The man -seemed ready to hear of her beauty and her distress, and all -the multitudinous tales concerning her given from the guard-room. -He kindled to the romantic possibilities of the affair, -and was as full of sentiment as Jehan himself could wish. -Saying little at first, he watched the lad with keen, discerning -eyes, as though tracing out the trend, depth, and sincerity of -his sympathies; nor was he long ignorant of the strain of -chivalry that was sounding in the lad’s heart. The more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -generous sentiments leapt out in a look, a word, a colouring -of the cheek. Given inspiration, it was possible to make a -fanatic of the boy, a hero in the higher rendering of the -term.</p> - -<p>In due course the man grew more communicative, less -of a listener. Jehan heard of Avangel, of the island manor -in Andredswold, of Pelleas, and of the days in Winchester. -The whole tragedy was spread before him like a legend, some -mighty passion throe of the past. He listened open-mouthed, -with blue eyes that searched the man’s face. Mark had -taken to himself of a sudden an air of mystery and peril. -Jehan knew by intuition that these matters were to be kept -secret as the grave. Great pride rose in him at being held -worthy of such trust. He felt even aggrieved when Mark -spoke to him of discretion, with a finger on his lip. Such a -secret was like a hoard of gold to the lad. It pleased him -with a sense of responsibility and of faith, and Jehan loved -honour, for all his novitiate amid the morals of the guard-room.</p> - -<p>He had drunk deep of old songs, and of the heroics of -the harp. Such things were like moonlight to him, touching -his soul with a lustre of idyllic truth. He began to -dream dreams, and to speculate extravagantly as to the things -that were yet hid from his knowledge. It was borne in upon -his mind that Mark was this Pelleas in disguise, come to -save Igraine from Gorlois and the towers of Tintagel. The -notion took his heart by storm, and his sympathies hovered -over the woman like so many scarlet-winged moths. He -desired greatly to speak to Mark of that which was in his -heart, but feared to seem mischievous and lacking in discretion.</p> - -<p>Some three days after Malmain had given Mark the Lady -Igraine’s ring, Gorlois rode hunting with Morgan la Blanche -and a train of knights and damsels. Half the castle turned -out to see them sally with their ten couple of hounds in -leash, and a goodly company of prickers and beaters. Gareth -the minstrel rode with the company on a white horse and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> -sang to the harp a hunting song, and then a chant d’amour. -Morgan’s laugh was as clear as a bell pealing over water as -she rode at Gorlois’s side in the sunlight, her silks and -samites and gold-green tissues fluttering in the wind.</p> - -<p>Jehan ran over the bridge to see them go down into the -valley. The dogs tugged at the thongs, the boar spears -glittered, the dresses threaded the maze of green as roses -thread a briar. Jehan climbed a rock, exulting in the life, -the spirit, the colour of it all. Gareth’s strong voice came -up from the valley as he sang of love and of the fairness of -women. Jehan envied him his harp and the honour that it -won him. It was his own hope to sing of the beauty of the -world, the green ecstasy of spring, of autumn forests flaming -to the sky, the eternal sorrow of the tortured sea. He came -by this same desire in later years when he sang to Arthur -and Guinevere and Launcelot of the Lake in the gardens of -Caerleon.</p> - -<p>A hand plucked him by the heel as he lay curled on the -rock watching, the cavalcade flickering away into the green. -Looking down, he saw the strong face of Mark of the guard. -There was a smile on the man’s lips, and to Jehan there -seemed something prophetic in his eyes. He climbed down -and stood looking into the other’s face, the mute, trusting -look of a dog.</p> - -<p>Mark took him by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“The sea is blue and gold, and the ‘Priest’s Pool’ like -a violet well.”</p> - -<p>“There is time for a swim.”</p> - -<p>“We will watch for a sail from the cliffs.”</p> - -<p>“And you will tell me more of Pelleas and Igraine.”</p> - -<p>Mark was in a visionary mood; he used his spear as a -staff and talked little. A sleepy sea bubbled a line of foam -along the shore. Bleak slopes rolled greenly against an -azure sky, and landwards crag and woodland stood steeped -in a mist of sunlight. Jehan, sedulous and reverent, watched -the passionless calm of thought upon the man’s face. His -eyes were turned constantly towards the sea with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -hope of one waiting for a white sail from the underworld.</p> - -<p>When they had gone a mile or more along the cliffs, -they came to a path leading to a bay whose lunette of sand -shone red gold above the foam. It was a place of crags and -headlands, poised sea billows, purple waters pressing from -the west. Jehan sat on a stone and waited. Mark took his -cloak and bound it to the staff of his spear. Jehan watched -him as he stood at his full height like a tall pine on the edge -of the cliff and lifted his spear at arm’s length above his -head. Seawards, dim and distant like a pearl over the purple -sea, Jehan saw a sail strike out of the vague west. Mark -still held the cloak upon his spear. Jehan understood something -of all this. His mind, packed with plots and subtleties, -shone with the silvery aureole of romance.</p> - -<p>The sail grew against the sky, and a ship loomed gradual -out of the west. Mark shook the cloak from his spear, and -climbed down the path that curled from the cliff with Jehan -at his heels. Below, the waves swirled in amid the rocks -and ran ripple on ripple up the yellow sand. The whole -place seemed filled with the hoarse underchant of the sea.</p> - -<p>In a narrow part of the track Mark stopped suddenly, -and stood leaning on his spear. Jehan nearly blundered -into him, but saved himself by the help of a tuft of grass. -The man’s face was on a level with the lad’s, and his eyes -seemed to look into Jehan’s soul.</p> - -<p>He pointed to the distant headland, where the towers of -Tintagel rose against the sky.</p> - -<p>“Death waits yonder,” he said.</p> - -<p>“For whom?”</p> - -<p>“Igraine,—Gorlois’s wife.”</p> - -<p>Jehan looked at him with all his soul. The man was -no longer the quaint, vapouring soldier, but a being of -different mould, keen, solemn, even magnificent. Jehan -felt himself on the verge of romance; the man’s face seemed -to stare down fear.</p> - -<p>“And Pelleas!” he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>“Art thou not Pelleas?”</p> - -<p>Mark smiled in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Your dreams fly too fast,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And yet—”</p> - -<p>“You would see some one play the hero. Who knows -but that a bastard may save a kingdom.”</p> - -<p>Mark moved on down the path, stopping now and again -to watch the ship at sea; Jehan followed at his heels. They -reached the beach, and saw the waves rolling in on them -from the west, with the white belly of a sail showing over -the water. Mark made no further tarrying in the matter. -Standing on a stretch of sand levelled smooth by the water, -he traced a cross thereon with the point of his spear.</p> - -<p>“Swear by the cross.”</p> - -<p>Jehan’s face was turned to the man’s, eager and enquiring.</p> - -<p>“To whom shall I swear troth?” he said.</p> - -<p>“To Gorlois’s wife.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“And to the King.”</p> - -<p>“The King!”</p> - -<p>Jehan crossed himself with great good-will.</p> - -<p>“By the blood of the Lord Jesu, I swear troth.”</p> - -<p>They went down close to the waste of waters, and let -the spume sweep almost to their feet. A vast blue bank of -clouds mountained the far west; the sea seemed deep in -colour as an amethyst. Gulls were winging and wailing -about the cliffs. Tintagel stood out in its strength against -the sky, and they could see the waves white upon its rocks.</p> - -<p>Mark took the ring Malmain had given him from a -pouch at his belt, and held the gold circle before the lad’s -eyes.</p> - -<p>“From the hand of Gorlois’s wife,” he said.</p> - -<p>Jehan nodded.</p> - -<p>“This ring was given her by that Pelleas.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Who is Uther Pendragon, the King.”</p> - -<p>Jehan’s blue eyes seemed to dilate till they looked strangely -large in his thin white face.</p> - -<p>“The King!” he said, in a kind of whisper.</p> - -<p>Mark made all plain to him in a few words.</p> - -<p>“The Lady Igraine loved Pelleas, as well she might, not -knowing him to be Ambrosius’s brother. It was this same -great love that brought her in peril of Gorlois’s sword. It -is this same love that draws her down to her death—there -in Tintagel. Uther Pendragon is at Caerleon; her hope -is with him. You, Jehan, shall carry word of this to the King.”</p> - -<p>The lad’s heart was beating like the heart of a giant. -The world seemed to expand about him, to grow luminous -with the glory of great deeds; he had the braying of a -hundred trumpets in his ears. He heard swords ring, saw -banners blow, and towers topple like smitten trees.</p> - -<p>“I am the King’s servant,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You have sworn troth; so be it. You shall go to the -King, to Uther Pendragon, at Caerleon. Tell him you had -this ring from a soldier, bribed to deliver it by the Lady -Igraine. Tell him the evil that is done to her in the castle -of Tintagel. Tell him all—withhold nothing.”</p> - -<p>Jehan flushed to the temples; his lips moved, but no -words came from them. He stood stiff and erect, looking -out to sea, following with his eyes the sweep of Mark’s -spear.</p> - -<p>“I am the King’s servant,” he said.</p> - -<p>The ship had drawn in towards the shore. She was -lying to with her sails put aback, her black hull rising and -falling morosely against the tumultuous purple of the clouds. -Nearer still a small galley came heading for the shore with -a gush of foam at her prow as the men in her bent to the -oars. The galley came swinging in on the broad backs of -the sluggish waves, and shooting the surf, grounded on the -sands, the men in her leaping out and dragging her beyond -the reach of the sea.</p> - -<p>There was a more mellow light on Mark’s face as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -pointed Jehan to the boat, and the ship swaying on the -sun-gilded waves.</p> - -<p>“They will carry you to Caerleon,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And you, sire?”</p> - -<p>“There is need of me at Tintagel.”</p> - -<p>“I have sworn troth.”</p> - -<p>Jehan stood and looked into the west at the clouds gold-ribbed, -domed, snow, and purple. His face might have been -lit by the warm glow of a lamp, so clear and radiant was it. -He had thrust the King’s ring into his bosom.</p> - -<p>“The Lord Jesu speed me,” he said; “through the Lady -Igraine’s face I am no longer a coward. God speed me to -save her!”</p> - -<p>Mark kissed him on the forehead.</p> - -<p>“You have a soul in you,” he said.</p> - -<p>The man stood on the strand under the black cliffs and -watched the boat climb the waves. He saw the galley hoisted -up, the sails flapping in the wind as the ship sheered out -and ran for the open sea. Her sails gleamed white against -the tumultuous west, and the ridged waters hid her hull. -Overhead, the gulls screamed and circled. Mark, shouldering -his spear, turned back and climbed the cliff, with his -face towards the towers of Tintagel.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p>A galley came up the Usk towards dawn, towards dawn -when the woods were hung with mist, and a vast quiet -brooded over the world. The river made a moist murmur -through reeds and sedge, seeming to chant of golden meads -as it ran to wed the sea. All the eastern casements of Caerleon -glimmered gold as the dawn struck over wood and hill; -the city’s walls smiled out of the night; her vanes and towers -were noosed as with fire. The galley drew to the great -quay, and poled to the steps as the city awoke.</p> - -<p>A lad, with his russet mantle turned up over his girdle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -passed up from the galley and the quay towards the southern -gate of the city of Caerleon. His step was sanguine, his face -deep with dreams. He seemed to personate “Youth” entering -that city of woeful magic that poets and painters name -“Romance.”</p> - -<p>Within the walls the stir of life had been sounded in -by the clarions of the dawn. Seafaring men went down to -the river and their ships. At the gate arms rang, tumbrils -rumbled. Slim girls passed out into the orchards and the -fields, under the trees all heavily grained, russet and green -and gold. Women drew water at the wells. The merchant -folk in the market square spread their stalls for the day—fruit, -flesh, fish, cloth, and the fabrics of the East, armour -and brazen jars, vases of strange device.</p> - -<p>The city pleased the lad as he passed through its stirring -streets, and took the vigour of it, the human symbolism, -into his soul. His idealism shed a glamour over the place; -how red and white were its maidens; how fair its stately -houses; how splendid the clashing armour of its guards. -In the market square he asked a wizened apple-seller concerning -the palace, and was pointed to the wooded hill where -white walls rose above the green. Jehan solaced himself -with a couple of ruddy apples from the stall. It was early -yet for the palace, so the seller said, and Jehan sat down by -a fountain where doves flew, and thought of his errand as -he watched the folk go by.</p> - -<p>The sun was high before he came to the great gate leading -to the gardens of the King. It chanced to be a great -day at Caerleon, a day of public appeal, when Uther played -patriarch to his people, and sat to hear the prayers of the -wronged or the oppressed. Hence it followed that Jehan, -pressing in at the gate, found himself one among many, one -of a herd, a boy among his elders. In the antechamber of -the palace he was edged into a corner, elbowed and kept -there by stouter clients who, as a mere matter of course, -shouldered a boy to the wall. Argument availed nothing. -Men were used to plausible tales for winning precedence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -and each considered his especial matter the most pressing in -the eyes of justice. The crowd overawed him. The doorkeepers -thrust him back with their staves when he waxed -importunate and attempted to parley. Often he bethought -him of the ring, but, being quick to suspect theft in such a -mob, he kept the talisman tight in his tunic, and trusted to -time and the powers of patience.</p> - -<p>What with giving way to women whose sex commended -them, and men whose strength and egotism seemed vested -in their elbows, Jehan was fended far from the door all day. -A squabbling, querulous crowd filled the place; women -with grievances, merchants who had been plundered on the -road; peasants, priests, soldiers; beggars and adventurers; -a Jew banker whom some Christian had taken by the beard; -a farmer whose wife had taken a fancy to a gentleman’s -bed. It was a stew of envy, discontent, and misfortune. -Jehan, whose none too sumptuous clothing did him little -service, was shouldered casually into the background. “Take -second place to a brat of a boy! God forbid such an -indignity!” The vexed folk believed vigorously in the -premiership of years.</p> - -<p>It was well towards evening when Jehan, who had gone -fasting save for a rye-cake, found himself the last to claim -audience of the King. A fat pensioner, yawning phenomenally -and dreaming of supper, eyed him with little favour -from the top step of the stair. The day had been a -crowded one, and the savoury scent of roast flesh assailed the -senses of the gentleman of the “white wand.” Jehan braved -the occasion with heart thumping, produced the ring, and -held it as a charm under the doorkeeper’s nose.</p> - -<p>There was an abrupt revulsion in the methods of this -domestic demigod. Doors opened as by a magic word; -servants went to and fro; bells sounded. A grey-bearded -Pharisee appeared, scanned the lad over with an aristocratic -contempt, beckoned him to follow. The man with the -white wand refrained for a moment from yawning over the -paltriness of the world at large.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jehan, taken by galleries and curtained doors, and disenchanted -somewhat with the palatial régime, found himself -in a chapel casemented towards the west. Lamps burnt -upon the altar, and a priest knelt upon the steps as in -prayer. Sacramental vessels glimmered at the feet of the -frescoed saints. A fragrant scent of musk and lavender lay -heavy on the air.</p> - -<p>Jehan saw a man standing by a window, a man girded -with a sword, and garbed in no light and joyous fashion. The -man’s face possessed a kind of sorrowful grandeur, a solemn -kindliness that struck home into the lad’s heart. The eyes -that met his were eyes such as women and children trust. -Jehan guessed speedily enough that this was the King.</p> - -<p>There was a certain intuition big in him, prophesying of -the pain that burdened his message. He faltered for the -moment, knelt down, looked into the man’s eyes, and took -courage. There was a questioning calm in them that -quieted him like the dew of prayer. He took the ring and -gave it into the King’s hand.</p> - -<p>“From the Lady Igraine,” was his plea.</p> - -<p>Now Jehan, though he looked no higher than Uther’s -knees, saw him rock and sway like some great poplar in a -storm. A strange lull seemed to fall sudden upon the -world. The lad listened to the beating of his own heart, -and wondered. He had soul enough to imagine the large -utterance of those few words of his.</p> - -<p>A deep voice startled him.</p> - -<p>“Your message.”</p> - -<p>He knelt there and told his tale, simply, and without -clamour.</p> - -<p>“It is the truth, sire,” he said at the end thereof, “so may -I drink again of the Lord’s blood, and eat his bread at the -holy table.”</p> - -<p>“My God, what truth!”</p> - -<p>The man’s voice swept the chapel like a wind, deep, -sonorous, and terrible. The large face, the broad forehead, -the deep-set eyes were turned to the casement and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> -west. The face was like the face of one who looks into -hell. Jehan, on his knees, looked up and shivered. He -had told the truth, and the storm awed him like a miracle. -It seemed almost impious to be witness of a wrath that was -as the righteous passion of a god.</p> - -<p>“Gorlois tortures her?”</p> - -<p>“To her death, sire.”</p> - -<p>“The whole—spare nothing.”</p> - -<p>“She is starved and scourged, and harlots mock her.”</p> - -<p>“God!”</p> - -<p>“They drag her soul in the mire.”</p> - -<p>It was sunset, and all the sky burnt gold and crimson in -the west. Every lozenge of glass in the casement shone -red as with fire. Beyond Caerleon a mysterious gloom of -trees rolled blackly against the chaos of the decline. The -whole world seemed glamoured and steeped in a ghostly -quiet. Usk, a band of shadowy gold, ran with vague -glimmerings to the sea.</p> - -<p>The King spread his arms to the west, and under his -black brows his eyes smouldered.</p> - -<p>“Am I Uther of Britain—and a King?”</p> - -<p>And again in a deep half-heard whisper—</p> - -<p>“Igraine! Igraine! thou art true unto death.”</p> - -<p>From the terrace below came sudden the sound of -harping. It was Rivalin, the Court minstrel, singing as the -sun went down—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Quenched be all the bitter pain,</div> - <div class="verse">When the roses bloom again</div> - <div class="verse">Eyes shall smile through glimmering tears.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>The face of the King was like the face of a man who -sees a vision. All the glow of the hills seemed in his eyes. -His hands shook as he stretched them to the west, the west -that was a chasm of torrential gold.</p> - -<p>“Igraine,” he said, as in a dream.</p> - -<p>And again—</p> - -<p>“Tintagel will I hurl into the sea.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jehan knelt and looked mutely at the King. The gloom -of the roof seemed to cover him like a canopy, and the -frescoes glimmered through the blue shadows. Uther wore -a small crucifix about his neck. Jehan, full of a sense of -tragedy, saw him tear the crucifix from its chain, and cast -it at his feet. The priest at the altar, haloed by the -glowing of his lamps, looked at the King, white and wondering. -It was an exultant voice that made the chalice -quiver.</p> - -<p>“Hitherto I have served a God,” it said; “now I will -serve my own soul!”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>V</h3> -</div> - - -<p>The woman’s face, haloed by the gloom of the casement, -still looked out from Tintagel over the solitary grandeur -of sea and cliff. Igraine saw ships pass seldom athwart the -west, but they brought no hope for her, for she thought -herself alone, and served of none. How should Uther the -King know that she was mewed in Tintagel at Gorlois’s -pleasure! Had he not commended her to the calm orchards -and cloisters of a nunnery? Even the ring he had given -her had been stolen by sheer force. Days came and went, -dawn flooded the eastern woods with gold, and evening -tossed her torches in the west. To Igraine they were as -alike as the gulls that wheeled and winged white over the -blue waters.</p> - -<p>There are few men of such despicable fibre that they -are wholly ruled by the egotism of the flesh. Your -complete villain is no frequent prodigy, being more the -denizen of the regions of romance than of the common, -trafficking, trivial world. There are bad men enough, but -few Neros. Give a human being passions, pride, and -intense egotism, and his potential energy for evil is unbounded. -Virtue is often a mere matter of habit or circumstance. -Joseph might have ended otherwise if Potiphar’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -wife had had more wit; and as for Judas, he was unfortunate -in being made banker to a God.</p> - -<p>Gorlois of Cornwall was beholden to his own strenuous, -north-winded nature for any trouble he might incur in his -madness against Igraine. However much he braved it out -to his own conscience, he knew well enough whether he -was content or no. He was a strong man, and selfish, -resentful, and very human. He was no Oriental monster, -no mere Herod. What magnanimity he possessed towards -his wife had been frozen into a wolfish scorn by the things -that had passed in Garlotte’s valley in Wales. Moreover, -he had a bad woman at his elbow. Like many a vexed -and restless man, he had turned to ambition, and the darker -features of his character were being developed thereby. A -king had wronged him; it was easy for a great noble to lay -plots against a king. War and the clamour of war became -like the prophetic sound of a storm from afar in his ears.</p> - -<p>Little comment had followed upon the disappearance of -the lad Jehan on the day when Gorlois and his knights had -ridden hunting. No one cared for the lad; no one missed -him materially. Casual gossip arose thereon in the guard-room. -The lad had risked the halter or the branding-iron, -and sundry threats were launched after him at random. -Mark of the guard shrugged his shoulders and laughed.</p> - -<p>“There’s pluck in the lad,” he said, “for all your bullying. -By my faith, I guess he grew tired of kicks and leavings, -and of being cursed by so many sons of the pot. -Bastard or no bastard, the lad’s no fool.”</p> - -<p>The guard-room scoffed complacently at the notion. -Jehan do anything in the world but snivel! Not he! -These gentlemen judged of a man’s worth by the animal -propensities of the creature. They weighed a man as they -would weigh an ox—for flesh, and the breed in him. -Mark, making a show of warming to his wine, enlightened -his men further as to Jehan’s disappearance.</p> - -<p>“The lad and I went to bathe,” he said; "there was a -ship in the offing, and sailors had come ashore to get water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> -by St. Isidore’s spring. They wanted a lad for cabin -service, so I took two gold pieces, and told them to kidnap -Jehan."</p> - -<p>A laugh hailed the confession, a laugh that changed to a -cheer when Mark won accomplices by casting largesse for -a scramble on the guard-room floor.</p> - -<p>“I wish them luck of him,” said the captain, pocketing -silver; “devil of a spark could I ever knock out of the lad.”</p> - -<p>“May be you hit too hard.”</p> - -<p>“May be not. I’ll lay my fist against a rope’s-end for -education.”</p> - -<p>“Mark takes his wine like a gentleman,” quoth one.</p> - -<p>“May he get drunk on pay day.”</p> - -<p>“And sell another Joseph into Egypt.”</p> - -<p>The woman Malmain came in to join them, corpulent -and thirsty. Superabundant and colossal, she impressed a -strenuous and didactic mood upon the company, grumbling -like a volcano, emitting a smoke of mighty unfeminine -gossip. Her black eyes wandered continually towards Mark -of the guard. She watched him with a certain air of possession -amid all her sweat and jabber, laughing when he -laughed, making herself a coarse echo to his will.</p> - -<p>Some one spoke of Gorlois’s wife. So personal a subject -moved Malmain to mystery on the instant. She tapped her -forehead with her finger; shook her head with a significance -that was sufficient for the occasion.</p> - -<p>“Mad!” said the captain of the guard.</p> - -<p>Malmain sucked her lips and yawned with her great -chasm of a mouth.</p> - -<p>“She was always that,” she said with a hiccough.</p> - -<p>“Paradise, eh?”</p> - -<p>“And golden harps!”</p> - -<p>“And, damme, no beer!”</p> - -<p>There was a certain flavour in the last remark that made -the men roar.</p> - -<p>“I wonder where they’ll bury her,” said the captain.</p> - -<p>“Throw her into the sea.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Gorlois’s little wench won’t weep her eyes out.”</p> - -<p>Malmain smote a stupendous hip, and tumbled to the -notion. The settle shook and creaked under her as though -in protest.</p> - -<p>“We’ll all get married,” she said; “Mark, my man, -don’t blush.”</p> - -<p>Babylon was compassed round! The same evening a -soldier on the walls of Tintagel saw a dim throng of sails -rise whitely out of the west. The streaks of canvas stood -above the sea touched by the light of the setting sun. -There was something ominous in these gleaming sails -sweeping in a wide half-circle out of the unknown. A -motley throng of castle folk gathered on the walls. Men -spoke of the barbarians and of Ireland as they watched the -ships rising solemn and silent from the west. Gorlois himself -climbed up into a tower and gazed long at these sails -whose haven was as yet unknown. He learnt little by the -scrutiny. The ships had hardly risen above the purple -twilight when night came and shrouded the whole in vague -and impenetrable gloom.</p> - -<p>Gorlois ordered the castle into a state of siege, and with -the night an atmosphere of suspense gathered about Tintagel.</p> - -<p>About midnight some dozen points of fire burst out redly -on the hills. Sudden and sinister they shone like beacon -fires, but by whom lit the castle folks could not tell. Men -idled on the walls, shoulder to shoulder, talking in undertones, -with now and again a bluff oath to invoke courage. -The black infinite, above, around, seemed to hem the place -as eternity hems the soul. War and death lurked in the -dark, and on the rocks the sea kept up a perpetual moan.</p> - -<p>Gorlois walked the walls with several of his knights. -He was restless, and in no Christian temper, for the dark -muzzled him. Not that he feared the unknown, or the -perils that might lurk on hill or sea. He had the soul of a -soldier, loved danger for its own sake, and took a hazard as -he would take wine. Yet there are certain thoughts that -haunt a man for all his hardihood, thoughts that may not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -weaken him though they may chafe his temper. Such to -Gorlois was the memory of a starved face looking out at -him scornfully from the gloom, the face of Igraine, his wife.</p> - -<p>That night Gorlois’s mind was prophetic in dual measure. -Like a good captain he scanned the human horizon for -snares and enmities, old feuds and the vengeances of men. -The dark sky seemed to hold out two scrolls to him tersely -illumined as to the near future. To Gorlois they read—</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The barbarians,</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">or</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The King!</span></p> - -<p>Forewarned thus in spirit, he kept to the walls till dawn. -The sea sang for him stern epics of tumult and despair. -Large projects were moving in his mind like waters that -bubble up darkly in a well. He was in a mood for great -deeds, alarms and plottings, lusts, gnashings, and the splendid -agonies of war.</p> - -<p>When the grey veil rose from the world many faces -looked out east and west from Tintagel for sign of legions -or of ships at sea. Strange truth! not a sail showed upon -the ocean, not a spear or shield glimmered on the eastern -hills. The threatenings of the night seemed to have cleared -like the leaden cloudscape of a stormy sky.</p> - -<p>Gorlois, scarred, brooding, sinister, appealed his knights -as to the event.</p> - -<p>“Not a ship, not a shield,” he said, “yet I’ll swear we -saw watchfires on the hills. Were we scared for nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Devil’s beacons,” quoth one.</p> - -<p>“I have heard sailors tell of the phantom fleet of the -Phœnicians.”</p> - -<p>“Have a care,” said Sir Isumbras of the wrinkled face; -“I remember me of the taking of Genorium; given the -chance of an ambuscado, the good captain—”</p> - -<p>Gorlois cut in upon his prosings.</p> - -<p>“Scour the country, well and good,” he said, "send out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> -your riders; we will see whether there is a Saxon betwixt -Tintagel and Glastonbury."</p> - -<p>Gorlois had hardly delivered himself, and the company -was passing from the battlements, when a trumpet-cry -thrilled the solitary morning air. Gorlois and his knights -halted at the head of the turret-stair, and looked out from -the walls towards the east. A single figure on horseback -was moving along the ridge leading to the headland. The -rider was clad in black, and his horse-trappings were of -sable. He carried neither spear nor shield, but only a -herald’s long trumpet balanced upon his thigh. He rode -very much at his leisure, as though the whole world could -abide his business.</p> - -<p>Gorlois eyed him blackly under his hand.</p> - -<p>“I was wrong, sirs,” he said.</p> - -<p>Old Isumbras’s wrinkles deepened. He tapped the walls -with the scabbard of his sword, and waxed oracular after an -old man’s fashion. Gorlois turned his broad back on him.</p> - -<p>“There is trouble in yonder gentleman’s wallet,” he said.</p> - -<p>They passed with clashing arms down the black well of -the stairway to the court. Gates were rumbling on their -hinges. The herald had ridden over the bridge, and the -guards had given him passage. He was brought into the -court where Gorlois stood in the centre of a half-circle of -knights. The herald wore a cap of crimson velvet and a -mask over his face. He walked with a certain stately -swagger; it was palpable that he was no common fellow.</p> - -<p>There was no parley on either part. Those who watched -saw that this emissary carried a case of scarlet cloth and a -naked poniard. He gave the case into Gorlois’s hands, but -threw the poniard on the stones at his feet. A fine insolence -burnt in his stride and gesturing. Gorlois’s scar seemed to -show up duskily upon his cheek, and he looked as though -tempted to tear the mask from the stranger’s face. An incomprehensible -dignity waved him back, and while he dallied -with his wrath, the man turned his back on him and marched -unconcernedly for the gate. The court bristled with steel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> -but none hindered or molested him. They heard the gate -roll to, and the rattle of hoofs on the bridge. The sound -died rapidly away, leaving Tintagel silent as a ruin.</p> - -<p>Gorlois picked up the poniard, for none of his men -stirred, and cut the woven band that held the lappets of the -case. The white corner of a waxen tablet came to light. -Gorlois drew the tablet out, held it at arm’s length, and read -the inscription thereon. His face grew hard and vigilant as -he read, and he seemed to spell the thing over to himself -several times before satisfied to the letter. He stood awhile -in thought, and then leaving his knights to their conjectures, -walked away to that quarter of the castle where Morgan la -Blanche had her lodging.</p> - -<p>He found the woman couched by the window that -looked out towards the sea. Though dawn had but lately -come, she was awake, and sat combing her hair, while a -kitten slept on the blue coverlet covering her lap. Wine -and fruit stood on the table near the bed, with scented -water, a rouge-pot, and a bowl of flowers. Morgan was -smothered in fine white linen, banded at neck and wrists -with sky-blue silk. A kerchief of gold gossamer work -covered her shoulders.</p> - -<p>Gorlois touched her lips, and let her hair run through -his fingers like water.</p> - -<p>“Minion, you are awake early.”</p> - -<p>Morgan’s face shone white, and her eyes looked tired -and faded. She had heard rumours and had watched the -night through, being tender-conscienced as to her own skin. -Adversity, even in its meaner forms, was a thing insufferably -insolent, a cloud in the absolute gold of a sensuous existence. -Being quick to mark any shadowing of the horizon, she -was undeceived by Gorlois’s mere smile. She caught his -hand and stared up at him.</p> - -<p>“Well!”</p> - -<p>“What troubles you?”</p> - -<p>“Is it to be a siege?”</p> - -<p>Gorlois stretched his strong neck, laughed, and eschewed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -subtlety. It interested him to see this worldling ruffled, -Morgan, whose chief care was how the world might serve -her.</p> - -<p>“Read,” he said, putting the tablet into her hands.</p> - -<p>Morgan sat up in bed with her fair hair streaming over -her shoulders. She traced out the words hurriedly with a -white finger-tip. Her eyes seemed to grow large as she -read; her hands trembled a very little. At the end thereof -she dropped the tablet into her lap and looked at Gorlois -with a certain petulant dread.</p> - -<p>“How did the man hear of all this?”</p> - -<p>“God knows!”</p> - -<p>“Treachery!”</p> - -<p>Gorlois jerked his belt and said nothing.</p> - -<p>The woman Morgan sat and hugged her knees. She -looked out to sea with a frown on her face, and the blue -coverlet dragged in tight folds about her waist. The -kitten woke up and began to play with Morgan’s hair as it -trailed down upon the bed. She cuffed the little beast -aside, and looked at Gorlois. Her eyes now were steely -and clear, and very blue under her white forehead.</p> - -<p>“Obviously, he has learnt all,” she said.</p> - -<p>Gorlois nodded morosely.</p> - -<p>“And this matter is to be between you alone?”</p> - -<p>“I have his word.”</p> - -<p>“And he is a fool for truth.”</p> - -<p>Silence held them both awhile, and Morgan seemed to -dally with her thoughts. Her lips worked loosely as though -moving with her mind. The kitten clawed its way up the -coverlet and rubbed its glossy flank against the woman’s arm.</p> - -<p>“What of an ambush?” she suggested mildly.</p> - -<p>Gorlois darted a look at her and shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No; it shall be fair between us.”</p> - -<p>“Honour!”—with a sneer.</p> - -<p>“I am a soldier.”</p> - -<p>“By the prophet, that is the strange part of it all. You -go out to kill a man, and yet trouble about the method.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There honour enters.”</p> - -<p>“You kill him, all the same.”</p> - -<p>Morgan tossed the quilt aside, thrust a pair of glimmering -feet out of the bed, and stood at Gorlois’s elbow. She -took the tablet of wax and held it over a lamp that was -burning till the wax softened and suffered the lettering to be -effaced. Gorlois’s great sword hung from the carved bed-post. -Morgan took it and buckled it to the man with her -plump, worldly little hands.</p> - -<p>“Let it not fail,” she said.</p> - -<p>Gorlois kissed her lips.</p> - -<p>“There will be no King; and the heir—well, you are -a great soldier, and men fear your name.”</p> - -<p>She kept him with her awhile and then bade him farewell. -The sun was high in the heavens when Gorlois, in -glittering harness, rode out alone from Tintagel, and passed -away into the wilds.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>There was a preternatural brightness over sea and cliff that -day. Headland and height stood limned with a luminous -grandeur; the sea was a vast opal; mountainous clouds -sailed solemn and stupendous over the world. Towards -evening it grew still and sultry, and storms threatened. A -vapoury leviathan lowered black out of the east, devouring -the blue, with scudding mists spray-like about his belly. -The sky changed to a sable cavern. In the west the sun -still blazed through mighty crevices, candescent gold; the -world seemed a chaos of glory and shadow. Sea-birds came -screaming to the cliffs. The walls of Tintagel burnt -athwart the west.</p> - -<p>Presently out of the blue bosom of an unearthly twilight -a vague wind rose. Gusts came, clamoured, and died into -nothingness. The world seemed to shudder. The dry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> -bracken and grass on the hillsides hissed as the wind came -seldom and tumultuous. The roadway smoked. In the -valleys the trees moaned, shivered, and stood still.</p> - -<p>Mark of the guard stood in the garden leaning on his -spear, watching the storm gathering above. It was his -guard that night over the stairway leading to Igraine’s -room, and he stood under the shadow of the tower.</p> - -<p>A red sword flashed sudden out of the east, and smote -the hills. Thunder followed, growling over the world. -Then rain came, and a whirlwind seemed to fly from the -face of the storm. In the west a burning crater still poured -gold upon a restless and afflicted sea.</p> - -<p>It grew dark very rapidly, and a thundering canopy soon -overarched Tintagel. Now and again flaming cracks of -fire ran athwart the dome of the night, lighting battlements -and sky with a weird momentary splendour. Rain rattled -on the stones and drifted whirling against door and casement. -Small torrents formed along the walks; every spout and -gully gushed and gurgled. Like an underchant came the -hoarse cry of the sea.</p> - -<p>Mark had withdrawn under the arch of the tower’s -entry. A cresset flamed and spluttered higher up the stairway, -throwing down an ineffectual gleam upon the man’s -armour as he stood and looked into the night. The storm -fires lit his face, making it start out of the dark white and -spiritual, with largely luminous eyes. He held motionless -at his post like a Roman soldier watching the downfall of -Pompeii.</p> - -<p>Solitude possessed garden, court, and battlement, for no -one stirred on such a night. The knights of the garrison -were making merry in the great hall, and the men of the -guard, unpestered by their superiors, had gathered a great -company in the guard-room to emulate their officers. The -scullion knaves and wenches had fled the kitchen; the -sentinels had sneaked from the walls. There was no fear -now of a leaguer. Had not Duke Gorlois declared as much -before his sally?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mark alone stood to his post, listening to the laughter -that reached him between the stanzas of the storm. His -face was like the face of a statue, yet alert and eager for all -its calm. More than once he went out through the storm -of rain to the great gate and stood there listening while the -wind howled overhead. About midnight the noise of -gaming and revelling seemed suddenly to cease, as when -folk hear the tolling of a bell for prayer. Only the wind -kept up its hooting over the walls.</p> - -<p>Mark stood a long while by the guard-room door with -his ear to the planking. Seldom a quavering cry came out -to him, and the place grew empty of human sound. All -Tintagel seemed asleep, though many casements still shone -out yellow against the gloom. Mark slipped to the main -gate. There was a postern in it for service after dark. He -drew back the bolts and loosed the chain from the staple, -and leaving the small door ajar, passed back to the tower’s -entry.</p> - -<p>Thunder went rolling over the sea. Mark left his spear -by the porch and went up the first few steps of the stairway. -He took the cresset from its bracket, carried it down, -and tossed it into the court, where the flames spluttered out -in the rain. Darkness accomplished, he went up the stairway -to the short gallery leading to Igraine’s room. At the -top he stood and listened. He heard the sound of breathing, -and knew that it came from the woman Malmain who slept -in the alcove before the door.</p> - -<p>Mark smote the wall a ringing blow with the handle of -his poniard. A bench creaked; some one yawned and -began to grumble. It was so dark that the very walls were -part of the prevailing gloom.</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?”</p> - -<p>Mark stood aside.</p> - -<p>“The cresset’s out on the stairs.”</p> - -<p>Two arms came groping along the wall.</p> - -<p>“You’ve been asleep, cherub.”</p> - -<p>“Mark!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You were forgetting our tryst.”</p> - -<p>A thick sensual laugh sounded from the stairhead. -Something opaque moved in the dark; a pair of arms felt -along the passage; a hand touched Mark’s face. Malmain’s -arms wrapped the man’s body; she lifted him to her with -her great strength, and kissed his lips.</p> - -<p>“Rogue!”</p> - -<p>Once, twice, a streaking shadow rose and fell with the -faintest glinting of steel. There was a staggering sound, a -wet cough, a sharp-drawn breath, and then silence. Malmain -fell against the wall with her hands to her side, held rigid -a moment, and then slid into a heap. Mark bent over the -woman and gripped her wrist.</p> - -<p>In a short while he left the body lying there and moved -to the door. Sliding his long fingers over the panels, he -found the spring that marked the catch. Light streamed -through into the gallery and fell upon Malmain as she lay -huddled against the wall, her hair trailing along the floor -like rills of blood.</p> - -<p>A lamp burnt in the room, showering a thin silvery -lustre from its pedestal, leaving the angles in dull brown -shadow. The room was bare and bleak as a beggar’s attic. -The one window had been shuttered up against the rain, and -the crazy lattice shook in the wind. The whole tower seemed -to quake, pressed upon by the broad shoulders of the storm.</p> - -<p>Gorlois’s wife lay asleep on a rough bed in the centre of -the room. Mark went forward and stood over her. The -light fell upon Igraine’s face and haloed it with a quiet -radiance. Her hands were folded over her breast, and the -man looking upon her face saw it drawn and haggard even -in sleep. It had a kind of tragic fairness, a stained beauty -like the wistful strangeness of an autumnal garden. It was -pale, piteous, thin, and spiritual. The flesh shone like white -wax; the short hair glimmered like a net of gold.</p> - -<p>So changed, so ethereal, was the face of the sleeper, that -the man stood and looked at her with gradual awe. Passed -indeed was the blood-red rose of life, green summer with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> -its ecstasy of song. Autumn’s rich tapestries of bronze and -gold were falling before the wind of winter and the shrill -sword of death. The woman on the bed looked like some -pale princess slumbering out her doom in some baleful -tower.</p> - -<p>Igraine’s sleep was shallow and ineffectual, a restless -stupor impressed upon a troubled mind. The storm seemed -to figure in her dreams. A kind of splendid misery played -upon her face, such misery as floods forth from some old -legend, strange and sad. Her hands tossed to and fro over -the coverlet like fallen flowers stirred by a wind. Her lids -drooped over half-opened eyes.</p> - -<p>A sudden gust broke the catch of the casement, and -swung the frame into the room. All the boisterous -laughter of the storm seemed to sweep in with the wind. -With the racket Igraine woke and started up in bed upon -her elbow. The lamp flame, draught-slanted over the rim, -gave but a feeble light; the room was filled with wavering -darkness.</p> - -<p>Mark stood back from the bed. There was blood upon -his tunic. For a moment he was speechless like a man -caught in a theft.</p> - -<p>In the dim light and to the half-awakened senses of the -sleeper, the intruder stood for Gorlois, beard, face, and -figure. A moment’s hesitancy lost Mark the lead. The -door stood wide. What ensued came crowded into the -compass of a few seconds.</p> - -<p>Igraine, quick to conceive, jerked the coverlet from the -bed. Before Mark could prevent her, she had thrown it -over the lamp and smothered the flame. The room sank -into instant darkness and confusion. Mark’s voice sounded -above the storm. Then came the slamming of a door, and -silence save for the blustering of the wind.</p> - -<p>Igraine stood on the threshold in the dark, and drew her -breath fast. She had shut the man in the room, and the -door opened only from without by a spring catch. Mark -of the guard was trapped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span></p> - -<p>And Malmain!</p> - -<p>Igraine remembered the woman, and heeding nothing of -the voice that called to her from the room, groped her way -to the stairhead, expecting at every step to hear the woman’s -challenge start out of the gloom. At the end of the gallery -she nearly tripped and fell over some inanimate thing. -Reaching down out of curiosity she drew her hand back -with a half cry, her fingers fouled with a thick warm ooze. -An indefinite terror seized her in the dark. She went -reeling down the stairway, clutching at the walls, grasping -the air. A faint outcry still followed her from the room -above.</p> - -<p>In the garden rain still rattled, and scud blew from the -pools. Igraine stood motionless under the shadow of a -cypress, with her face turned to the sky. Her ragged gown -blew about her bare ankles, and the wind whirled rain into -her face. She drew deep breaths and stretched out her -hands to the night, for there was the kiss of liberty in this -cold, shrill shower.</p> - -<p>Anon the old fear urged her on, companioned now by a -reawakened courage. She was weak and starved, but what -of that! The storm seemed to enter into her soul with its -blustery vigour, crying to her with the multitudinous echoes -of the night. What was the mere peril of the flesh to one -who had faced spiritual torture more keen than death!</p> - -<p>Creeping round under the shadow of the wall with quick -glances darted into the dark she made her way round the -court to the great gate. The gate-house was dark as the -sky, and there was no tramping of sentinels from wall to -wall. Igraine crept into the yawn of the archway, brushing -along the stones. With each step she listened for the rattle -of a spear, and looked for the armed figure that should clash -out on her from the gloom. She won the gate and leant -against it, breathless from mere suspense. Her fingers -groped over the great beams, touched an outstanding edge, -and tugged at it. The edge moved; a door came open and -let in the wind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span></p> - -<p>Igraine stood a moment and pondered this mystery in -her heart. She had chanced on nothing in the whole castle -save one man and a corpse. Some strange doom might -have fallen upon the place like the doom that smote the -Assyrians in their sleep.</p> - -<p>Plain before her stood the open gate and liberty. The -hint was sufficient for the occasion. Igraine, leaving -Tintagel to the unknown, gathered her rags round her and -passed out into the night.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>A rolling country spread with moor, wood, and crag. A -storm creeping black out of the east over the tops of a forest -of pines. On the slope of a hill covered with a mauve mist -of nodding scabei and bronzed tracts of bracken, two horsemen -motionless in armour. Far away, the glimmer of a -distant sea.</p> - -<p>Uther the King wheeled his horse and pointed northwards -towards the pine woods with his sword. The challenge -came plainly in the gesture. There was no need for vapouring -or for heroics; a quick stare—eye for eye—said everything -a soldier could desire.</p> - -<p>Uther, on his black horse, rode with loose bridle, looking -straight ahead into the darkness of the woods. He carried -his naked sword slanted over his shoulder. Frequent streams -of sunlight flashed down upon his harness and made it burn -under the boughs, leaving his face calm and solemn under the -shadow of his helm. Gorlois held some paces away, stiff -and arrogant, watching the man on his flank with restless, -smouldering eyes. It was a silent pilgrimage for them both, -a pilgrimage to a shrine whence, for one of them, there -might be no return.</p> - -<p>A shimmering curtain of sunlight spread itself suddenly -before them among the pines. The two men rode out into -an oval glade palisaded by the innumerable pillars of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -wood, bowered in by rolling heights of dusky green. On -all sides the spires made a jagged circle of the sky. A pool, -black as obsidian, slept in the sun. Heather bloomed there, -girdling the confines of wood and water with a blaze of -purple.</p> - -<p>Uther dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. His -deliberation in no way pandered to Gorlois’s self-esteem; -there was to be no flurry or bombast in the event. No one -was to witness this judgment of the sword; chivalry and -malice alike were to be locked up in the heart of the forest. -A smooth circle of grass lay on the northern side of the pool, -promising well to the two who moved thither with nothing -more eloquent than an exchange of gestures.</p> - -<p>The heather swept away, a purple dirge to the black -sounding of the pines, and a whorl of storm-laden clouds -swam towards the sun. Uther, with a face strong as a god’s, -swung his sword from his shoulder and grounded the point -in the sod. His destiny waxed great in him in that -hour. There was something inevitable in the quiet of his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“You are ready,” he said very simply.</p> - -<p>Gorlois jerked a quick glance at him, and licked his -lips. He, too, was in no mood for words or matters ethical. -Temporal lusts ran strong in his blood.</p> - -<p>“For a woman’s honour!”</p> - -<p>“As you will, sire,” with a shrug.</p> - -<p>“We have no need of courtesies.”</p> - -<p>“Over a harlot!”</p> - -<p>“Guard, and God pardon you.”</p> - -<p>Both swords flickered up hotly in the sunlight. Gorlois, -sinewy and full of fettle, gave a half-shout and sprang to -engage. He had vast faith in himself, having come scatheless -out of many such tussles; nor had he ever been humbled -by man or beast. Vigorous as a March morning he launched -the first blow, a grim cut laid in with both hands, a cut that -rattled home half-parried on the other’s shoulder. Uther, -quick for all his calmness, gave the point in retort, a lunge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -that slid under the Cornishman’s sword and made the muscles -gape in Gorlois’s neck. There was blood to both.</p> - -<p>The swords began to leap and sing in the sunlight, and -the forest echoed to the clangour of arms. Both men fought -without shields, and for a season well within themselves, and -there was much craft on either part. Cut and counter-cut -rang through the pine alleys like the cry of axes whirled by -woodmen’s hands. As yet there was no bustle, no wild -smiting. Every stroke came clean and true, lashed home -with the weight of arms and body.</p> - -<p>Hate overset mere swordsmanship anon, and reason grew -less and less as the men waxed warm. Gorlois, running in -with a swinging buffet, stumbled over a heather tuft and -caught a counter full in the face. The smart of it and a -split lip quickened him immeasurably. The blades began -to whirl with more malice, less precision. Matters grew -tumultuous as leaves in a whirlwind. For some minutes -there seemed nothing but a tangle of swords in the sun, a -staggering chaos of red and gold.</p> - -<p>Such fighting burnt itself to a standstill in less than three -minutes. Uther drew back like a boar pressed by hounds. -There was no whit of weakening in his mood, only a reassertive -reason that would trust nothing to the fortune of -a moment. The muscles stood out in his strong throat, -blood ran from his slashed tunic, and he was breathing hard; -but his manhood burnt strong and true. Gorlois, with -mouth awry, eyed him with sword half up, and drew back -in turn. His face streamed. He spat blood upon the -heather.</p> - -<p>“God! what work.”</p> - -<p>It was Gorlois’s testimony, wrung from him by the stress -of sheer hard fighting. The storm-cloud crept across the -sun and overcharged the world with gloom. The pool grew -more black in its purple bed; the forest began to weave the -twilight into its columned halls.</p> - -<p>“You lack breath, sire.”</p> - -<p>“I wait for you,” Uther said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span></p> - -<p>But the man of Tintagel was in a sinister mood for the -moment. Genius moved his sweating brain. He dropped -into philosophic brevities as he spat blood from his bruised -lips.</p> - -<p>“All for a woman,” he said thickly.</p> - -<p>“True.”</p> - -<p>“Are you much in love, sire?”</p> - -<p>Uther answered him nothing, but waited with his sword -over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“She made fuss enough.”</p> - -<p>Still silence.</p> - -<p>“I never knew a woman so obstinate in making an -end. And we buried her in the sand, where the waves -roll at flood. Now, you and I lose our brains over a -corpse.”</p> - -<p>Uther’s sword shone again.</p> - -<p>“Guard,” he said quietly.</p> - -<p>A sudden gust came clamouring through the wood. -The darkening boughs tossed and jerked against the sky, -breathing out a multitudinous moan, a hoarse cry as of a -smitten host. The east piled thunder over the world. It -was the same storm that swept the battlements of Tintagel.</p> - -<p>By the pool swords rang; red and gold strove and -staggered over the heather. It was the death tussle and a -sharp one at that. Destiny or not, matters were going all -against Gorlois; his blows were out of luck; he was rent -time on end and gave little in return. Rabid, dazed, he -began making blind rushes that boded ill for him. More -than once he stumbled, and was mired to the knees in the -pool.</p> - -<p>The end came suddenly enough as the light failed. -Both men smote together; both swords met with a sound -that seemed to shake the woods, Gorlois’s blade snapped at -the hilt.</p> - -<p>He stood still a moment, then plucked out his poniard -and made a spring. A merciless down-cut beat him back. -The fine courage, the strenuous self-trust, seemed to ebb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -from him on a sudden as though the blow had broken his -soul. He fell on his knees and held his hands up with a -thick, choking cry.</p> - -<p>“Mercy! God’s mercy!”</p> - -<p>“Curse you! Had you pity on the woman?”</p> - -<p>“Sire, sire!”</p> - -<p>Thunder rolled overhead, and the girdles of the sky were -loosed. A torrent of rain beat upon the man’s streaming -face; he tottered on his knees, and still held his hands to -the heavens.</p> - -<p>“I lied,” he said. “God witness, I lied.”</p> - -<p>“Ah—!”</p> - -<p>“The woman lives—is at Tintagel.”</p> - -<p>“Man—”</p> - -<p>“Give me life, sire, give me life; you shall have her.”</p> - -<p>Uther looked at him and heaved up his sword. Gorlois -saw the King’s face, gave a great cry, and cowered behind -his hands. It was all ended in a moment. The rain washed -his gilded harness as he lay with his blood soaking into the -heather.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>VIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p>As the world grew grey with waking light Uther the King -came from the woods, and heard the noise of the sea in the -hush that breathed in the dawn. The storm had passed -over the ocean, and a vast quiet hung upon the lips of the -day. In the east a green streak shone above the hills. The -sky was still aglitter with sparse stars, and an immensity of -gloom brooded over the sea.</p> - -<p>Gaunt, wounded, triumphant, he rode up beneath the -banners of the dawn, eager yet fearful, inspired and strong -of purpose. Wood and hill slept in a haze of mist; the -birds were only beginning in the thickets, like the souls of -children yet unborn calling to eternity. Beyond, on the -cliffs, Tintagel, wrapped round with night, stood silent and -sombre athwart the west.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p> - -<p>Uther climbed from the valley as the day came with -splendour, a glow as of molten gold streaming from the east. -Wood and hillside glimmered in a smoking mist, dew-brilliant, -wonderful. As the sun rose the sea stretched -sudden into the arch of the west—a great pavement of gold. -A mysterious lustre hovered over the cliffs; waves of light -beat like saffron spray upon Tintagel.</p> - -<p>The dawn-light found an echo on Uther’s face. He -came that morning the ransomer, the champion, a King -indeed; Spring bursting the thongs of Winter; Day thrusting -back the Night. His manhood smote in him like the -deep-throated cry of a great bell, voluminous and solemn. -The towers on the cliff were haloed with magic hues. Life, -glory, joy, lay locked in the grey stone walls. His heart -sang in him, and his eyes were afire.</p> - -<p>As he walked his horse with a hollow thunder of hoofs -over the bridge, he took his horn and blew a blast thereon. -There was a quiet, a lifelessness, about the place that smote -his senses, bodying forth mystery. The walls were void -against the sky. At the sound of the horn there came no -stirring of armed men, no answering fanfare, no glimmering -of faces at the casements. Only the gulls circled from the -cliffs, and the sea made its moan along the strand.</p> - -<p>Uther sat in the saddle and looked from tower to battlement, -from battlement to gate. There was something -tragic about the place, the silence of a sacked town, the -ghostliness of a ship sailing the seas with a dead crew upon -her deck. Uther’s glance rested on the open postern, an -empty streak in the great gate. His face darkened somewhat; -his eyes lost their sanguine glow. There was something -betwixt death and treachery in all this quiet.</p> - -<p>He dismounted and left his horse on the bridge. The -postern beckoned him. He went in like a man nerved for -peril, with sword drawn and shield above his head, ready for -blows in dark corners. Again he blew his horn. The -blast rang and resounded under the arch of the gate. No -man came to answer or avenge it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p> - -<p>The guard-room door stood ajar; Uther thrust it open -with the point of his sword and looked in. A grey -light filtered through the narrow windows. The place -was like the cave of the Seven Sleepers. Men, women, -guards, servants, were huddled on the benches and on the -floor. Some lay fallen across the settles; others sat with -their heads fallen forwards upon the table; a few had -crawled towards the door. They were cast in every posture, -every attitude, bleak, stiff, and motionless. Some had froth -upon their lips, glistening eyes, clenched fingers. The -shadow of death was over the whole.</p> - -<p>The King’s face was as grey as the faces of the dead. -He had looked for human throes, perils, strong hands, and -the vehemence of man. There was something here, a calm -horror, a mystery that hurled back the warm courage of the -heart. Prophecy lurked open-mouthed in the shadows. -Uther shouldered his sword, passed out, and drew to the -door.</p> - -<p>In the great court he looked round him like a traveller -who has stumbled upon a city wrapped in a magic sleep. -Urged on by manifold forebodings, and knowing the place -of old, he went first to the State quarters and hunted the -rooms through and through. The same silence met him -everywhere. In the great hall he came upon a ring of -corpses round a table, a ring of men in armour, stiff and -rigid as stone, with wine and fruit mocking their staring -eyes. In the lodging of the women he found a lady laid on -a couch by an open window. Her fair hair swept the -pillow; her eyes were wide and glazed; an open casket lay -on the bed, and strings of jewels were scattered on the -coverlet. The woman’s face was white as apple blossom; -she had a half-eaten pomegranate in her hand.</p> - -<p>Uther passed from the death-chamber of Morgan la -Blanche to the garden. The shadows of the place, the -staring faces, the stiff hands clawing at things inanimate, -were like phantasms of the night. He took the sea air into -his nostrils, and looked into the blue realism of the sky.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -All about him the garden glistened in the dawn, the -cypresses shimmered with dew, the pool was like a steel -buckler on cloth of green. Here was the placid life of -flowers making very death the more apparent to his soul.</p> - -<p>As he stood in deep thought, half dreading what he still half -knew, a voice called to him, breaking suddenly the ponderous -silence of the place. A face showed overhead at the upper -window in the tower; a hand beckoned and pointed towards -the tower’s entry. Here at last was something quick and -tangible in the flesh, something that could speak of the -handicraft of death. Uther climbed the stairs and found -Malmain’s body by the well. When he had looked at the -woman’s face and seen blood he paid no more heed to her. -She was only one among many.</p> - -<p>Guided by a voice, Uther unlatched the door and passed -in with sword drawn. A man met him on the threshold, a -man with the face of a Dante, and shaven lip and chin. -It was the face of Merlin.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IX</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Without the gate of Tintagel stood Uther the King -looking out towards the eastern hills clear against the calm -of the sky. He stood bare-headed, like one in prayer; his -face was strong, yet wistful and patient as a sick child’s. -At his elbow waited Merlin, silent and inscrutable. Much -had passed between them in that upper room, that room -more hallowed to Uther than the rock tomb of the -Christ.</p> - -<p>“Ever, ever night,” he said, stretching out his hands as -to an eternal void.</p> - -<p>Merlin’s eyes seemed to look leagues away over moor, -hill, and valley. A strange tenderness played upon his lips, -and there was a radiance upon his face impossible to -describe. It was like the face of a lover, a dreamer of -dreams.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A man is a mystery to himself,” he said.</p> - -<p>“But to God?”</p> - -<p>“I know no God, save the god my own soul. Let me -live and die, nothing more. Why curse one’s life with a -‘to be’?”</p> - -<p>Uther sighed heavily.</p> - -<p>“It is a kind of fate to me,” he said, “inevitable as the -setting of the sun, natural as sleep. Not for myself do I -fear it.”</p> - -<p>“Let Jehovah follow Jupiter into the chaos of fable. -Sire, look yonder.”</p> - -<p>Merlin’s eyes had caught life on the distant hillsides, life -surging from the valleys, life, and the glory of it. Harness, -helm, and shield shone in the sun. Gold, azure, silver, -scarlet, were creeping from the bronzed green of the wilds. -Silent and solemn the host rolled gradual into the full -splendour of the day.</p> - -<p>Uther’s eyes beheld them through a mist of tears.</p> - -<p>“King Nentres, King Urience, and the host,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Even so, sire.”</p> - -<p>“They were bidden to follow.”</p> - -<p>“Loyal to their king.”</p> - -<p>Uther watched them with a great pride stealing into his -eyes; he smiled and held his head high.</p> - -<p>“All these are mine,” he said.</p> - -<p>Merlin’s face had kindled.</p> - -<p>“Grapple the days to come,” he said; “let Scripture and -old ethics rot. You have a thousand knights; let them -ride by stream and forest, moor and mere. Let them ride -out and sunder like the wind.”</p> - -<p>“The quest of a King’s heart!”</p> - -<p>“Sire, like a golden dawn shall she rise out of the past. -Blow thy horn. Let us not tarry.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>X</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Six days had passed. Once more the sun had tossed -night from the sky, and kindled hope in the hymning -east. The bleak wilderness barriered by sea and crag had -mellowed into the golden silence of autumnal woods. The -very trees seemed tongued with prophetic flame. The -world like a young lover leapt radiant out of the dawn.</p> - -<p>Through the reddened woods rode Uther the King with -Merlin silent at his side. Gloom still reigned on the gaunt, -strong face, and there was no lustre in the eyes that -challenged ever the lurking shade of death. Six nights and -six days had the quest been baffled. Near and far armour -glimmered in the reddened sanctuaries of the woods. Not -a trumpet brayed, though the host had scattered in search of -a woman’s face.</p> - -<p>At the seventh dawn the trees drew back before the King, -where the shimmering waters of a river streaked the meads. -Peace dwelt there, and a calm eternal, as of the Spirit -that heals the throes of men. Rare and golden lay the -dawn-light on the valley. The song of birds came glad -and multitudinous as in the burgeoning dawn of a glorious -May.</p> - -<p>Uther had halted under a great oak. His head was bare -in the sun-steeped shadows; his face was as the face of one -weary with long watching under the voiceless stars. Hope, -like a dewless rose, drooped shaken and thirsty with desire. -Great dread possessed him. He dared not question his -own soul.</p> - -<p>A horn sounded in the woods, wild, clamorous and -exultant. It was as the voice of a prophet cleaving the -despair of a godless world. Even the trees stood listening. -Far below in the green shadows of the valley a horseman -moved brilliant as a star that portents the conception -of a king.</p> - -<p>Uther’s eyes were on the horseman in the valley.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am even as a child,” he said.</p> - -<p>Merlin’s lips quivered.</p> - -<p>“The dawn breaks, sire, the night is past. Tidings come -to us. Let us ride on.”</p> - -<p>Uther seemed sunk in thought; he bowed his head, and -looked long into the valley.</p> - -<p>“Am I he who slew Gorlois?”</p> - -<p>“Courage, sire.”</p> - -<p>“My blood is as water, my heart as wax. Death and -destiny are over my head.”</p> - -<p>“Speak not of destiny, sire, and look not to the skies. -In himself is man’s power. Thou hast broken the crucifix. -Now trust thine own soul. So long as thou didst serve a -superstition, thou didst lose thy true heaven.”</p> - -<p>“And yet—”</p> - -<p>“Thou hast played the god, sire, and the Father in -heaven must love thee for thy strength. God loves the -strong. He will let thee rule destiny, and so prosper.”</p> - -<p>“Strange words!”</p> - -<p>“But true. Were I God, should I love the priest puling -prayers in a den? Nay, that man should be mine who -moved godlike in the world, and strangled fate with the -grip of truth. Great deeds are better than prayers. See! -it is young Tristan who comes.”</p> - -<p>The horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop -through a sea of sun-bronzed fern. He was a young -knight on a black horse, caparisoned in green and gold. -A halo of glistening curls aureoled his boyish face; his -eyes were full of a restless radiance, the eyes of a man -whose heart was troubled. He sprang from the saddle, -and leading his horse by the bridle, kissed the scabbard of -Uther’s sword.</p> - -<p>“Tidings, sire.”</p> - -<p>“Tristan, I listen.”</p> - -<p>The knight looked for a moment into the King’s face, -but dared not abide the trial. There was such a stare of -desperate calm in the dark eyes, that the lad’s courage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -whimpered, and quailed from the truth. He hung his head, -and stood mute.</p> - -<p>“Tristan, I listen.”</p> - -<p>“Sire—”</p> - -<p>“My God, man, speak out!”</p> - -<p>“Sire—”</p> - -<p>“The truth.”</p> - -<p>“She lives, sire!”</p> - -<p>A great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an -ecstasy of silence such as comes after the wail of a storm. -Merlin stroked his lip, and smiled, the smile of one who -dreams. The King’s face was as the face of one who -thrusts back hope out of his soul. He sat rigid on his -horse, a scarlet image fronting Fate, grim-eyed and steadfast. -There were tears in the eyes of Tristan the knight.</p> - -<p>“What more?”</p> - -<p>Tristan leant against his horse, his arm hooked over the -brute’s neck.</p> - -<p>“In the valley, sire, is a sanctuary; you can see it yonder -by the ford. Two holy women dwell therein. To them, -sire, I commend you.”</p> - -<p>“You know more!”</p> - -<p>“Sire, spare me. The words are for women’s lips, not -for mine.”</p> - -<p>“So be it.”</p> - -<p>The three rode on in silence; Merlin and Tristan -together, looking mutely in each other’s faces. Uther’s -chin was bowed on his breast. The reins lay loose on his -horse’s neck.</p> - -<p>A grey cell of unfaced stone showed amid the green -boughs beyond the water. At its door stood a woman in a -black mantle. A cross hung from her neck, and a white -kerchief bound her hair. She stood motionless, half in the -shadow, watching the horsemen as they rode down to the -rippling ford.</p> - -<p>Autumn had touched the sanctuary garden, and the King’s -eyes beheld ruin as he climbed the slope. The woman had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -come from the cell, and now stood at the wicket-gate, with -her hands folded as in prayer. Tristan took Uther’s bridle. -The King went on foot alone to speak with the anchoress.</p> - -<p>“Sire,” she said, kneeling at his feet, “God save and -comfort you.”</p> - -<p>The man’s brow was twisted into furrows. His right -hand clasped his left wrist. He looked over the woman’s -head into the woods, and breathed fast through clenched -teeth.</p> - -<p>“Speak,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Sire, the woman lives.”</p> - -<p>“I can bear the truth.”</p> - -<p>The anchoress made the sign of the cross.</p> - -<p>“She came to us, sire, here in this valley, a tall lady, with -golden hair loose upon her neck. Her feet were bare and -bleeding, her robe rent with thorns. And as she came, she -sang wild snatches, such as tell of love. We took her, sire, -and gave her meat and drink, bathed her torn feet, and gave -her raiment. So, she abode with us, gentle and lovely, yet -speaking like one who had suffered, even to death. And -yet, even as we slept, she stole away from us last night, and -now is gone.”</p> - -<p>The woman had never so much as lifted her eyes to the -man’s face. Her hands held her crucifix, and she was pale -as new-hewn stone.</p> - -<p>“And is this all?”</p> - -<p>The man’s voice trembled in his throat; his face shone -in the sun.</p> - -<p>“Not all, sire.”</p> - -<p>“Say on.”</p> - -<p>The anchoress had buried her face in her black mantle; -her voice was husky as with tears.</p> - -<p>“Sire, you seek one bereft of reason.”</p> - -<p>“Mad!”</p> - -<p>“Alas!”</p> - -<p>“My God, this then is the end!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>XI</h3> -</div> - - -<p>An indefinite melancholy overshadowed the world. Autumn -breathed in the wind; the year was rushing red-bosomed to -its doom.</p> - -<p>On the summit of a wood-crowned hill, rising like a -pyramid above moor and forest, two men stood silent under -the shadow of an oak. In the distance the sea glimmered; -and by a rock upon the hillside, armed knights, a knot of -spears, shone like spirit sentinels athwart the west. Mists -were creeping up the valleys as the sun went down into the -sea. A few stars, dim and comfortless, gleamed out like -souls still tortured by the platitudes of Time. An inevitable -pessimism seemed to challenge the universe, taking for its -parable the weird afterglow in the west.</p> - -<p>Deep in the woods a voice was singing, wild and solitary -in the gathering gloom. Like the cry of a ghost, it seemed -to set the silence quivering, the leaves quaking with a -windless awe. The men who looked towards the sea heard -it, a song that echoed in the heart like woe.</p> - -<p>“Sire, there is yet hope.”</p> - -<p>“Life grows dim, and dreams elapse in fire.”</p> - -<p>Merlin pointed into the darkening woods. His eyes -shone crystal bright, and there was a great radiance upon -his face.</p> - -<p>“Sire, trust thine own heart, and the god in thee. -Through superstition thou hast been brought nigh unto -death and to despair. Trust not in priestcraft, grapple God -unto thy soul. The laws of men are carven upon stone, the -laws of heaven upon the heart. Be strong. From henceforth -scorn mere words. Trample custom in the dust. -Trust thyself, and the god in thy heart.”</p> - -<p>The distant voice had sunk into silence. Uther listened -for it with hand aloft.</p> - -<p>“Yonder—heaven calls,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Go, sire.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I must be near her—through the night.”</p> - -<p>“And lo!—the moon stands full upon the hills. You -shall bless me yet.”</p> - -<p>Dim were the woods that autumn evening, dim and deep -with an ecstasy of gloom. Stars flickered in the heavens; -the moon came, and broidered the trees with silver flame. -A primæval calm lay heavy upon the bosom of the night. -The spectral branches of the trees were rigid and prayerful -towards the sky.</p> - -<p>Uther had left Merlin gazing out upon the shimmering -sea. The voice called him from the woods with plaintive -peals of song. The man followed, holding to a grass-grown -track that curled purposeless into the gloom. Moonlight -and shadow were alternate upon his armour. Hope and -despair were mimicked upon his face. His soul leapt -voiceless and inarticulate into the darkened shrine of -prayer.</p> - -<p>The voice came to him clearer in the forest calm. The -gulf had narrowed; the words flew as over the waters of -death. They were pure, yet reasonless, passionate, yet -void, words barbed with an utter pathos that wounded -desire.</p> - -<p>For an hour the King followed in the woods, drawing -ever nearer, waxing great with prayer. Anon the voice -failed him by a little stream that quivered dimly through the -grass. A stillness that was ghostly held the woods. The -moonlight seemed to shudder on the trees. A stupendous -stupor weighed upon the world.</p> - -<p>A hollow glade opened sudden in the woods, a white -gulf in the forest’s gloom. Water shone there, a mere, rush-ringed, -and full of mysterious shadows, girded by the bronzed -foliage of stately beeches. Moss grew thick about the roots; -dead leaves covered the grass.</p> - -<p>The man knelt in a patch of bracken, and looked out -over the glade. A figure went to and fro by the water’s -brim, a figure pale in the moonlight, with a glimmering -flash of unloosed hair. The man kneeling in the bracken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -pressed his hands over his breast; his face seemed to start -out of the gloom like the face of one who struggles in the -sea, submerged, yet desperate.</p> - -<p>Uther saw the woman halt beside the mere. He saw her -bend, take water in her palms, and dash it in her face. -Standing in the moonlight she smoothed her hair between -her fingers, her hands shining white against the dark bosom -of her dress. She seemed to murmur to herself the while, -words wistful and full of woe. Once she thrust her hands -to the sky and cried, “Pelleas! Pelleas!” The man kneeling -in the shadow quivered like a wind-shaken reed.</p> - -<p>The moon climbed higher, and the woman by the mere -spread her cloak upon a patch of heather, and laid herself -thereon. Not a sound ravaged the silence; the woods were -mute, the air rippleless as the steel-surfaced water. An -hour passed. The figure on the heather lay still as an -effigy upon a tomb. The man in the bracken cast one look -at the stars, crossed himself, and crept out into the moonlight.</p> - -<p>Holding the scabbard of his sword, he skirted the mere -with shimmering armour, went down upon his knees, and -crawled slowly over the grass. Hours seemed to elapse -before the black patch of heather spread crisp and dry -beneath his hands. Breathing through dilating nostrils, he -trembled like a craven who creeps to stab a sleeping friend. -The moonlight showered vivid as with a supernatural glory. -Tense anguish crowded the night with sound.</p> - -<p>Two more paces, and he was close at the woman’s side. -The heather crackled beneath his knees. He held his -breath, crept nearer, and knelt so near that he could have -kissed the woman’s face. Her head lay pillowed on her -arm, her hair spread in a golden sheet beneath it. Her -bosom moved with the rhythmic calm of dreamless sleep. -Her lips were parted in a smile. One hand was hid in the -dark folds of her robe.</p> - -<p>Uther knelt with upturned face, his eyes shut to the sky. -He seemed like one faint with pain; his lips moved as in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>prayer. A hundred inarticulate pleadings surged heavenwards -from his heart.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_397.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><p>“SHALL I NOT BE YOUR WIFE”</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Again he bowed himself and watched the woman as she -slept. A strange calm fell for a season upon his face; his -eyes never wavered from the white arm and the glimmering -hair. Vast awe possessed him. He was like a child who -broods tearless and amazed over the calm face of a dead -mother.</p> - -<p>Hours passed, and the man found no sustenance save in -prayer. The unuttered yearnings of a world seemed molten -in his soul. The moon waned; the stars grew dim. -Sounds oracular were moving in the forest, the mysterious -breathing of a thousand trees. Life ebbed and flowed with -the sigh of a moon-stupored sea. Visions blazed in the -night sky. The portals of heaven were open; the sound -of harping fell like silver rain out of the clouds; the faces -of saints shone radiant through purple gloom.</p> - -<p>Hours passed, and neither sleeper nor watcher stirred. -The night grew faint, the water flickered in the mere. -The very stars seemed to gaze upon the destinies of two -wearied souls. Death hid his countenance. Christ walked -the earth.</p> - -<p>A sudden sound of light, and the stirring of a wind. -Far and faint came the quaver of a bird’s note. Grey and -mysterious stood the forest’s spires. Light! Spears of -amber darting in the east. A shudder seemed to shake the -universe. The vault kindled. The sky grew great with gold.</p> - -<p>It was the dawn.</p> - -<p>Even as the light increased the man knelt and lifted up -his face unto the heavens. Hope, glorious, seemed to fall -sudden out of the east, a radiant faith begotten of spirit -power. Banners of gold were streaming in the sky. The -gloom elapsed. A vast expectancy hung solemn upon the -red lips of the day.</p> - -<p>Igraine sighed in her sleep. Her mouth quivered, her -hair stirred sudden in the heather, tendrils of gold that -shivered in the sun. Uther, kneeling, lifted up his hands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> -with one long look to heaven. Prayer burnt upon his face. -He strove, Jacob-like, with God.</p> - -<p>A second sigh, and the long lashes quivered. The lips -moved, the eyes opened.</p> - -<p>“Igraine! Igraine!”</p> - -<p>Sudden silence followed, a vast hush as of hope. The -woman’s eyes were searching silently the man’s face. He -bent and cowered over her like one who weeps. His hands -touched her body, yet she did not stir.</p> - -<p>“Igraine! Igraine!”</p> - -<p>It was a hoarse, passionate cry that broke the golden -stupor of the dawn. Sudden light leapt lustrous in the -woman’s eyes; her face shone radiant amid her hair.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>The man’s arms circled her. She half crouched in his -bosom, her face peering into his.</p> - -<p>“Pelleas!”</p> - -<p>“At last!”</p> - -<p>A great shudder passed through her; her eyes grew big -with fear.</p> - -<p>“Speak!”</p> - -<p>“Igraine.”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois?”</p> - -<p>“Gorlois is dead.”</p> - -<p>Great silence held for a moment. The woman’s head -sank down upon the man’s shoulder; madness had passed; -her eyes were fixed on his with a wonderful earnestness, a -splendid calm.</p> - -<p>“Is this a dream?”</p> - -<p>“It is the truth.”</p> - -<p>Presently she gave a great sigh, and looked strangely -at the sun. Her voice came soft as music over -water.</p> - -<p>“I have dreamed a dream,” she said, "and all was dark -and fearful. Death seemed near, and shadows, and things -from hell. I knew not what I did, nor where I wandered, -nor what strange stupor held my soul. All was dark about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -me, horrible midnight peopled with foul forms. It has -passed; now, I behold the dawn."</p> - -<p>The man lifted up his voice and wept.</p> - -<p>“My God! my God! out of hell hast thou brought my -soul. Never again shall my vile lips blaspheme.”</p> - -<p>And Igraine comforted him.</p> - -<p>“Shall I not be your wife?” she said.</p> - - -<p class="mt2 ph3">THE END</p> - -<div class='transnote'><h3>Transcriber’s Notes:</h3> - <p>Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.</p> - - <p>Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as - possible, including obsolete and variant spellings, inconsistent - hyphenation, and other inconsistencies.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Uther and Igraine, by Warwick Deeping - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UTHER AND IGRAINE *** - -***** This file should be named 52139-h.htm or 52139-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52139/ - -Produced by Christopher Wright and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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