deliver me to the black infernal Furies, let them blind me, seethe me
in the burning lake. For so should there yet be hope. But in this
horror of Nothing is neither hope nor life nor death nor sleep nor
waking, for ever. For ever.”
In this black mood of horror he abode for awhile, until a sound of
weeping and wailing made him raise his head, and he beheld a company
of mourners walking one behind another about the brazen floor, all
cloaked in funeral black, mourning the death of Lord Goldry Bluszco.
And they rehearsed his glorious deeds and praised his beauty and
prowess and goodliness and strength: soft women’s voices lamenting,
so that the Lord Juss’s soul seemed as he listened to arise again out
of annihilation’s waste, and his heart grew soft again, even unto
tears. He felt a touch on his arm and looking up met the gaze of two
eyes gentle as a dove’s, suffused with tears, looking into his from
under the darkness of that hood of mourning; and a woman’s voice spake
and said, “This is the observable day of the death of the Lord Goldry
Bluszco, which hath been dead now a year; and we his fellows in bondage
do bewail him, as thou mayst see, and shall so bewail him again year by
year whiles we are on life. And for thee, great lord, must we yet more
sorrowfully lament, since of all thy great works done this is the empty
guerdon, and this the period of thine ambition. But come, take comfort
for a season, since unto all dominions Fate hath set their end, and
there is no king on the road of death.”
So the Lord Juss, his heart dead within him for grief and despair,
suffered her take him by the hand and conduct him down a winding
stairway that led from that brazen floor to an inner chamber fragrant
and delicious, lighted with flickering lamps. Surely life and its
turmoils seemed faded to a distant and futile murmur, and the horror of
the void seemed there but a vain imagination, under the heavy sweetness
of that chamber. His senses swooned; he turned towards his veiled
conductress. She with a sudden motion cast off her mourning cloak, and
stood there, her whole fair body bared to his gaze, open-armed, a sight
to ravish the soul with love and all delight.
Well nigh had he clasped to his bosom that vision of dazzling
loveliness. But fortune, or the high Gods, or his own soul’s might,
woke yet again in his drugged brain remembrance of his purpose, so that
he turned violently from that bait prepared for his destruction, and
strode from the chamber up to that roof where his dear brother sat as
in death. Juss caught him by the hand: “Speak to me, kinsman. It is I,
Juss. It is Juss, thy brother.”
But Goldry moved not neither answered any word.
Juss looked at the hand resting in his, so like his own to the very
shape of the finger nails and the growth of the hairs on the back of
the hand and fingers. He let it go, and the arm dropped lifeless.
“It is very certain,” said he, “thou art in a manner frozen, and thy
spirits and understanding frozen and congealed within thee.”
So saying, he bent to gaze close in Goldry’s eyes, touching his arm and
shoulder. Not a limb stirred, not an eyelid flickered. He caught him
by the hand and sleeve as if to force him up from the bench, calling
him loudly by his name, shaking him roughly, crying, “Speak to me, thy
brother, that crossed the world to find thee;” but he abode a dead
weight in Juss’s grasp.
“If thou be dead,” said Juss, “then am I dead with thee. But till
then I’ll ne’er think thee dead.” And he sat down on the bench beside
his brother, taking his hand in his, and looked about him. Nought but
utter silence. Night had fallen, and the moon’s calm radiance and the
twinkling stars mingled with the pale fires that hedged that mountain
top in an uncertain light. Hell loosed no more her denizens in the air,
and since the moment when Juss had in that inner chamber shaken himself
free of that last illusion no presence had he seen nor simulacrum of
man or devil save only Goldry his brother; nor might that horror any
more master his high heart, but the memory of it was but as the bitter
chill of a winter sea that takes the swimmer’s breath for an instant as
he plunges first into the icy waters.
So with a calm and a steadfast mind the Lord Juss abode there, his
second night without sleep, for sleep he dared not in that accursed
place. But for joy of his found brother, albeit it seemed there was in
him neither speech nor sight nor hearing, Juss scarce wist of his great
weariness. And he nourished himself with that ambrosia given him by the
Queen, for well he thought the uttermost strength of his body should
now be tried in the task he now decreed him.
When it was day, he arose and taking his brother Goldry bodily on his
back set forth. Past the gates of brass Juss bore him, and past the
barriers of flame, and painfully and by slow degrees down the long
northern ridge which overhangs the Psarrion Glaciers. All that day,
and the night following, and all the next day after were they on the
mountain, and well nigh dead was Juss for weariness when on the second
day an hour or two before sun-down they reached the moraine. Yet was
triumph in his heart, and gladness of a great deed done. They lay that
night in a grove of strawberry trees under the steep foot of a mountain
some ten miles beyond the western shore of Ravary, and met Spitfire
and Brandoch Daha who had waited with their boat two nights at the
appointed spot, about eventide of the following day.
Now as soon as Juss had brought him off the mountain, this frozen
condition of the Lord Goldry was so far thawed that he was able
to stand upon his feet and walk; but never a word might he speak,
and never a look they gat from him, but still his gaze was set and
unchanging, seeming when it rested on his companions to look through
and beyond them as at some far thing seen in a mist. So that each was
secretly troubled, fearing lest this condition of the Lord Goldry
Bluszco should prove remediless, and this that they now received back
from prison but the poor remain of him they had so much desired.
They came aland and brought him to Sophonisba the Queen where she made
haste to meet them on the fair lawn before her pavilion. The Queen,
as if knowing beforehand both their case and the remedy thereof, took
by the hand the Lord Juss and said, “O my lord, there yet remaineth a
thing for thee to do to free him throughly, that hast outfaced terrors
beyond the use of man to bring him back: a little stone indeed to crown
this building of thine, and yet without it all were in vain, as itself
were vain without the rest that was all thine: and mine is this last,
and with a pure heart I give it thee.”
So saying she made the Lord Juss bow down till she might kiss his
mouth, sweetly and soberly one light kiss. And she said, “This give
unto the lord thy brother.” And Juss did so, kissing his dear brother
in like manner on the mouth; and she said, “Take him, dear my lords.
And I have utterly put out the remembrance of these things from his
heart. Take him, and give thanks unto the high Gods because of him.”
Therewith the Lord Goldry Bluszco looked upon them and upon that fair
Queen and the mountains and the woods and the cool lake’s loveliness,
as a man awakened out of a deep slumber.
Surely there was joy in all their hearts that day.
XXIX: THE FLEET AT MUELVA
HOW THE LORDS OF DEMONLAND CAME AGAIN TO THEIR SHIPS AT MUELVA, AND
THE TIDINGS THEY LEARNED THERE.
For nine days’ space the lords of Demonland abode with Queen Sophonisba
in Koshtra Belorn and beside the Lake of Ravary tasting such high and
pure delights as belike none else hath tasted, if it were not the
spirits of the blest in Elysium. When they bade her farewell, the Queen
said, “My little martlets shall bring me tidings of you. And when you
shall have brought to mere perdition the wicked regiment of Witchland
and returned again to your dear native land, then is my time for that,
my Lord Juss, whereof I have often talked to thee and often gladded
my dreams with the thought thereof: to visit earth again and the
habitations of men, and be your guest in many-mountained Demonland.”
Juss kissed her hand and said, “Fail not in this, dear Queen,
whatsoe’er betide.”
So the Queen let bring them by a secret way out upon the high
snow-fields that are betwixt Koshtra Belorn and Romshir, whence they
came down into the glen of the dark water that descends from the
glacier of Temarm, and so through many perilous scapes after many days
back by way of the Moruna to Muelva and the ships.
There Gaslark and La Fireez, when their greetings were done and their
rejoicings, said to the Lord Juss, “We abide too long time here. We
have entered the barrel and the bung-hole is stopped.” Therewithal they
brought him Hesper Golthring, who three days ago sailing to the Straits
for forage came back again but yesterday with a hot alarum that he met
certain ships of Witchland: and brought them to battle: and gat one
sunken ere they brake off the fight: and took up certain prisoners. “By
whose examination,” saith he, “as well as from mine own perceiving and
knowing, it appeareth Laxus holdeth the Straits with eight score ships
of war, the greatest ships that ever the sea bare until this day, come
hither of purpose to destroy us.”
“Eight score ships?” said Lord Brandoch Daha. “Witchland commandeth not
the half, nor the third part, of such a strength since we did them down
last harvest-tide in Aurwath haven. It is not leveable, Hesper.”
Hesper answered him, “Your highness shall find it truth; and more the
sorrow on’t and the wonder.”
“’Tis the scourings of his subject-allies,” said Spitfire. “We shall
find them no such hard matter to dispatch after the others.”
Juss said to the Lord Gro, “What makest thou of these news, my lord?”
“I think no wonder in it,” answered he. “Witchland is of good memory
and mindeth him of your seamanship off Kartadza. He useth not to
idle, nor to set all on one hazard. Nor comfort not thyself, my Lord
Spitfire, that these be pleasure-galleys borrowed from the soft
Beshtrians or the simple Foliots. They be new ships builded for us, my
lords, and our undoing: it is by no conjecture I say it unto you, but
of mine own knowledge, albeit the number appeareth far greater than ere
I dreamed of. But or ever I sailed with Corinius to Demonland, great
buildings of an army naval was begun at Tenemos.”
“I do very well believe,” said King Gaslark, “that none knoweth all
this better than thou, because thyself didst counsel it.”
“O Gaslark,” said Lord Brandoch Daha, “must thou still itch to play at
chop-cherry when cherry-time is past? Let him alone. He is our friend
now.”
“Eight score ships i’ the Straits,” said Juss. “And ours an hundred.
’Tis well seen what great difference and odds there is betwixt us.
Which we must needs encounter, or else ne’er sail home again, let alone
to Carcë. For out of this sea is no sea-way for ships, but only by
these Straits of Melikaphkhaz.”
“We shall do of Laxus,” said Lord Brandoch Daha, “that he troweth to do
of us.”
But Juss was fallen silent, his chin in his hand.
Goldry Bluszco said, “I would allow him odds and beat him.”
“It is a great shame in thee, O Juss,” said Brandoch Daha, “if thou
wilt be abashed at this. If that they be in number more than we, what
then? They are in hope, quarrel, and strength far inferior.”
But Juss, still in a study, reached out and caught him by the sleeve,
holding him so a moment or two, and then looked up at him and said,
“Thou art the greatest quarreller, of a friend, that ever I knew, and
if I were an angry man I could not abear thee. May I not three minutes
study the means, but thou shalt cry out upon me for a milksop?”
They laughed, and the Lord Juss rose up and said, “Call we a council
of war. And let Hesper Golthring be at it, and his skippers that were
with him o’ that voyage. And pack up the stuff, for we will away o’ the
morn. If we like not these lettuce, we may pull back our lips. But no
choice remaineth. If Laxus will deny us sea-room through Melikaphkhaz
Straits, I trow there shall go up thence a crash which when the King
heareth it he shall know it for our first banging on the gates of
Carcë.”
XXX: TIDINGS OF MELIKAPHKHAZ
OF NEWS BROUGHT UNTO GORICE THE KING IN CARCË OUT OF THE SOUTH,
WHERE THE LORD LAXUS LYING IN THE STRAITS WITH HIS ARMADA HELD
THE FLEET OF DEMONLAND PRISONED IN THE MIDLAND SEA.
On a night of late summer leaning towards autumn, eight weeks after
the sailing of the Demons out of Muelva as is aforewrit, the Lady
Prezmyra sate before her mirror in Corund’s lofty bed-chamber in Carcë.
The night without was mild and full of stars. Within, yellow flames
of candles burning steadily on either side of the mirror rayed forth
tresses of tinselling brightness in twin glories or luminous spheres
of warmth. In that soft radiance grains as of golden fire swam and
circled, losing themselves on the confines of the gloom where the massy
furniture and the arras and the figured hangings of the bed were but
cloudier divisions and congestions of the general dark. Prezmyra’s hair
caught the beams and imprisoned them in a tawny tangle of splendour
that swept about her head and shoulders down to the emerald clasps of
her girdle. Her eyes resting idly on her own fair image in the shining
mirror, she talked light nothings with her woman of the bed-chamber
who, plying the comb, stood behind her chair of gold and tortoiseshell.
“Reach me yonder book, nurse, that I may read again the words of that
serenade the Lord Gro made for me, the night when first we had tidings
from my lord out of Impland of his conquest of that land, and the King
did make him king thereof.”
The old woman gave her the book, that was bound in goatskin chiselled
and ornamented by the gilder’s art, fitted with clasps of gold, and
enriched with little gems, smaragds and margery-pearls, inlaid in the
panels of its covers. Prezmyra turned the page and read:
You meaner Beauties of the Night,
That poorly satisfie our Eies,
More by your number then your light,
You Common-people of the Skies;
What are you when the Moone shall rise?
You Curious Chanters of the Wood,
That warble forth Dame Natures layes,
Thinking your Passions understood
By your weake accents; what’s your praise
When Philomell her voyce shall raise?
You Violets that first apeare,
By your pure purpel mantles knowne,
Like the proud Virgins of the yeare,
As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the Rose is blowne?
So, when my Princess shall be seene
In form and Beauty of her mind,
By Vertue first, then Choyce a Queen,
Tell me, if she were not design’d
Th’ Eclypse and Glory of her kind.
She abode silent awhile. Then, in a low sweet voice where all the
chords of music seemed to slumber: “Three years will be gone next
Yule-tide,” she said, “since first I heard that song. And not yet am I
grown customed to the style of Queen.”
“’Tis pity of my Lord Gro,” said the nurse.
“Thou thinkest?”
“Mirth sat oftener on your face, O Queen, when he was here, and you
were used to charm his melancholy and make a pish of his phantastical
humorous forebodings.”
“Oft doubting not his forejudgement,” said Prezmyra, “even the while I
thripped my fingers at it. But never saw I yet that the louring thunder
hath that partiality of a tyrant, to blast him that faced it and pass
by him that quailed before it.”
“He was most deeply bound servant to your beauty,” said the old woman.
“And yet,” she said, viewing her mistress sidelong to see how she would
receive it, “that were a miss easily made good.”
She busied herself with the comb awhile in silence. After a time she
said, “O Queen, mistress of the hearts of men, there is not a lord in
Witchland, nor in earth beside, you might not bind your servant with
one thread of this hair of yours. The likeliest and the goodliest were
yours at an eye-glance.”
The Lady Prezmyra looked dreamily into her own sea-green eyes imaged in
the glass. Then she smiled mockingly and said, “Whom then accountest
thou the likeliest and the goodliest man in all the stablished earth?”
The old woman smiled. “O Queen,” answered she, “this was the very
matter in dispute amongst us at supper only this evening.”
“A pretty disputation!” said Prezmyra. “Let me be merry. Who was
adjudged the fairest and gallantest by your high court of censure?”
“It was not generally determined of, O Queen. Some would have my Lord
Gro.”
“Alack, he is too feminine,” said Prezmyra.
“Others our Lord the King.”
“There is none greater,” said Prezmyra, “nor more worshipful. But for
an husband, thou shouldst as well wed with a thunder-storm or the
hungry sea. Give me some more.”
“Some chose the lord Admiral.”
“That,” said Prezmyra, “was a nearer stroke. No skipjack nor soft
marmalady courtier, but a brave, tall, gallant gentleman. Ay, but too
watery a planet burned at his nativity. He is too like a statua of a
man. No, nurse, thou must bring me better than he.”
The nurse said, “True it is, O Queen, that most were of my thinking
when I gave ’em my choice: the king of Demonland.”
“Fie on thee!” cried Prezmyra. “Name him not so that was too unmighty
to hold that land against our enemies.”
“Folk say it was by foxish arts and practices magical a was spilt on
Krothering Side. Folk say ’twas divels and not horses carried the
Demons down the mountain at us.”
“They say!” cried Prezmyra. “I say to thee, he hath found it apter to
his bent to flaunt his crown in Witchland than make ’em give him the
knee in Galing. For a true king both knee and heart do truly bow before
him. But this one, if he had their knee ’twas in the back side of him
he had it, to kick him home again.”
“Fie, madam!” said the nurse.
“Hold thy tongue, nurse,” said Prezmyra. “It were good ye were all well
whipped for a bunch of silly mares that know not a horse from an ass.”
The old woman watching her in the glass counted it best keep silence.
Prezmyra said under her breath as if talking to herself, “I know a man,
should not have miscarried it thus.” The old nurse that loved not Lord
Corund and his haughty fashions and rough speech and wine-bibbing, and
was besides jealous that so rude a stock should wear so rich a jewel as
was her mistress, followed not her meaning.
After some time, the old woman spake softly and said, “You are full of
thoughts to-night, madam.”
Prezmyra’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Why may I not be so and it
likes me?” said she.
That stony look of the eyes struck like a gong some twenty-year-old
memory in the nurse’s heart: the little wilful maiden, ill to goad but
good to guide, looking out from that Queen’s face across the years. She
knelt down suddenly and caught her arms about her mistress’s waist.
“Why must you wed then, dear heart?” said she, “if you were minded to
do what likes you? Men love not sad looks in their wives. You may ride
a lover on the curb, madam, but once you wed him ’tis all t’other way:
all his way, madam, and beware of ‘had I wist.’”
Her mistress looked down at her mockingly. “I have been wed seven years
to-night. I should know these things.”
“And this night!” said the nurse. “And but an hour till midnight, and
yet he sitteth at board.”
The Lady Prezmyra leaned back to look again on her own mirrored
loveliness. Her proud mouth sweetened to a smile. “Wilt thou learn me
common women’s wisdom?” said she, and there was yet more voluptuous
sweetness trembling in her voice. “I will tell thee a story, as thou
hast told them me in the old days in Norvasp to wile me to bed. Hast
thou not heard tell how old Duke Hilmanes of Maltraëny, among some
other fantasies such as appear by night unto many in divers places,
had one in likeness of a woman with old face of low and little stature
or body, which did scour his pots and pans and did such things as a
maid servant ought to do, liberally and without doing of any harm? And
by his art he knew this thing should be his servant still, and bring
unto him whatsoever he would, so long time as he should be glad of the
things it brought him. But this duke, being a foolish man and a greedy,
made his familiar bring him at once all the year’s seasons and their
several goods and pleasures, and all good things of earth at one time.
So as in six months’ space, he being sated with these and all good
things, and having no good thing remaining unto him to expect or to
desire, for very weariness did hang himself. I would never have ta’en
me an husband, nurse, and I had not known that I was able to give him
every time I would a new heaven and a new earth, and never the same
thing twice.”
She took the old woman’s hands in hers and gathered them to her breast,
as if to let them learn, rocked for a minute in the bountiful infinite
sweetness of that place, what foolish fears were these. Suddenly
Prezmyra clasped the hands tighter in her own, and shuddered a little.
She bent down to whisper in the nurse’s ear, “I would not wish to die.
The world without me should be summer without roses. Carcë without me
should be a night without the star-shine.”
Her voice died away like the night breeze in a summer garden. In the
silence they heard the dip and wash of oar-blades from the river
without; the sentinel’s challenge, the answer from the ship.
Prezmyra stood up quickly and went to the window. She could see the
ship’s dark bulk by the water-gate, and comings and goings, but nought
clearly. “Tidings from the fleet,” she said. “Put up my hair.”
And ere that was done, came a little page running to her chamber door,
and when it was opened to him, stood panting from his running and said,
“The king your husband bade me tell you, madam, and pray you go down to
him i’ the great hall. It may be ill news, I fear.”
“Thou fearest, pap-face?” said the Queen. “I’ll have thee whipped if
thou bringest thy fears to me. Dost know aught? What’s the matter?”
“The ship’s much battered, O Queen. He is closeted with our Lord the
King, the skipper. None dare speak else. ’Tis feared the high Admiral——”
“Feared!” cried she, swinging round for the nurse to put about her
white shoulders her mantle of sendaline and cloth of silver, that
shimmered at the collar with purple amethysts and was scented with
cedar and galbanum and myrrh. She was forth in the dark corridor,
down by the winding marble stair, through the mid-court, hasting to
the banquet hall. The court was full of folk talking; but nought
certain, nought save suspense and wonder; rumour of a great sea-fight
in the south, a mighty victory won by Laxus upon the Demons: Juss and
those lords of Demonland dead and gone, the captives following with
the morning’s tide. And here and there like an undertone to these
triumphant tidings, contrary rumours, whispered low, like the hissing
of an adder from her shadowy lair: all not well, the lord Admiral
wounded, half his ships lost, the battle doubtful, the Demons escaped.
So came that lady into the great hall; and there were the lords and
captains of the Witches all in a restless quiet of expectation. Duke
Corsus lolled forward in his seat down by the cross-bench, his breath
stertorous, his small eyes fixed in a drunken stare. On the other
side Corund sate huge and motionless, his elbow propped on the table,
his chin in his hand, sombre and silent, staring at the wall. Others
gathered in knots, talking in low tones. The Lord Corinius walked up
and down behind the cross-bench, his hands clasped behind him, his
fingers snapping impatiently at whiles, his heavy jaw held high, his
glance high and defiant. Prezmyra came to Heming where he stood among
three or four and touched him on the arm. “We know nothing, madam,” he
said. “He is with the King.”
She came to her lord. “Thou didst send for me.”
Corund looked up at her. “Why, so I did, madam. Tidings from the fleet.
Maybe somewhat, maybe nought. But thou’dst best be here for’t.”
“Good tidings or ill: that shaketh not Carcë walls,” said she.
Suddenly the low buzz of talk was hushed. The King stood in the
curtained doorway. They rose up all to meet him, all save Corsus that
sat drunk in his chair. The crown of Witchland shed baleful sparkles
above the darkness of the dark fortress-face of Gorice the King, the
glitter of his dread eyeballs, the deadly line of his mouth, the square
black beard jutting beneath. Like a tower he stood, and behind him in
the shadow was the messenger from the fleet with countenance the colour
of wet mortar.