single whole--maybe my despair, at that moment which was loss and
victory all in one, belongs also to some link of the chain. Alas! he is
gone, to come no more, and I must grope alone in the dark to find the
meaning of the many questions that weigh down my heart.
"But thou must tell me now what is that sunny country I saw beneath me
when I was yonder, so near the skies? It was like a land all peace and
beauty, sending from below to where I stood a message of hope and
promise, luring me towards its fertile plains."
"It is my country," said the peasant. "I know not if it is full of
beauty and promise, but I know that I love the village in which I live,
that dear to me is the small cottage where my mother sits and spins, the
old well from which the girls fetch water at the hour when the sun goes
down. I love the great plain where the corn waves in the heat of the
summer, and the long roads that are straight and dusty, upon which the
carts are always rumbling never in a hurry to reach the end.
"It is a good country; and on feast days we dance in the villages, and
the girls wear skirts of many colours. But from the time when the snow
has melted I come to these lonely hills with my flocks, and here I
quietly remain--as sole companions my dogs, and occasionally the visit
of a shepherd like myself or that of a wandering monk--till the cold
blasts of autumn drive me back to the plains.
"I do not mind the solitude--I have my flute, and the dear songs of my
country; and we love not overmuch to live in a hurry, or to move about
with busy hands.
"My mother weaves and spins, and my sisters embroider strange designs on
the shirts they will wear on the day of their marriage. Oh, indeed I
love this country of mine!"
"Tell me more," begged Eric. "I love to hear thee talk. I feel then the
peace of thy plains steal over my weary body that has come from so far."
"There is not much to tell," answered the boy. "Our cottages are small
and are covered with shaggy roofs of thatch and maize. Large sunflowers
look in at the tiny windows, and when a stranger all hot and tired comes
along the road the dogs rush out from every door and the air is filled
with their barking and noise.
"At the fall of night the herds come home raising clouds of dust as they
pass. Each one knows the corner where it dwells, and stops of its own
accord at its own gate, while the small boys run about bare-foot
clacking their whips. In winter everything is deeply enveloped with
snow, which lies like a cover of feathers, keeping the fields warm from
the frost, and when the sun goes to bed it lights up the sky with
flaming red that spreads over the snow as well; and then black troops of
crows fly across the horizon, and settle like a dark cloud upon the
white immensity, flat and endless, as far as the eye can reach.
"And when spring comes the wind blows in storms and dries up the lakes
made by the melting snow. Then the fields are a patchwork of black and
white; timidly the little flowers push their heads through the dead
leaves in the woods, and the children run out of the villages to gather
them in bunches which they sell to the passers-by. Thou must remain with
me and I shall tell thee more!"
But Eric explained that he must soon continue his road, for he knew not
how far he still had to go:
"All roads will feel soft to my feet after the mountains I have climbed;
but my heart has lost its brightness and I begin to wonder what I shall
reach in the end.
"At first the gladness that filled my being found an echo in each thing
I met as I went along. I used to sing and play on my flute. And then
came days when all was strange and full of secret dangers I could never
understand.
"Later I climbed those awful mountains; much did I find there, and much
did I lose. But I no more sing as once I did."
Both boys had risen and gone to the door of the hut, where they stood,
hands linked, looking out on the night; and there on the stump of a tree
near by sat the beautiful falcon, and round his neck the blue diamond
still blazed like a consoling star. Eric went to the bird and laid his
hand on its head; the faithful creature turned his way and a bright
light shone in its eyes.
"This was my trusted scout, who showed me where I should go; but I fear
he will no more follow me when I go down to the plains. If thou allowest
I shall still spend this night under thy roof and then go my way."
"I wish I could leave my flocks," cried the youth, "and follow thee; thy
face is so fair, and never have I heard voice more sweet. I fear I shall
see thee no more, for thou seemest out of a world of dreams."
Eric did not reply, but stood looking into the night; then very slowly
he unfastened the golden chain he still wore round his neck, and slipped
it over the head of his host.
"Keep this in token that really I have been with thee; but now let me
rest on thy couch, for I must leave thee soon."
He turned back into the hut, and throwing himself upon the sacks of dry
leaves that formed the shepherd's bed, he was soon fast asleep, his head
buried in the folds of his cloak. The sun stood already far over the
mountain tops when Eric awoke after a refreshing sleep upon the
primitive resting-place.
Outside the shepherd-boy was watching his sheep, leaning on his staff in
his wonted attitude.
When he saw that Eric was awake he greeted him with a happy smile, and
immediately set about getting him food, and a freshly milked drink, all
white and warm.
Upon Eric's bidding he led his guest to a little spring near by, where
at last he could wash off all traces of his past wanderings.
His wounds had been awkwardly bound up by the kind-hearted youth on the
first night, while he lay in a swoon.
Eric winced with pain when the cold water came in contact with his
scarcely healed skin; but it was a glorious joy to bathe in the fresh
running stream, and at last our traveller felt more like his old self.
During his ablutions his host had carried off his once so neat clothes,
and when he came back to the hut he found the faithful boy sewing up the
rents in the rich black stuff with a long thread and needle.
He had brushed away, as well as he could, all the spots and stains, but
the velvet coat and silken hose had kept little resemblance to the neat
apparel in which the King's favourite had started from the white palace
of the north. Eric lay down in the grass, turning his bare back to the
smiling sun-rays.
Both youths joked happily together, as the peasant sewed away with
diligent fingers. And when they had no more words to say, the shepherd
lifted his young quavering voice and sang long-drawn ditties, which ever
had a mournful ring in their notes, full of melancholy and patient
longing.
Eric felt almost happy. His recent adventures seemed far-away dreams of
another life; but he knew he never would be able to forget all that he
had suffered, knew that the gay thoughtless boy, who had started long
ago, was for ever a thing of the past.
The falcon still sat upon the stump of the tree and watched with quiet
attention these two boys of such different races, the one so fair, the
other so dark, both handsome and good to look upon; but no man can know
what thoughts lay behind those piercing eyes.
After a while the last stitch had been put, and the kindly youth held up
the velvet coat in triumph, so that the sun shone upon it making it look
quite new.
"Never have I seen stuff so soft," he exclaimed, whilst he stroked the
rich worn tissue with his hand.
"And it is all silk within, silvery grey, like the rays of the moon! And
thou hast given me thy golden chain! Was it indeed a gift from the
northern King? And to think that thou left him and all his glory to
wander all over the world in search of a face! Ah! never shall I know if
thou hast found it in the end! That thought is sad to me. Forsooth, I
wish I could call thee brother!"
"Call me whatever thou willst," Eric replied. "I shall think of thee
when I am far; for didst thou not tend me with loving care? Didst thou
not feed me when I was famished and tired? Didst thou not save me when I
knew I could move no farther? No brother could have done more; and one
day, perhaps, we shall meet again. What is thy name?"
"I am called Radu the shepherd, and my father possesses two fields and a
cart, with oxen that are grey like the stones on the road; their horns
are so long that it is difficult for them to hold their heads close
together; but we are poor all the same, and that is why I tend my flocks
on these mountain pastures so far from my village. But if thou dost
tarry for a time in yonder plains I may meet thee yet when I return to
my home; but one thing I must give thee before thou goest--thy shoes are
quite beyond repair--I have a couple of new sandals meant for Sunday
use; they may not be what thou art accustomed to wear, but my heart will
be glad if thou wilt accept so small a gift from me. Also I must see to
thy wounds. I have an ointment, made by the wisest woman of our village,
that can heal any sore. Come into my lowly hut and it will be my joy to
dress thee and bind up thy cruel cuts!"
Eric gladly followed his kind friend, deeply touched by so much simple
hospitality, and gave himself over into the clever hands of the boy: he
was soon freshly bandaged with a soothing salve spread upon his aching
scars.
Then he put on his neatly patched clothes, and let his host fasten the
sandals on his feet, wind the long leather thongs about his legs, and
tie them firmly under the knee.
Not yet content with all he had done, the boy searched about in the
painted chest, and drew from its depths a long staff, richly decorated
with patterns cut out of metal and fixed upon the wood with tiny nails.
"This I have worked upon for years, inventing the most intricate
designs. It has been the pleasure of my lonely hours, and I want thee to
have it, because never have I loved a face as much as thine; nothing so
fair has ever come my way! But don't forget Radu the shepherd! It would
grieve me sore!"
Now the beautiful sword was girt round our wanderer's waist, the
much-used cloak hung over his back; and then, taking the boy's present
in his hand, he drew the kindly friend into his arms and held him long
in a warm embrace.
When the peasant lifted his head from Eric's shoulder large hot tears
were running down his cheeks.
For a last time the two boys firmly clasped hands, and then Eric tore
himself away. The falcon spread its white wings and flew before him
leading the way.
Several times Eric turned to look his last on the comrade who had been
so kind; there he stood silhouetted against the sky, leaning as ever
upon his staff, his flock around him, his dogs at his feet.
XX
I saw her eyes like stars and her face pale and wonderful as dawn,
and her lips like twilight water.
FIONA MACLEOD.
Eric had now reached the base of the mountains, had actually set his
foot within that fruitful, smiling plain.
One of the long roads that he had perceived from the heights lay before
him.
It was covered with thick white dust, and on both sides the cornfields
stood in ripening abundance, rippling in the soft wind like waves that
had been dyed yellow by the rays of the sun. Bright-tinted flowers grew
in the ditches--red, blue, and yellow--a feast for the traveller's eye.
Eric walked quickly; new hope had risen in his heart, his body felt
rested, his spirit eager; he wondered if this would be the land of his
dreams? The sun shone upon him from a cloudless sky; the crystal of his
sword reflected its dazzling blue, whilst the staff he held in his hand
had turned into burnished gold.
He passed many peasants as he went, and all of them turned and gazed
after this stranger in silken clothes.
Eric had never lost his radiant smile; and all whom he met felt better
and richer because they had looked upon the light that shone in his
eyes.
Never had he seen roads so straight and so shadeless; they seemed to
lead in an uncurving line from one end of the earth to the other; and
those that walked upon them were never in a hurry.
Strings of carts laden with freshly cut corn and hay moved slowly along,
the heads of the patient oxen bent low to the ground, straining under
the weight they dragged.
High above the swinging loads long-haired youths stretched in lazy
content, piped dreamy tunes upon their wooden flutes, their eyes hidden
beneath broad-brimmed hats. All were dressed in the same white shirts
Radu had worn.
There were also old men walking beside the vehicles, bearing heavy
scythes on their shoulders.
Their faces were browned, the colour of sun-baked earth; and from under
the shade of their hats silvery locks hung down covering the napes of
their wrinkled necks.
One friendly peasant had bidden Eric take a rest on the top of his hay,
and our wanderer had gladly accepted, swinging himself up on the swaying
mass.
There he reposed among the fragrant green, half buried beneath the
flowers of yesterday.
The faithful hawk flew down from the blue and perched close to his feet.
Eric closed his eyes, hugging his sword to his breast; and as he did so
the vision of his dream stood before him with startling vividness.
Never had he seen the face so distinctly; never had the eyes looked into
his from so near. He sat up, almost expecting to find some unknown being
at his side; but no--he was shut in all about by the withered grass that
smelt so sweet and was so deliciously soft to his limbs.
But why had he so clearly felt his vision's sweet presence? It made his
heart beat with breathless excitement. How warm the sun was! How long
the road!
The clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the carts were so thick that
Eric could no more see where he was going. But had he not always
allowed Fate to shape events as she would? This time again he would not
worry, but simply believe in his luck as he had done all along, and
trust in God who had so mercifully guided his steps.
Eric must have fallen asleep on his moving bed, because when he awoke
the sun was already low and the carts had stopped beside a wood near the
edge of the road. The peasants had unyoked their oxen, which were
quietly chewing the cud, watching their masters with large humid eyes,
their tails lazily flicking the swarms of flies from off their flanks.
The men sat in groups; some smoking, some preparing their meal of Indian
corn over a small fire they had lit in the ditch.
Eric climbed down from his lofty resting-place, looking around him
rather dazed from his sleep.
The falcon rose noiselessly into the air and flew off, perching upon a
tall tree in the wood beyond. It had not yet forsaken its travelling
companion, and Eric followed its flight with an affectionate look.
The men made room for the youth as they all sat around the boiling pot
that hung over the fire from three crossed bars. One man stirred the
thick dough with a solid rounded stick; from time to time they took
draughts of cool water, putting their lips to the thick spouts of
quaintly shaped earthen pots which were standing at their side.
None could resist our traveller's charm, and every one treated him as an
honoured guest, wherever he brought his sunny smile, his dreamer's eyes,
and his golden locks.
His new hosts asked him a few vague questions, about what he was doing,
whither he was going, and whence he came; but they showed no great
eagerness; it even appeared to Eric as if nothing could take them by
surprise. In their quiet acceptation of all that came and went, they
much reminded Eric of their own beasts of burden.
They did not seem to think, but only to dream, and consider one thing as
good as another; they were ready to share whatever was theirs with this
stranger whom they had met on the way.
In the distance a tiny village could be seen, hidden amongst thick
shrubs and trees; but the peasants explained it was not their home; they
still had far to go, so they meant to stop here for the night, sleeping
either in the ditch among the dusty flowers or upon their loads of hay.
They kindly proposed that Eric should remain with them and rest beside
their carts, which he agreed to do; but before settling down for the
night he felt inclined to wander through the wood and to discover what
lay beyond.
The peasants had suddenly espied the wonderful sword that hung from his
belt, and they would not let him go before they had handled it in turns.
For a moment they dropped their calm in loud exclamations of approval,
and stood around him as he let the blade flash in the sinking light.
Then he moved away, and soon was lost among the oaks of the wood that
spread their branches over his head. Through their thick trunks the
setting sun could be seen turning the sky into a burning furnace, and
one side of every trunk seemed glowing hot as the fiery rays smote upon
it.
A thick carpet of green spread beneath his feet, and innumerable birds
sang amongst the trees as he passed. The wood was small, and before long
Eric had reached the farther side.
In front of him stretched the broad bed of a river, now almost dry; but
in several places the water flowed calmly along in separate streams.
The banks were bordered with grey-green willows and on the small islands
in the river's bed the same trees thickly grew. The water was dyed red
by the sinking sun, and each stone shone like a jewel, as if some
wasteful king had cast all his treasure away.
There, where the river was dry, Eric perceived a group of small brown
tents, like giant withered leaves, that the parting sun was turning into
every shade of rust and orange.
Little columns of smoke mounted into the air on all sides, throwing
their blue veil of filmy vapour over the bushes in the background.
Tied up to some trees near by were lean, hungry-looking horses of all
sorts, and solemn grey donkeys wandered about amongst the loose stones
cropping each blade of grass they could find.
Eric descended the small bank that separated the wood from the river and
hesitatingly approached the shabby tents. As he did so a whole swarm of
nut-brown children came running towards him, from every corner, with
outstretched, begging hands, their rags hanging in tatters around their
thin little bodies.
Some were quite naked and as dark as mahogany, with enormous black eyes
and feathery lashes. They screamed and chattered, and many of them
turned mad somersaults over the stony ground to attract the wanderer's
attention.
In a second the whole settlement was in a violent uproar of excitement,
mixed with the barking of dogs.
From each dwelling dark, curiously clad men and women trooped out.
Many were beautiful, and all had marvellous eyes; the younger men wore
their hair in thick black curls, hanging about their faces. There were
frightful old hags amongst them draped in discoloured garments that
almost fell from their withered limbs, held only together by broad
scarlet girdles that were wound innumerable times around their waists.
One or two young girls were startlingly handsome; they stood with heads
thrown back, their hands on their hips, holding short white pipes
between their flashing teeth.
Their tresses were bound in gaudy rags, and each wore a flower of
brightest hue stuck behind her ear. Round their necks they had hung
strings of beads and shells, of all sorts and sizes, that shone in
varying colours as they moved about.
They were slim and upright, with narrow hips and beautiful feet and
hands, but one and all were as dark as Indians, their faces having taken
the tint of the long roads they were for ever pursuing.
As Eric had immediately guessed, this was a troop of that mysterious
race of gypsies that comes from no one knows whither, and wanders over
the world with no destination in view. Everywhere they are dreaded by
the quiet inhabitants of the villages, for they are ready to steal all
that comes their way, and never respect what belongs to another.
At the slightest provocation their knives are ready to spring from their
belts; their tempers blaze like scorching flames; to them it seems but
part of the day's work to leave a dagger within the heart of any who
have awakened their resentment.
Now they all clamoured and yelled as they dragged at his cloak, touched
his clothes, fingered his sword, and nearly pulled the staff from his
hand.
But they were all laughing and excited, evidently enchanted to meet so
fair a traveller who had so unexpectedly fallen in their midst.
Eric felt quite confused by this turbulent greeting, and was wondering
what was going to happen next, when one of the quite old women moved out
of the mob, took hold of his cloak, and pulled him towards her tent.
She was clothed in an old carpet-like cloth that she had wrapped round
her loins over a discoloured shift that might once have been white, but
was now the shade of the earth; the whole was held together by a long
band of faded colours that was twisted several times round hips and
waist. Her grey hair hung in thin strands over her face, that was
wrinkled and brown like the bark of a tree, but which still showed signs
of former beauty. She was bent almost double, and dragged herself along
with the help of a twisted staff. Like all the others she had a short
white pipe in her mouth, and her head was covered with a kerchief of
brilliant colour.
From her belt hung a curiously shaped shell, a sign that she was a
teller of fortunes, and therefore a respected personage amongst this
troop of nomads.
Eric followed her without resistance, but hesitated at the entry to her
dark dwelling, very reluctant to penetrate within anything so unclean;
but the old woman was insistent, and our young traveller had to yield
and even to take his place upon some indescribable rags that served as a
bed and seat all in one.
The air was stifling and full of smoke, the whole place so devoid of
cleanliness that Eric hardly dared to look about. The gypsy took his
hand in hers, but Eric found great difficulty in understanding what she
was saying, in spite of the knowledge that had come to him through the
old man's tablets. With her bony finger she began following the lines on
his palm. Outside the tent the other gypsies stood jabbering and
laughing.
All of a sudden the old woman gave a start, and declared that whatever
his fate had been, now he was near a critical moment in his life, and
must expect either a great joy or a great pain, she could not tell
which; ... "but," added the old creature, "great joy and great pain lie
very near together, and often one rises out of the other; it is hard to
say which is nearer truth.
"I am the wise woman of this wandering people; from near and far they
come to listen to my words; much could I tell thee of what I have seen,
for there is not a road on this earth upon which my weary feet have not
moved.
"If thou wilt not hurry away I shall tell thee many a tale; but to-day I
can show thee something which we call the treasure of our clan, though
in truth it belongs not to us; we believe, however, that it brings luck
to our wandering tribe. Come quickly, before the light bids us
farewell."
The strange old thing again seized our astonished traveller and dragged
him after her out of the tent.
The rest of the dark mob wanted to follow, but the fortune-teller, who
seemed to be the respected head of this curious people, stopped them
with loud imprecations, and none dared oppose her wishes. She told them
to go back to their camp, because she alone had the right to lead the
fair stranger whither she would--that he was her guest and she would
have none of their noisy company.
With incredible agility for her age she led the way, over several
streams of shallow water, over rolling stones and wet sand, to a small
island in the middle of the river's bed. Eric marvelled at the rapidity
with which she moved along, helping herself with her stick; above their
heads the white falcon flew, as always, showing the way.
Here the willows grew thick and grey, trailing their sinuous branches
down to the ground where they mixed with earth and sand.
The gypsy parted the thick boughs, and as she did so a sound of sweet
music came wafted on the air, dream-like, something within its notes
that was at once both ghostly and unreal, something that made the heart
stand still in an ecstasy of wonder.
Eric's leader scrambled up the steep bank, still firmly clutching his
cloak, and almost ran along, winding her way in and out, amongst the
thick growth of shrubs.
There was deep shade here in this silent place. A soft grey-green light
was over all, only from between the leaves the sky could be seen
blood-red.
The ground was covered with a thick carpet of harebells the colour of an
Italian sky; they swayed their heads with a tinkling sound whenever a
breath of wind stirred the air.
It was a spot where fairies would surely dwell, mysterious, cool, and
full of secret promise.