"THE LORD OF CRUTA"
A strange figure stood on the edge of the castle cliff, looking across
the bay of Cruta to the sea. He was tall, loose jointed, and gaunt,
and the long grey beard and unkempt locks of flowing hair which
streamed behind in the breeze showed that he was an old man; but his
eyes, set back in deep hollows, and fringed with long, bushy grey
lashes, were still dark and piercing. Great passions had branded
his face with deep-set lines, but had failed to belittle him. On the
contrary, his presence, though forbidding and awesome, was full of
latent strength and dignity. To the islanders, who never mentioned
their lord's name save with bated breath and after having zealously
crossed themselves, he was the object of the most unbounded
superstition. His personality and the strangeness of his habits
appalled them. They scarcely believed him a being of the same world as
their own. The most ignorant amongst them firmly believed that the sea
obeyed his uplifted hand, and that when he spoke the thunder rolled
amongst the hills. When stories were told of the mystery and strange
isolation in which he lived, they nodded their heads and were willing
to believe everything. No one ever met him or had speech with him, for
twenty years had passed since he had issued from the castle gates. But
sometimes, most often when a storm was brewing, they could see a
tall, dark figure standing on the giddy edge of the castle wall which
overhung the sea, or walking, with slow, stately movements, up and
down the narrow foot-path at the summit of the cliff. If the moon had
risen, or the sky were clear beyond, they could see the huge, gaunt
figure outlined with grim distinctness against the empty background,
always with his face to the sea, and with a long black cloak flowing
behind. It was not often that they saw him, but when they did they
told one another in whispers; and though the sky were cloudless and
the sea calm, the women whose husbands were out in their fishing boats
beyond the bay told their beads and prayed for their safe return, and
those who had remained behind prepared for rough weather. Once, at
a marriage feast, when all the little village was making merry, the
whisper had gone about that "the Count was walking;" and immediately
they had all departed for their homes in fear and silence, and the
luckless bride and bridegroom had hastened to the priest and besought
him to unloose the knot, that they might celebrate their wedding on
some less ill-omened day.
To-night the storm was already breaking when the Count appeared on the
castle wall and turned his face seaward. One by one the fishing smacks
were crossing the gathering line of surf, and gaining the deep, still
waters of the bay. As they passed underneath the towering mass of
granite rock, against the base of which the waters were boiling and
seething, the men in the boats gazed fearfully up at that black speck
far away above their heads, and crossed themselves. The Count had
stood there for an hour, they whispered, ever since that piled-up mass
of angry, lurid clouds had first gathered, and a warning breath of
wind had swept across the smooth, glass-like surface of the water, now
troubled and restless. Not one of them doubted but that his coming had
brought the storm; but there was not one of them who dared to utter
a word of complaint. Only they stood up in their boats, and shielding
their eyes with an uplifted hand from the fierce rays of the sinking
sun, gazed out seaward, searching for the boats not yet in safety.
Suddenly a little murmur arose from amongst them, and a word was
passed from one to another of their little crafts. The blinding glare
of the sun and its reflection, stretched far away across the surface
of the sea, had dazzled their eyes, and for the last quarter of an
hour they had seen nothing on the westward horizon. But now the bright
silver light was fading into a dull, glorious purple; and full upon
its bosom a strange sail was seen, making direct for the harbour. The
sunlight was still flashing upon its white sails,--little specks of
gold upon a background of richer colouring--and they saw that she
was a handsome, shapely-looking vessel, very different to the dirty
Italian lugger which put in at their harbour for a few hours week by
week.
"Will she need a pilot?" cried Francesco, rising in his boat, and
watching the stranger. "Let us wait here, and see if she signals for
one!"
"Let us all go! There will be something for each!" cried another.
"We will race," Antonio answered, whose boat was the fastest. "The
first to reach her shall have the stranger's money!"
"No, no! that is not fair," chorused the others. "We will draw lots!"
Then up rose old Guiseppe, the father of them all. He shook his head,
and turned a sorrowing face seawards. "Peace! children. You are like
chattering seabirds squabbling over a bait which will never be yours.
Yonder ship will need no pilot! She is no stranger to Cruta!"
They looked at her, and shook their heads. "We have never seen her
before," they said.
"Some of you are too young to remember her," the old man continued,
"and you were all away when she was here within a twelvemonth ago! But
I know her! Three times has she entered this harbour, and each time
has she left sorrow and grief behind her. It is the ship of the
English lord who stole away the daughter of our Count many years ago!"
There was a little murmur of suppressed wonder. Then, as though moved
by a common instinct, every face was turned upward to the castle wall.
The Count had gone. But, even as they looked, he reappeared, leading
another figure by the hand. They held their breath with wonder. No one
had ever seen him there save alone, and now a woman stood by his
side. They could see nothing of her, save her long hair flowing in
the breeze, and the bare outline of her figure. "Who was she? Guiseppe
must know! Who was she?" they asked him eagerly.
He shook his head. "Better not ask," he answered. "Better not know!
Strange things have happened up there! It is not for us to chatter of
them!"
"One night as I sailed homeward," Antonio said, in a low tone, "I
heard strange cries from the castle. The night was still, and the
breeze brought the sound to my ears. They came from up above, and
when I strained my eyes I fancied that I could see a white figure--the
figure of a woman--standing on the castle walls. She was crying for
help, but suddenly, as though a hand were placed over her mouth, her
cries ceased, and the figure vanished. It was three nights before the
English lord died at the monastery!"
Ferdinand stood up. "On that same night," he said, in a low, hoarse
whisper, "I saw a figure steal up the path to the castle. It was the
English lord! On the morrow I traced him back again with drops
of blood. They led right into the monastery courtyard. Two days
afterwards he died."
"Silence! all of you!" commanded Guiseppe, with shaking voice. "Are
these things to be spoken of thus openly? Know you not, you children,
that the winds have ears, and he listens there above us."
"It is a thousand feet!" muttered Antonio. "To him our boats can seem
only as specks upon the water."
"You fool!" answered Guiseppe. "Do you think that the man whose
presence brings storm and wind upon us is like ordinary men? Do you
think he cannot hear what he chooses!"
"Ave Maria!" cried Antonio, crossing himself. "I would as soon face
the devil himself as the Count! I shall ask Father Bernard to say a
prayer for me to-night!"
"Do! and I hope his penance will be a stiff one," answered Guiseppe
grimly. "Come, let us trim our sails, and get homeward. The English
ship will not want us, and we can watch who lands from the beach."
"'Twould be no such bad thing if she struck on the rocks, if she
brings such ill luck to the castle," muttered Antonio, as he unfurled
the sail and grasped the tiller. "There would be some pickings for us,
beyond doubt--some pretty pickings!"