THE INN OF THE HAWK AND RAVEN
Two of the men walked close beside the door, one of them bearing a
lantern. They conversed in low tones and in a language which Beverly
could not understand. After awhile she found herself analyzing the garb
and manner of the men. She was saying to herself that here were her
first real specimens of Graustark peasantry, and they were to mark an
ineffaceable spot in her memory. They were dark, strong-faced men of
medium height, with fierce, black eyes and long black hair. As no two
were dressed alike, it was impossible to recognize characteristic styles
of attire. Some were in the rude, baggy costumes of the peasant as she
had imagined him; others were dressed in the tight-fitting but
dilapidated uniforms of the soldiery, while several were in clothes
partly European and partly Oriental. There were hats and fezzes and
caps, some with feathers In the bands, others without. The man nearest
the coach wore the dirty gray uniform of as army officer, full of holes
and rents, while another strode along in a pair of baggy yellow trousers
and a dusty London dinner jacket. All in all, it was the motliest band
of vagabonds she had ever seen. There were at least ten or a dozen in
the party. While a few carried swords, all lugged the long rifles and
crooked daggers of the Tartars.
"Aunt Fanny," Beverly whispered, suddenly moving to the side of the
subdued servant, "where is my revolver?" It had come to her like a flash
that a subsequent emergency should not find her unprepared. Aunt Fanny's
jaw dropped, and her eyes were like white rings in a black screen.
"Good Lawd--wha--what fo' Miss Bev'ly--"
"Sh! Don't call me Miss Bev'ly. Now, just you pay 'tention to me and
I'll tell you something queer. Get my revolver right away, and don't let
those men see what you are doing." While Aunt Fanny's trembling fingers
went in search of the firearm, Beverly outlined the situation briefly
but explicitly. The old woman was not slow to understand. Her wits
sharpened by fear, she grasped Beverly's instructions with astonishing
avidity.
"Ve'y well, yo' highness," she said with fine reverence, "Ah'll p'ocuah
de bottle o' pepp'mint fo' yo' if yo' jes don' mine me pullin' an'
haulin' 'mongst dese boxes. Mebbe yo' all 'druther hab de gingeh?" With
this wonderful subterfuge as a shield she dug slyly into one of the bags
and pulled forth a revolver. Under ordinary circumstances she would have
been mortally afraid to touch it, but not so in this emergency. Beverly
shoved the weapon into the pocket of her gray traveling jacket.
"I feel much better now, Aunt Fanny," she said, and Aunt Fanny gave a
vast chuckle.
"Yas, ma'am, indeed,--yo' highness," she agreed, suavely.
The coach rolled along for half an hour, and then stopped with a sudden
jolt. An instant later the tall driver appeared at the window, his head
uncovered. A man hard by held a lantern.
_"Qua vandos ar deltanet, yos serent,"_ said the leader, showing
his white teeth in a triumphant smile. His exposed eye seemed to be
glowing with pleasure and excitement.
"What?" murmured Beverly, hopelessly. A puzzled expression came into his
face. Then his smile deepened and his eye took on a knowing gleam.
"Ah, I see," he said, gaily, "your highness prefers not to speak the
language of Graustark. Is it necessary for me to repeat in English?"
"I really wish you would," said Beverly, catching her breath. "Just to
see how it sounds, you know."
"Your every wish shall be gratified. I beg to inform you that we have
reached the Inn of the Hawk and Raven. This is where we dwelt last
night. Tomorrow we, too, abandon the place, so our fortunes may run
together for some hours, at least. There is but little to offer you in
the way of nourishment, and there are none of the comforts of a
palace. Yet princesses can no more be choosers than beggars when the
fare's in one pot. Come, your highness, let me conduct you to the guest
chamber of the Inn of the Hawk and Raven."
Beverly took his hand and stepped to the ground, looking about in wonder
and perplexity.
"I see no inn," she murmured apprehensively.
"Look aloft, your highness. That great black canopy is the roof; we are
standing upon the floor, and the dark shadows just beyond the circle of
light are the walls of the Hawk and Raven. This is the largest tavern in
all Graustark. Its dimensions are as wide as the world itself."
"You mean that there is no inn at all?" the girl cried in dismay.
"Alas, I must confess it. And yet there is shelter here. Come with
me. Let your servant follow." He took her by the hand, and led her away
from the coach, a ragged lantern-bearer preceding. Beverly's little
right hand was rigidly clutching the revolver in her pocket. It was a
capacious pocket, and the muzzle of the weapon bored defiantly into a
timid powder-rag that lay on the bottom. The little leather purse from
which it escaped had its silver lips opened as if in a broad grin of
derision, reveling in the plight of the chamois. The guide's hand was at
once firm and gentle, his stride bold, yet easy. His rakish hat, with
its aggressive red feather, towered a full head above Beverly's Parisian
violets.
"Have you no home at all--no house in which to sleep?" Beverly managed
to ask.
"I live in a castle of air," said he, waving his hand gracefully. "I
sleep in the house of my fathers."
"You poor fellow," cried Beverly, pityingly. He laughed and absently
patted the hilt of his sword.
She heard the men behind them turning the coach into the glen through
which they walked carefully. Her feet fell upon a soft, grassy sward and
the clatter of stones was now no longer heard. They were among the
shadowy trees, gaunt trunks of enormous size looming up in the light of
the lanterns. Unconsciously her thoughts went over to the Forest of
Arden and the woodland home of Rosalind, as she had imagined it to
be. Soon there came to her ears the swish of waters, as of some
turbulent river hurrying by. Instinctively she drew back and her eyes
were set with alarm upon the black wall of night ahead. Yetive had
spoken more than once of this wilderness. Many an unlucky traveler had
been lost forever in its fastnesses.
"It is the river, your highness. There is no danger. I will not lead you
into it," he said, a trifle roughly. "We are low in the valley and there
are marshes yonder when the river is in its natural bed. The floods have
covered the low grounds, and there is a torrent coming down from the
hills. Here we are, your highness. This is the Inn of the Hawk and
Raven."
He bowed and pointed with his hat to the smouldering fire a short
distance ahead. They had turned a bend in the overhanging cliff, and
were very close to the retreat before she saw the glow.
The fire was in the open air and directly in front of a deep cleft in
the rocky background. Judging by the sound, the river could not be more
than two hundred feet away. Men came up with lanterns and others piled
brush upon the fire. In a very short time the glen was weirdly
illuminated by the dancing flames. From her seat on a huge log, Beverly
was thus enabled to survey a portion of her surroundings. The
overhanging ledge of rock formed a wide, deep canopy, underneath which
was perfect shelter. The floor seemed to be rich, grassless loam, and
here and there were pallets of long grass, evidently the couches of
these homeless men. All about were huge trees, and in the direction of
the river the grass grew higher and then gave place to reeds. The
foliage above was so dense that the moon and stars were invisible. There
was a deathly stillness in the air. The very loneliness was so appalling
that Beverly's poor little heart was in a quiver of dread. Aunt Fanny,
who sat near by, had not spoken since leaving the coach, but her eyes
were expressively active.
The tall leader stood near the fire, conversing with half a dozen of his
followers. Miss Calhoun's eyes finally rested upon this central figure
in the strange picture. He was attired in a dark-gray uniform that
reminded her oddly of the dragoon choruses in the comic operas at
home. The garments, while torn and soiled, were well-fitting. His
shoulders were broad and square, his hips narrow, his legs long and
straight. There was an air of impudent grace about him that went well
with his life and profession. Surely, here was a careless freelance upon
whom life weighed lightly, while death "stood afar off" and
despaired. The light of the fire brought his gleaming face into bold
relief, for his hat was off. Black and thick was his hair, rumpled and
apparently uncared for. The face was lean, smooth and strong, with a
devil-may-care curve at the corners of the mouth. Beverly found herself
lamenting the fact that such an interesting face should be marred by an
ugly black patch, covering she knew not what manner of defect. As for
the rest of them, they were a grim company. Some were young and
beardless, others were old and grizzly, but all were active, alert and
strong. The leader appeared to be the only one in the party who could
speak and understand the English language. As Beverly sat and watched
his virile, mocking face, and studied his graceful movements, she found
herself wondering how an ignorant, homeless wanderer in the hills could
be so poetic and so cultured as this fellow seemed to be.
Three or four men, who were unmistakably of a lower order than their
companions, set about preparing a supper. Others unhitched the tired
horses and led them off toward the river. Two dashing young fellows
carried the seat-cushions under the rocky canopy and constructed an
elaborate couch for the "Princess." The chief, with his own hands, soon
began the construction of a small chamber in this particular corner of
the cave, near the opening. The walls of the chamber were formed of
carriage robes and blankets, cloaks and oak branches.
"The guest chamber, your highness," he said, approaching her with a
smile at the conclusion of his work.
"It has been most interesting to watch you," she said, rising.
"And it has been a delight to interest you," he responded. "You will
find seclusion there, and you need see none of us until it pleases you."
She looked him fairly in the eye for a moment, and then impulsively
extended her hand. He clasped it warmly, but not without some show of
surprise.
"I am trusting you implicitly," she said.
"The knave is glorified," was his simple rejoinder. He conducted her to
the improvised bed-chamber, Aunt Fanny following with loyal but
uncertain tread. "I regret, your highness, that the conveniences are so
few. We have no landlady except Mother Earth, no waiters, no porters, no
maids, in the Inn of the Hawk and Raven. This being a men's hotel, the
baths are on the river-front. I am having water brought to your
apartments, however, but it is with deepest shame and sorrow that I
confess we have no towels."
She laughed so heartily that his face brightened perceptibly, whilst the
faces of his men turned in their direction as though by concert.
"It is a typical mountain resort, then," she said, "I think I can manage
very well if you will fetch my bags to my room, sir."
"By the way, will you have dinner served in your room?" very
good-humoredly.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to eat in the public dining-room," said
she. A few minutes later Beverly was sitting upon one of her small
trunks and Aunt Fanny was laboriously brushing her dark hair.
"It's very jolly being a princess," murmured Miss Calhoun. She had
bathed her face in one of the leather buckets from the coach, and the
dust of the road had been brushed away by the vigorous lady-in-waiting.
"Yas, ma'am, Miss--yo' highness, hit's monstrous fine fo' yo', but whar
is Ah goin' to sleep? Out yondah, wif all dose scalawags?" said Aunt
Fanny, rebelliously.
"You shall have a bed in here, Aunt Fanny," said Beverly.
"Dey's de queeres' lot o' tramps Ah eveh did see, an' Ah wouldn' trust
'em 's fer as Ah could heave a brick house."
"But the leader is such a very courteous gentleman," remonstrated
Beverly.
"Yas, ma'am; he mussa came f'm Gawgia or Kaintuck," was Aunt Fanny's
sincere compliment.
The pseudo-princess dined with the vagabonds that night. She sat on the
log beside the tall leader, and ate heartily of the broth and broiled
goatmeat, the grapes and the nuts, and drank of the spring water which
took the place of wine and coffee and cordial. It was a strange supper
amid strange environments, but she enjoyed it as she had never before
enjoyed a meal. The air was full of romance and danger, and her
imagination was enthralled. Everything was so new and unreal that she
scarcely could believe herself awake. The world seemed to have gone back
to the days of Robin Hood and his merry men.
"You fare well at the Inn of the Hawk and Raven," she said to him, her
voice tremulous with excitement. He looked mournfully at her for a
moment and then smiled naively.
"It is the first wholesome meal we have had in two days," he replied.
"You don't mean it!"
"Yes. We were lucky with the guns to-day. Fate was kind to us--and to
you, for we are better prepared to entertain royalty to-day than at any
time since I have been in the hills of Graustark."
"Then you have not always lived in Graustark?"
"Alas, no, your highness. I have lived elsewhere."
"But you were born in the principality?"
"I am a subject of its princess in heart from this day forth, but not by
birth or condition. I am a native of the vast domain known to a few of
us as Circumstance," and he smiled rather recklessly.
"You are a poet, a delicious poet," cried Beverly, forgetting herself in
her enthusiasm.
"Perhaps that is why I am hungry and unshorn. It had not occurred to me
in that light. When you are ready to retire, your highness," he said,
abruptly rising, "we shall be pleased to consider the Inn of the Hawk
and Raven closed for the night. Having feasted well, we should sleep
well. We have a hard day before us. With your consent, I shall place my
couch of grass near your door. I am the porter. You have but to call if
anything is desired."
She was tired, but she would have sat up all night rather than miss any
of the strange romance that had been thrust upon her. But Sir
Red-feather's suggestion savored of a command and she reluctantly made
her way to the flapping blanket that marked the entrance to the
bed-chamber. He drew the curtain aside, swung his hat low and muttered a
soft goodnight.
"May your highness's dreams be pleasant ones!" he said.
"Thank you," said she, and the curtain dropped impertinently. "That was
very cool of him, I must say," she added, as she looked at the wavering
door.
When she went to sleep, she never knew; she was certain that her eyes
were rebellious for a long time and that she wondered how her gray dress
would look after she had slept in it all night. She heard low singing as
if in the distance, but after a while the stillness became so intense
that its pressure almost suffocated her. The rush of the river grew
louder and louder and there was a swishing sound that died in her ears
almost as she wondered what it meant. Her last waking thoughts were of
the "black-patch" poet. Was he lying near the door?
She was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of
her chamber door. Startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes
to pierce the mysterious darkness. Aunt Fanny, on her bed of grass,
stirred convulsively, but did not awake. The blackness of the strange
chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without,
and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her
that a thunderstorm was brewing. The wind was rising, and the night
seemed agog with excitement. Beverly crept from her couch and felt her
way to the fluttering doorway. Drawing aside the blanket she peered
forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. Her highness was
very much afraid of thunder and lightning.
The fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few
glowing embers. These were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a
steady red light over the scene. There was but one human figure in
sight. Beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. He was hatless and
coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. Seemingly oblivious
to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at
his feet. His face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable
in the faint glow from the fire. To her amazement the black patch was
missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of
exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its
presence there at any time. There was no mark or blemish upon or about
the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming
in the red glow from below. Moreover, Beverly saw that he was strikingly
handsome--a strong, manly face. The highly imaginative southern girl's
mind reverted to the first portraits of Napoleon she had seen.
Suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered
some strange words. Then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. She fell
back breathless. He stopped just outside, and she knew that he was
listening for sounds from within. After many minutes she stealthily
looked forth again. He was standing near the fire, his back toward her,
looking off into the night.
The wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush
of shivery coolness. Constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the
forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. Tall reeds
along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves
gently to and from the wind. In the lowlands down from the cave "will o'
the wisps" played tag with "Jack o' the lanterns," merrily scampering
about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous
Brocken scene. Low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to
speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. The
secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night;
tales of many climes passed through the ears of Nature.
From gentle undulations the marshland reeds swept into lower dips,
danced wilder minuets, lashed each other with infatuated glee, mocking
the whistle of the wind with an angry swish of their tall bodies.
Around the cornices of the Inn of the Hawk and Raven scurried the
singing breezes, reluctant to leave a playground so pleasing to the
fancy. Soon the night became a cauldron, a surging, hissing, roaring
receptacle in which were mixing the ingredients of disaster. Night-birds
flapped through the moaning tree-tops, in search of shelter; reeds were
flattened to the earth, bowing to the sovereignty of the wind; clouds
roared with the rumble of a million chariots, and then the sky and the
earth met in one of those savage conflicts that make all other warfare
seem as play.
As Beverly sank back from the crash, she saw him throw his arms aloft as
though inviting the elements to mass themselves and their energy upon
his head. She shrieked involuntarily and he heard the cry above the
carnage. Instantly his face was turned in her direction.
"Help! Help!" she cried. He bounded toward the swishing robes and
blankets, but his impulse had found a rival in the blast. Like a flash
the walls of the guest chamber were whisked away, scuttling off into the
night or back into the depths of the cavern. With the deluge came the
man. From among the stifling robes he snatched her up and bore her away,
she knew not whither.