HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
A darkness, full of a great quietude, a grateful stillness, slumberous
and restful; yet, little by little, upon this all-pervading silence, a
sound crept, soft, but distressful to one who fain would sleep; a sound
that grew, a sharp noise and querulous. And now, in the blackness, a
glimmer, a furtive gleam, a faint glow that grew brighter and yet more
bright, hurtful to eyes long used to deeps of gloom; but, with the
noise, ever this light grew--from gleam to glow and from glow to
dazzling glare; and so, at last, Beltane opened unwilling eyes--eyes
that blinked and smarted as they beheld a leaping flame where a fire of
twigs crackled merrily against a purple void beyond; beholding all of
which, Beltane forthwith shut his eyes again. But those soft deeps
wherein he had found so sweet oblivion, that great and blessed quietude
were altogether vanished and beyond him to regain; wherefore Beltane
felt himself aggrieved and sorrowed within himself, and so, presently
oped his reluctant eyes and fell to watching the play of wanton spark
and flame. None the less he knew himself yet aggrieved, also he felt a
sudden loneliness, wherefore (as was become his custom of late) he
called on one ever heedful and swift to answer his call.
"Fidelis!" he called, "Fidelis!" Yet came there no one, and Beltane
wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away. So,
troubling not to move, he called again:
"Fidelis--art sleeping, my Fidelis?"
Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail
gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.
"Master!" he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, "O, master, art
awake at last?--dost know Roger--thy man,--dost know thy Roger, lord?"
"Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger," says Beltane, yet aggrieved and
querulous, "but I called not thee. Send me Fidelis--where tarries
Fidelis?"
"Master, I know not. He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone
and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here. Thereafter went he
afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according
to his word."
Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black
Roger's pitiful face with eyes of wonder.
"Why, Roger!" quoth he, "Why, Roger--?"
"Thou hast been very nigh to death, master. A mad-man I found thee, in
sooth--foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and
magic. Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth--and strove and
fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a
vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend. So here hast thou lain
on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir
Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon
thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and--"
"Nay, here is no matter--tell me, tell me, where is Fidelis?"
"Dear master I know not, forsooth!"
"Went he by the forest road?"
"Aye, master, the forest road."
"Afoot?"
"Afoot, lord."
"Said he aught to thee of--of me, Roger?"
"Aye, 'twas all of thee and thy wound, and how to ease thy pain I must
do this, forsooth, and that, forsooth, and to break the fever must mix
and give thee certain cordials, the which I have done."
"Said he aught beside--aught else, Roger?"
"Aye, master, he bid me pray for thee, the which I have also done,
though I had rather fight for thee; nathless the sweet saints have
answered even my poor prayers, for behold, thou art alive and shall be
well anon."
Now after this. Beltane lay with eyes fast shut and spake not; thus he
lay so long, that Roger, thinking he slept again, would have moved
away, but Beltane's feeble hand stayed him, and he spake, yet with eyes
still closed.
"By the forest road, Roger!"
"Aye, master."
"Alone, Roger!"
"Aye, lord, alone."
"And--afoot, Roger!"
"Aye, lord, he bade me take his horse that I might come to thee the
sooner."
"And--bid thee--pray for me--for me, Roger!"
"Verily, master. And pray I did, right lustily."
"So do I thank thee, Roger," said Beltane, speaking ever with closed
eyes. "Yet I would that God had let me die, Roger." And behold, from
these closed eyes, great tears, slow-oozing and painful, that rolled
a-down the pallid cheek, very bright in the fire-glow, and glistening
like the fairest gems.
"Master--O master!" cried Roger, "dost grieve thee for Sir Fidelis?"
"Forsooth, I must, Roger--he was a peerless friend, methinks!"
"Aye master, and--noble lady!"
"Roger--O Roger, how learned you this? Speak!"
"Lord, thou hast had visions and talked much within thy sickness. So do
I know that thou dost love the Duchess Helen that men do call 'the
Beautiful.' I do know that on thy marriage night thou wert snatched
away to shameful prison. I do know that she, because her heart was as
great as her love, did follow thee in knightly guise, and thou did most
ungently drive her from thee. All this, and much beside, thou didst
shout and whisper in thy fever."
Quoth Beltane, plucking at Roger with feeble hand:
"Roger--O Roger, since this thou knowest--tell me, tell me, can faith
and treachery lie thus within one woman's heart--and of all women--
her's?"
"Master, can white be black? Can day be night? Can heaven be hell--or
can truth lie? So, an Sir Fidelis be faithful (and faithful forsooth is
he) so is the Duchess Helen faithful--"
"Nay, an she be true--O Roger, an she be true indeed, how think you of
the treachery, of--"
"I think here was witchcraft, master, spells, see'st thou, and magic
black and damned. As thou wert true to her, so was she true to thee, as
true as--aye, as true as I am, and true am I, Saint Cuthbert knoweth
that, who hath heard my prayers full oft of late, master."
"Now God bless thee, Roger--O, God bless thee!" So crying, of a sudden
Beltane caught Black Roger's sun-burned hand and kissed it, and
thereafter turned him to the shadows. And, lying thus, Beltane wept,
very bitterly yet very silent, until, like a grieving child he had wept
himself to forgetfulness and sleep. So slept he, clasped within Roger's
mailed arm. But full oft Black Roger lifted his bronzed right hand--the
hand that had felt Beltane's sudden kiss--and needs must he view it
with eyes of wonder, as if it had been indeed some holy thing, what
time he kept his midnight vigil beside the fire.