GUESS-WORK AT GOLTRES
A scud of wind and rain hampered Prosper on his ride over Goltres
Heath. The steady increase of both in volume and force kept him at work
all day; but towards dusk the wind dropped a little, the clouds split
and drifted in black shreds over a clear sky full of the yellow evening
light. Just at the twilight he came to a shallow mere edged with reeds,
with wild fowl swimming upon it, and others flying swiftly over on
their way to the nest. At the far end of the lake, but yet in the
water, was a dim castle settling down into the murk. A gaunt shell it
was, rather than a habitable place; its windows were sightless black;
only in the towers you could see through them the pale sky behind. The
wind ruffled the mere, little cold waves lapped in the reeds; there was
no other house in sight whichever way you turned. In all the dun waste
of raw and cold it was Goltres or nothing for a night's lodging.
"Galors has been before me again," thought Prosper. "The place is a
skeleton, the husk of a house. Well, there must be a corner left which
will keep the rain out. We shall have more before day, if I am anything
of a prophet."
There was a huge bank of cloud to windward; the wind came uneasily, in
puffs, with a smell of rain. Prosper's horse shivered and shook himself
from head to heels.
"As I live," cried Prosper suddenly, "there is a light in the house."
In a high window there was certainly a flickering light. "Where there's
a light there's a man or a woman. Where there's one there is room for
two. I am for Goltres if I can win a passage."
Riding up the shore of the lake he found an old punt.
"Saracen," said he to his horse, "I shall take to the water. Thou shalt
go thy will this night, and may heaven send thee the luck of thy
master." So saying he unbridled him, took off his saddle and let him
go, himself got into the punt and pushed out over the mere.
The great hulk of Goltres rose threatening above him, fretted by little
waves, staring down from a hundred empty eyes. He made out a water-gate
and drove his punt towards it. It was open. He pushed in, found a
rotting stair, above it a door which was broken away and hanging by one
hinge.
"The welcome, withal free, is cold," quoth Prosper, "but we cannot
stand on ceremony. It might be well to make sure of my punt." He
manoeuvred it under the stair with some trouble, lashed it fore and
aft, and entered Goltres by the slippery ascent, addressing himself as
he went to God and Saint Mary the Virgin.
The wooden stair led him into a flagged passage which smelt strongly of
fungus. He went down this as far as it would go, found a flight of
stone steps with a swing door a-top, pushed up here, and burst into a
vast hall. It was waste and empty, echoing like a vault, crying
desolation with all its tongues. There seemed to have been wild work;
benches, tables, tressles, chairs, torn up, dismembered and scattered
abroad. There were the ashes of a fire in the midst, some broken
weapons and head-pieces, and many dark patches which looked uncommonly
like blood. Prosper made what haste he could out of this haunted place;
the rats scuttled and squeaked as he traversed it from end to end.
Beyond its great folding doors he found another corridor hung with the
ribbons of arras; in the midst of it a broad stone staircase. Up he
went three steps at a time, and stood in the counter-part of the lower
passage--a corridor equally flagged, equally gloomy, and smelling
equally of damp and death. There were, so far as he could see, open
doors on either side which stretched for what seemed an interminable
distance. But at the far end was the light he was after; he cared
little how many empty chambers there might be so that there was one
tenanted. He started off accordingly in pursuit of the light. The
passage ran the whole length of the house; the empty doors as he passed
them gave on to bare walls and broken windows. Over many of them hung
thick curtains of cobwebs and dust; white fungus cropped in the cracks;
the rats seemed everywhere. Now and then he caught sight of a shredded
arras on the walls; in one room a disordered bed; on the floor of
another a woman's glove. Never a sight of life but rats, and never a
sound but his own steps, the shrieking of the wind, the rattle of crazy
windows.
The door of the lighted chamber was set open. Prosper stood on the
threshold and looked in.
It was a narrow dusty place heaped with books on tables, chairs, and
floor. The lamp which had beaconed him from over the water was of
brass, and hung from the ceiling by a chain. At the window end sat a
young man with long yellow hair, which was streaked over his bowed
back; he was reading in a Hebrew book. The book was on a reading-stand,
and the young man kept his place in it with his thin finger. He seemed
short-sighted to judge by the space betwixt his nose and his book. By
his side on a little lacquered table was a deepish bowl of dull red
porphyry filled with water. Every now and again the young man, having
secured his place firmly with his finger, would gaze into the bowl
through a little crystal mace which he kept in his other hand. Then he
would fetch a deep sigh and return to his book.
Beyond the man, his bowl, and his books, Prosper could see little else
in the room. There was, it is true, a shelf full of bottles, and
another full of images; but that was all.
Prosper stepped lightly into the room and laid a hand upon the reader's
shoulder. The young man did not start; he carefully recorded his place
before he lifted a thin face from his work to his visitor. You were
conscious of an extravagantly peaked nose, like the beak of some
water-fowl, of the wandering glance of two pale eyes, and of little
else except a mild annoyance.
"What is your pleasure, fair sir?" asked the young man.
"Sir," began Prosper, "I fear I have intruded upon your labours."
"You have," said the young man.
It was an uncompromising beginning. The young man beamed upon him,
waiting.
"Nevertheless, sir," Prosper went on, "I am driven to force myself upon
your hospitality for the night. Your house is large and apparently
roomy. It is dark and wild weather, with a prospect of tempest. I must
sleep here or on the moors."
"Sir," said the other, "you shall be welcome to my poor house, and that
notwithstanding the last guests I harboured murdered everybody in it
but myself. If it had not been for the intercession of a very charming
lady, who has but now left me, I had been dead ere this and unable to
play the host either to her or you. This I say not as casting any
imputation upon you, of whom I am willing to believe as much as, nay,
more than, our limited acquaintance may warrant. Regard it rather as my
excuse for affording you little more than a roof."
"By my faith," said Prosper, "I had believed the castle to be deserted
or sacked. But I am sorry enough to hear that my foreboding was so near
the truth."
"It was a certain lord calling himself Galors de Born, he and his
company, who did these harms upon my house," the young man explained.
"Me too he will assuredly murder before many days. Unless indeed the
lady of whom I spoke just now should return."
"I think I may say that she will not return, and that it will be better
for you if she do not. Galors, too, has other fish to fry. But if he
should happen to come, I pray God that I may be by with a company to
fight at your back." So Prosper.
"If God hear your prayer, which I should have thought more than
dubious," returned his host, "I only hope He may see fit to help you to
a company as well, for I have none. And as to fighting at my back, I
promise you I am a most indifferent leader, being, as you see, somewhat
immersed in other affairs."
Prosper had really very little to say in answer to this. By way of
changing the talk, he asked if the castle were not Goltres.
"You are quite right, sir," replied the other, "it is Goltres; and I am
Spiridion, the lord of Goltres, of a most ancient stock--yet much at
your service."
Prosper bowed to his host, who at once resumed his prying and gazing.
This did not suit the other's temper at all, for he was above all
things a sociable soul. So after a minute he cut in again on another
tack.
"You are a great student, fair sir," said he.
"Yes, I am," said the young man.
"Then may I know what it is you search out so diligently, first in the
book, and then in your bowl of water?"
"Most certainly you may," replied his host. "I seek to find out what
God may be."
Prosper grew grave. "I had thought you a student of fishes," said he,
"but I find you dive deeper. Yet indeed, sir, for my part I think we
had best be content to love and serve God as best we may, discerning
Him chiefly in the voice of honour and in His fair works. Moreover,
Holy Church biddeth us nourish a lively faith. Therefore, as I think,
the harder our understanding of God is to come at, the more abundant
our merit who nevertheless believe."
"That may be so," said the other. "But I can hardly be expected to love
that which I know not, or to believe that which I cannot express. And
as for Holy Church, what Holy Church may consider I know not; but when
you speak of discerning God in honour and fair works, I understand you,
and take up your argument in this manner. For what you think most
eloquent of God may be a beautiful lady."
"God is truly there for me," said Prosper, and thought of Isoult's good
eyes.
"And for me, fair sir," cried his host kindling, "if all women were as
lovely and wise as my friend of late. There indeed was a woman redolent
of God."
"Ah, you are out there, sir," said Prosper; "you are terribly out."
The young man smiled. "Look now, my friend, where we are with our
definitions," said he. "We divide at the onset. Now, say that instead
of a woman, I found a turnip-field the most adorable thing in the
world. Can we both be right? No, indeed. Now my reading tells me of all
the gods whom men have worshipped--of Klepht and Put and Ra; of
Melkarth also, and Bel; of Moloch, Thammuz, and Astarte (a Phoenician
deity). I learn next of the gods of Olympus, of those of Rome and
Etruria; of the Scandinavians, and of many modern gods. Now either
these peoples have made their own gods, in which case I too can make
one; or God hath revealed Himself to some one alone--and then He would
seem to have dealt ungenerously with the others, equally His creatures,
and left blind; or He hath never revealed Himself, which is against
Nature; or He is not. These are the questions I would solve, if Galors
give me time."
"Sir, sir," cried Prosper, "you do but fog yourself to little purpose!
But you should live honestly and sanely, going much abroad, and you
would have no doubts."
"My author," said Spiridion calmly, indicating his Hebrew text, "tells
me that there are one-and-thirty different ways of finding God out. Of
which crystal-gazing, says he in a famous passage, is the readiest. But
as yet I have not found it so. Maybe I shall try yours another day--if
I have another day."
Whereupon, as if reminded of his delaying, he would have turned again
to his work; but Prosper clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"Have done with groping in books, Spiridion," cried he, "and tell me if
you think this a time for such folly, when your life is threatened by
Galors and his riders?"
"It is the time of all times," returned Spiridion; "for if I know not
who is really God of all the host with claims to His rank, how shall I
pray when my visitation comes, or how pray that it come not? It was for
lack of this knowledge that my people were murdered the other day. So
you see that the affair is urgent."
"I think the defence of the house and a long sword would fit your case
better," said Prosper dryly. "Meanwhile, you must forgive me if I
remind you that I have ridden all day without food or rest, and beg of
you to afford me one or the other."
"Ten thousand pardons!" said Spiridion, getting up at once, "that my
little griefs should make me forget your serious claims upon my
hospitality. Come, sir, here are bread and olives, here is a flask of a
very passable wine--all at your service. Afterwards we will share a
bed."
They sat on books, and ate what there was. Outside the wind had
freshened; it buffeted fitfully but fiercely at the window, and came
with dashes of rain. Down the corridor they could hear the casements
swinging and banging, and over all the wind itself roaring through the
great bare passages as if they had been tunnels.
"A wild night, Spiridion," said Prosper. "And what a night," thought
he, "for a surprise."
"Wild enough," replied Spiridion, "but I am indifferent to weather,
being seldom abroad. How do you find this wine?"
"Excellent," said Prosper, and drained his glass.
"Of this Galors, whom I think you know," Spiridion continued, "I hear
bad reports. Not only has he cut the throats of my household, but from
the account given me by my fair friend (concerning whom," he said with
a bow, "we are agreed to differ), I fear he is otherwise of a wild and
irregular conversation."
"You are right there, my friend," laughed Prosper.
"If he murders me," the other went on, sipping his wine, "it will be on
some such night as this."
"I have just said as much to myself," Prosper replied; "but I will do
my best to prevent him, I assure you."
"You are so courteous a defender, fair sir," said Spiridion, "I could
wish you a more worthy client."
Prosper inwardly agreed with him. Shortly afterwards Spiridion bowed
him to bed. For himself he carefully undressed and put on his
night-shirt; then, lying down, he was asleep in a moment. The storm was
by this time a gale, the noise of it continuous out doors and in.
Prosper judged it expedient to have his arms within reach; the more so
as he could not help fancying he had heard the sound of rowlocks on the
mere. He stripped himself therefore to his doublet and breeches, heaped
his armour by the bedside, slung his shield and sword over the foot,
and then lay down by his peaceful companion. He had not forgotten
either to look to the trimming and feeding of the lamp.
Sleep, however, was miles from him in such a pandemonium of noise. The
wind wailed and screamed, the windows volleyed, wainscots creaked,
doors rattled on their locks. Sometimes with a shock like a
thunder-clap the body of the storm hurled against the walls; the great
house seemed to shudder and groan; then there would be a lull as if the
spirits of riot had spent themselves. In one of these pauses Prosper
was pretty sure he heard a step on the stairs. Not at all surprised,
for it was just such a night as he would have chosen, he listened
painfully; but the noise drowned all. Came another moment of recoil, he
heard it again, nearer. He got out of bed, went to the door, opened it
silently, and listened. There were certainly movements in the house,
feet coming up the stairs; he thought to catch hoarse whisperings, and
once the clang of metal. There was no time to lose, He shut, bolted,
and locked the door; then turned to his armour. A swift step
undisguised in the corridor put all beyond question; there was an
attack preparing. He had no time to do any more than snatch up shield
and sword, before he saw the flame of a torch under the door and heard
the voices of men.
Prosper stood sword in hand, waiting.
"Spiridion," he said, "wake up!"
Spiridion moaned, stirred a little, and sank again. A high voice called
out--
"Spiridion, thou thin traitor, open the door and deliver up him thou
harbourest."
The wind shrieked and mocked; then Spiridion woke up with a shiver.
"The hour is come before my God is ready. Now I must die unknowing,"
said he, and sat up in bed with his yellow hair all about his face.
"It is me they seek," said Prosper. "Now then if it will save thee I
will open and go out to them." He went straight to the door, put his
face against the key-hole, and cried out--"If I come out, will ye save
Spiridion alive?"
There followed a babble of voices speaking all at once; afterwards the
same shrill voice took up his challenge, wailing like the
wind--"Spiridion, open the door before we break it in."
Prosper said again--"Will you have me for Spiridion?"
"We will have both, by God," rang a deep note, the voice of Galors.
As if at a signal swords began to batter at the door, pommels and
blades. One pierced the panel and struck through on the inside. Prosper
snapped it off short. "One less," he said; "but they will soon be done
with it."
"My friend," said Spiridion, who was shivering with cold (his
night-shirt being over short for the season), "my friend, I must die.
What can I do for thee? The time is short."
"Brother," answered Prosper, "get a sword and harness, and I will keep
the door till thou art ready. Then we will open it suddenly, and do
what becomes us."
"Dear friend," Spiridion said mildly, "I have no sword. And since I am
to die, I will die as well in my shirt as in a suit of mail."
"Certainly you are a great fool," said Prosper. "Yet I will defend you
as well as I can. Get behind me now, for the door is shaking, and
cannot hold out much longer."
Their assailants, without any further speech among themselves, beat at
the door furiously, or with short runs hurtled against it with their
shoulders. It seemed impossible it should stand, yet stand it did. Then
one, Galors, cried suddenly out, "Fetch a hatchet!" and another ran
helter-skelter down the corridor. The rest seemed to be waiting for
him; the battering ceased.
"Here," said Spiridion, standing in his night-shirt before the shelf of
images, "here are images of Christ on the Cross, of Mahound (made by a
Maltese Jew), of Diana of the Ephesians, and Jupiter Ammon. Here too,
are a Thammuz wrought in jade, and a cat-faced woman sitting naked in a
chair. All are gods, and any one of them may be very God. Before which
should I kneel? For to one I will as surely kneel as I shall surely
die."
Prosper flushed red with annoyance. "Brother," said he, "thou art a
greater fool than I thought possible. Die how you will. God knows how
little of a god am I; but I will do what I can. Hey, now! look about!"
he called out the next minute, and leapt back into the room. The door
split in the midst and fell apart. Two men fully armed, with their
vizors down, burst into the light; they were upon him in a flash.
Prosper up with his shield and drove at them. They were no match for
him with swords, as they very soon found when he penned them back in
the entry. One of the pair, indeed, lost his arm in the first passes of
the game, but the press of men behind forced them suddenly and
violently forward whether they would or no. Prosper skewered one of
them like a capon, against his own will, for he knew what must happen
of that. Precisely; before he could disengage his weapon two more were
at him in front, and one dodging round behind him with the hatchet
slogged at his head with the back of it. Prosper tottered; it was all
up with him. Another assailant slipped in under his guard with a pike,
which he drove into his ribs. A second stinging blow from the hatchet
dropped him. Prone on his face he fell, and never knew of the trampling
he had from the freed pass.
They cut down and slew Spiridion as he was kneeling in his shirt before
the crucifix; and then Galors came into the room to see that the work
was done.
Prosper was lying on his face as he had fallen, with a great hole in
his head. Galors suffered a contempt which he could not afford to such
an enemy. He kicked the body. "Rot there, carrion," he said; then, with
an after-thought, "No--rot in the water. Throw the pair of them by the
window," he ordered his men, "and wait outside the gates for, me. I
have things to do here." This was done.
When he was alone he stripped off all his armour, and put on instead
Prosper's equipment. The defaced shield vexed him. Nothing was left of
the blazon; nothing was left at all but the legend, "_I bide my time._"
"That, is what I will do no longer," said Galors with a heavy oath. "I
have bided long enough; now, friend Prosper, do you bide yours. As for
the cognizance, I know it very well by this; it shall be on again by
the morning. Then we will see if I can do as Prosper what I have failed
to do as Galors."
He headed his troop for Hauterive, reached it before daylight, and
ended (as he thought) a signal chapter in his progress. As for Prosper,
he bided his time with a broken head in Peering Pool.