CHAPTER XIII
MURGH'S ARROW
Hugh and Dick came back. Something seemed to call them back, although noblow had been struck. The Man stood where they had left him, staring atnothing in particular. Apparently he was engaged in meditation.
"Thanking his gods because they have saved him from sudden death,"muttered Grey Dick. "If he's got any gods!" he added doubtfully.
Now the three, or rather the four of them, for David Day had recovered,and once more stood upon his feet from time to time glancing at thestranger's costume with a frightened eye, were left alone upon the greatplace with no company save the shipful of dead behind them and the wild,white moon above. The silence that, save for the soughing sound forwhich they could not account, was intense, oppressed them, as also didthe heat.
Grey Dick coughed, but the Man took no notice. Then he dropped hisaxe with a clatter on the marble flooring of the quay and picked itup again, but still the Man took no notice. Evidently his Easternimperturbability was not to be disturbed by such trifles. What wasworse, or so thought Dick, his master Hugh had fallen into a verysimilar mood. He stood there staring at the Man, while the Man staredover or through him--at nothing in particular.
Grey Dick felt aggrieved. An arrow had burst to pieces unaccountably inhis bow, numbing his arm and wounding him on the chin, and now he wasoutpaced at his own game of cold silence. He grew angry and dug David inthe ribs with his elbow.
"Tell that foreigner," he said, "that my master and I have saved hislife. Those Italian cut-throats have run away, and if he is a gentlemanhe should say 'thank you.'"
David hesitated, whereon Dick gave him another dig, harder than thefirst, and asked if he heard what he said. Then David obeyed, addressingthe Man as "Most Illustrious" as though he were the Doge, and endinghis speech with a humble apology in case he should have interrupted hispious thanksgiving.
The Man seemed to awake. Taking no notice of Day, he addressed himselfto Dick, speaking in English and using just that dialect of it to whichhe, Dick, had been accustomed from his childhood in the neighbourhood ofDunwich. Not even the familiar Suffolk whine was forgotten.
"You and your master have saved my life, have you?" he said. "Well,neighbour, why did you try to save my life by shooting at me with thatgreat black bow of yours, which I see is made of Eastern woods?" Hestared at the case in which it was now again hidden as though tannedleather were no obstacle to his sight; then went on: "Do not answer:I will tell you why. You shot at me because you were afraid of me, andfear is ever cruel, is it not? Only something happened to your arrow,something that has never happened to any arrow of yours before. Oh, yes,you have saved me from the Italian cut-throats, and being a gentleman Ithank you very much. Only why did the arrow burst in your bow?" and hesmiled with those dreadful eyes of his.
Now, feeling overwhelmed for the second time that night, Grey Dick sathimself down upon a quay post. It was clear to him that to arguewith this person in a yellow cap who talked Suffolk so well was quiteuseless. Why, then, waste breath which was probably his last?
Everybody seemed to be falling into meditation again, when the Man,shifting his head slowly, began to consider Hugh.
"What is your name and which is your country, O my second saviour?"he asked, still speaking in English. Only now the English was of adifferent and more refined sort to that which he had used when headdressed Dick; such English, for instance, as came from the lips of SirGeoffrey Carleon or from those of the lords of Edward's Court.
"I am Sir Hugh de Cressi of Dunwich, in the county of Suffolk, inEngland," answered Hugh slowly.
"England. I have heard of England, and Dunwich; I have heard of Dunwich.Indeed, I travel thither, having an appointment with an old friend inthat town."
Now a light came into Hugh's bewildered face, but he said nothing.
"I seem to have touched some chord of recollection in your mind, O mysaviour of Dunwich," said the Man. "Look at me and tell me, who am I?"
Hugh looked, and shook his head.
"I never saw you before, nor any one at all like you," he answered.
"No, no; you never saw me, though I have been very near to you once ortwice. Yet, your pardon, look again."
Hugh obeyed, and this time, for a second only, perceived that the Man'shead was surrounded by a multitude of doves. Two endless lines ofdoves, one line black and the other line white, stretched from his rightshoulder and from his left shoulder, till miles away they melted intothe lofty gloom of the sky that was full of the soughing sound of theirwings.
Now he knew, and for the first time in his life fell upon his knees to aman, or to what bore the semblance of man.
"You are named Murgh, Gate of the Gods," he said. "Murgh, whom old SirAndrew saw in that courtyard over which the iron dragons watch in thecountry called Cathay, that courtyard with the pool of water and themany doors."
"Ay," answered the Man in a new voice, a great voice that seemed to fillthe air like the mutter of distant thunder. "I am Murgh, Gateway of theGods, and since you have striven to defend Murgh, he who is the friendof all men, although they know it not, will above all be your friend andthe friend of those you love."
He stretched out his long arms and laid his white-gloved hands for aninstant, one of them upon Hugh's head and one on the shoulder of GreyDick, who sat upon the pillar of stone.
Hugh muttered, "I thank you," not knowing what else to say. But in hisheart he wondered what kind of friendship this mighty and awful beingwould show to him and his. Perhaps he might hold that the truestkindness would be to remove him and them from the miseries of a sinfulworld.
If Murgh read his thoughts he only answered them with that smile of hiscold eyes which was more awful than the frown of any mortal man. Turninghis head slowly he began to contemplate Dick sitting on his stone.
"If I had a son," he said, "by that face of yours you might be he."
"Perchance," answered Dick, "since I never knew for certain who myfather was. Only I have always heard that Life begets, not Death."
"Death! You honour me with a great name. Well, life and death are one,and you and I are one with the moon and the stars above us, and manyother things and beings that you cannot see. Therefore the begetter andthe begotten are one in the Hand that holds them all."
"Ay," answered Dick, "and so my bow and I are one: I've often thoughtit. Only you nearly made me one with my own arrow, which is closerkinship than I seek," and he touched the cut upon his chin. "Since youare so wise, my father, or my son, tell me, what is this Hand that holdsthem all?"
"Gladly. Only if I do, first I must ask you to die, then--say in aminute or two--you shall know."
Dick peered at him doubtfully, and said:
"If that be so, I think I'll wait for the answer, which I am sure tolearn soon or late."
"Ah! Many men have thought the same, and you have sent some to seek it,have you not, being so good an archer. For instance, that was a longshaft you shot before Crecy fray at the filthy fool who mocked yourEnglish host. Doubtless now he knows the answer to your riddle."
"Who told you of that?" asked Dick, springing up.
"A friend of mine who was in the battle. He said also that your name wasRichard the Archer."
"A friend! I believe that you were there yourself, as, if you are Death,you may well have been."
"Perhaps you are right, Richard. Have I not just told you that weall are one; yes, even the slayer and the slain. Therefore, if myfriend--did you call him Death?--was there, I was there, if you werethere I was there and it was my hand that drew yonder great black bowof yours and my eye that guided the straight shaft which laid thefoulmouthed jester low. Why, did you not say as much yourself when yourmaster here bade farewell to his father in the ship at Calais? What werethe words? Oh, I remember them. You wondered how One I may not name,"and he bowed his solemn head, "came to make that black bow and yours andyou 'the death that draw it.'"
Now at length Grey Dick's courage gave out.
"Of no man upon e
arth am I afraid," he said. "But from you, O god ordevil, who read the secret hearts of men and hear their secret words, myblood flows backward as it did when first my eyes fell on you. You wouldkill me because I dared to shoot at you. Well, kill, but do not torture.It is unworthy of a knight, even if he took his accolade in hell," andhe placed his hands before his eyes and stood before him with bent headwaiting for the end.
"Why give me such high names, Richard the Fatherless, when you haveheard two humbler ones? Call me Murgh, as do my friends. Or call me 'TheGate,' as do those who as yet know me less well. But talk not of gods ordevils, lest suddenly one of them should answer you. Nay, man, have nofear. Those who seek Death he often flees, as I think he flees from youto-night. Yet let us see if we cannot send a longer shaft, you and I,than that which we loosed on Crecy field. Give me the bow."
Dick, although he had never suffered living man to shoot with it before,handed him the black bow, and with it a war shaft, which he drew fromhis quiver.
"Tell me, Archer Dick, have you any enemy in this town of Venice?Because if so we might try a shot at him."
"One or two, Gate Murgh," answered Dick, "Still whatever your half of memay do, my bit of you does not love to strike down men by magic in thedark."
"Well said and better thought. Then bethink you of something thatbelongs to an enemy which will serve as well for a test of shooting. Ah!I thank you, well thought again. Yes, I see the mark, though 'tis far,is it not? Now set your mind on it. But stay! First, will you know thisarrow again?"
"Surely," answered Dick, "I made it myself. Moreover, though two ofthe feathers are black, the third is white with four black spots and alittle splash of brown. Look on it, Sir Hugh; it cannot be mistook."
Hugh looked and nodded; speak he could not for the life of him.
Then Murgh began to play a little with the bow, and oh! strange anddreadful was the music that came from its string beneath the touch ofhis gloved fingers. It sang like a harp and wailed like a woman, sofearfully indeed that the lad Day, who all this while stood by aghast,stopped his ears with his fingers, and Hugh groaned. Then this awfularcher swiftly set the arrow on the string.
"Now think with your mind and shoot with your heart," he said in hiscold voice, and, so saying, drew and loosed as though at a hazard.
Out toward Venice leaped the shaft with a rushing sound like to thatof wings and, as it seemed to the watchers, light went with it, forit travelled like a beam of light. Far over the city it travelled,describing a mighty arc such as no arrow ever flew before, then sankdown and vanished behind some palace tower.
"A very good bow," said the shooter, as he handed it back to Dick."Never have I used a better, who have used thousands made of many asubstance. Indeed, I think that I remember it. Did you chance to find ityears ago by the seashore? Yes? Well, it was a gift of mine to a famousarcher who died upon a ship. Nay, it is not strained; I can judge of thebreaking strength of a bow. Whether or no I can judge of the flight ofan arrow you will learn hereafter. But that this one flew fast and farcannot be doubted since--did you watchers note it?--its speed made itshine like fire. This is caused by the rubbing of the air when aughttravels through it very quickly. This night you have seen a meteor glowin the same fashion, only because the air fretted it in its passage.In the East, whence I come, we produce fire just so. And now let us begoing, for I have much to do to-night, and would look upon this fairVenice ere I sleep. I'll lead the way, having seen a map of the townwhich a traveller brought to the East. I studied it, and now it comesback to my mind. Stay, let that youth give me his garment," and hepointed to David Day, who wore a silk cloak like the others, "since myforeign dress might excite remark, as it did but now."
In a moment Day had stripped himself of his light silk-hooded gown,and in another moment it was on the person of Murgh, though how it gotthere, when they came to think of it afterward, none could remember.Still, the yellow and red head-dress, the coal-black silky furs, theyellow skirt, the gleaming pearls, all vanished beneath it. Nothingremained visible except the white fingerless gloves--why were theyfingerless, and what lay beneath them? Hugh wondered--and the whiteshoes.
Forward they went across the Place of Arms, past the timber standornamented with banners, which Murgh stayed to contemplate for aninstant, until they came to the mouth of the street up which men hadfollowed them, apparently with evil intent.
"Sir Murgh," said Hugh, stepping forward, "you had best let me and mycompanion Grey Dick walk first down this place, lest you should cometo harm. When we passed it a while ago we thought that we heard robbersbehind us, and in Venice, as we are told, such men use knives."
"Thank you for your warning, Sir Hugh," and even beneath the shadowof the silk hood Hugh thought that he saw his eyes smile, and seeing,remembered all the folly of such talk.
"Yet I'll risk these robbers. Do you two and the lad keep behind me," headded in a sterner voice.
So they advanced down the narrow street, the man called Murgh goingfirst, Hugh, Grey Dick and the lad following meekly behind him. As theyentered its shadows a low whistle sounded, but nothing happened for awhile. When they had traversed about half its length, however, men, fiveor six of them in all, darted out of the gloom of a gateway and rushedat them. The faint light showed that they were masked and gleamed uponthe blue steel of the daggers in their hands. Two of these men struck atMurgh with their knives, while the others tried to pass him, doubtlessto attack his companions, but failed. Why they failed Hugh and Dicknever knew. All they saw was that Murgh stretched out his white-glovedhands, and they fell back.
The men who had struck at him fell back also, their daggers dropping tothe ground, and fled away, followed by their companions, all except onewhom Murgh had seized. Hugh noted that he was a tall, thin fellow, andthat, unlike the rest, he had drawn no weapon, although it was at hissignal that the other bravoes had rushed on. This man Murgh seemed tohold with one hand while with the other he ripped the mask off his face,turning him so that the light shone on him.
Hugh and Dick saw the face and knew it for that of the priest who hadaccompanied Acour to England. It was he who had drugged Red Eve and readthe mass of marriage over her while she was drugged.
"Who are you?" asked Murgh in his light, cold voice. "By your shavenhead a priest, I think--one who serves some God of love and mercy. Andyet you come upon this ill errand as a captain of assassins. Why do youseek to do murder, O Priest of the God of mercy?"
Now some power seemed to drag the answer from Father Nicholas.
"Because I must," he said. "I have sold myself and must pay the price.Step leads to step, and he who runs may not stop upon them."
"No, priest Nicholas, since ever they grow more narrow and more steep.Yet at the foot of them is the dark abyss, and, Murderer Nicholas, youhave reached the last of all your steps. Look at me!" and with one handhe threw back the hood.
Next instant they saw Nicholas rush staggering down the street,screaming with terror as he went. Then, as all the bravoes had gone,they continued their march, filled with reflections, till they cameto the little landing-stage where they had left the boat. It was stillthere though the boatman had gone.
"Let us borrow this boat," said Murgh. "As from my study of the map Iknow these water-paths, I will be steersman and that tongue-tied ladshall row and tell me if I go wrong. First I will take you to the housewhere I think you said you lodged, and thence to go seek friends of myown in this city who will show me hospitality."
They glided on down the long canals in utter silence that was brokenonly by the soft dipping of the oars. The night was somewhat cooler now,for the bursting of the great meteor seemed to have cleared the air. Orperhaps the gentle breeze that had sprung up, blowing from the open sea,tempered its stifling heat.
So it came about that although it grew late many people were gatheredon the _rivas_ or on the balconies of the fine houses which they passed,for the most part doubtless discussing the travelling star that hadbeen seen in the sky. Or perhaps they had already hear
d rumours of thestrange visitor who had come to Venice, although, however fast such newsmay fly, this seemed scarcely probable. At the least there they were,men and women, talking earnestly together, and about them the threeEnglishmen noted a strange thing.
As their boat slipped by, some influence seemed to pass from it to theminds of all these people. Their talk died out, and was succeeded bya morne and heavy silence. They looked at it as though wondering whya sight so usual should draw their eyes. Then after a few irresolutemoments the groups on the footpaths separated and went their wayswithout bidding each other good night. As they went many of them madethe sign with their fingers that these Italians believed could avertevil, which gave them the appearance of all pointing at the boat or itsoccupants. Those in the balconies did the same thing and disappearedthrough the open window-places.
More than any of the wonderful things that he had done, perhaps, thiseffect of the Eastern stranger's presence struck terror and forebodingto Hugh's heart.
At length they came to the end of that little street where they hadhired the boat, for, although none had told him the way, thither theirdread steersman brought them without fault. The lad David laid downhis oars and mounted the steps that led to the street, which was quitedeserted, even the bordering houses being in darkness.
"Hugh de Cressi and Richard the Fatherless," said Murgh, "you have seenwonderful things this night and made a strange friend, as you may thinkby chance, although truly in all the wide universe there is no room forsuch a thing as chance. Now my counsel to you and your companion isthat you speak no word of these matters lest you should be set upon aswizards. We part, but we shall meet again twice more, and after manyyears a third time, but that third meeting do not seek, for it will bewhen the last grains of sand are running from the glass. Also you maysee me at other times, but if so, unless I speak to you, do not speakto me. Now go your ways, fearing nothing. However great may seem yourperil, I say to you--fear nothing. Soon you will hear ill things spokenof me, yet"--and here a touch of human wistfulness came into his inhumanvoice--"I pray you believe them not. When I am named Murgh the Fiendand Murgh the Sword, then think of me as Murgh the Helper. What I do isdecreed by That which is greater than I, and if you could understand it,leads by terrible ways to a goal of good, as all things do. Richard theArcher, I will answer the riddle that you asked yourself upon the shipat Calais. The Strength which made your black bow an instrument of doommade you who loose its shafts and me who can outshoot you far. As thearrow travels whither it is sent, and there does its appointed work, sodo you travel and so do I, and many another thing, seen and unseen; andtherefore I told you truly that although we differ in degree, yet we areone. Yes, even Murgh the Eating Fire, Murgh the Gate, and that bent wandof yours are one in the Hand that shaped and holds us both."
Then divesting himself of the long robe which he had borrowed from thelad, he handed it to Hugh, and, taking the oars, rowed away clad in hisrich, fantastic garb which now, as at first, could be seen by all. Herowed away, and for a while the three whom he had left behind heard thesoughing of the innumerable wings that went ever with him, after whichcame silence.
Silence, but not for long, for presently from the borders of the greatcanal into which his skiff must enter, rose shouts of fear and rage,near by at first, then farther and farther off, till these too were lostin silence.
"Oh! Sir Hugh!" sobbed poor David Day, "who and what is that dreadfulman?"
"I think his name is Death," answered Hugh solemnly, while Dick noddedhis head but said nothing.
"Then we must die," went on David in his terror, "and I am not fit todie."
"I think not," said Hugh again. "Be comforted. Death has passed us by.Only be warned also and, as he bade you, say nothing of all that youhave heard and seen."
"By Death himself, I'll say nothing for my life's sake," he repliedfaintly, for he was shaking in every limb.
Then they walked up the street to the yard door. As they went Hugh askedDick what it was that he had in his mind as a mark for the arrow thatMurgh had shot, that arrow which to his charmed sight had seemed to rushover Venice like a flake of fire.
"I'll not tell you, master," answered Dick, "lest you should think memadder than I am, which to-night would be very mad indeed. Stay, though,I'll tell David here, that he may be a witness to my folly," and hecalled the young man to him and spoke with him apart.
Then they unlocked the courtyard gate and entered the house by thekitchen door, as it chanced quite unobserved, for now all the servantswere abed. Indeed, of that household none ever knew that they had beenoutside its walls this night, since no one saw them go or return,and Sir Geoffrey and his lady thought that they had retired to theirchamber.
They came to the door of their room, David still with them, for theplace where he slept was at the end of this same passage.
"Bide here a while," said Dick to him. "My master and I may have a wordto say to you presently."
Then they lit tapers from a little Roman lamp that burned all nightin the passage and entered the room. Dick walked at once to thewindow-place, looked and laughed a little.
"The arrow has missed," he said, "or rather," he added doubtfully, "thetarget is gone."
"What target?" asked Hugh wearily, for now he desired sleep more thanhe had ever done in all his life. Then he turned, the taper in his hand,and started back suddenly, pointing to something which hung upon hisbed-post that stood opposite to the window.
"Who nails his helm upon my bed?" he said. "Is this a challenge fromsome knight of Venice?"
Dick stepped forward and looked.
"An omen, not a challenge, I think. Come and see for yourself," he said.
This is what Hugh saw: Fixed to the post by a shaft which pierced itand the carved olivewood from side to side, was the helm that they hadstripped from the body of Sir Pierre de la Roche; the helm of Sir EdmundAcour, which Sir Pierre had worn at Crecy and Dick had tumbled out ofhis sack in the presence of the Doge before Cattrina's face. On hisreturn to the house of Sir Geoffrey Carleon he had set it down in thecentre of the open window-place and left it there when they went out tosurvey the ground where they must fight upon the morrow.
Having studied it for a moment, Dick went to the door and called toDavid.
"Friend," he said, standing between him and the bed, so that he couldsee nothing, "what was it that just now I told you was in my mind whenyonder Murgh asked me at what target he should shoot with my bow on thePlace of Arms?"
"A knight's helm," answered David, "which stood in the window of yourroom at the ambassador's house--a knight's helmet that had a swan forits crest."
"You hear?" said Dick to Hugh; "now come, both of you, and see. What isthat which hangs upon the bed-post? Answer you, David, for perchance mysight is bewitched."
"A knight's helm," answered David, "bearing the crest of a floating swanand held there by an arrow which has pierced it through."
"What was the arrow like which I gave this night to one Murgh, master?"asked Dick again.
"It was a war shaft having two black feathers and the third white butchequered with four black spots and a smear of brown," answered Hugh.
"Then is that the same arrow, master, which this Murgh loosed from morethan a mile away?"
Hugh examined it with care. Thrice he examined it, point and shaft andfeathers. Then in a low voice he answered:
"_Yes!_"
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