'You belong to the damned,’ he said. 'Before the sun rises you will pray for death, and your prayers will not be answered.’ ‘Whatever happens,’ Dunwilliam spoke quietly, 'I will not run from shadows, nor fall to my knees when a dog barks. Fear makes cowards.’
'Yes, indeed,’ Evans nodded, ‘and that is why you will go down why I still walk upright. Only fools or heroes stand still when fear warns them they should run, and I, being you understand no gentleman, will crawl on my belly, if by so doing I can breathe a little longer and count the fingers on my right hand.’
‘If you are so frightened of what you imagine exists out there,’ Dunwilliam jerked his head in the direction of the door, ‘why don’t you run from this place? The world is large.’
Because the moors are my father and mother, and if I do not rebel my few sheep grow fat, my crops, such as they are, stand erect, untouched by blight or frost, and sometimes there is a gold coin on the doorstep. Kings have always rewarded the fathers of their mistresses.’
'And madmen can sometimes contaminate those who are nearest to them,’ said Dunwilliam caustically. 'It is time someone removed her from your company.’
Evan ap Evans laughed, a great bellowing roar, and the girl drew near and stood watching him, her face grave, her eyes dark mirrors that gave no hint of the thoughts lurking behind them. Presently, when her father had recovered from his outburst, she touched his shoulder.
'It is time you went to your room, for I must make up a bed for him before the fire.’
'Sleep, aye,’ he grinned with almost childish joy. 'Let him sleep while he may, for tomorrow...’ He stopped, and the smile died. 'But I will weep for him.’
He went quietly to his room, and Dunwilliam watched Silah bolt the door. He smiled grimly.
'Thank you for locking him in. I will sleep all the better for knowing that madman cannot come out.’
Silah took a pile of blankets out of a heavy oak chest.
'He would not sleep at all if I did not lock him in. There are bars on his window.’
‘He indeed fears your bogyman,’ Dunwilliam sneered.
'He has the courage of his fears,’ the girl said softly as she laid cushions on the floor and covered them with a blanket. 'There, you should sleep soundly enough.’ She walked towards what Dunwilliam assumed to be her bedroom, then paused. 'Lord Dunwilliam, I will give you a piece of advice which you can disregard if you wish. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the house before morning. Despite what my father said,
I think you are safe, so long as you do not leave this room and are prepared to depart at daybreak.’
I am indeed flattered by your concern.’
She shook her head.
'I am not concerned, but I would rather not have your blood on my head.’
She went into her room, then closed the door.
***
When Dunwilliam woke the fire had sunk down to a black pile of charred logs, and the room had surrendered to a bone- chilling cold that made him pull the blankets tighter about him. He had awoken suddenly, been jerked back into consciousness by a sound, and for a while he lay motionless, trying to remember what it had been. A log settled in the grate, a pile of snow slid from the roof, a floorboard creaked as the change in temperature made it expand. Even as Dunwilliam pondered on the problem, the sound came again. The distant blast of a horn: dear, unmistakable, a raucous call that drove the last residue of sleep from Dunwilliam’s head, and made him stare with wide-open eyes across the darkened room. A door opened, soft footsteps slowly crossed the room, paused by the recum bent man then moved on. The bolts on the front door were carefully drawn back; a blast of colder air caressed Dunwilliam’s hair, then the door dosed and he was alone.
The lust, the anger, the great desire to possess, to snatch from another that what must be his; the overwhelming need to hurt, strike, smash, rend, all this and more, drove him from the makeshift bed, sent him blundering round the room in search of his greatcoat and hat, then out into the moon-painted night.
He found his horse in an out-house, and he saddled it with cold-numb fingers, cursing, mouthing foul obscenities, but all the while he was fired by a fierce exdtement. She was out on the moor, on her way to meet some fool with a horn, and now she was legitimate prey for he who rode the fastest.
Lord Dunwilliam swung himself up into the saddle and rode forth in all his strength, for he was armed with pride, certain that defeat or disappointment would never face him; the brutal, animal courage of his kind sat cheek by jowl with pride and together they supported his arrogant commonsense, which would reject any object between heaven and earth that had not been accepted by one or more of his five senses.
He followed the girl’s trail easily enough, for the imprint- of her small feet had been perfectly retained by the smooth carpet of snow, and presently he caught sight of her black-clad figure making for the mountain slopes. The distance between them narrowed, and she must have known who followed, but her head did not turn, and she continued to trudge onward as though certain that nothing could impede her journey. He spurred his horse forward so that plumes of powdered snow sprang up around its hoofs, then he was riding abreast of her, looking down on the graceful figure that even the voluminous cloak could not hide.
You cannot escape me,’ he said, and the joy that sang in his blood was a wondrous thing. 'Your horn-blowing bumpkin must hunt another quarry tonight.’
She spoke without looking up.
'Ride north and you will be safe, but for your own sake come no farther.’
"We will both ride north,’ he said, and bending down he gripped her under the armpits and pulled the light form up on to the saddle. She did not struggle, but relaxed back in his arms with a tiny sigh of resignation, and the pale, flawless face was as unrevealing as the eternal hills. Lord Dunwilliam wheeled his horse about and began to wend his way towards the distant lake that lay like a silver salver in the bright moonlight. The hot madness flooded his being, and he was as a god before whom elements bow, and he poured out a torrent of words that demanded no answer. They were but an outlet for his great joy.
'You shall have dresses to caress your soft whiteness, and diamonds to kiss the velvet sheen of your neck, and I shall bring the great ones of the earth to pay you homage, the nobles, the word-builders, even Prinny himself. But perhaps not, perhaps not. Why should I reveal your beauty to lustful eyes? Maybe I’ll build you a cage of gold, a fortress manned by an army of one, and together we will keep the world at bay. I’ll teach you to smile, then wait for that great day when you will laugh, and my love -yes, my love, will light a fire that will consume us both, and each night we will die of ecstasy, to be reborn when the sun . .
The words ceased to flow, he looked down at the pale face so close to his own; it was still devoid of expression, a beautiful mask, but a single tear ran down either cheek.
'You are crying,’ he whispered. 'You must not cry.’
'I am sad for you,’ she said.
'For me?’
There was a slight inclination of her head.
'Yes, in the same way that I would be sad for any living creature doomed to unthinkable horror.’
He tilted her head with his free hand and there was a strange gentleness in his voice.
'You silly, superstitious child, what tricks has your horn- blowing peasant been playing?’ Do you suppose I would be frightened by an oaf on horseback and a few mangy hounds? In a few hours we will be in Bala - there I’ll hire a coach for London.’
She shook her head. 'You cannot escape. Even now he is on the move, marshalling his pack for the great chase. When the horn sounds, and the hounds are in full cry, you will not know east from west, or be certain where the sky meets the earth There will be sadness in my heart when you go down before his wrath, but when it is over, and the snow has hidden that which must not be seen, then I will forget you for ever. It will be as if you had never existed.’
The anger, which had lain like a wounded beast far back in
the dark caverns of his brain, reared up, and he growled :
'I promise you, wench, you will have no reason to forget me. You may fear me, hate me, but you will never forget.’
Suddenly he reined in and looked back over one shoulder. The horn blast was distinct, but even more clear was the deep baying of many hounds, and there appeared on the distant mountainside a pack of swift-moving creatures that glittered bright red in the cold moonlight. For a moment Dunwilliam doubted the evidence presented by his eyes. They had seemingly sprung out of nowhere, a grim, nightmare pack that were streaking straight for him, eating up the distance, and behind them rode the dread horseman. Both rider and horse were of gigantic stature, and the man, if indeed such a creature could be so called, wore a great black cloak that streamed out behind him like some monstrous wing.
Dunwilliam used his spurs, but they were not necessary, for the horse was terrified. It leapt forward, ploughing up the snow as it desperately tried to outrun the grim pack, but the going was hard and Dunwilliam found he had lost all sense of direction. Behind him he heard the snuffling, howling, grotesque baying that at times ascended into an unearthly shriek, and no matter how fast Lucifer ran, the sounds grew louder, the impossible which Dunwilliam still refused to accept was closing in. At last he knew flight was futile, and he had little stomach for being the hunted, chased like a fox for a madman's pleasure, so he guided the near-exhausted horse towards a solitary tree and prepared to face the inevitable.
He dismounted, then dragged the girl down beside him and she leant against the tree, calm, her beauty a cold flame, and even now Dunwilliam wanted to feast his eyes on that pale face, but the baying, howling pack would not be denied and he was aware that the horse, relieved of its double burden, was a black streak, flying across the snow.
They were bright red, glittering as though encased in scarlet armour. They fanned out and formed a half-circle, still moving in, but slowly now, a, few inches at a time, eyes gleaming like hot coals, whimpering with awful anticipation, and as they drew nearer Dunwilliam realised what gave them that awesome red sheen. They were covered with blood. Gore coated the great bodies, flowed down the long ears, oozed out of the drooling mouths, but the snow around them was virgin white, and Dunwilliam swallowed his fear, drove it down into his stomach, where it lay like a block of frozen acid.
The great horseman sat motionless amid his fearsome pack, his face in deep shadow cast by the cowl which masked his head, and Silah sighed, and Dunwilliam saw the light which transformed her eyes into pools of wondrous joy, saw the smile which lit up her face, saw the delicate flush that tinted the smooth cheeks.
This is what you want?’ he asked.
'He is the earth, the hills,’ she nodded slowly. 'His breath is the wind that holds dominion over the frozen moors, his strength comes from the rocks and bubbling streams and his soul is born of darkness and moonlight. How could I not love him?’
The Hounds of Hell were nearer; their bellies touched the snow, the blood-coated hides seethed and bubbled, and the wings of the half-circle were folding, closing in, while the black horseman sat motionless, neither he nor his horse betraying the slightest flicker of life. Lord Dunwilliam raised his voice.
'Hear me, Arawn, whatever you are, I do not accept you nor the blood-soaked filth that surrounds you. You are born of ignorance, stupidity, the child of crazed brains, and I curse you. Get down to the hell which is rightfully yours, or go and frighten babies or old men in their cups, but leave an intelligent, educated man in peace. Set those—things on me if you can, but so long as I can speak, see, or even think, I will deny your existence.’
Silah moved to his side, then reaching up she placed one arm around his neck and pulled his head down. She kissed him full on the lips and at last fear began to uncoil like a cold snake.
You are worthy to follow him,’ she said, then her arm dropped away and she began to walk towards the approaching pack, straight for the black horseman. As she passed the nearest Hell Hound she patted its blood-coated head, and it whimpered, while a dripping tongue flicked out to lick her dainty hand. When she at last reached the great horse another hound crouched down so that she could use it as a mounting block, and presently she was nestling against that black breast, one great arm was about her slim waist, and she was the dream girl who had found joy in a nightmare. The hounds came closer, but now their movements were slightly faster. The blood seemed to flow more freely, and Dunwilliam crossed himself, tried to remember the Church dogma, but his brain was being slowly paralysed by the rising fear.
'In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I command you to go from hence’.
The girl smiled; she was now a spectator who knew how the play was to end, and was perhaps a little bored.
Dunwilliam was back against the tree, his eyes dilated, sweat pouring down his congested face, but to the very end he fought back in the only way he knew.
'Merciful God, give me the gift of disbelief, strengthen my doubt, let me see only reality.’
The first hound leapt, and its blood-soaked head filled the universe; the gleaming eyes became a fire-walled hell from which there was no escape, and there was a mighty pain in Dunwilliam’s throat. Then they came in from all directions, snarling, fighting for their share of the threshing body, and Silah’s soft laughter was like the wind playing with summer grass.
He came up from the hell where pain and terror reigned and lay still for a few minutes, trying to understand. The pain had gone, fear was dying, and he felt strong, alert, but the stench of corruption was all around, sweet and cloying, and he knew he was covered with blood. The hounds had tom his soul from his body and he was soaked in a warm wetness. It salted his tongue, filled his nostrils with a sweet essence, and it was good. Life-giving.
The hounds had withdrawn. They sat watching him, silent, still, and He who sat on the great horse with his arm about the starry-eyed girl had pulled back his cowl so that Lord Dunwilliam was able to see the face. Dark, awful, evil, beautiful. He thought of a black serpent, the towering mountains, the terror that lurks in unlighted rooms, then looked again on the face of Arawn, and surrendered to a wave of fawning, self- effacing love. He crawled forward on his belly, eased his way through the motionless hounds and at last came to rest by the great hoofs. The terrible eyes looked down at him, and Silah nodded gently as though well pleased by the turn of events. Then Arawn swung his horse round, raised a black horn to his lips and the mighty blast rang out. The Hell Hounds sprang to instant death-tainted life, began to snort, snuffle and make the night hideous with their deep-throated growls, then the great horse leapt forward and the blood-coated pack streaked after it, eager for the next victim, knowing that soon the sun would drive darkness from the black steel sky.
Dunwilliam watched them go, indecision confusing his thoughts, but aware of a great longing to —what? To hate, to see terror come to life on a complacent face, to hear screams, to rend, to devour? Arawn and the Cwn Annwn stopped some hundred yards ahead and He looked back before sounding another arrogant blast on his horn. Lord Dunwilliam knew what he must do.
He climbed up on to his four feet, shook his blood-soaked hide, then streaked forth to join the pack.
The Labyrinth
(1974)
They were lost. Rosemary knew it and said so in forcible language. Brian also was well aware of their predicament but was unwilling to admit it.
"One cannot be lost in England," he stated. "We're bound to strike a main road if we walk in a straight line."
"But suppose we wander in a circle?" Rosemary asked, look-ing fearfully round at the Dartmoor landscape, "and finish up in a bog?"
"If we use our eyes there's no reason why bogs should bother us. Come on and stop moaning."
"We should never have left that track," Rosemary insisted. "Suppose we get caught out here when night falls?"
"Don't be daft," he snapped, "it's only mid-day. We'll be in Princetown long before nightfall."
"You hope." She refuse
d to be convinced. "I'm hungry."
"So am I." They were walking up a steep incline. "But I don't keep on about it."
"I'm not keeping on. I'm hungry and I said so. Do you think we'll find a main road soon?" ^
"Over the next rise," he promised. "There's always a main road over the next rise."
But he was wrong. When they crested the next rise and looked down, there was only a narrow track which terminated at a tumbledown gate set in a low stone wall. Beyond, like an island girdled by a yellow lake, was a lawn-besieged house. It was built of grey stone and seemed to have been thrown up by the moors; a great, crouching monster that glared out across the countryside with multiple glass eyes. It had a strange look. The chimney stacks might have been jagged splinters of rock that had acquired a rough cylindrical shape after centuries of wind and rain. But the really odd aspect was that the sun appeared to ignore the house. It had baked the lawn to a pale yellow, cracked the paint on an adjacent summerhouse, but in some inexplicable way, it seemed to disavow the existence of the great, towering mass.
"Tea!" exclaimed Rosemary.
"What?"
"Tea." She pointed. "The old lady, she's drinking tea."
Sure enough, seated by a small table that nestled in the shade of a vast multi-coloured umbrella was a little white-haired old lady taking tea. Brian frowned, for he could not understand why he had not seen her, or at least the umbrella, before, but there she was, a tiny figure in a white dress and a floppy hat, sipping tea and munching sandwiches. He moistened dry lips.
"Do you suppose," he asked, "we dare intrude?"
Collected Stories (4.1) Page 9