by E R Eddison
The sun being gone now and the after-glow fast fading in the west, a bower of moonrise began to open from behind the hills eastward. In the midst of this presently the virgin-cold moon appeared. Yet still that unearthly warmth, spring-like in its newness, summer-like in its depth and potency, grew and strengthened. Fiorinda, as utterly surrendered up to these influences, surveyed for a while, now up, now down, the moon-drenched obscurities of land and sky, the ground and the sleepy waters at her feet, and night's thousand eyes opening one by one. Then she laughed, in herself, very low, soundlessly. All the adoring earth seemed to laugh and open its arms to her.
For the first time, with only the moon for tiring-maid, she began to put up her hair: braided it, then coiled and piled it high on her head; and finding her hair-ribbon unsufficient to hold it there, took off her girdle of white silk and margery-pearls to bind up the heavy treasses, with two brooches from the bosom of her gown to learn a new office as hair-pins. She leaned her out over the water, to have viewed herself so; but, with the moon behind her, could see nought to her purpose only but dark shadow outlined against a background of dusky blue twig-fretted sky and glimmer of star-images deep below all. Turning again, she saw where there sat, on a birch-tree's limb not a dozen paces from her, the shape of a little owl, erect, clear-outlined against the moon. Suddenly it took wing and lighted without sound, upon her proffered wrist: a being that seemed without weight or substance, and the clasp of its claws upon her tender skin harmless as those sweet smarts that are fireworkers to pleasure. She raised her arm, to look level in its round fierce eyes; but it lowered its gaze. The trembling of it, sitting there, sent little shudders up her arm and through her whole body. With her free hand she stroked its feathers, then brought it near to her lips. Gentle as a turtle-dove with his mate, it fell to billing her, trembling in the doing of it, like a young untutored lover at first kiss of his mistress: then suddenly upon noiseless downy wing departed. In that sudden she was ware of Mistress Anthea standing beside her, regarding her from eyes coruscant with yellow fire, and holding up to her a looking-glass edged about with three rows of moon-stones that shone with their own light.
Fiorinda abode motionless beholding how, from that mirror and lighted by that enchantment of stones, her own face looked out at her: a face new-wakening in a soft self-amazement, and still, perhaps, half asleep. The eyes, large, almond-shaped, set almost infinitesimally aslant, and infinitesimally at variance between themselves, altering and altering again in their sea-green deeps yet ever the same in the sweet level lines of their under-lids, gave to the slender sweep of black eyebrows and to the lovely open purity of brow above them and to the proud and immitigable characters in nose and mouth and cheek, a bewitchment of newness and timelessness, and agelessness. Suddenly, even while she looked, the mirror was gone, and before her no longer her own face but Anthea's, staring upon her in a kind of awe and wonder. It was as though, in this creature, there stood before her but a thousandth part, perhaps, of her own self; and, in Campaspe (who waited too at hand now, ready to help her on with her cloak), another, all different, thousandth part. Taking the cloak about her, for the Meszrian spring was sobered to its natural self again, and the night-breeze came cool from the river, she said to Anthea, "There's more difference between me of yesterday and Me tonight than between you in your girl-skin, Madam Puff-cat, and you in your fur and claws." At the under-musics in her voice, all the April night seemed to hold its breath and listen.
But Anthea at these words, all decencies cast aside, fell to leaping in and out of her lynx-dress, gambolling about her mistress, fawning upon her, rolling and bowling herself, rubbing her head against her, hugging and kissing her feet and ankles, till Fiorinda's hair was fallen down again about her shoulders, and herself fallen backwards on the couch, weak with laughter. Campaspe, as betwixt joy and terror at these extremes, took safety in her water-rat shape and, seated in mid-stream upon a lily-leaf, from that secure refuge awaited the riot's ending.
Fiorinda stood up: called them to heel, and then to their true shapes again: bade them, with girdle and brooches where they belonged, bring to rights her dress: last, with the hairband of gold lace, tie her hair. That performed, they soberly accompanied her, on her way homewards at last, through the open field dewy and white with moonshine.
"Men call it the star of Artemis," Campaspe said after a while, in a whisper, gazing on the moon's face.
Fiorinda threw back her head in a slightly disdainish, half-mocking, half-caressful little motion of silent laughter. "What is Artemis," said she, "but My very Sister? part of Myself: a part of Mine."
"And Pallas," said Campaspe as, like an unbodied shadow on air, the owl floated by.
"Her too. Is a kind of engine in my soul too." They were come, maybe, another hundred pace in silence when Anthea spoke: very low, and with a glitter of pointed white teeth under the moon, "And Hekate?" "Yes. But when that shall be stirring in My blood, it is time for dogs to howl, and even for the gorgons to veil their eyes and cry out for the darkness to cover them."
The learned doctor was waiting in the castle gate. Kissing her hand, he peered closely in her face, then kissed her hand again. "I am glad," he said, "that your ladyship is safe home."
In Fiorinda's eyes looking up into his was a conscient merriment, as feasting on some secret knowledge shared by her with no person of this world save with him only and these nymphs. "But why this new ceremoniousness of 'ladyship,' reverend sir?" she said.
"I think," answered Vandermast, "your ladyship is now awake to your very Self. And wisest now to entreat You as such."
29 - Astarte
PAX MEZENTIANA was begun now to rest deep on the land: a golden age, lulled with airs blown, a man could have believed, from Zayana, or Memison, or Lornra Zombremar. This most of all in Meszria and Rialmar. But even upon the factions in the Middle Kingdom, peace strewed her poppies; under cover of which the Vicar, by firm government, by lavishness in hospitality, and by a set policy of fastening a private hold on each man worthy his attention (laying them under obligations to his person, or holding over them his knowledge of some secret misdoing which they would wish least of all to see brought to light), was, without show but with patience and with thoroughness, consolidating his power in Rerek.
The King, for his part, held by his old wont of progresses, constant so as no corner of the Three Kingdoms but had either the fresh remembrance, or early expectation, or instant taste, of his presence; like as roosting birds should taste, familiar under their feet, the comfort of their tree's perdurable might. His occupation was much with merriments and light pleasures, sauced with philosophical disputations and with princely pastimes, as to see his gyrfalcons fly at the crane, heron, and wild swan, or to hunt wolf and bear; but greatly, amid all these doings, with overseeing of and giving order for the training up of his fighting men in all arts of war and feats of endurance and might and main. Those nearest in his counsels, well thinking that lust for great performance grows with full feeding, noted how he had furnished forth that young Lord Lessingham to find out distant countries beyond seas and observe and learn their several powers, riches, and (most of all) any novel and good ways they might have devised for waging of war, and so at five years' end to come back and report to him of these matters. They smelt, though, in his mood at this time something of that evening-sleepiness which, in skin-changers and berserks, used to follow the bouts of fury and strength and blood-shedding. But well they perceived that, spite of all this unaction and sometimes seeming retirement within his own self, his sudden apprehension and piercing wits were busy as of old with every eddy and trend and deep current of the world about him; nor had they mistrust (or if any had, a word with the King, as the wind and the sun clear mists, was enough to end it) but that, whatsoever turn-about might come of these smothering times of peace, a man might as well eat hot coals as enter upon any perverse and evil dealings in hope the King should not mark him, or should wink at his misdemeanour.
Upon a May morning
of the year seven hundred and seventy-four, that Lady Fiorinda being now near upon completing of the eighteenth year of her age, the Chancellor and she were ridden forth before breakfast to take the air along the sea-shore of the Korvish, south from Zemry Ashery. The tide was out, so that the whole of this silted-up southern arm of the Bishfirth, two or three miles wide upon their bridle-hand, lay dry: firm level sand, white as powdered marble, over which they galloped their horses the full six miles to the waterhead, then halted and turned homewards. Before them now, a little to the right in the far distance, the tide began to come in, with a cross-wind from the east whipping it to foam. Overhead, feathery trailers of white cloud streaked the azure: a mistiness of spindrift whitened the sea-line beyond the expanse of white sands: the slopes landward, above them on the left, were misty-grey with olive trees: ahead, Zemry Ashery upon its promontory showed dusky-blue, against the more cerulean and paler hues of the great mountains afar in the north, and with edgings of gold light where the sun took its eastern walls.
They rode leisurely at a walking-pace, the horses' breaths coming in clouds on the cool morning air after that long stretch of speed. Here and there they halted to peer from the saddle into the emerald depths of some great sea-pool, sometimes with an outcrop of jade-like rock at its bottom upon which limpets had their homes, and sea-anemones; some that slept, shiny lumps of sealing-wax, scarlet or dark brown; some that waked, opening flower-like faces in hope of sea-lice and other small deer to be their breakfast. And from chinks in these drowned rocks bosky growths of sea-weed spread fans and streamers, dark green, tan-colour, orange-tawny, and rusty red, from whose shadows little iridescent fishes darted in the sunlit stillness, or a crab crept sidelong. That brother and sister, being now more than half-way home, were pleasing themselves with the contemplation of one such little seaish garden of the nereids, when they were aware of a rider coming down to them through the olive-groves. He had that seat that belongs to a man that cannot remember the first time he bestrode a horse: as though, as in the centaur-kind, man's body and horse's were engrafted and one.
"Good morrow, my Lord Baias," said the Chancellor, returning his salute. "I'd a mind these three weeks past to a come to greet you as our next neighbour now, which glads me for long acquaintance sake. But I've been wonderful full of business."
Fiorinda, looking up from her pool-gazing, turned in the saddle to have sight of him. His grea tstone-horse, winding her little mare, threw up his head: snorted, whinnied, pawed the ground. Baias struck him with the horn handle of his riding-'whip a devilish blow on the jaw, and, but for fine horsemanship, had doubtless been thrown and killed for his pains, but after a short fight brought him to order. "I am for Krestenaya, my lord Chancellor," he said, his eyes returning still to the vision of her where she sat, mysterious against the light, " 'pon a business with your own armourer you told me of. Hath my best sword to mend. I hurt it upon a swashing fellow bade me to the duello, weeks since, ere I came south."
"You hurt him worse than you hurt the sword?"
"Nay, that's certain. I hear a be dead."
Beroald said, "Let's ride on the way together. On a more fitting occasion you must come and see us in Zemry Ashery."
"Joyfully," answered he, bringing his horse up upon Fiorinda's right as they moved off. "Have no fear, madam: he knoweth his master."
She replied by an almost unperceptible half-scornful little backward lifting of her head, not looking at him but forward between the mare's ears. The beauty of her face, lit with morning and flushed with the wind, seemed to flicker between self-contrarying extremes: sweets and lovelinesses drawing at their train diamond-hard unswayables and that pride that binds the devils: lips whose stillness was a pool where, like lotus-buds closed under the sun's eye, delicate virginal thoughts and witty fancies seemed to slumber, but rooted, far below that shining and tranquil surface, in some elixir of darkness potent to shake man's blood.
Baias spoke: "Your lordship has forgot to do me that honour to present me."
"Cry you mercy. I'd forgot there was the need. This is my lady sister."
"Your sister?" Baias bent to kiss the hand she offered him, crimson-gloved. There was here, as indeed in his every motion, a certain taking haughtiness of manner; but easeful: begotten, not court-bred. "From what I'd heard tell," he said to the Chancellor, "I supposed her but a child yet. And yet, behold. You've kept her very close, my friend."
They rode awhile in silence, Baias with eyes still upon her. When at length, turning her head, she met his gaze, he laughed merrily. "Is your brother a blood-sucker, a troll-man, to a kept you so long time closeted up from the world?"
Faintly raising her eyebrows, that seemed of their nature to carry an air of permanent soft surprise, she said, "I am very well content with my company, thank you."
"He is a very secret man. I know him of old and his ways. How comes it we are never honoured with a sight of your ladyship at the presences in Zayana?"
"Some day you may live to see such a thing."
"There is time yet," said her brother lightly. "Over-hastiness was never a distemper in our family."
After another silence, Baias said softly to her, "Life's not long enough, in my seeming, to slack sail when a fair wind blows. But, for myself, to say true, I am by complexion hasty." He paused, studying her face, sideways to him. "I'm in hasty mood now," he said.
Something not altogether unkind, betwixt comprehension and mockery, glinted at her mouth's corners as she said very equably, "Then it were wrong in us to delay you further, my lord. Our horses are breathed, and I would not put them to speed again this morning." She glanced round to her brother, who drew rein.
"Why there," said Baias, "spoke a true courtesy, and I'll act upon it." They halted. In his eyes, meeting hers, sat some swift determination that seemed to stiffen the whole posture of his body and (as by infection) of the great horse's that carried him. "But since here's parting of our ways, and delays breed loss," said he, looking from her to Beroald and so again to her, "I'll first, in great humility, request of your ladyship your hand in marriage."
Save for the faintest satirical lift of eyebrows she made no response, only with great coolness regarding him.
"Was that over-sudden?" said Baias, noting the manner of her look, which was interested, meditative, removed; even just as she had looked down from above upon fishes and marauding crabs in the sea-pools' transparent deeps. "Saw you but with my eyes, felt with my blood, you should not think so. Nay, sweet madam, take time, then, I pray you. But I pray you, for my peace sake, not too long time."
"Your lordship were best ask my brother here, my guardian. I am not yet of full age. Besides, as he told you but now, we are not, of our family, rushers into unadvised decisions."
"You're not offended at me, I hope?"
Fiorinda smiled: a shadowy ambiguous smile of lip and nostril, her eyes still level upon him in that studious remote intention.
"Offended because you wish to marry her?" said the Chancellor. " Tis the best compliment he could a paid you, sister."
"Is it?" Then, to Basias: "O, not offended. Surprised, perhaps. Perhaps a little amused. Pity your lordship should have to wait for your answer to so natural a demand."
"Admired and uncomparable lady, be not angry with me. I'll wait. But beseech you, not too long."
"Depends of the answer. Too long, you may think, if answer be good; but if t'other way, you'd then have at least the comfort of delay to thank me for. We meet again?" she said, giving him her hand.
"If I thought not," kissing it and holding it longer than need were in his, "God for witness, I'd go stab myself." With that, like a man unable to hold the lid longer on a boiling pot, Baias struck spurs into his stallion's flanks and, with great rearings and tossings of mane and clatter of hooves, departed.
The lady said, after a few minutes' silence as, alone together once more, they came their way: "A turn I least looked for in you, brother. And gives me strangely to think."
"What do yo
u mean?"
"As good as hold me out like a piece of merchandise to this friend of yours, by I know not what fair promises made to him behind my back; and no leave asked of me."
"You're quite mistook, I'd ne'er made mention of you."
"Strange. If true."
"This is the nature of him: even rash and sudden. But a man of many and remarkable virtues, and of high place in the land."
"Does he think I am so agog for a husband, there's nought to do but whistle on his fist and I'll hop to him?"
"Come, you're too bitter. 'Tis not unpardonable in a man to know his own worth."
"Nor in a woman. But I think he hath eyes for no other worth than his own."
Beroald said, with an ironic twitch of his nostrils, "You cooled any such hare-brained thought as that in him ere we parted."
After another silence: "I still suspect you as of his party, brother. By your talk. By your praises."
"Well, the man is a friend of mine. And friends are useful."
"The uses of friendship! And sisters, too, made for use?"
"I shall not answer that." Then1 glances countered: a land of merry hand-fast in the air, while that thing at the corner of Fiorinda's mouth conjured some dim earth-bound shadow of itself on the Chancellor's stony lip. "Only," he said, cold, careless, judicial again, "if there your fancy should chance to light, I confess 't should not displease me."
"How old is this friend?"
"Of some five years' standing."
"His age, I meant?"
"O, of my age, I suppose, within a year or two."
"Old enough to have known, then, I'd have thought, that a girl's hand is to be suited for, not guttishly demanded." She added, after a pause: "As call for a pottle of ale in a tavern."