The Wanderer's Necklace

by H. Rider Haggard

  It comes to me that for some days, three or four, I sat in my cell atthe palace, for here I was kept because, as I learned afterwards, it wasfeared that if I were removed to that State prison of which I had beengovernor, some attempt would be made to rescue me.

  This cell was one of several situated beneath that broad terrace whichlooked out on to the sea, where Irene had first questioned me as to theshell necklace and, against my prayer, had set it upon her own breast.It had a little barred window, out of which I could watch the sea, andthrough this window came the sound of sentries tramping overhead and ofthe voice of the officer who, at stated hours, arrived to turn out theguard, as for some years it had been my duty to do.

  I wondered who that officer might be, and wondered also how many ofsuch men since Byzantium became the capital of the Empire had filledhis office and mine, and what had become of them all. As I knew, ifthat terrace had been able to speak, it could have told many bloodyhistories, whereof doubtless mine would be another. Doubtless, too,there were more to follow until the end came, whatever that might be.

  In that strait place I reflected on many things. All my youth came backto me. I marvelled what had happened at Aar since I left it such longyears ago. Once or twice rumours had reached me from men in my company,who were Danish-born, that Iduna was a great lady there and stillunmarried. But of Freydisa I had heard nothing. Probably she was dead,and, if so, I felt sure that her fierce and faithful spirit must be nearme now, as that of Ragnar had seemed to be in the Battle of the Garden.

  How strange it was that after all my vision had been fulfilled and ithad been my lot to meet her of whom I had dreamed, wearing that necklaceof which I had found one-half upon the Wanderer in his grave-mound. WereI and the Wanderer the same spirit, I asked of myself, and she of thedream and Heliodore the same woman?

  Who could tell? At least this was sure, from the moment that first wesaw one another we knew we belonged each to each for the present andthe future. Therefore, as it was with these we had to do, the past mightsleep and all its secrets.

  Now we had met but to be parted again by death, which seemed hardindeed. Yet since we _had_ met, for my part Fate had my forgiveness forI knew that we should meet again. I looked back on what I had done andleft undone, and could not blame myself overmuch. True, it would havebeen wiser if I had stayed by Irene and Heliodore, and not led thatcharge against the Greeks. Only then, as a soldier, I should never haveforgiven myself, for how could I stand still while my comrades foughtfor me? No, no, I was glad I had led the charge and led it well, thoughmy life must pay its price. Nor was this so. I must die, not becauseI had lifted sword against Irene's troops, but for the sin of lovingHeliodore.

  After all, what was life as we knew it? A passing breath! Well, as thebody breathes many million times between the cradle and the grave, so Ibelieved the soul must breathe out its countless lives, each ending in aform of death. And beyond these, what? I did not know, yet my new-foundfaith gave me much comfort.

  In such meditations and in sleep I passed my hours, waiting always untilthe door of my cell should open and through it appear, not the jailerwith my food, which I noted was plentiful and delicate, but theexecutioners or mayhap the tormentors.

  At length it did open, somewhat late at night, just as I was about tolay myself down to rest, and through it came a veiled woman. I bowed andmotioned to my visitor to be seated on the stool that was in the cell,then waited in silence. Presently she threw off her veil, and in thelight of the lamp showed that I stood before the Empress Irene.

  "Olaf," she said hoarsely, "I am come here to save you from yourself, ifit may be so. I was hidden in yonder Court, and heard all that passed atyour trial."

  "I guessed as much, Augusta," I said, "but what of it?"

  "For one thing, this: The coward and fool, who now is dead--of hiswounds--who gave evidence as to the killing of the three other cowardsby you, has caused my name to become a mock throughout Constantinople.Aye, the vilest make songs upon me in the streets, such songs as Icannot repeat."

  "I am grieved, Augusta," I said.

  "It is I who should grieve, not you, who are told of as a man who grewweary of the love of an Empress, and cast her off as though she werea tavern wench. That is the first matter. The second is that under thefinding of the Court of Justice----"

  "Oh! Augusta," I interrupted, "why stain your lips with those words 'ofjustice'!"

  "----Under the finding of the Court," she went on, "your fate is leftin my hands. I may kill you or torment your body. Or I may spare you andraise your head higher than any other in the Empire, aye, and adorn itwith a crown."

  "Doubtless you may do any of these things, Augusta, but which of them doyou wish to do?"

  "Olaf, notwithstanding all that has gone, I would still do the last. Ispeak to you no more of love or tenderness, nor do I pretend that thisis for your sake alone. It is for mine also. My name is smirched, andonly marriage can cover up the stain upon it. Moreover, I am beset bytroubles and by dangers. Those accursed Northmen, who love you so welland who fight, not like men but like devils, are in league with theArmenian legions and with Constantine. My generals and my troops fallaway from me. If it were assailed, I am not sure that I could hold thispalace, strong though it be. There's but one man who can make me safeagain, and that man is yourself. The Northmen will do your bidding, andwith you in command of them I fear no attack. You have the honesty, thewit and the soldier's skill and courage. You must command, or none. Onlythis time it must not be as Irene's lover, for that is what they nameyou, but as her husband. A priest is waiting within call, and one ofhigh degree. Within an hour, Olaf, you may be my consort, and within ayear the Emperor of the World. Oh!" she went on with passion, "cannotyou forgive what seem to be my sins when you remember that they werewrought for love of you?"

  "Augusta," I said, "I have small ambition; I am not minded to be anemperor. But hearken. Put aside this thought of marriage with one so farbeneath you, and let me marry her whom I have chosen, and who has chosenme. Then once more I'll take command of the Northmen and defend you andyour cause to the last drop of my blood."

  Her face hardened.

  "It may not be," she said, "not only for those reasons I have told you,but for another which I grieve to have to tell. Heliodore, daughter ofMagas the Egyptian, is dead.'

  "Dead!" I gasped. "Dead!"

  "Aye, Olaf, dead. You did not see, and she, being a brave woman, hid itfrom you, but one of those spears that were flung in the fight struckher in the side. For a while the wound went well. But two days ago itmortified; last night she died and this morning I myself saw her buriedwith honour."

  "How did you see her buried, you who are not welcome among theNorthmen?" I asked.

  "By my order, as her blood was high, she was laid in the palacegraveyard, Olaf."

  "Did she leave me no word or token, Augusta? She swore to me that if shedied she would send to me the other half of that necklace which I wear."

  "I have heard of none," said Irene, "but you will know, Olaf, that Ihave other business to attend to just now than such death-bed gossip.These things do not come to my ears."

  I looked at Irene and Irene looked at me.

  "Augusta," I said, "I do not believe your story. No spear woundedHeliodore while I was near her, and when I was not near her your Greekswere too far away for any spears to be thrown. Indeed, unless youstabbed her secretly, she was not wounded, and I am sure that, howevermuch you have hated her, this you would not have dared to do for yourown life's sake. Augusta, for your own purposes you are trying todeceive me. I will not marry you. Do your worst. You have lied to meabout the woman whom I love, and though I forgive you all the rest, thisI do not forgive. You know well that Heliodore still lives beneath thesun."

  "If so," answered the Empress, "you have looked your last upon the sunand--her. Never again shall you behold the beauty of Heliodore. Have youaught to say? There is still time."

  "Nothing, Augusta, at present, except this. Of late I have learne
d tobelieve in a God. I summon you to meet me before that God. There we willargue out our case and abide His judgment. If there is no God there willbe no judgment, and I salute you, Empress, who triumph. If, as I believeand as you say you believe, there is a God, think whom _you_ will becalled upon to salute when that God has heard the truth. Meanwhile Irepeat that Heliodore the Egyptian still lives beneath the sun."

  Irene rose from the stool on which she sat and thought a moment. I gazedthrough the bars of the window-place in my cell out at the night above.A young moon was floating in the sky, and near to it hung a star. Alittle passing cloud with a dented edge drifted over the star and thelower horn of the moon. It went by, and they shone out again uponthe background of the blue heavens. Also an owl flitted across thewindow-place of my cell. It had a mouse in its beak, and the shadow ofit and of the writhing mouse for a moment lay upon Irene's breast, forI turned my head and saw them. It came into my mind that here was anallegory. Irene was the night-hawk, and I was the writhing mouse thatfed its appetite. Doubtless it was decreed that the owl must be and themouse must be, but beyond them both, hidden in those blue heavens, stoodthat Justice which we call God.

  These were the last things that I saw in this life of mine, andtherefore I remember them well, or rather, almost the last. The verylast of which I took note was Irene's face. It had grown like to that ofa devil. The great eyes in it stared out between the puffed and purpleeyelids. The painted cheeks had sunk in and were pallid beneath andround the paint. The teeth showed in two white lines, the chin worked.She was no longer a beautiful woman, she was a fiend.

  Irene knocked thrice upon the door. Bolts were thrown back, and menentered.

  "Blind him!" she said.