Love Among the Ruins

by Warwick Deeping

  XV

  Hardly had an hour passed, and Fra Balthasar was still touching thestudy he had made of Yeoland's face, when a company of spears flashedout by the northern ride into the clearing. At their head rode a knightin harness of burnished steel, a splendid figure flashing chivalry inthe eyes of the sun. On his shield he bore "a castle, argent, withports voided of the field, on a field vert," the arms of the house ofGambrevault. His surcoat was diapered azure and green with three goldsuns blazoned thereon. His baldric, a splendid streak of scarlet silk,slashed his surcoat as with blood. His troop, men in half armour, rodeunder the Pavon Vert of the demesne of Avalon.

  They thundered into the open stretch of grass with a clangorous rattleof steel. Flavian, bare-headed, for his salade hung at his saddle-bowand he wore no camail, scanned the glade with a keen stare. Seeing FraBalthasar seated under a tree, he turned his horse towards him, andsmiled as the churchman put his tools aside and gave him a benediction.The man made a fine figure; judged by the flesh, Balthasar might havestood for an Ambrose or a Leo.

  "Herald of heaven, how goes the work?"

  "Sire, we emulate Pericles."

  "What have you there, a woman's head, some rare Madonna?"

  Balthasar showed his white teeth.

  "A pretty pastoral, messire. The study of a lady who had lost her wayhunting, and craved my guidance this morning. A woman with the face andfigure of a Dian."

  "Ha, rogue of the brush, let us see it."

  Balthasar passed the parchment into the other's hand. Flavian stared atit, flushed to the temples, rapped out an ejaculation in ecclesiasticLatin. His eyes devoured the sketch with the insatiable enthusiasm of alover; words came hot off his tongue.

  "Quick, man, quick, is this true to life?"

  "As ruby to ruby."

  "None of your idealisations?"

  "Messire, but an hour ago that girl was sitting her horse where yourdestrier now stands."

  "And you sketched this at her desire?"

  "At my own, sire; it was courtesy for courtesy: I had shown her ourhandiwork here."

  "You showed her this tower and chapel?"

  "Certainly, sire."

  "She seemed sad?"

  "Nay, merry."

  "This is romance!" He lifted the little picture at arm's length to thesun, kissed it, and put it in his bosom. His face was radiant; helaughed as though some golden joy rang and resounded in his heart.

  "A hundred golden angels for this face!"

  Fra Balthasar was in great measure mystified. The Lord of Avalon seemedan inflammable gentleman.

  "Messire, you are ever generous."

  "Man, man, you have caught the one woman in the world."

  "Sire----"

  "The Madonna of the Pine Forest, the Madonna of Mercy; she whosekinsfolk were put to the sword by my men; even the daughter of Rualwhose tower stands yonder."

  The priest comprehended the whole in a moment. The dramatic quaintnessof the adventure had made him echo Flavian's humour. He laughed andshrugged his shoulders.

  "Romance, romance! By all the lovers who ever loved, by Tristan and thedark Iseult, by Launcelot and Guinivere, follow that picture."

  "Which way went she?"

  "By the southern ride, towards Gilderoy."

  The man was in heroic humour; his sword flashed out and shook in thesun.

  "By God, I'll see her face again, and yet again, though I burn in hellfor it. Roland, Godamar, come, men, come, throw away your spears.Ride, ride, we chase the sunset. Life and desire!"

  He sprang away on his great bay horse, a shimmering shaft ofyouth--youth that flashed forth chivalry into the burgeoning green ofSpring. The sunlight webbed his hair with gold; his face glowed like amartyr's. Balthasar watched him with much poetic zest, as he swept awaywith his thundering knights into the woods.

  The friar settled to his work again, but it was fated that he was tohave no lasting peace that morning. He was painting in a background, alandscape, to a small Crucifixion. His hand was out of touch, however;the subject was not congenial. A pale face and a pair of dusky eyes haddeepened a different stream of thought in the man. Themes hypersensuousheld his allegiance; from prim catholic ethics, he reverted to hisglorious paganism with an ever-broadening sense of satisfaction.

  He was interrupted once more, and not unpleasantly, by a lady, with twoarmed servants at her back, riding in from the forest by the northernride. The woman was clad in a cloak of damask red, and a jupon of darkgreen, broidered with azure scroll work. Her hood, fallen back, showedher purple black hair bound up in a net of gold. Her large dark eyesflashed and smouldered under their long lashes. She had highcheek-bones, a big nose, lips full as an over-ripe rose. She was big ofbody, voluptuous to look upon, as an Eastern odalisque, a woman of greatpassions, great appetites.

  Fra Balthasar tumbled his brushes and paints aside, and went to meet heras she rode over the grass. There was a smile on the man's lips, aflush upon his sleek face, as he walked with a courtly and debonairvanity. The woman caught sight of him and wheeled her horse in hisdirection. The autumn splendour of her cheeks told of hard riding, andher horse dropped foam from his black muzzle.

  Fra Balthasar crossed himself with much meekness.

  "Good greeting, Madame Duessa," were his words, as he kept his eyes onthe ground.

  The woman scanned the glade with the strenuous spirit of a Boadicea.

  "My Lord Flavian?"

  "Madame?"

  "He has been here."

  "But is here no longer."

  "These buildings?"

  "Are the Lord Flavian's."

  "And you?"

  "I am his architect."

  "Morally, messire monk?"

  "Madame, I do not edificate souls."

  The woman stared him over with a critical comprehensiveness.

  "Balthasar."

  The man half glanced at her.

  "Look me in the face."

  He gave a sigh, made a gesture with his hands, looked melancholy andover-ecstasied to the point of despair.

  "Madame, there are thoughts beyond one's liberty."

  "Well?"

  "There are women, a woman, one dares not look upon. There are eyes,well--well, that are too bright. Pardon me, I would serve you."

  She took a deep breath, held out her hand to him, a big, warm hand, softand white. The man's lips burnt upon it. She touched his cheek and sawhim colour.

  "Well?"

  "My Lord Flavian is not here."

  "But has been. Where now?"

  "Away hunting."

  "Ha, what?"

  "Madame, what do men hunt and burn for?"

  "Sometimes a stag, a hare, a standard, a woman."

  "Sometimes--a woman."

  Balthasar, looking slantwise under half-closed lids, saw her eyes flashand her lips tighten.

  "Which way?"

  "The southern ride, towards Gilderoy."

  Duessa shook her bridle, and threw one look into Balthasar's eyes.

  "Remember," she said, "remember, a woman loves a friend, a true friend,who can tell a lie, or keep a secret."

  Balthasar watched her ride away. He stood and smiled to himself, whilehis long fingers played with the folds of his mantle. Red wine wasbounding in his blood, and his imagination revelled. He was a poeticperson, and a poet's soul is often like tinder, safe enough till thespark falls.

  "_Gloria_," he said to himself with a smirk, "here's hunting with avengeance. Two women and a man! The devil is loose. Soul of Masaccio,that woman has fine eyes."

  That day, when the sky was growing red over the woods, Flavian and histroop drew close on the heels of Yeoland and the harper. The man, forall his heat, had kept his horse-flesh well in hand. Once out ofCambremont wood, they had met a charcoal-burner, who had seen Yeolandand her follower pass towards the west. They had hunted fast over felland moor. While not two miles behind came Duessa of the Black Hair,biting her lips and gi
ving her brute lash and spur with a woman'sviciousness.

  Yeoland, halting on a slope above the pine woods, looked back and sawsomething that made her crane her neck and wax vigilant. Out of thewine-red east and the twilight gloom came the lightning of harness, thegalloping gleam of armed men. Jaspar's blear eyes were unequal to thegirl's. The men below were riding hard, half under the lea of themidnight pines, whose tops touched the sunset. A half-moon of steel,their crescent closed wood and moor. They had the lead in the west;they were mounting the slope behind.

  Jaspar saw them at last. He was for galloping. Yeoland held him in.

  "Fool, we are caught. Sit still. We shall gain nothing by bolting."

  A knight was coming up the slope at a canter. Yeoland saw his shield,read it and his name. She went red under her hood, felt her heartbeating, wondered at its noise.

  Youth, aglitter in arms, splendid, triumphant! A face bare to the west,eyes radiant and tender, a great horse reined in on its haunches, amailed hand that made the sign of the cross!

  "Madame, your pardon."

  He drew Balthasar's picture from his bosom and held it before her eyes.

  "My torch," he said, "that led me to see your face again."

  The girl was silent. Her head was thrown back, her slim throat showing,her face turned heavenwards like the face of a woman who is kissed uponthe lips.

  "You have seen your home?"

  "Yes, messire."

  "God pardon me your sorrow. You see I am no hypocrite. I keep myvows."

  "Yes, messire."

  "Madame, let me be forgiven; you have trusted one man, trust another."

  She turned her horse suddenly and began to ride towards the black maw ofthe forest. Her lips were tightly closed, and she looked neither to theright nor the left. Flavian, a tower of steel, was at her side. Armedmen ranged in a circle about them. They opened ranks at a sign fromtheir lord, and gave the woman passage.

  "Madame----"

  "Messire----"

  "Am I to be forgiven?"

  She was mute a moment, as in thought. Then she spoke quietly enough.

  "Yes, for a vow."

  "Tell it me."

  "If you will never see my face again."

  He looked at her with a great smile, drew his sword, and held the pointtowards her.

  "Then give me hate."

  "Messire!"

  "Hate, not forgiveness, hate, utter and divine, that I may fight andtravail, labour and despair."

  "Messire!"

  "Hate me, hate me, with all the unreason of your heart. Hate me ahundred times, that I may but leap a hundred times into your life. Barme out that I may storm your battlements again and again."

  "Are you a fool?"

  "A glorious, mad, inspired fool."

  They were quite near the trees. Their black masses threw a great shadowover the pair. Higher still the sky burnt.

  "Madame, whither do you go?"

  "Where you may not venture, messire."

  "God, I know no such region."

  She flashed round on him with sudden bitterness.

  "Go back to your wife. Go back to your wife, messire; remember herhonour."

  It was a home-thrust, but it did not shame or weaken him. He sheathedhis sword, and looked at her sadly out of his grey eyes.

  "What a world is this," he said, "when heaven comes at last, hell yawnsacross the path. When summer burns, winter lifts its head. Even as aman would grow strong and pure, his own cursed shackles cumber him.To-night I say no more to you. Go, madame, pray for me. You shall seemy face again."

  He let life vanish under the pines, and rode back with the sunset on hisarmour, his face staring into the rising night. His men came round him,silent statues of steel. He rode slowly, and met his wife.

  Her eyes were turbulent, her lips red streaks of scorn.

  "Ha, sire, I have found you."

  "Madame, I trust you are well?"

  They looked at each other askance like angry dogs, as they rode side byside, and the night came down. The men left them to themselves, and wenton ahead. A wind grew gusty over the moor.

  "THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS."]

  "Messire, I have borne enough from you."

  "Madame, is it fault of mine?"

  His whole soul revolted from her with an immensity of hate. Shecumbered, clogged, crushed him. Mad brutality leapt in his hearttowards her. He could have smitten the woman through with his sword.

  "Five years ago----" she said.

  "You did the wooing. Damnation, we have been marvellously happy."

  She bit her lip and was white as the moon.

  "Have a care, messire, have a care."

  "Threats, threats."

  "Have a care----"

  "Look at my shield. Have I quartered your arms with mine? God's blood,there is nothing to erase."

  "Ha!"

  "We have no children."

  "Go on."

  "I shall send gold and an embassage to the Pope."

  She clenched her hands and could not speak for the moment.

  "You dare do this?"

  "I dare ten thousand greater things than this."

  "By God, messire."

  "By God, woman, am I going down to hell because you are my wife!"

  She grew quiet very suddenly, a dangerous move in a woman.

  "Very well," she said, "try it, dear lord. I am no fool. Try it, I amas strong as you."

  And so they rode on towards Avalon together.