Love Among the Ruins

by Warwick Deeping

  XL

  Fulviac and his rebels had plunged into the great pine forest for refugefrom the multitudinous glitter of the royal spears. The wildernessengulfed them, throwing wide its sable gates to take the war wolves in.The trees moaned like tall sibyls burdened with prophetic woe. The goldhad long fallen from the gorse; the heather's purple hills were dim.Mystery abode there; a sound as of tragedy rose with the hoarse pipingof the autumn wind.

  From the north and from the west the royal "arms" had drawn as aglittering net towards the sea of pines. A myriad splendid warriorsstreaked the wilds, like rich rods flowering at some magic trumpet cry.The King's host swept the hills, their banners blazing towards thesolemn woods. Gambrevault was theirs, and Avalon of the Mere. Morolt'snortherners had marched upon Geraint, to find it a dead city, empty oflife and of human sound. Only Gilderoy stood out for Fulviac. The Kinghad failed to leaguer it as yet, for reasons cherished in his cunningbrain.

  Some twoscore thousand men had marched with Fulviac into the forest'ssanctuary. Over the hills the royal horse had pressed them hard,cutting down stragglers, hanging on their rear. Fulviac's host was ahorde of "foot"; he had not a thousand riders to hurl against thechivalry of the King. On the bold, bleak uplands of the north and westthe royal horsemen would have whelmed him like a sea. Necessity turnedstrategist at that hour. Fulviac and his rebels poured with theirstagnant columns into the wilds.

  The thickets teemed with steel; the myriad pike points glittered likesilver moths through the dense green gloom. Once more the great cliffechoed to the clangour of war and the sword. Fulviac had drawn thitherand camped his men upon the heights, and under the shadow of its mightywalls. Watch-fires smoked on the hills. Every alley had its sentinel,a net of steel thrown forth to await the coming of the King. Fulviachad gathered his cubs into this lair, trusting to trammel the nobles inthe labyrinths of the forest. It was a forlorn hope, the cunningpurpose of despair. The spoilers of Belle Foret were wise in theirgeneration; little mercy would they win from the Iron Hand of Richard ofLauretia.

  Like a pale pearl set in ebony, Yeoland the Saint had been establishedagain in her bower of stone. The room was even as she had left it thatmisty summer dawn. Prayer-desk, lute, and crucifix were there, muterelics of a passionate past. How much had befallen her in those packedweeks of peril; how great a guerdon of woe had been lavished on herheart! Love was as the last streak of gold in a fading west; only thestars recalled the unwavering lamps of heaven.

  The cliff-room and its relics tortured her very soul. She would glanceat the Sebastian of the casement, and remember with a shuddering rush ofwoe the man in whose arms she had slumbered as a wife. Death haddeified him in her heart. She remembered his grey eyes, his splendidyouth, his passion, his pure chivalry. He gazed down on her like adream hero from a gloom of dusky gold. The bitter ecstasy of the pastspoke to her only of the infinite beneficence of death. The graveyearned for her, and she had no hope to live.

  Those drear days she saw little of Fulviac. The man seemed to shirk herpale, sad face and brooding eyes. Her grief stung him more fiercely thanall the flames nurtured in the glowing pit of war. Moreover, he wascumbered with the imminent peril of his cause, and the facing of astormy fortune. His one hope lay in some great battle in the woods,where the King's mailed chivalry would be cumbered by the trees. Hemade many a feint to tempt the nobles to this wild tussle. The cliffstood as adamant, a vast bulwark to uphold the rebels. Yet Naturethreatened him with other arguments. His stores were meagre, his mouthsmany. Victory and starvation dangled upon the opposing beams of Fate.

  If Fulviac feared procrastination, Richard of Lauretia favoured thesame. Wise sluggard that he was, he curbed the vengeance of hisclamorous soldiery, content to temporise with the inevitable trend offortune. His light horse scoured the country, garnering food and foragefrom the fat lands north of Geraint. Time fought for him, and thestarving wolves were trapped. Sufficient was it that he held hiscrescent of steel upon the hills, leaving unguarded the barren wildsthat rolled on Gilderoy towards the east.

  A week passed, dull and lustreless. The forest waved dark and solemnunder the autumn sky; no torrents of steel gushed from its sable gates;no glittering squadrons plunged into its shadows. The King's men laywarm about their watch-fires on the hills, fattening on good food,tingling for the trumpet cry that should herald the advance. Richard ofthe Iron Hand smiled and passed the hours at chess in his great pavilionpitched on the slopes towards Geraint. Simon of Imbrecour held thesouthern marches; Morolt and his northerners guarded the west.

  It was grey weather, sullen and storm-laden, eerie of voice. The BlackWild tossed like a sombre sea over hill and valley, its spires rockingunder the scurrying sky, its myriad galleries shrill with the cry of thewind. There was no rest there, no breathless silence under the frailmoon. The trees moaned like a vast choir wailing the downfall of a god.The wild seemed full of death, and of the dead, as though the souls ofthose slaughtered in the war screamed about Fulviac's lair. Thesentinels, grey figures in a sombre atmosphere, watched white-faced inthe thickets. The clarions of the storm might mask the onrush of theroyal chivalry.

  Yeoland the Saint lay full length upon a carved settle before a dyingfire. She was listening to the wind as it roared over the cliff, amidthe shrill clamour of the trees. It was such an eve as when Flavian hadrattled at the postern to offer her love, and a throne at Avalon. Shehad spoken of war, and war had sundered them, given death to desire, anda tomb to hope. The glow of the fire played upon the girl's face andshone in her brooding eyes. Night was falling, and the gloom increased.

  She heard footsteps in the gallery, the clangour of a scabbard againstthe rock. The door swung back, and Fulviac stood in the entry, clad infull harness save for his casque. There were deep furrows upon hisforehead. His lids looked heavy from lack of sleep, and his eyes werebloodshot. The tinge of grey in his tawny hair had increased to a web ofsilver.

  He came in without a word, set his hands on the back of the settle, andstared at the fire. Yeoland had started up; she sat huddled in theangle, looking in his face with a mute surmise. Fulviac's face wassorrowful, yet strong as steel; the lips were firm, the eyes sullen andsad. He was as a man who stared ruin betwixt the brows, nor quailedfrom the scrutiny though death stood ready on the threshold.

  "Cloak yourself," he said to her at last; "be speedy; buckle this purseto your girdle."

  She sprang up as the leather pouch rattled on the settle, and stoodfacing Fulviac with her back to the fire.

  "Whither do we ride?"

  "I send you under escort to Gilderoy."

  "And you?"

  He smiled, tightened his sword belt with a vicious gesture, and stillstared at the hearth.

  "My lot lies here," he said to her; "I meet my doom alone. What need todrag you deeper into the dark?"

  She understood him on the instant, and the black thoughts moving in hismind. Disasters thickened about the cliff; perils were clamorous as thewind-rocked trees. Fulviac feared the worst; she knew that from hisface.

  "You send me to Gilderoy?" she said.

  "I have so determined it."

  "And why?"

  "Need you doubt my discretion?"

  The flames flashed and gleamed upon his breastplate, and deepened theshadows upon his face. His eyes were sorrowful, yet full of a strenuousfire.

  "The sky darkens," he said to her, "and the King's hosts watch theforest. I had thought to draw them into the wilds, but the fox ofLauretia has smelt a snare. Our stores lessen; we are in the lasttrench."

  She moved away into a dark corner of the room, raised the carved lid ofa chest, and began to draw clothes therefrom, fingering them listlessly,as though her thoughts wavered. Fulviac leant with folded arms upon thesettle, seemed even oblivious of her presence under the burden of hisfate.

  "Fulviac," she said at last, glancing at him over a drooping shoulder.

  He turned his head a
nd looked at her.

  "Must I go then to Gilderoy?"

  "The road is open," he answered, with no obvious kindling of hissympathy; "there will be bloody work here anon; you will be safer behindstone walls."

  "And the King?" she asked him.

  He straightened suddenly, like a man tossing some great burden from offhis soul.

  "Ha, girl! are you blind as to what shall follow? Richard of the IronHand waits for us with fivescore thousand men. We shall fight--by God,yes!--and make a bloody end; there will be much slaughter and work forthe sword. The King will crush us as a falling rock crushes a scorpion.There will be no mercy. Death waits. Put on that cloak of thine."

  She stood motionless a moment, listening to the moaning of the wind.The man's grim spirit troubled her. She remembered that he had bulwarkedher in her homeless days, had dealt her much pity out of his ruggedheart. He was alone now, and shadowed by death. Thus it befell that shecast the cloak aside upon the bed, and stood forward with quivering lipsbefore the fire.

  "Fulviac."

  "Little sister."

  "Ah! God pardon me; I have been a weak and graceless friend. You havebeen good to me, beyond my gratitude. The past has gone for ever; whatis left to me now? Shall I not meet death at your side?"

  He stood back from her, looking in her eyes, breathing hard, combatinghis own heart. He loved the girl in his fierce, staunch way; she wasthe one light left him in the gathering gloom. Now death offered himher soul. He tottered, stretched out his hands to her, snatched themback with a great burst of pride.

  "No, this cannot be."

  "Ah!"

  "I have dared the storm; alone will I fall beneath its vengeance. Youshall go this night to Gilderoy."

  She thrust out her hands to him, but he turned away his face.

  "Ah! little sister, this war was conceived for God, but the devilleavened it. I have gambled with fire, and the ashes return upon myhead. I give you life; 'tis little I may give. Come now, obey me,these are my last words."

  She turned from him very quietly in the shadow, hiding her face with herarm. Picking up her cloak, she drew it slowly about her shoulders,Fulviac watching her, a pillar of steel.

  "They wait for you in the forest," he said; "go down the stair. Colgranrides with you to Gilderoy. He is to be trusted."

  She drooped her head, staggered to the door, darted back again with alow cry and a gush of tears.

  "Fulviac."

  "Little woman."

  "God keep you! Kiss me, this once."

  He bent to her, touched her forehead with his lips, thrust her againtowards the door.

  "Go, my child."

  And she went forth slowly from him, weeping, into the night.