BEATRICE THE SIXTEENTH (10)
By:
June 8, 2024
Beatrice the Sixteenth: Being the Personal Narrative of Mary Hatherley, M.B., Explorer and Geographer (1909), by the English feminist, pacifist, and non-binary or transgender lawyer and writer Irene Clyde (born Thomas Baty) introduces us to Armeria, an ambiguous utopia — to which we are introduced initially without any firm indications of its inhabitants’ genders. HiLoBooks is pleased to serialize this ground-breaking novel for HILOBROW’s readers.
BEATRICE THE SIXTEENTH: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13.
THE CAMP
The first stage out of Alzôna brought us for the night to a small hut in the forest — our resting place, for it was impossible for the horses to push on farther, and there was no system of posting. They were tethered, and left to find pasture. Inside, there was only a single room — but a good fire blazed in it, near the warmth of which a traveller was discussing bread and curry.
Nîa gave a shout of welcome. The stranger got up and slapped her on the shoulder affectionately.
“Zôcris!” exclaimed Nîa. “Who would have thought to come across you like this? Where are you going?”
“Humph! That’s a state secret! — You’re looking well, Nîa! What brings you here?”
“I’m showing this stranger the way to Marshal’s army. You see, I’m not as close as you! And who’s your mistress? By the lighting, it seem a lifetime since we were together in old Zora’s keeping!”
“Yes, by my hair! What times we used to have! Nîa, I never thought but we would see each other long before this!”
She regarded the ring with a mixture of admiration and self-importance, her head on one side.
“Pf!” said Nîa, “an errand you don’t know the meaning of! Why, I have a ring, too, I and I know very well what it means. It is one of my mistress’s friend’s — Cydonia’s — and I am to give it to her kerôta, with a letter besides. So there!”
With a mocking smile, she threw down on the table a ring, much like the first, and followed it up with a parchment letter, daintily painted with sprays of ivy. This struck the brown wood with a slam, and, ricocheting pleasantly, it knocked both rings off the table.
“Be careful, Nîa, of mine,” grunted Zôcris, but not unamiably.
I picked the rings up and gave them to Nîa.
“Which is which?” I said.
She examined them.
“Well, — do you know?” turning to Zôcris. “I’m bothered if I do! They’re as like as two peas. By the lightning, I’ve got you into a hole, Zôcris!”
“Not a bit,” said she. “If they’re exactly alike, what matters? Are they?”
“Look at them,” said Nîa, crestfallen. “I can’t see any difference.”
Zôcris put them side by side on the table gain. We three examined them nervously. Beyond trifling differences such as would not be noticed if the two were not together, there seemed nothing to distinguish them from one another. The seals were engraved simply with vandyked bands.
“Come, either’ll do,” said Zôcris, and as I noted her coolness I did not wonder at her mistress’s choice for her a delicate mission. “There’s nothing to choose between them.”
Nîa’s apologies, if rough, were hearty. She made up a bed for me out of the travelling rugs, and the last thing I was conscious of was her voice and Zôcris’s talking together, whilst the last embers flickered in reflection against the rafters.
In the morning I looked about the rough interior very early. Early as it was, however Zôcris had gone. Had she been acting fairly with us, I wondered? I wakened Nîa. She did not need to be called twice. Before I was quite certain that I had spoken, she was up and busy about preparing breakfast.
“Have you your ring and letter safe, Nîa?” I asked her.
“Slept with them under my rug!” she answered. “Here they are.”
And, lifting up the end of the covering, she showed me them.
“Zôcris has gone,” I observed.
“Oh yes! She went as soon as it was light.”
“Had no breakfast, then?”
“No. She would eat it on the road.”
“Well, Nîa,’ I said, “we’ll do that, too. What do you say?”
For the forlorn aspect of the tent, with the dead embers of last night’s fire untidy and ashy in the morning beams, was depressing and comfortless.
“We might get to the camp tonight, if you had a good rest,” said Nîa doubtfully. “If you begin in a hurry, you will want long stops throughout the day. It will be very hot in the afternoon, too.”
“As you like. I am in your hands,” I said. “Only, I must say I should be glad to be in the open air.”
Nîa conceded the point.
“Alright. We’ll go on, then, but it will be better if we stop and eat in an hour or so, rather than get what we want as we ride.”
It was perfectly still as we turned out at the doorway. There seemed to be no bird twittering, even. But there was a fresh scent in the air, and a deep greenness on the trees that were infinitely pleasant. I splashed my face with water at the spring where the horses drank: an operation which Nîa regarded with extreme contempt, mingled with a little disgust; as she considered it an entirely unnecessary display of asceticism.
“Ugh! How your ladyship does give yourself cold shocks!” she observed. “If it were midday, now! But this cold morning! Ugh!”
I shook the drops away, and tried to persuade her to follow my example — but without effect. As we rode through the forest, the strange quietude continued to prevail. Our horses’ trampling hoofs, — their champing at the bits, — the clink of their harness as now and again they turned their glossy heads to one another — these, with our own breathing, were the only sounds. We might be alone, Nîa and I, in an enchanted world of trees. Far in the distance, nevertheless, there was a faint tinkling sound; which grew louder as our horses stepped on, daintily avoiding the fallen branches. Gradually it grew into a harmonious chime of metal; and resolved itself into the jingling of the caparison and accoutrements of a gorgeously attired cavalry soldier, who was proceeding in the opposite direction to ourselves at a rapid pace. We gave the customary salutation: but she had hardly passed when Nîa said in a low and excited voice:
“Did you see what was on her saddle in front of her? Zôcris’s cloak!”
It was a beautiful cloak — and very likely the property of her mistress — cream-coloured, and embroidered with laurel branches in gold.
“I’ll go after her,” I declared, “and make some excuse for speaking to her. Then I can try to find out, Nîa, whether she’s met Zôcris.”
So I trotted back, and, stopping the soldier, I begged for a needle. It was readily given, and I thanked the girl for it.
“Met anybody on the road?” I added, by way of a parting remark.
“Two countryfolks driving a goat; a charcoal-burner: some children: — and a slave on horseback who was riding past me as bold as brass.” The soldier gave a short laugh. “I asked her her business. She took no notice. That made me wild, rather, and I tried to bring her to her senses. But I hadn’t time to bother with her, so it ended in my snatching this cloak of hers. I will see if they can find out whose it is at Alzôna. Very likely she had stolen it — look at it! It’s a valuable cloak: worth the stealing!”
I nodded farewell in response to hers. Nîa was waiting impatiently for me.
“Aha!” she exclaimed, apostrophizing the departing trooper, when I told her the result of my inquiries. “Zôcris would be one too many for you, my lady; she would, indeed! You thought you were going to be so clever. You didn’t think that a slave with a sword in her hand might be a match for a cavalry soldier! Now you’ve learnt a little. Always nice to get to know more!” concluded Nîa, with an air of prim decorum, admirably assumed.
“I can’t make out what Zôcris is after,” I said. “Why does she make it a secret where she’s going to? Is it not permissible to go to Oristhôn?”
Nîa shook her head.
“I can’t pretend to say,” she answered. “These things are all past my understanding. I am only a slave; and what my mistresses do is their affair. It isn’t mine; and I can’t make it so.”
Nîa constantly harped on this string. Absolutely devoted to individual free people — I had not forgotten the night when she watched outside my room, in the cold, out of pure goodwill — she yet chafed, it was plain to see, at the limitations of her condition. And still she was not fit, any of my friends would have said, to take her place amongst them as an equal. She herself might have admitted it: so that the grievance was rather a sentimental one. It pleased her to entertain it: it did not embitter her, but it made her caustic. It gave her, also, a certain air of detachment, as of one who is merely playing a part in life, — and a part which she does not care about.
We reached a convenient place for a rest, dismounted and commenced our meal.
“You are very much honoured, Nîa,” I observed as we ended. “Cydonia evidently doesn’t think me a proper person to be entrusted with her messages!”
“Consider how long she’s been accustomed to get me to do little things for her, your ladyship! have taken all kinds of messages for the ladies in our house, from her and her sisters, since I was seventeen. They see me in the Forum: and it comes — ‘Nîa, ask Mira to come round this evening,’ or ‘Nîa, tell Calêna we are going to Vanathis’ — that is their country place, you know — ‘say we’re going to Vanathis tomorrow, and ask her to come with us,’ — and so on. And I have done more particular things for them than that! Besides, the Lady Cydonia wouldn’t want to trouble you with her affairs!”
“At fifteen, did you begin to work?”
“Work! When haven’t I worked? It was plenty of work I had when I was being trained. And I came to my mistress at seventeen.”
“Had you any choice as to what work you would do? I mean, do they train people specially to be cooks, or weavers, or attendants?”
“Yes, said Nîa rather shortly. “They do train them for this or that work. But they don’t often let them choose. It is just if they show themselves likely for it.”
“I hope you will see a good deal of Zôcris now that you have come across her,” I remarked. Nîa was gratified, and muttered a confused but pleased acknowledgement. Suddenly, however, it occurred to her that we had spent nearly an hour since we halted, and she secured the horses, that we might recommence our journey.
Leaving the forest after a while, we crossed a flat plain, dotted with villages. A guide was scarcely a necessity, for the path was well marked by the small articles which here and there had been dropped by the soldiers of the battalions that had traversed it. In one place of a piece of gold fringe, — in another fragment of a broken jar, — in another the debris of a pomegranate. Nîa viewed these indications with much scorn.
“A nice set these have been!” she said. “If I were in command of their division, they should just go straight back to Alzôna! Except for the horses’ hoofs you should never be able to tell that a squadron has gone past. And the same with infantry. Untidy lot!”
“They should give you a commission,” I observed. “You could keep them up to the mark! Is it ever possible —” I stopped, afraid of not putting my question delicately enough.
“Possible for one of us to be free? Just! If we are as good as them — as fine, I mean, you know; and as dignified — we have a right, then, to be as free as anybody. But how are we to get to be like that? Fifty or sixty may, perhaps, every year — out of thousands and millions,” concluded she, her arithmetical conceptions growing more and more tropical.
“You will, some day, Nîa!”
“No, not me. As likely that my ladies should grow like me! I’ll never need think of that.” Her face flushed, nevertheless, and she spoke in smothered snatches.
“Not at all as likely,” I said. “You know it’s far more likely that one should grow better than worse. For one thing, you want to be better, and none of them wants to deteriorate.”
“Hm! What you want is exactly what you don’t get,” remarked Nîa.
This piece of proverbial philosophy ended the conversation for the time being; for we now approached a tiny village, with a single handsome tower, which stood out of the mass of dark green foliage in which the houses were half hidden. Here we stopped and watered our horses; the inhabitants pressing round us with offers of what they had to give in the way of assistance and supplies. Clearly the battalions that had tramped through already must have behaved well to these people, and, indeed, they did not look like a population that it would be safe to treat badly. There was very little of the rustic about their self-reliant and intelligent bearing. Their interest was much involved, naturally, in progress of operations; for they lay right in the most obvious track of an invading army. Leaving the hospitable shelter of their small forum, we resumed our way. Nightfall came on, in spite of Nîa prophecy to the contrary, before we reached the camp. We pressed forward, nevertheless; for its lights could be easily distinguished across the level plain. Twinkling through a fringe of palms, they invited us on, like the lights of a city.
The sentries stopped us, and sent us forward with a picket. I had expected to find the Marshal occupying a house as her headquarters, but, after the medieval and classical fashion, she lived under canvas with the rest of the troops. Her tent was lighted, and she received me with quiet cordiality. I did not know her well, and it was sometime before I began to understand her. Perfectly a white hair, a thin, wrinkled face, with deep-set, flaming eyes; a tall and erect figure — it was a curious picture that she presented, and one not very easy to interpret. I told her, in a word, my mission; she bowed gravely and motioned me to a seat, at the same time pushing towards me some platters on which were various fruits and loaves of spiced bread.
“You have travelled all day, and you must be hungry,” said she. “I never talk with people who are both hungry and tired. I want a few moments’ talk with you, so you will do me the favour of trying our camp cookery.”
I was not sorry to do so. She left me entirely unnoticed, and plunged into the analysis of a mass of memoranda. After fifteen minutes or so of silence, broken only by the entry of an officer with a report, she looked up.
“Where do you propose to sleep?”
“I had made no arrangements! As the queen’s messenger I expected some accommodation,” I said with asperity. She did not show any sign of resentment or apology, but continued to look forward quietly, and observed:
“You wish to stay in the camp, then?”
“I am at your service,” I said. “I understood that you might find me useful —”
She got up and stood with her back to me, lifting a casket from the hook where it hung at the side of the tent.
“But you would like to see the camp?” she said in rather emphatic and precise tones. “You would naturally, as a stranger, like the opportunity of visiting the place and inspecting the arrangements?”
She spoke so suggestively and with so incisive an intonation that I felt an affirmative reply was imperatively called for, and I gave it — somewhat hesitatingly. Did the Marshal know of the queen’s idea that I might be employed as a messenger? It might have been driven out of her mind by the many other things she had to occupy her thoughts. At all events, I could always ask to be permitted to proceed to the town where Ilex’s regiment was stationed. These thoughts flew through my brain in a second or two, and gave me a vague sentiment of uneasiness. I did not know then the Marshal’s inveterate fondness for “playing dark,” and concealing the position of affairs from her most intimate subordinates until the last possible moment.
“If you want to stay, for such purposes,” she resumed, “I will attach you at once to one of the sets of people who occupy a tent — if that accommodation will suit you; if you prefer to leave in the morning, I would ask you to accept my couch.”
This was rather an overwhelming offer, and I refused it with many thanks.
“Don’t think it a sacrifice,” she said, with a slow smile. “I shall be up all night, most likely.”
But I insisted strongly that I did want most particularly to visit the camp. I even offered to bivouac in the open, if I could only be permitted to do so. The Marshal struck a gong as I spoke, and at once a messenger appeared. A mere child, with big, innocent brown eyes and a wealth of hair, it seemed an oddly incongruous apparition in the veteran’s soldier’s tent.
“Send the Captain Sôri,” said the Marshal.
In a moment the child reappeared with an officer, to whom the chief entrusted me. Under her guidance Nîa, our horses, and myself were soon comfortably quartered with the Valasna Light Cavalry. The tent which I occupied held six. It was absolutely devoid of furniture, and there was very little in the way of superfluous impedimenta about it, though a few loose things were to be observed, such as bronze and even silver vessels, weapons, a candelabrum. It was just time to extinguish the light, so I only got a glimpse of the interior before it was plunged in pretty complete darkness. Only from sounds was it possible to judge anything of the occupants.
The Captain guided me to a spot where there was room for me to lie down wrapped in my rugs, and threw herself down beside me. A variety of remarks filled the night air which rushed through the tent.
“Acütha, I can’t hear you! Erosythë, for goodness’ sake be quiet!”
“Iromár! Can you not behave like reasonable beings? Let me say what I want: and then speak one at once, — in order of seniority! I have brought in a visitor — a foreigner. She has leave to see the camp, and her name is Mêrê. She means to stay a few days; — the Marshal wants her to have Lorên’s place while she is away.”
“Will she do Lorên’s drills?” inquired a deep voice from the remote corner.
“Will you never be serious? And you are not quite hospitable, either, to begin by making bad jokes!”
“I apologise for my subordinate,” interrupted another voice — clear cut, this, and refined. “Let me introduce myself — Iromár, the senior officer here. Erosythë, my lieutenant, — show yourself awake, Erosythë, and say something!”
The personage addressed responded, as the reporters say, in a brief and appropriate manner.”
“Irnisu, who is Sôri’s lieutenant —”
“Delighted to see — hear, I mean — you! And, if you don’t mind, I will go to sleep now,” said Irnisu.
“Acütha, who was so far overcome by sleepiness as to have to be apologized for just now —”
“I am desolated!” said the deep voice. “It’s very dreadful to be SO unfortunate!”
“And — oh, I forgot: of course, Lorên’s away! Now we’ll get to know each other better in the morning! I hope you’ll just ask us if you want to know anything. By the way, didn’t I see you once at the palace?”
Before I could answer, Sôri chimed in from close to me:
“You are not the foreigner that got ride of Galêsa and Opanthë for us?”
I admitted my share in that transaction; and, but that Iromár peremptorily commanded quietude, even Irnisu would have talked about the affair for half the night. As it was, Sôri carried on a whispered conversation until my brain and eyelids refused to hold me any longer from sleep.
The unaccustomed sound of trumpets woke me. A primitive toilet, a plain and lively breakfast, the materials of which were prepared from first to last by ourselves, and then an exodus of the military element, who were due at the parade ground. Nîa and I started to find Chloris’s regiment. This was not an easy matter. At length, however, the desired part of the camp was reached. After traversing a wilderness of canvas, intersected by straight lanes of dusty pathway, we came upon the familiar white dresses, with dark red cloaks, the uniform of Chloris’s regiment. She herself was to be seen before long, seated on an elevation composed of heaped-up logs of timber, and engaged in superintending, with a fine mixture of irresponsibility and gravity, a mysterious kind of game or tournament which was in progress below. Catching sight of us, she descended from her perch with more quickness and agility than grace, leaving it for the first to occupy who felt the call; and she made at once for where we stood. fancy she would have liked to embrace me, if not Nîa as well, she came up with such a springing step. But, in fact, it was a very quiet and restrained greeting, though a thoroughly kind one, that she gave us.
“Come into my tent,” she said, after the first few words of welcome. “There’s nobody there — everybody’s out in the sun — and we can have a nice time to ourselves.”
Once in the dim canvas shade, the girl’s brightness passed from sobriety to positive seriousness. Her ordinary air of light unconcern was quite gone; there was a quick sensitiveness about her mouth, a deep meaning in her eyes, which I had not seen before. She seemed to have risen to a new dignity, as she asked me about the Alzôna people and her own house. I was not sure that I did not like old Chloris better. Nîa kept discreetly in the background, clasping the ring and the missive. With a touch of her impulsive ways, Chloris, as she talked to me, pushed a full beaker of sherbet to the slave.
“Nîa deserves it,” I laughed. “She has something for you.”
She turned round inquiringly, and Nîa produced the letter, carefully flicking the dust off with her sleeve.
“From the Lady Cydonia,” she observed.
Instantaneously, all Chloris’s mature dignity had departed. Her eyes sparkled: she seized the letter and caressed it, laughing and scolding Nîa for keeping it so long. She brought from a metal casket scent and cordials and rare fruits, and pressed them on the messenger’s acceptance, moving across the ground with dancing feet.
“It is pretty!” she said admiringly when she found time to examine the treasure. “When are you going back? I must write —”
“Don’t be so anxious to get rid of us,” I said. “Most likely we will not go back to Alzôna at all.”
She looked at us with a puzzled expression.
“I am not exactly engaged as a letter carrier,” I proceeded. “My business was to bring the Marshal the intelligence that war has been formally declared. My next may be to go on some other State business. But,” I added, with uncomfortable reminiscences of the Marshal’s attitude, “let that be a secret between us, Chloris. I’m very glad Nîa has been able to bring your letter, — but I can’t say anything as taking back an answer. I really am sorry!”
“Nevermind —” she began — when Nîa handed her the ring.
I was startled by the sudden revulsion to a statelier manner which she showed. Her colour came and went. She drew herself up, and stood in thought for a moment. Then she looked at the ring carefully. She went to the tent’s entrance with it; turned it over and over; looked at it against the light; rubbed its surface; gazed at it with knitted forehead. Then she came slowly back to us, and sat down with a forced little laugh.
“Did you have this ring from Cydonia?” she asked Nîa.
“Yes. Of course I did!”
“From her own hands?”
“Yes. In the street in front of the Lady Ilex’s house.”
“Well, it is not her ring!”
Nîa would not look at me. There was a moment’s silence.
“That isn’t remarkable,” I said. “Don’t be angry, Chloris! The fact is, we met someone on the way who had a ring exactly like it — so we thought, though it seems we were mistaken — and they got mixed, as we were comparing them.”
“Well, you are a nice pair!” said Chloris, not too pleased, but mollified by the consciousness of having her letter to read. “I must just take Nîa’s word for it. But it might have been very awkward.”
My guide fell on the ground at Chloris’s feet, saying in a choked voice: “It was all me!”
“Don’t be so absurd!” said Chloris. “For goodness’ sake, get up, Nîa! Suppose anybody comes in!” For, indeed, a soldier appeared at the tent door, and passed away, after pausing for a moment in extreme astonishment.
In the habit of obedience, Nîa regained her feet, while Chloris considerately turned to me and inquired how the affair happened. I explained to her that it was almost a pure accident — nothing to be vexed about. Quite pleasantly, she agreed, only asking:
“And whose slave was it, then, who went away with the other ring?”
“Zôcris, a slave of the Second Keybearer,” I told her.
“That creature!” flamed out Chloris. “To have my Cydonia’s — Cydonia’s ring! She should not touch it with her fingertip! Mêrê, how can I get it from her?”
“How to get it from the commandant of Oristhôn is the point,” I returned.
“Ah-h-h!” said Chloris thoughtfully; “that’s delightful! That’s charming! It will send their plans all wrong — you see if it doesn’t! They won’t have the confidence in their slave that I have in you and Nîa. They won’t believe the message — won’t act on it, at any rate — if they see it’s the wrong ring. They’ll be certain some trick is being played upon them!”
“Do you think, though,” I interposed, as soon as I could get in a word, “that they will even notice the difference? A person of your penetration isn’t to be found in every —”
Chloris looked at me in some surprise.
“Why, it only needs a glance,” she said. “Look at this — barry dancetté of eight pieces! I know Cydonia’s arms very well — four barrulets dancetté.”
“Where is the difference?”
“Difference! One has seven dividing lines, and the other eight.”
“That is not very noticeable, surely!”
“Wait till somebody offers you seven gold crowns in payment of an eight crown score,” said she; “then see if eight and seven mean precisely the same thing! And there’s this difference also — which you can’t see on the rings — that the Keybearer’s arms are blue and gold; Cydonia’s are silver and black.”
She glanced at the letter in her hand. I felt we ought to leave her in peace to read it, so I summoned Nîa to follow me away.
“But you are not going!” exclaimed Chloris.
“Indeed, we must —”
“But you haven’t seen the regiment! You haven’t had bread and salt with us in this charming dining room! You’ve not heard the band! Nothing! Oh, I can’t let you go yet a while!”
“Oh, yes, Chloris!” I said. “There will be plenty of opportunities, even today. I solemnly promise to attend the afternoon parade, to come and dine with you afterwards, to do everything proper, in short. But I’ve kept you long enough now.”
“Well, will you come back at midday for a meal?”
“After then, please! I hardly like to leave the set I’m quartered with, for the whole day. You won’t let them see much more of me after I meet you again, I expect.”
“No, indeed!” she said. “You must spend the rest of the day with me”; and she escorted us out of the tent with a highly impressive air of importance.
Nîa and I wandered about not for a very long time, and in due course we regained the cavalry quarters, where we were made welcome by the party of five whose hospitality I claimed. That day and another passed, so far as occupation was concerned, pleasantly and without disturbance. Interesting enough it was to stroll through the camp, observing its manifold activities, and noting its resemblances and unlikenesses to anything of the kind I had seen before. But it was all overshadowed and spoilt by a constant impatience to be away. I could take no time to observe — every moment was devoted to fruitless, hungry speculation as to when I should be sent on, and questionings as to how soon I should apply for leave to start on my own account, if no orders came. I moved about the place in a dream, hardly conscious of the wonderful, varied panorama that was spread before me; conscious hardly of Chloris’s kindness and Nîa’s devotion; conscious only of a longing disquietude, rising into overwhelming impatience to be away. It was an unsatisfactory state, and I had not long to remain in it. I could not bring myself, so early, to leave the camp, and, abandoning my hope of an official mission, to find my way to Ilex as best I could. And, fortunately, not three days after my arrival, message come for me to attend the Arch-Marshal. We were at dinner.
“You’ll have to go,” said Erosythë. “The Marshal won’t be kept waiting. And just when that fig pâlê was coming on! Too bad!”
“I’ll keep you a small piece,” Acütha promised, “about the size of my fingernail; that will just suit a delicate creature like you!”
Irnisu kept up an unremitting attention to her plate. Iromár said:
“Yes, if I were you I’d go at once; there’s always oatcake and lemons to be had here — so you won’t starve.”
Sôri got up, and offered to conduct me. I did not want her to, but she insisted that I could not find my way. So we went together.
The Marshal was surrounded by a number of officers, and took no notice of us; Sôri would not leave me, however, until the commander rose, and signed to me to pass with her into the inner tent. Two splendidly proportioned sentinels, armed with silver-hafted halberds or axes, guarded the entrance. We crossed to the farther side, and sat on small carpet that a was spread there. The chief suddenly became pleasantly familiar.
“Now that you’re seated — by the way, have you dined? — you can tell me what you think of our troops. Did you find the Valasna officers hospitable?”
“Yes, indeed! Though I have not seen very much of them — I have been wandering up and down the place, seeing old friends, and so on.”
“Old friends,” smiled the Marshal, glancing up at the tent-side, where hung four or five heavy swords and a very Scottish-looking circular target. “Surely you don’t have any old friends in this country!”
I smiled back. “Comparatively old friends, I mean. Chloris, for instance, I have known nearly ever since I came.”
“Ah! Erotris’s girl? I have seen her about the palace. And she is in the army? I have often wanted to have a long talk with you about the strange way you came here amongst us,” she proceeded, “but I am afraid I shall not have the satisfaction just yet. For I think we ought to send you out of harm’s way as soon as may be. Now that war is openly declared, this is far too dangerous a place for you. You won’t take an old campaigner’s advice, and travel in Oranthë for a few a months? That —”
“Oh no, your Excellency,” I broke in. “I should not leave Armeria on any account. Indeed, I hoped —”
She silenced me with an uplifted hand.
“Let us talk quietly, please! We cannot be as private here as one would quite like. Well, that is settled. You must be moved away from the scene of action here; and you do us the honour of wanting to remain in the country. In that case, the best thing will be for you to go up to Pyramôna. Start tonight. Now, if you can. And the sooner you get there, the better I shall be pleased! By the way —” she rose, still speaking, and stood before a cabinet, small and bronze-cornered, from which she extracted a small packet — “I should be obliged, since you are going, if you would carry this to the Commandant Brytas. They are papers of some importance, and I must ask you to take considerable care of them.”
I did not, in the first glow of satisfied expectancy, exactly understand whether this message, or my removal to a place of safety, or some other motive, was uppermost in the commander’s thoughts, but I felt only that I must thank her as gratefully as I knew how.
“It is very good indeed of your Excellency to think of my safety — and to entrust me with these. I will do all I can to let Brytas have them at once. Does it matter if anyone sees them?”
“Ah!” she said dryly, “it would be better not. In fact, if anyone insists — and it might be difficult to persuade a troop of cavalry of their impoliteness in doing so — I should recommend you to go to any lengths rather than let them be seen. Not that there is any risk of anybody being so improper — only, as you know, there are some Alzôna people whom we cannot altogether trust. Perhaps you would rather not —”
“It will be a pleasure if I can try to do the slightest service to the crown,” I replied. “I can’t thank you sufficiently for giving me the opportunity. It really is far too good and kind of you. I wish I could thank you anything like properly! Perhaps the queen may have mentioned —”
But here the Marshal cut me short. “Don’t oppress me with thanks,” she said. “I would rather stand a siege! And my time is taken up; I have the colonel of the Orynthiacs to see now. Ah, Colonel,” she said, opening the curtain and dismissing me, “punctual as usual! So is this lady — a civilian, whom I have tried to persuade to leave the country. She will not go — and I am sending her to a quieter corner at Pyramôna.”
“Like your sensible self, your Excellency,” observed the Colonel, a stiff creature, with a prim voice. “This will be a hot place for a civilian in a day or two.”
The Marshal took her in, and I hurried towards my quarters. Nobody was about. Iromár always took a walk after dinner. Erosythë and Irnisu had a lecture to attend, and Sôri and Acütha were nowhere to be seen. There was a miscellaneous collection of eatables set out, with a humorous note from the company. I examined it in high spirits, laughing at its weak jokes, and telling them to Nîa, who was ready to appear at a moment’s call.
“Fancy, Nîa! They say, ‘We hope you will excuse no bread, as we do not keep anything so common!’ and they say, ‘We have provided very little lemon juice, you being quite acid enough.'” I stopped to laugh. Soon recollecting myself, I ordered Nîa to have the horses ready at once.
“I will just scribble a line to these absurd creatures,” I said, “and by the time I get it finished I expect the horses to be here. Because you must hurry all you can, Nîa. Just think! — We are off tonight to where you will see the Lady Ilex; and the commandant of the town is Brytas, you know. So be your quickest, my good —”
She disappeared as I spoke, with an alacrity that satisfied even myself. In an incredibly short space she was ready at the tent with our two horses.
“Do you want a spare one?” she said.
“Not unless we need it. Do we?”
“I think not.”
“Then we’ll try to get on without it. How far may we expect to get before nightfall?”
“We must stop at Clazixu, unless your ladyship likes to sleep out.”
I deliberated for a few moments.
“Can you keep awake at nights, Nîa?”
“I think I can,” she replied modestly.
“And do you think you can find a safe sleeping place?”
“Plenty, your ladyship. Lovely beds of fern, where a regiment might lose itself!”
“And where the horses can be tethered?”
“Oh yes, easily!”
“Well, we may settle to bivouac, then. Take plenty of oatcake, and then we needn’t trouble the people anywhere tonight for food.”
I left a note on the despatch tray for Chloris; then Nîa and I set out on our journey. I had only the vaguest idea how long it would take. A week, a fortnight, a day — it was all the same. The unsettled, anxious time was over, and it seemed like a year, looking back. We were fairly on our way from the camp. Never had it looked so pretty. Every group of stray soldiers seemed fit for an artist to study. The setting — I cannot say the western — sun shone brilliantly on the snowy canvas, and brightened the green of the spots of grass, and glittered on the spears of the picquets and reliefs starling their rounds or the evening. A curious figure, wrapped in rich shawls, and wearing a crowned turban, was passing through one of the side lanes, escorted by several high officers. I believe, from what I afterwards learnt, that this must have been a foreign general, of princely rank in her half-barbarian home, who was permitted to visit the camp. She was expected to take back an impressive report, no doubt, to her uncivilized Sovereign; but she seemed proud and unmoved enough to please the most exacting mistress, jealous of her envoy’s upholding her dignity. Near the limits of the lines we came across another odd sight — a soldier striding along the middle of the way, flourishing her arms with a majestic air, and uttering from time to time loud, unintelligible cries. She was, we saw, the victim of a peculiar kind of disease which seizes occasionally upon these people. Under its influence, while retaining their senses in the main, the persons affected lose control of themselves; they imagine that they are the only people in the world, and they exchange their ordinary polished bearing for an absurd swagger, which frequently culminates in a frenzied dashing about of the limbs, during which stage they are somewhat dangerous. Fortunately they never seize a weapon in such attacks. Like other nervous disorders, the affection is very liable to spread. I was told that by giving way to a frenzy it is possible to render it chronic. This is regarded as criminal, otherwise the iâca, or person subject to that attack, is treated as we in Britain might treat anyone wild with neuralgia, or any violent pain.
Passing the iâca, who rushed against Nîa’s horse, and was promptly recalled to sobriety by a violent stroke with a palm-branch switch — a measure often efficacious in the milder stages — we reached the outermost sentinels, and soon we had heard the last notes of the army bugles.
“How long do you think we shall take?” it suddenly occurred to me to demand of Nîa.
“We will do ten miles tonight,” said she. “Tomorrow, about this time, we ought to be there.”
And she rose to her full height and flicked a leaf off her horse’s bridle. For the time she was leader and mistress here; she unconsciously realised it. Perfectly polite, she lost the air of subject deference — “subject” is hardly the right word, but it must do — which was hers before. She dropped into it again, however, when, in the early starlight, she made the arrangements for our night’s rest. Quietly and deftly she secured the horses, piled up the dry leaves for a couch, and found a spring of good water. Then she settled herself to watch. I put the precious parcel in my dress folds, well hidden, and lay down.
“You must waken me between midnight and daybreak, so as to get a little sleep yourself,” I told her. “Promise me, Nîa.”
“Oh, but, your ladyship, I can do very well without sleep,” she insisted. “I will sleep for hours and hours at Pyramôna to make up for it.”
“How do you know you, will have the chance, Nîa? No, I want you to be fresh, tomorrow particularly. Suppose we meet a few of the enemy? How could you second me with a head like a pumpkin? We won’t either of us sleep long, but we must have some rest. Isn’t that sensible?”
“A night’s rest doesn’t make an inch of difference to me,” persisted she, her figure just discernible as she crouched a few yards away, with her head erect and alert. “I am quite used to it. ‘Course, if your ladyship orders me —” her tone was injured; but I kept to my point, and told her that I did order her. She did not speak again and I fell asleep with her sombre, thoughtful profile in my view. It was rather a tragic guardian that she made in that solitary lair, — but my dreams were of most prosaic things. A tea party in a remote provincial town: the neat table equipage, the talk concerning the gas manager’s deficiencies, and the latest additions to the library; and, through the small room’s window, glimpses of the harbour, where the waves curled, wildly up past the jetty on to the flat beach — these were the images that raced through my brain. When, however, the waves began to invade the dining room, and to disturb the keen discussion on disestablishment — (in which Mr. Gladstone was taking a prominent part, accompanied on the piano by Mr. George Grossmith) — by splashing the frames of the pictures, I judged it time to waken. Nîa had come down from the tragic pedestal, and was for the few minutes before she went to sleep, her accustomed self-devoted, outspoken, and a little rough. It was eerie work watching. I had no inclination to doze, but the silence was so profound and dark. No sound came from the horses, even; and I could I not guess their whereabouts. The trill of a nocturnal bird burst out very occasionally, and every time it sent a shock darting through me, as if its loud, lonely notes were a new and strange thing on the earth. Gradually the darkness lifted; and long before the sun shot above the horizon, I had wakened Nia and breakfasted. One of the horses, however, was not to be seen. We tracked it for a couple of hours, and at last came across it, peacefully enjoying a meal of rich grass, from which it departed with considerable signs of vexation, so that it was a party of three extremely bad-humoured creatures which, with the other horse, proceeded on the actual journey.
Through a pleasant, flat country we passed, diversified by villages, and here and there a walled town. Extensive woods were frequent: and by midday we discerned, over the tops of a grove of cedars, the dark blue summits of the range of hills at whose base lay the town towards which we were travelling. We gave our horses little rest, making even the halt at midday a short one.
“Come! we’re doing fine!” said Nîa. “Looks as if we could get to the place before night, this does.”
“Even with losing all that time over the horse?” I questioned doubtfully.
“I think so. That’s Marêzos, that bit of pink wall past those trees. I have passed it later than this, and got to Pyramôna before night.”
“At a different time of year, perhaps?”
“Not much later, your ladyship. And it shows we are going at a good pace.”
We paused here at a veil. Nia jumped from the saddle, and scrambled down the sides of the depression at the centre of which it was sunk. It hardly seemed a very safe performance, for the little craggy rocks and shingly gravel, with which the ground was covered, afforded an insecure foothold. She managed to get some water in a gourd; the horses and I were thankful for it, for it was terribly warm. Descending again for a second supply, she was suddenly confronted by a square-set, sullen-browed figure, which rose magically from behind the biggest boulder. The remarks which this personage addressed to Nia were emphatic and noisy, but I could not catch their meaning. My guide pursued her way imperturbably. She was followed, however, by the stranger, whose loud accents took a decidedly threatening tone. Nia turned as she neared the well’s edge, and ordered the unwelcome attendant away, but to no purpose. The two exchanged sharp words, and, before I knew what was happening, the stranger, who was a powerfully-built peasant, had grasped Nîa by the waist and forced her to the ground. I leapt from my horse in a moment; leaving it in the sole charge of its companion, I made my way down to the scene of the struggle, a good deal more careless than I ought to have been in avoiding collisions with fragments of rock, — as I afterwards found out to my cost. The ruffian had left Nîa on sight of me, and I headed him or her off, my companion following up the chase. She had taken off her sword, so as not to be embarrassed in climbing. However, we were now two to one, and the ill-conditioned disturber of our peace saw fit to stop.
“I should like to know what you mean by falling upon my slave in that way!” I demanded angrily. The reply was a guttural growl which I could not understand.
“Says you have no business to question him,” burst out Nîa, adopting the role of interpreter with avidity.
“I give you till I count four to answer,” I said. “After then —” I looked at my sword with significance.
“He says it’s the Mazêyon well, and not for strangers,” said Nîa. “But it’s all nonsense! Travellers may always use water.”
“However that may be,” I said severely, “what right could you have to treat this slave of mine as you did? We will tie him to the bridle, Nîa, and take him to Pyramôna, and see what the Lady Brytas says to a brute who insults the Marshal’s messengers!”
Nîa’s eyes gleamed fire at this suggestion. The scamp, however, became awkwardly apologetic and humble.
“The lady won’t be hard on her servant because of standing up for the town rights! Only my place to watch the well!” he grunted, according to Nîa.
“I can’t possibly think anything of an excuse like that,” I remarked. “I will certainly take you to Pyramôna. Take the bucket-line, Nîa, and fasten it on him.”
He made a quick movement sideways, but stopped when he caught sight of our horses above the brink, and began another deprecatory grumble.
“Oh well,” I said, “we can’t afford time to bother with him. Listen,” I proceed, turning to the obnoxious cause of this further delay, “you deserve (what shall I tell him, Nîa?)”
“To have his hair and eyebrows cut off and his nose slit!” said Nîa, with pleased alacrity and great distinctness. I repeated the information, which had already produced a further lengthening of the crestfallen features of the villager, with additional emphasis.
“But,” I added, “we’re on urgent business, and we will be satisfied if you do this. Lie on your face flat on the ground, and my slave will put her foot on your neck, and you will kiss her sandals.”
Extremely unfortunate was any Armerian who incurred such a fate! I had unknowingly made the penalty not much lighter than the original one suggested by the active fancy of Nîa. Extremely reluctantly also was it that the villager proceeded to stoop, and slowly to settle in the prescribed manner lengthwise on the ground, with many pauses and inward struggles. For it seemed that the worst class of country people entertain a peculiar prejudice against slaves, whom they regard with hatred and contempt. They think that they themselves ought to possess slaves, and they resent the obligation to refrain from meddling with them. Consequently it is a particularly bitter pill when, instead of carrying the exhibition of their feelings to the verge of illegality as usual, they come to be forced by any chance to treat a slave on an equal footing.
I never saw anyone so elated, as Nîa upon this occasion. She threw her right sandal off, and advanced to the prostrate Hetch, who, after all, was a freeman. Her satisfied smile was almost majestic, and so was her carriage. She planted her foot firmly on the peasant’s neck, and beamed on me like a child paddling in the sea. I was anxious about the horses, but I could not interfere with her naive enjoyment.
“Mayn’t I just cut his hair off?” she entreated, stretching out her hand for my sword. But I drew the line here, and shook my head, commencing at the same time to regain the level ground where the horses stood. I left Nîa to receive the kiss of her sandals without a witness, at the same time impressing upon the prostrate countryman that if he ventured to rise before an hour had passed, he might expect nothing better than to be trotted to Pyramôna.
By the time I was in my saddle, the slave was with me, and we pushed on, tolerably satisfied that no alarm would be raised.
“Hurt, Nîa?” I inquired.
She disclaimed any injury with the air of a princess.
“I thought,” I said, feeling rather small, “that the peasant might have hurt you. It was a rough clasp — like a bear’s, if you know what such beasts are.”
“Indeed, he might have killed me!” she said shortly, turning moist eyes to me. “I can’t thank you — it isn’t my way. Of course, I ought to, if a lady cared for it!”
“Don’t talk that way, Nîa!” I insisted. “You ought to know I care. The only thing is, that there is nothing to be thankful for. If there had been any danger, or any trouble even, it would be different. And why shouldn’t I care for your good opinion, just as much as Lyx might, or Zôcris?”
She rode on in silence.
“In the country I come from,” I went on, “we hate the idea of slavery, and keeping people in a class apart. There is no such barrier between one man and another there!” And I told her about the British instinct for freedom, while she listened with rapt interest.
“And so nobody looks down on anybody else there! And nobody’s forced to work. And everybody understands one another. If I could just go for one month, now!”
“Not impossible, perhaps, Nîa. But would you come away again?”
“I would have to!”
“How could anybody make you?”
“What would the Lady Ilex and her honourable sister do without me?”
“Ah, well! If you are so considerate, Nia! But what is that tall turret?”
It was the most conspicuous feature of the little town of Talusquë, I learnt — a slender square shaft of white marble. Nîa could not tell me to what building it belonged; but I found with satisfaction that she considered that, in spite of all delays, we were making excellent progress. We stopped for a few — a very few — minutes at a tiny village late in the afternoon, to recruit. By this time the line of hills had become distinct and near. They formed a spur of the great Alpine mass which rose farther away, and was itself invisible as yet. Serrated in outline, and wildly precipitous, they formed a much more formidable barrier than their mere height would suggest. The increasing beauty of the scenery, where clusters of dark green-fronded trees rose against the background of this picturesque range, was in tune with our thoughts. Pyramôna, Brytas, Ilex, were not far away!
Miles had to be traversed yet, nevertheless; and the hills, instead of being ahead to the left hand, began to stretch behind us as well. It seemed as if it would be dark before we arrived; and an hour or so past nightfall the moon would fail us. But as we reached the crest of a slight rise in the ground, we overlooked a fine plain, in the midst of which Pyramôna — for there could be no other such town near — lay, gilded by the evening sun. We almost shouted, and urged our horses on, the city in full view all the way, until we came to its gate.
The horses knew, with their strange animal intuition, that there was fodder here, and they made short work of the distance. Myself and Nia laughed and passed loud remarks apropos of nothing as we flew along. The vedette outside the walls detached a soldier to accompany us, and we heard her clattering after us on her mountain pony. A few foot passengers we met, and a band of countryfolk, coming out with baskets and a cart — of all of whom we took little enough notice. At the gate, in the cool shade of its archway, was stationed a guard, who received us with a due mixture of caution and respect, and detailed an officer, who might answer to our sergeants, to conduct me to Brytas, in the citadel. The town teemed with uniforms, and as we passed through the darkening streets I tried to distinguish that of Ilex’s regiment, but without success. The citadel was a delightful old building, divided from the public square by a courtyard, whose wall was pierced by innumerable great arches. Its principal wing consisted of a massive block of buildings, perfectly plain but for a projecting battlement which frowned at the summit. We entered its main corridor, were received by the town major, who was beginning to talk to me about finding us quarters when Brytas herself came in. She came straight up to me, and, without the least awkwardness, summarily embraced and kissed me, and led me immediately through an antechamber into her room, without speaking a word. Not until we had sat down did she say:
“You have despatches for me?”
I produced them.
“It won’t seem discourteous to you if I read them? You know how pleased I am to see you without my saying!”
I assented, with a smile, and waited. The room we sat in was a rather remarkable one. Nearly cubical, its stone walls were unrelieved by any decoration, except that, high up, they were perforated by large quatrefoil openings. Round each side were ranged a profusion of a cabinets and bureaus — a marked contrast to the Alzôna rooms, which were so sparingly furnished. On the top of most of these chests there were piled maps, and papers, and surveying instruments, and weapons, and the like.
Brytas glanced through the papers, and, remarking absently, “How does it come that you have brought these?” she settled to read them, without waiting for or seeming to expect an answer. So we sat, for half an hour, in silence. Then she pushed the despatches on to a low ebony table at her right hand, and observed in a brisker tone:
“I’m terribly busy, Mêrê! But there’s a little room off this, that you can have tonight. Nia will stable your horses; and, if you don’t mind, she had better sleep in that room, too. We can have ten minutes’ talk before you go to bed.”
She rose, and told an attendant officer to see to my entertainment meanwhile. By the time the horses were seen to, a meal was ready for me, spread in a little gallery from which I could watch the crowded streets far below.
“Is it possible,’ I said at the first opportunity to my cicerone, “for me to see the Lady Ilex tonight? She belongs to the White Cavalry.”
The adjutant, who was not sharing the meal with me, but was perpetually trimming the lamps, adjusting the situation of the rugs, or otherwise altering things, was a person given to uttering set pronouncements on the least formal occasions. She responded:
“The interview which you desire is entirely impracticable. I am, of course, well acquainted with the Lady Ilex” — why did her pronunciation set my teeth on edge? — “who is, indeed, colonel of her regiment. Unfortunately, these squadrons have been pushed forward to Ylonár, — a small village in the Kerma Pass, some miles away. As the gates are now closed, I confess I I see no method of communication with them.”
The appetite with which I had begun supper was gone. Neither the adjutant nor – found the other an entertaining companion. The few moments which one had to spend in gazing over the parapet until Brytas was disengaged seemed like a month. At last a shy, pale child appeared, with the intimation that the Commandant could receive me.
“That’s right!” said Brytas, as I appeared. “I have just put a spoonful a of coffee on to infuse. Sit down on that settle, and think you’re at Alzôna again! And so you’ve come here out of harm’s way,” she continued, with a comical look. “It was a miscalculated move. The Uras folks are pouring this way in their tens of thousands, and I’m thinking of sending a messenger into the teeth of them — that’s to Ylonár, in the mouth of the pass. We’ve got to hold Ylonár at all risks for as long as may be; and it isn’t much to hold. I will send out infantry tomorrow, and the cavalry screen will be withdrawn to Pyramôna here. But I am leaving Ilex as officer in command at Ylonár. If we throw back the Uras people, we relieve Ylonár first thing; — if not — well, if not, it must take its chance, and likely the rest of the kingdom will go down with it. Now, Mêrê, don’t say you will if you don’t want I to! I thought of letting you go first thing in the morning with a verbal message to Ilex. And then you could remain at her disposal.”
“The very thing I would have asked!” I exclaimed; and Brytas smiled a little faintly, and said, after a moment’s pause:
“It is partly because think Ilex would like it, that I make the suggestion. Think it over, Mêrê. I’m sorry I can give you no longer than while I make the coffee.”
She was silent; but my mind needed no time for reflection. I assured her of that. And when she had finished her preparations, she came over and sat beside me.
“It won’t do to have my plans got hold of,” she observed, “so I can’t put what I have to say in black and white. Let me explain to you exactly what I would like you to tell Ilex. If you should be captured by the Uras scouts, you may tell them anything!”
We spent not more than the ten minutes she had mentioned in discussing the message. Her explanation of it was so lucid and straightforward that I took in the details without any difficulty.
“Now you must go to bed, and sleep well! I will send Nia; and the horses will be ready as soon as it is light. You can have breakfast sooner — but my people will see to all that. Perhaps I won’t see you in the morning, Mêrê: — Take care of yourself, if I don’t!” And with an imitation of the queen she put her hands on my shoulders, and kissed me warmly.
I was tired, and fell asleep before Nia came in. Early, as usual, she aroused me before Brytas’s attendant came. Napoleon was right in defining real courage as — “two o’clock in the morning courage.” The very darkness rebukes one, and tells one that decent people ought to be in bed.
The unaccustomed hang of things, the cold air, combine to depress one’s spirits. By break of day we were mounted and moving down the street, deserted now. But there was plenty of stir by the gate, where an infantry regiment was drawn up in line, in readiness to leave. The perfect regularity of the formation could not have been exceeded, nor the brilliance of the accoutrements, nor the stillness in the ranks. Suddenly a sharp word of command was given: —the line swung round into column, and filed out at the battlemented archway.
We reined in our horses to let the troops pass, and as they did so their band struck up a march. The ringing rattle of the drums echoed from the walls, wakening one’s energies to life again. Our eyes were riveted on the succession of armed and free-stepping figures, until the rearguard closed the line. Moving away towards the gate, we encountered a solitary horseman, who startled me by calling to us. Brytas it proved to be, unrecognisable in a gorgeous helmet with a spreading winged crest.
“See! I have met you again,” she said. “When next, I wonder? Nevermind, it’s sure to be right in the end. Nía!” she added, making the slave colour with pleasure, “I am very glad Mêrê chose you for a guide. You’ll be in Ylonár, Mêrê, before the sun has warmed the ground.”
Her horse became a little restive. She waved her hand to us and rode slowly away, her bronze wings quivering with the movement.
As for me, the pink flush on the craggy hilltops shone like a beacon- fire to guide me to the pass; the notes of the grasshoppers were little bugle-calls urging me onwards: I hardly looked at Nîa. Scattered parties of cavalry were to be seen at various points of the plain: passing a wood, we came across a regiment at breakfast, and for a moment I fancied them enemies; but we left them behind us, with nothing to fear from them except keen glances. Nîa steered me silently and circumspectly towards our objective. Ylonár refused to show itself until we had entered the mazes of the rocks; when, turning round an outlying mass of boulders, we came in view of it.
Of course, I was disappointed with it. A single walled enclosure, solitary and lifeless, —with no such plenitude of graceful palms as encircled the lowland cities, it was only too obviously a lonely mountain post, built at the call of absolute necessity. A low dome could just be discerned over the parapet and a truncated cube of a tower. There were rocks in the neighbourhood from which it might have been commanded by rifle-fire: but it stood well enough away to be quite safe against other attacks unless prolonged. A horse somewhere behind the stone walls neighed, and was answered by a chorus of companions. A single mounted soldier rode down to us from the gate, and brought us to the enclosure.
Once inside the gateway one could see the small extent of the place still better. A square building, flush with the wall, occupied most of what room there was. Two or three much smaller erections stood in the remaining space, where a squadron or two of cavalry were assembling under cramped conditions. The trampling legs of the horses as they curveted in the fresh morning air looked so unpleasantly numerous, that it was with relief that I followed the warder up a staircase in the thickness of the wall — and it was medievally thick — to the top. Across a primitive bridge made of a plank she led me, on to the flat roof of the main building.
There sat a figure that I could not mistake.
“Ilex!” I cried, as I hurried over the rough bridge. But my voice was weak, and she did not hear me. As we approached her she looked round, sprang up, and came to me with shining eyes.
“Mêrê: what are you doing here?” she exclaimed as she took me in her arms.
“I am the Commandant’s messenger,” I said. “And I am yours now.”
It took a minute or two to make her understand my appearance. Then she dived down a sort of hatchway, accompanied by me, to a roughly comfortable little room, where I delivered the message of Brytas. She listened attentively, and remained lost in thought and the contemplation of travel-stained papers for some length of time.
At last, pushing the papers aside, she threw a bright look at me.
“And now, Mêrê,” she said, “you must go. We shall see each other again. Somewhere, if not here: sometime, if it may be long. My regiment is ready to leave; — as soon as the infantry Brytas promises come up, they will go to Pyramôna. And you will be able to go with them.” She rose as she spoke.
I told her it was impossible.
She insisted. For a few seconds a curious feeling took possession of my mind. Was it commendable, or right, to risk everything — life, liberty, the possibility of restoration to Europe (or to my senses) — for a being who was, for all I could tell, a phantom of the brain? I brushed the persistent suggestion aside, as best I could. There I was no time to argue questions of casuistry. repeated my refusal. There was a wide curule chair by me. I remember throwing myself back in it and clutching the handles quietly, as I told her I could not go. It was to be with her, that I had come: I could not fancy her sending me away.
“Mêrê, you know what it is?” she said. “It is an awful risk. If it isn’t certain that this fort will go down, it’s not far from it. I can’t let you!”
“What would it matter to me that I was safe if you were not?” I answered, with as much appeal in my voice as I could summon. “I would rather be with you always —”
“You are thinking so just now! But you would forget — and go back to your friends and live happily —” she said.
“Ilex! Is it likely —?”
She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
“Mêrê, dear, it can’t be. I know you would mind it — but not like that.”
Her voice caressed me like the south wind. I cannot tell, what I said. Did she want me to go? Did she not care to have me? Was Phanaras, perhaps —
“I know what is right for me to do,” said Ilex. “You ought not to be here! Only there is no more time to talk about it. Not a moment, Mêrê, think!”
“If you had told me to go, I might,” I answered. “But if I am to think — I have thought!”
She looked at me lingeringly, as, crossing the little room, she stood by a low doorway.
“I can’t believe it, Mêrê! You have not known me two months, and how can —”
I went to her, and took her hand in mine. From that moment I knew that she would say no more to make me leave. She took a deep breath and hurried out, motioning me to follow her. Through dim stone passages, low vaulted chambers, and echoing corridors she preceded me, until we came out into the open air of the courtyard. The clattering squadrons had disappeared, and only a soldier or two was visible. An attendant was waiting with her horse. She mounted and signed to me to do the same. Outside the troops had formed in line: down the slopes of the ascent were seen the crests of the advancing infantry. In a few moments Ilex had given her instructions to her staff to recall the rest of the cavalry, and horses were quickly moving to right and left. She remained busily engaged, until the incoming garrison was close at hand, when she rode to the waiting squadron and despatched them.
The files of horses wheeled one after another; and, as the last moved away, Ilex shot a questioning glance at me. But I would not look at her, and developed my attention to my bridle.
There was endless work to do in despatching bodies of the infantry regiment to occupy advanced posts, and in setting the rest in their quarters. Nîa was impressed into the service, and for myself, I ranged about the fort, seeing what there was to be seen, — which was not much. At last, Ilex had a moment or two to spare, and she took me by the arm to a store-chamber, where we helped ourselves to loaves and dates.
“You know,” she said, as we finished a hurried meal, “you make me think things I wouldn’t have thought by staying here in this way!”
“What things?” I said, rather alarmed. Did she suspect me of some dark design?
“Well! — That you care for me as much as I do for you!”
“And do you care for me — so much?”
“I never saw anybody like you! And I must love you!”
She said it quickly, with adverted eyes. I think I smiled at her; and so we understood each other perfectly. We passed out into the sun; and I heard a veteran, unaccustomed, nevertheless, to such contracted quarters, observe:
“Why does the Colonel bring her kerôta here?”
I could have given the growler fifty crowns on the spot.
RADIUM AGE PROTO-SF: “Radium Age” is Josh Glenn’s name for the nascent sf genre’s c. 1900–1935 era, a period which saw the discovery of radioactivity, i.e., the revelation that matter itself is constantly in movement — a fitting metaphor for the first decades of the 20th century, during which old scientific, religious, political, and social certainties were shattered. More info here.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague | Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”) | Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt | H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook | Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins | William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land | J.D. Beresford’s Goslings | E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man | Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage | Muriel Jaeger’s The Man With Six Senses | & many others.