"You know women?"
"I would never lay claim to such an arrogance of cunning."
"Nevertheless you are no fool."
"I am no fool."
"And you imagine my protestations are not sincere, even after what I have suffered?"
He smiled at her most cunningly.
"You want proof?"
"I do not like unsigned doc.u.ments."
She started forward in her chair with a strangely strenuous look on her face.
"Fanatic fools have often made some show of fort.i.tude," she said, "by thrusting a hand into the fire, or the like. See now if I am a liar or a coward."
Before he could stay her she drew a small stiletto from her belt, spread her left hand on the table, and then smote the steel through the thick of the palm, and held it there without flinching as the blood flowed.
"My signature," she said, with her cheeks a shade paler.
"Madame, you have spirit."
"Do you believe in me?"
"I may say so."
"You will include me in your schemes?"
"I will."
"You remember our mutual bargain?"
"I remember it."
She withdrew the stiletto and wrapped her bleeding hand in her robe.
"You will initiate me--at once."
"To-morrow, madame, you shall go with me to the council."
XXIII
Castle Gambrevault stood out on a great cliff above the sea, like a huge white crown on the country"s brow. It was as fine a ma.s.s of masonry as the south could show, perched on its great outjutting of the land, precipiced on every side, save on the north. h.o.a.ry, sullen, stupendously strong, it sentinelled the sea that rolled its blue to the black bastions of the cliffs. Landwards, green downs swept with long undulations to the valleys and the woods.
That Junetide Gambrevault rang with the clangour of arms. The Lord Flavian"s riders had spurred north, east, and west to manor and hamlet, grange and lone moorland tower. There had been a great burnishing of arms, a bending of bows through all the broad demesne. Steel had trickled over the downs towards the tall towers of Gambrevault.
Knights, with esquires, men-at-arms, and yeomen, had ridden in to keep feudal faith. The Lord Flavian had swept the country for a hundred miles for mercenary troops and free-lances. His coffers poured gold.
He had pitched a camp in the Gambrevault meadows; some fifteen hundred horse and two thousand foot were gathered under his banner.
From the hills cattle were herded in, and heavy wains laden with flour creaked up to the castle. There was much victualling, much blaring of trumpets, much blowing of pennons, much martial stir in the meadows. It seemed as though the Lord Flavian had a strenuous campaign in view, and there was much conjecture on the wind. The strange part of it was, that none save Sir Modred had any knowledge for what or against whom they were to fight. It might be John of Brissac, Gambrevault"s mortal enemy; it might develop into a demonstration against the magistracy of Gilderoy. Blood was to be spilt, so ran the current conviction. For the rest, Flavian"s feudatories were loyal, and left the managing of the business to their lord.
The men had been camped a week, and yet there was no striking of tents, no plucking up of pennons. Sir Modred had ridden out to bring in a body of five hundred mercenaries from Geraint. The Lord Flavian himself, with a troop of twenty spears, was lodged for a few days in Gilderoy, in the great Benedictine monastery, where his uncle held rule as abbot. He was negotiating for arms, fifty ba.s.sinets, two hundred gisarmes, a hundred ranseurs, fifty glaives, and a number of two-handed swords. He had found the Armourer"s Guild peculiarly insolent, and disinclined to serve him. He had little suspicion that Gilderoy was seething under the surface like so much lava.
Thus, while the Lord Flavian was preparing for his march into the great pine forest, Fulviac had completed his web of revolt. He had heard of the gathering at Gambrevault, and had hurried on his schemes in consequence. Five thousand men were ready at his back. He would gain ten thousand men from Gilderoy; seven thousand from Geraint. These outlaw levies, free-lances, and train-bands would give him the nucleus of the vast host that was to spring like corn from every quarter of the land. Malgo was to head the rising in the west, and to concentrate at Conan, a little town in the mountains. In the east, G.o.damar was to gather a great camp in Thorney Isle amid the mora.s.ses of the fens.
Fulviac would himself overthrow the lords of the south. Then they were to converge and to gather strength for the march upon Lauretia, proud city of the King.
It would be a great war and a bitter, full of fanatical fierceness and revenge. Fulviac had given word to take, pillage, and burn all strong places. Destiny stood with wild hands to the heavens, a bosom of scarlet, and hair aghast. If the horde conquered, the seats of the mighty would reek amid flame; there would be death, and a great silence over proud cities.
XXIV
In an antechamber in the palace of Sforza of Gilderoy stood the Lady Duessa, watching the day die in the west over a black chaos of spires and gables. Before her, under the cas.e.m.e.nt, lay the palace garden, a pool of perfume, banked with tall cypresses, red with the fire of a myriad roses. As night to the sunset, so seemed this antechamber to the garden, panelled with black oak, a dark square of gloom red-windowed to the west. The place had a sullen, iron-mouthed look, as though its walls had developed through the years a sour and world-wise silence.
The Lady Duessa was not a woman who could trail tamely in anterooms. A restless temper chafed her pride that evening, and kept her footing the polished floor like a love-lorn nun treading a cloister. The cas.e.m.e.nts were open to the garden, and the mult.i.tudinous sounds of the city flooded in--the thunder of the tumbrils in the narrow streets, the distant blare of trumpets from the castle, the clangour of the cathedral bells. A solitary figure companioned the Lady Duessa in the anteroom, cloaked and masked as was the dame herself. It was Balthasar the Dominican, who followed her now in secular habit, having forsworn his black mantle and taken refuge in her service. From time to time the two spoke together in whispering undertones; more than once their lips touched.
The Lady Duessa turned and stood by a cas.e.m.e.nt with her large white hands on the sill. She appeared to grow more restive as the minutes pa.s.sed, as though the antique clock on the mantle clicked its tongue at her each gibing second.
"This is insolence," she said anon, "holding us idling here like ragged clients."
Balthasar joined her, soft-footed and debonair, his black eyes shining behind his mask.
"Peter kept Paul before the gate of heaven," quoth he, with a curl of the lip. "Sforza is a meddler in many matters, a G.o.d-busied Mercury.
As for me, I am content."
Their hands touched, and intertwined with a quick straining of the fingers.
"Pah," said the woman with a shiver, "this room is like a funeral litter; it chills my marrow."
Balthasar sn.i.g.g.e.red.
"See, the sky burns," he said; "yon garden is packed with colour. We could play a love chase amid those dark hedges of yew."
She pressed her flank to his; her eyes glittered like amethysts; her breath hastened.
"My mouth, man."
She pouted out her full red lips to his; suffered his arms to possess her; they kissed often, and were out of breath. A door creaked. The two started asunder in the shadows with an impatient stare into each other"s eyes.
Sforza the Gonfaloniere stood on the threshold, clad plainly in a suit of black velvet, with a sword buckled at his side. He bowed over Duessa"s hand, kissed her finger tips, excusing himself the while for the delay. He was very suave, very facile, as was his wont. The Lady Duessa took his excuses with good grace, remembering their compact, and the common purpose of their ambitions.