A Williams Anthology Part 27

The jester heard the words. He flung himself upon the eunuch, and grasping his throat, throttled him until his black face ran with s.h.i.+ny sweat and his great white eyes hung nearly from their sockets. "I feared that thou wouldst dare to speak of that--squealing coward--I might have known it." Again he whacked the woolly head against the pavement.

The captain dragged them apart. "Why so wroth, fool?" he asked.

"Sooth, 'tis a wise plan, and one to save me a deal of trouble. For it was my special commission from the king to furnish a new mute. And since the lad must suffer, lady--come, by the Holy Tokens, I'll make a bond with thee. I'll spare his life, an' ye say nought of it to the king. I'll keep intact his pulse and true heart's beat; and thou, in turn, give me his lower limbs to twist and his doll's face to alter--only to alter slightly," and he laughed lewdly.

Lady Suelva moved to look at the dead mute; but the wily black had thrust himself before the face and hid its loathsomeness. "Do as he bids, mistress," he whispered. "Let thy lover live and love thee. Let him have life."

"And what a life!" cried the jester. "Oh, n.o.ble lady, be merciful and let him die."

"Would not the king or some one recognize him?" she asked.

"No," answered the captain; "he is but lately come to court--and anyway, there's none would recognize him after--"

"Might he not some day blurt out the truth?"

"Ho, you forget: mutes make safe lovers, for they have no tongues."

She recoiled. "True. And so, may he love me fearlessly in such a guise?"

"Aye, and thou him--that we promise thee."

She dropped to her knees, beside the unconscious squire. She took his head in her lap, and with her warm hands brushed back the locks from his bruised forehead. "He is so beautiful," she sighed, wavering. "It were a shame--"

"He would never be beautiful again," said the jester.

"Rather an ugly lover than a dead one," retorted the captain.

Lady Suelva fell to sobbing. "Canst thou not spare him altogether?"

"Nay! nay!" He stamped his foot impatiently. "And it were best to hurry."

"Only wait till he awakes from the hard blow thou gavest him. He will decide for himself."

"'Twill be by far less painful if done now."

"Then take him."

"Think well and long," said the jester. "'Tis a life of h.e.l.l thou wouldst prolong him to. The jeers, the coa.r.s.e and ribald laughter of the court, the scorn and teasing--aye--G.o.d! I know the life, for I too suffer as a courtier's play-thing--and yet, I have a straight body and a human face and a tongue to answer with. What canst thou offer him to compensate for all his loss and misery?"

She looked up proudly. "My love. Is it not enough?"

The fool bowed. "It must be, when kings crave for it. Yet beauty such as thine can only love the beautiful."

"Then I shall pity him--with all my heart's strength; I'll comfort his poor life with sweetest pity."

"Lady, pity is the meanest gate of love."

The captain growled and swung his halberd viciously. "Keep thy wit for the king's ear," he said. "The lady Suelva hath spoken her decision.

We dally no longer." He bent down and lifted the squire's body over his back. Then he turned to the eunuch. "Take thou the old mute's corpse. I have kept his carca.s.s these seven days; to serve as a pattern. So carry it down."

The black's eyes dilated again, and he shrank back. "I dare not touch it. He was my friend."

"Bah. Then take thou my load," and in exchange the captain slung the corpse across his own shoulders. As he crossed the room, the loose head showed upside-down over his back, bobbing and flabbily wagging its grin-split face.

The lady stared at it rigidly. She seized the jester's arm. "And is his face to be a counterpart of that one?"

"Aye--every feature exactly."

The captain threw open the trap-door and went down the ladder. The eunuch, staggering a little under the squire's weight, followed him and disappeared from view. Suelva ran forward a few steps as if to call them back; then she stopped short, hand at breast.

"'Tis too late," said the jester bitterly, and shut down the trap-door.

"G.o.d pity me," she sobbed. "I was too selfish of his life--and of his love."

"And now, be sure, he will do naught but hate thee!"

As if to spite her overwrought emotions, she turned on him sharply.

"Thou art impertinent, fool."

He smiled sadly. "Unpleasant truths must ever seem impertinent--but they are no less true. An' I be the court fool, pray, n.o.ble lady, what art thou? We be all king's play-things--my wit and thy beauty and the mute's deformities. For all of us sweet life is slowly spoiled--for the mute and me by scorn and snickerings; for thee by the cold glitter of lavished finery and callous flattery. That squire, young and beautiful and bursting with ambition, was only a play-thing, too--thy toy, to dally with and break."

"Nay, nay! I loved him dearly and so shall for all time."

The jester laughed shortly. "I had not meant for thee to glance upon this scene," he said, "but if 'twere best, then look, lady, look!" and he threw open the trap. A great red light flared up into the donjon, and waved and danced along the moon-green walls. The empty bier seemed licked in ruddy flames, and on the moist mould of the ceiling, each little drop of water sparkled like a ruby.

"Look at him," repeated the jester. "Shrink not; they are only heating the irons."

She crept to the edge of the trap, and peered down, fascinated. "Who are those huge hairy men, with wild beasts' faces?" she asked.

"The torturers."

"Oh! what have they done to his hair--to all his long, pretty locks?

How strange he looks with his head shaven thus! And see! what is the torturer to do with that glowing iron in his hand? Ugh!" and she fell back, near swooning.

There was a sudden sizzle of burnt flesh and stenching smoke.

"Look," commanded the jester. "Look again."

"I dare not--nay, I cannot," and she flung herself away from the trap, and lay at full length on the floor, with the moon and the furnace light reflecting a mad swirl of color over her upturned, staring face.

For some moments she lay there, and above her stood the jester.

Neither spoke nor moved; they could only listen and listen to the noises below them: the soft purring of the furnace-fire; the scuffle of the workers' feet; the deadened clank of instruments; the faint groans of the insensible youth; the binding, searing, ripping of flesh; the crack and crunch of bones.

"Quick," cried the jester, "before they bandage him; quick! look again," and when she shrank further back, he pushed her forward to the very edge of the trap, until she could not help but see. "And couldst thou love him now?" he asked, and keenly searched her face.

She said no word, but slightly swayed from side to side. She threw her hands before her eyes, and dug her fists deep into them, as if to blot the sight from her memory. She crouched, stunned and sickened. Her hands dropped back to her breast; and the jester saw the expression of her features.

There was no sign of love in her face; there was no tenderness or pity. Only black horror and disgust; only a sullen, disappointed rage, and a scowling disgust.

"They have made him as ugly as the king's gorillas," she sobbed. "Ugh!