Under the Witches' Moon 3 – Gallizier · Library Across
Literature · Historical Fiction
Under the Witches' Moon 3Book the First · The Dream Lady of Avalon
18
Literature · Historical Fiction
Under the Witches' Moon 3
Book the First · The Dream Lady of Avalon
GallizierEnglish
Like a disk of glowing gold the sun had set upon hill and dale. The gardens of Avalon lay wrapt in the mists of evening. Like flowers seemed the fair women who thronged the winding paths. From fragrant bosquets, borne on the wings of the night wind came the faint sounds of zitherns and lutes.
He, too, was there, mingling joyous, carefree, with the rest, gathering the white roses for the one he loved. Dimly he recalled his delight, as he saw her approach in the waning light through the dim ilex avenue, an apparition wondrous fair in the crimson haze of slowly departing day, entering his garden of dreams. With strangely aching heart he saw them throng about her in homage and admiration.
At last he knelt before her, kissing the white hand that lay passive within his own.
How wonderful she was! Never had he seen anything like her, not even in this land of flowers and of beautiful women. Her hair was warm as if the sun had entered into it. Her skin had the tints of ivory. The violet eyes with the long drooping lashes seemed to hold the memories of a thousand love thoughts. And the small, crimson mouth, so witch-like, so alluring, seemed to hold out promise of fulfilment of dizzy hopes and desires.
"It is our golden hour," she smiled down at him, and the white fingers twined the rose in her hair, wove a girdle of blossoms round her exquisite, girlish form.
To Tristan she seemed an enchantment, an embodied rose. Never had he seen her so fair, so beautiful. On her lips quivered a smile, yet there was a strange light in her eyes, that gave him pause, a light he had never seen therein before.
She beckoned him away from the throng. "Come where the moonlight dreams."
Her smile and her wonderful eyes were his beacon light. He rose to his feet and took her hand. And away they strayed from the rest of the crowd, far away over green lawns, emerald in the moonlight, with, here and there, the dark shadow of a cypress falling across the silvery brightness of their path. Little by little the gardens were deserted. Fainter and fainter came the sounds of lutes and harps. The shadows of the grove now encompassed them, as silently they strode side by side.
"This is my Buen Retiro," she spoke at last. "Here we may rest--for awhile--far from the world."
They entered the rose-bower, a wilderness, blossoming with roses and hyacinths and fragrant shrubs--a very paradise for lovers.--
The bells of a remote convent began to chime. They smote the silence with their silvery peals. The castle of Avalon lay dark in the distance, shadowy against the deep azure of the night sky.
When the chimes of the Angelus had died away, she spoke.
"How wonderful is this peace!"
Her tone brought a sudden chill to his heart.
As she moved forward, he dropped his wealth of flowers and held out his hands entreatingly.
"Dearest Hellayne," he said, "tarry but a little longer--"
She seemed to start at his words, and leaned over the back of the stone bench, which was covered with climbing roses. And suddenly under this new light, sad and silent, she seemed no longer his fair companion of the afternoon, all youth, all beauty, all light. Motionless, as if shadowed by some dire foreboding, she stood there and he dared not approach. Once he raised his hand to take her own. But something in her eyes caused the hand to fall as with its own weight.
He could not understand what stayed him, what stayed the one supreme impulse of his heart. He did not understand what checked the words that hovered on his lips. Was it the clear pure light of the eyes he loved so well? Was it some dark power he wot not of?
At last he broke through his restraint.
"Hellayne--" he whispered low. "Hellayne--I love you!"
She did not move.
There was a deep silence.
Then she answered.
"Oh, why have you said the word!"
What did she mean? He cried, trembling, within himself. And now he was no longer in the moonlit rose-bower in the gardens of Avalon, but in a dense forest. The trees meeting overhead made a night so black, that he saw nothing, not even their gnarled trunks.
Hellayne was standing beside him. A pale moonbeam flickered through the interwoven branches.
She pointed to the castle of Avalon, dim in the distance. He made a quick forward step to see her face. Her eyes were very calm.
"Let us go, Tristan!" she said.
"My answer first," he insisted, gazing longingly, wistfully into the eyes that held a night of mystery.
"You have it," she said calmly.
"It was no answer," he pleaded, "from lover to lover--"
"Ah!" she replied, in her voice a great weariness which he had never noted before. "But here are neither loves nor lovers.--Look!"
And he looked.
Before them lay a colorless and lifeless sea, under the arch of a threatening sky. Across that sky dark clouds, with ever-changing shapes, rolled slowly, and presently condensed into a vague shadowy form, while the torpid waves droned a muffled and unearthly dirge.
He covered his eyes, overcome by a mastering fear of that dread shape which he knew, yet knew not.
He knelt before her, took the hands he loved so well into his own and pressed upon them his fevered lips.
"I do not understand--" he moaned.
She regarded him fixedly.
"I am another's wife--"
His head drooped.
"When my eyes first met yours they begged that my love for you might find response in your heart," he said, still holding on to those marvellous white hands. "Did you not accept my worship?"
She neither encouraged nor repulsed him by word or gesture. And he covered her hands with burning kisses. After his passionate outburst had died to silence she spoke quietly, tremulously.
"Tristan," she began, and paused as if she were summoning courage to do that which she must. "Tristan, this may not be."
"I love you," he sobbed. "I love you! This is all I know! All I shall ever know. How can I support life without you? heart of my heart--soul of my soul?--What must I do, to win you for my own--to give you happiness?"
A negative gesture came in response.
"Is sin ever happiness?"
"The priests say not! And yet--our love is not sinful--"
"The priests say truth." Hellayne interposed calmly.
He felt as if an immense darkness, the chaos of a thousand spheres, suddenly encompassed him, threatening to plunge him into a bottomless abyss of despair.
Then he made a quick forward step. Her face was close to his. Wide eyes fastened upon him in a compelling gaze.
"Tell me!" he urged, his own eyes lost in those unfathomable wells of dreams. "When love is with you--does aught matter? Does sin--discovery--God himself--matter?"
With a frightened cry she drew back.
But those steady, questioning eyes, sombre, yet aflame, compelled the shifting violet orbs.
"Tell me!" he urged again, his face very close to her face.
"Naught matters," she whispered faintly, as if under a spell.
Then her gaze relinquished his, as she looked dreamily out upon the woods. There was absolute silence, lasting apace. It was the stillness of a forest where no birds sing, no breezes stir. Then a twig snapped beneath Hellayne's foot. He had taken her to his heart and, his strong arms about her, kissed her eyes, her mouth, her hair. She suffered his caresses dreamily, passively, her white arms encircling his neck.
Suddenly he stiffened. His form was as that of one turned to stone.
In the shadow of the forest beneath a great oak, hooded, motionless, stood a man. His eyes seemed like glowing coals, as they stared at them. Hellayne did not see them, but she felt the tremor that passed through Tristan's frame. The mantle's hood was pulled far down over the man's face. No features were visible.
And yet Tristan knew that cowled and muffled form. He knew the eyes that had surprised their tryst.
It was Count Roger de Laval.
The muffled shadow was gone as quickly as it had come.
It was growing ever darker in the forest, and when he looked up again he saw that Hellayne's white roses were scattered on the ground. Her scarf of blue samite had fallen heedlessly beside them. He lifted it and pressed it to his lips.
"Will you give it to me?" he said tremulously. "That it may be with me always--"
There was no immediate response.
At last she said slowly:
"You shall have it--a parting gift--"
He seized her hands. They lay passively within his own.
There was a great fear in his eyes.
"I do not understand--"
She loosened the roses from her hair and garb before she made reply. Silently, like dead leaves in autumn, the fragrant petals dropped one by one to earth. Hellayne watched them with weary eyes as they drifted to their sleep, then, as she held the last spray in her hand, gazing upon it she said:
"When you gave them to me, Tristan, they were sweet and fresh, the fairest you could find. Now they have faded, perished, died--"
He started to plead, to protest, to silence her, but she continued:
"Ah! Can you not see? Can you not understand? Perchance," she added bitterly, "I was created to adorn the fleeting June afternoon of your life, and when this scarf is torn and faded as these flowers, let the wind carry it away,--like these dead petals at our feet--"
She let fall the withered spray, but he snatched it ere it touched the ground.
"I love you," he stammered passionately. "I love you! Love you as no woman was ever loved. You are my world--my fate-- Hellayne! Hellayne! Know you what you say?"--
She gazed at him, with eyes from which all life had fled.
"I am another's," she said slowly. "I have sinned in loving you, in giving to you my soul. And even as you stood there and held me in your arms, it flashed upon me, like lightning in a dark stormy night--I saw the abyss, at the brink of which we stand, both, you and I."--
"But we have done no wrong--we have not sinned," he protested wildly.
She silenced him with a gesture of her beautiful hands.
"Who may command the waters of the cataract, go here,--or go there? Who may tell them to return to their lawful bed? I have neither power nor strength, to resist your pleading. You have been life and love to me, all,--all,--and all this you are to-day. And therefore must we part,--part, ere it be too late--" she concluded with a wild cry of anguish, "ere we are both engulfed in the darkness."--
And he fell at her feet as if stunned by a thunderbolt.
"Do not send me away--" he pleaded, his voice choked with anguish. "Do not send me from you."
"You will go," she said softly, deaf to his prayers. "It is the supreme test of your love, great as I know it is."
"But I cannot leave you, I cannot go, never to see you more--" and he grasped the cool white hands of the woman as a drowning man will grasp a straw.
She did not attempt, for the time, to take them from him. She looked down upon him wistfully.
"Would you make me the mock of Avalon?" she said. "Once my lord suspects we are lost. And, I fear, he does even now. For his gaze has been dark and troubled. And I cannot, will not, expose you to his cruelty. You know him not as I do--"
"Even therefore will I not leave you," he interposed, looking into the sweet face. "He has not been kind to you. His pride was flattered by your ready surrender, and your great beauty is but one of the many dishes that go to satiate his varied appetites. Of the others you know naught--"
She gave a shrug.
"If it be so," she said wearily, "so let it be. Nevertheless, I know whereof I speak. This thing has stolen over us like a madness. And, like a madness, it will hurl us to our doom."
Though he had seen the dark, glowering face among the branches, he said nothing, not to alarm her, not to cause her fear and misgiving. He loved her spotless purity as dearly as herself. To him they were inseparable.
His head fell forward on her hands. Her fingers played in his soft brown hair.
"What would you have me do?" he said, his voice choked by his anguish.
"Go on a pilgrimage to Rome, to obtain forgiveness, as I shall visit the holy shrines of Mont Beliard and do likewise," she said, steadying her voice with an effort. "Let us forget that we have ever met--that we have ever loved,--or remember that we loved--a dream."--
"Can love forget so readily?" he said, bitter anguish and reproach in his tones.
She shook her head.
"It is my fate,--for better--or worse--no matter what befall. As for you--life lies before you. Love another, happier woman, one that is free to give--and to receive. As for me--"
She paused and covered her face with her hands.
"What will you do?" he cried in his over-mastering anguish.
A faint, far-off voice made reply.
"I shall do that which I must!"
He staggered away from her. She should not see the scalding tears that coursed down his cheeks. But, as he turned, he again saw the dark and glowering face, the brow gloomy as a thunder-cloud, of the Count de Laval. But again it was not he. It was the black-garbed, lithe stranger, the companion of the hunchback, who was regarding Hellayne with evil, leering eyes.
He wanted to cry out, warn her, entreat her to fly.--
But it was too late.
Like a bird that watches spellbound the approach of the snake, Hellayne stood pale and trembling--her cheeks white as death--her eyes riveted on the evil shape that seemed the fiend. But he, Tristan, also was encompassed by the same spell. He could not move--he could not cry out. With a bound, swift and noiseless as the panther's, he saw the sinewy stranger hurl himself upon Hellayne, picking her up like a feather and disappear in the gloom of the forest.
With a cry of horror, bathed from head to foot in perspiration, Tristan started from his slumber.
The moonbeams flooded the chamber. The soft breeze of the summer night stole through the open casement.
With a moan as of mortal pain he sat up and looked about.
Was he indeed in Rome?
Had it been but a dream, this echo of the past, this visualized parting from the woman he had loved better than life?
Was he indeed in Rome, to do as she had bid him do, not in the misty, flower-scented rose-gardens of Avalon in far Provence?--
And she--Hellayne--where was she at this hour?
Tristan stroked his clammy brow with a hot, dry hand. For a moment the memories evoked by the magic wand of the God of Sleep seemed to banish all consciousness of the present. He cast a fleeting, bewildered glance at the dim, distant housetops, then fell back among his cushions, his lips muttering the name of her who had filled his dream with her never-to-be-forgotten presence, wondering and questioning if they would ever meet again. Thus he tossed and tossed.
After a time he became still.
Once again consciousness was blotted out and the dream realm reigned supreme.
