William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XVIII: The Mirthfulness of Guinevere lyrics

CHAPTER XVIII. THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE. Usual is wind from the north, Usual for maids to be lovely Usual a handsome man in Gwynedd, Usual after drinking is derangement of the senses. – LLYWARCH. ARTHUR the Emperor and his army, bound northward, made good progress, for all their many appurtenances; having under them an excellent Roman road, beaded with rich and helpful cities. Some of these contributed men also; but there was one at least which levied a draft on those gathered already. Yet, after tasting the good things of Verulam, and witnessing how much of the white glory of Rome was yet kept alive in the moonlit beauty of her shrines and porticos, and above all her great amphitheatre, it was not easy to remind her friendly people that they might as wisely have had care for stout walls and a better armament of their own, to keep these fair things in being all the longer. Nor would it have served any purpose. Hither the wealth of Londinium, when once out of trade, had drifted for centuries; and though there had been a [Page 182] pa**ing thrill of zeal and persecution, leaving still its memorials in a very few Christians of the Oisin type, the Rome which dreamed on in Verulam was mainly the nerveless and pleasure-loving Rome of the days before her fall. Guinevere was infatuate with these people, their easy, laughing philosophy, and the indescribable loveliness of all things around. Even after departing northward, on the second day she declared herself aweary, and that she must needs return. A force went back with her for better protection, although the Emperor had been constrained to leave a garrison already. "Verulam gives us not much in return," said he, "beside the memory of pleasant hours." He looked at her with kindly, wistful eyes, as though he would willingly have heard the wish recanted. She, giving look for look, warming and melting, made answer. "You know – how well you know! – that I shall follow when I am restored but ever so little. Must a woman be an iron campaigner, or there is no love for her? – not any, not any!" For they had been betrothed since before leaving London. With the words repeated, she offered her lips bewitchingly. He kissed them, laughing, and yet again in his delight. "I would not have you an iron campaigner, Guinevere!" he answered; "it might be painful." [Page 183] "How could I know?" she replied demurely. "Half the time you spend with Prince Llywarch or my uncle or your Lancelot, weaving plans, till I feel like a poor tangled fly, with you three grim spiders watching." He laughed again. "Have you the heart, then, to call Llywarch 'grim,' and the daintily stately Maelgwn? Surely I shall tell them. Above all, since one of them must go with you." She did not show the covert contemning smile that was in her. "You scarce can spare Llywarch's counsel," said she. "And he is anxious incessantly for Argoed. Maelgwn and I have long known each other, boy and girl; and for that little time I can abide his pretty graces." This, to startle out any disguises of his, that she might see it. One reluctant word from him would have left Maelgwn to Arthur and the army. She had no mind to risk empire in any degree; although – that being safe – there was nothing to hamper her fancy and sportiveness, come of them what might. But Arthur made no sign, being too trustful and too sure of his supremacy in all things, the grace and the foible which together slew him. "Let it be Maelgwn, then," said he; and embraced her lovingly for farewell. But when her face was safely turned away, her smile did not resemble his, having a merry derision in it, not hostile, but foresightful and aware. [Page 184] When Caradoc, her uncle, heard of this return, his brow grew stormy, and he sought her. There was long speech between them that wearied her, but she met him steadily with the uncomprehending openness of a child. "Why not Verulam, then? And why not Maelgwn, her own old playfellow, whom he had first invited?" And Caradoc, the rough and ready, though beginning doughtily, soon found himself at a loss how to speak and not to make more mischief. Guinevere, to whom nothing could well have been suggested and found new, easily read him, and wondered at the dulness of men who read not her at all. Yet she knew that the veil over his vision was not so dense as that upon the Emperor's, the love being less in degree and in nature different. So she deemed best that their talk should end without more risk of disclosure. Therefore her under lip quivered, and quivered again; and there were grief and pride in her face as she stiffened herself, sitting upright. "Since every coming and going of mine is to bear comment," she said, then broke off, adding, after a minute, "will even the Empress – when she is Empress – be spared Prince Caradoc's censure?" Her tone stung him; and he went out forthwith, holding his breath, lest he should say more. Yet soon he laughed aloud in the surprise of finding so much loftiness where other traits had been. "Our [Page 185] kitten will bear rule overwhelmingly," he cried. "Ay, but what man's ruling?" Meanwhile the "kitten" laughed also, rolling about, after her kind, the silken ball wherewith she had been embroidering. But, however she might seem to the nearly gigantic Caradoc, there was nothing minimized nor pettily outlined about the charms of Guinevere. As little, also, of over amplitude. If kitten at all, the word must have belonged to some greater and more perilous exemplar of the feline tribe. As always, she had her will; and Maelgwn rode back with her, flattered, tempted, anticipating, yet uncertainly at ease, finding her the very perfection of uncomprehending, incomprehensible decorum. At him, too, though in her heart she liked him best, Guinevere was covertly smiling. In Verulam there were labyrinths, or what might pa** for such, with many things to see. In these, wholly by his contrivance as he thought, this Lancelot, before three days went by, was for many minutes lost with her and wandering. They paused in a shadowy corner, half below the ground, lit faintly by a narrow stream of yellow motes, which came through some cranny above them. Little else could he see, except bright living eyes fixed on his own, as if they would speak to him thrillingly. With no word or movement of hers – the provocation yet came upon him so strongly – he took Guinevere, [Page 186] all of a sudden, and kissed her face over and over; until – rallying but a little before searchers came – she made him, by word and gesture, set her free, and stood quivering, palpably insulted. Yet not so that others should see in that dimness. Nor, as they pa**ed out through it, was her cold silence toward him observable, all being full of query and narration as to the losing of their way. In the sunlit outer air she was quite her daily self again; and he wondered at her containment, which allowed not so much as an angry flush or a meaning glance to appear. Yet he knew well that, whether for punishment or reward, the matter would not thus end between them, and that the memory would dwell through life with him, over stirringly, of those few moments in the mazes of Verulam. As soon as might be he sought – and found with no great effort – opportunity to make his mercy-beseeching plea. She heard him at first severely and with extreme offence, made obvious; but his pa**ion was permitted to move her, above all by memory-awakening allusions to early days. She must grant, judicially, that he had fared ill with her, and that the fault was not all his own. She hinted of her uncle's pressure, and grave reasons of state and duty, and paused on the very verge of remorsefully hinting her feminine love of brilliancy, and the tempting attributes that begirt the station of the Emperor. [Page 187] The regret that she would not precisely utter he yet found in her half-sigh, when she announced, with positiveness of words – and almost of tone and mien – that her lot was now settled beyond all rightful disturbance. She displayed to him didactically and with elaboration how very censurable and distressful such disturbance would be; for though their earlier experience might this once excuse – as but brotherly – such tokens of kindly feeling, these were easily to be misunderstood by the world and by one above them. Moreover, if there were to be continuance thereof during her high betrothal, how could she trust him to leave her in perfect serenity even when uplifted to the Emperor's side? wherein might be a gulf of ruinous disaster beyond all foreseeing! True words, as the event proved very sadly, but with suggestion in them. When he had gone away, contrite externally, she bethought herself in idleness how long it would be ere such dangerous dallying would come to pa** again. She had no regret so far, since nothing was as yet seen or known; and Maelgwn, the daring, fervent, beautiful, and forbidden – was he not tempting also? Yet wisdom might hold with abstinence until all was safe. There were moods when, regarding what she had in the balance, she wished him well away. [Page 188] Oddly, before long he felt likewise; although his heart had exulted as he left that adorable presence, and the half-admissions extorted seemingly from the grip of will and duty. Defiance ruled him too, of himself and of all others. A power bore him along unresisting, with only some dim inner question as to what should follow. Yet in a little time that questioning grew; and one word which he had heard used of them in the labyrinth abode with him still – the word "lost." How many other losses there were, and worse – of fidelity and honor and manhood and all that was princely! The soul, most of all her soul, counted for something likewise; and so did the words that she had said as to dark days in store for all the land. Now and again such thoughts leaped out upon him as real things, and he shivered in the saddle under the bright sun. He had never more than a faint hope of resistance, of holding aloof. A grasp was on him, at once loved and hated, until it seemed that interposition of any sort would be welcome. Yet he resented the word of command when it came, though it was almost a summons to battle. This was from Arthur, most kindly, with no mention of the watchful prompter Caradoc. At the second reading, the wholesomeness of a soldier's effort came home to Maelgwn; with awakening self-scorn for lingering softly and warmly about a woman soft [Page 189] and warm – and untrue. At the third, he was all abashed by the greater strength and manhood of his imperial leader, too great and kind to mistrust on the very brink of treachery. In the quick revulsion of his wayward soul, he was all pa**ionate devotion to that injured comrade-king, all remorse and bitter eagerness to repair the wrong by fierce service and hot blood. Yet, courteously, he went first to Guinevere with tidings and farewells. She read them before he spoke, and forthwith perversely wished that he should stay. Also she was pleased to keep him in the wrong, with no mitigation, but rather exacerbation, of shame. Her resolute austerity of aspect, so foreign to her texture and outlines, and broken by quick waves of feeling that seemed to be beyond all government, was a nearly intolerable thing. At the last he broke away blindly, not knowing what would befall if he were to look and listen longer. When he had gone she was first angered and astounded; then mirthful, with some touch of scorn; but after a little not ill pleased that the risk of unwary demeanor was in any way removed from her. Yet Verulam soon grew a weariness; and the game in which she had so great a stake called her northward by easy stages to that bright border city where she knew the imperial encampment to be.