Dead Man's Plack and an Old Thorn: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Athelwold, who thought highly of himself, had undertaken his mission
with a light heart, but now when his progress in the West had brought
him to the great earldoman's castle it was borne in on him that he had
put himself in a very responsible position. He was here to look at this
woman with cold, critical eyes, which was easy enough; and having looked
at and measured and weighed her, he would make a true report to Edgar;
that too would be easy for him, since all his power and happiness in
life depended on the king's continual favour. But Ongar stood between
him and the woman he had come to see and take stock of with that clear
unbiassed judgment which he could safely rely on. And Ongar was a proud
and stern old man, jealous of his great position, who had not hesitated
to say on Edgar's accession to the kingship, knowing well that his words
would be reported in due time, that he refused to be one of the crowd
who came flocking from all over the land to pay homage to a boy. It thus
came about that neither then nor at any subsequent period had there been
any personal relations between the king and this English subject, who
was prouder than all the Welsh kings who had rushed at Edgar's call to
make their submission.

But now when Ongar had been informed that the king's intimate friend and
confidant was on his way to him with greetings and loving messages from
Edgar, he was flattered, and resolved to receive him in a friendly and
loyal spirit and do him all the honour in his power. For Edgar was no
longer a boy: he was king over all this hitherto turbulent realm, East
and West from sea to sea and from the Land's End to the Tweed, and the
strange enduring peace of the times was a proof of his power.

It thus came to pass that Athelwold's mission was made smooth to him,
and when they met and conversed, the fierce old Earl was so well pleased
with his visitor, that all trace of the sullen hostility he had
cherished towards the court passed away like the shadow of a cloud. And
later, in the banqueting-room, Athelwold came face to face with the
woman he had come to look at with cold, critical eyes, like one who
examines a horse in the interests of a friend who desires to become its
purchaser.

Down to that fatal moment the one desire of his heart was to serve his
friend faithfully in this delicate business. Now, the first sight of
her, the first touch of her hand, wrought a change in him, and all
thought of Edgar and of the purpose of his visit vanished out of his
mind. Even he, one of the great nobles of his time, the accomplished
courtier and life of the court, stood silent like a person spell-bound
before this woman who had been to no court, but had lived always with
that sullen old man in comparative seclusion in a remote province. It
was not only the beautiful dignity and graciousness with which she
received him, with the exquisite beauty in the lines and colour of her
face, and her hair which, if unloosed, would have covered her to the
knees as with a splendid mantle. That hair of a colour comparable only
to that of the sweet gale when that sweet plant is in its golden withy
or catkin stage in the month of May, and is clothed with catkins as with
a foliage of a deep shining red gold, that seems not a colour of earth
but rather one distilled from the sun itself. Nor was it the colour of
her eyes, the deep pure blue of the lungwort, that blue loveliness seen
in no other flower on earth. Rather it was the light from her eyes which
was like lightning that pierced and startled him; for that light, that
expression, was a living spirit looking through his eyes into the depths
of his soul, knowing all its strength and weakness, and in the same
instant resolving to make it her own and have dominion over it.

It was only when he had escaped from the power and magic of her
presence, when alone in his sleeping room, that reflection came to him
and the recollection of Edgar and of his mission. And there was dismay
in the thought. For the woman was his, part and parcel of his heart and
soul and life; for that was what her lightning glance had said to him,
and she could not be given to another. No, not to the king! Had any man,
any friend, ever been placed in so terrible a position? Honour? Loyalty?
To whichever side he inclined he could not escape the crime, the base
betrayal and abandonment! But loyalty to the king would be the greater
crime. Had not Edgar himself broken every law of God and man to gratify
his passion for a woman? Not a woman like this! Never would Edgar look
on her until he, Athelwold, had obeyed her and his own heart and made
her his for ever! And what would come then! He would not consider it--he
would perish rather than yield her to another!

That was how the question came before him, and how it was settled,
during the long sleepless hours when his blood was in a fever and his
brain on fire; but when day dawned and his blood grew cold and his brain
was tired, the image of Edgar betrayed and in a deadly rage became
insistent, and he rose desponding and in dread of the meeting to come.
And no sooner did he meet her than she overcame him as on the previous
day; and so it continued during the whole period of his visit, racked
with passion, drawn now to this side, now to that, and when he was most
resolved to have her then most furiously assaulted by loyalty, by
friendship, by honour, and he was like a stag at bay fighting for his
life against the hounds. And every time he met her--and the passionate
words he dared not speak were like confined fire, burning him up
inwardly--seeing him pale and troubled she would greet him with a smile
and look which told him she knew that he was troubled in heart, that a
great conflict was raging in him, also that it was on her account and
was perhaps because he had already bound himself to some other woman,
some great lady of the land; and now this new passion had come to him.
And her smile and look were like the world-irradiating sun when it
rises, and the black menacing cloud that brooded over his soul would
fade and vanish, and he knew that she had again claimed him and that he
was hers.

So it continued till the very moment of parting, and again as on their
first meeting he stood silent and troubled before her; then in faltering
words told her that the thought of her would travel and be with him;
that in a little while, perhaps in a month or two, he would be rid of a
great matter which had been weighing heavily on his mind, and once free
he could return to Devon, if she would consent to his paying her another
visit.

She replied smilingly with gracious words, with no change from that
exquisite perfect dignity which was always hers; nor tremor in her
speech, but only that understanding look from her eyes, which said: Yes,
you shall come back to me in good time, when you have smoothed the way,
to claim me for your own.

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