The traitor's way

by S. Levett Yeats

I looked about me. In that shivering light all was silent and still. Pure and white above me towered the temple of the Holy Rood, and to the right the black mass of the palace loomed against the sky, a phantom castle of cloudland. From two windows of the keep lights were burning like twin stars. It was there they kept the death watch of the King. It was there that the King’s Peace had come upon him, whose white lips had offered it to us that night when we stood by his bedside. For a space I watched the windows, and then moved hastily onward. The curse of Cain was upon me, and I could not rest. But now my strength began to give way, and the tremendous exertions of the past hours to tell upon me. I held on, however, passing through the labyrinth of streets beyond the cloisters, and drew up once more, utterly tired out, on the edge of a deserted and barren stretch of ground, covered here and there with the castaway rubbish of building materials. Across this waste was a small row of ruined houses. They had been gutted by fire, and the blackened and charred walls stood starkly up before me. Here, at any rate, was a refuge where I might lie securely till the morning, and stepping across the field, I slunk into the gaping doorway nearest to me, like a wolf seeking his lair, and worn out and exhausted sank down upon a heap of wreckage. But weary and broken though I was in body, my mind was awake, and the eternal self-torment ceased not for a moment. In my despair I dared to call upon God to have mercy upon me and ease me of my pain. I know not if that prayer ever reached beyond the moonlight. For a while I lay thus brooding, until my agony became once more intolerable, and hunted me from my place of rest. I rose on my elbow, when the sound of a sliding footstep and the crumbling of stones came to me, and I waited startled and expectant. Who was this other wanderer of the night that had sought the same dreary refuge as I had? Again I heard the footstep, slow and stealthy, but light withal. The noise came from within the house, and whoever it was must have entered before I had. Where I lay it was black shadow, but streaming through the door was a bright ribbon of moonlight, that stretched right in front of me, and over which the new-comer would have to pass. For a time there was a dead silence, then there was another cautious step, then another, and at last, with a light bound, a misshapen, ape-like figure leaped into the moonlight and stood glancing around. Strange and monstrous indeed was the shape—the height that of a child, the body that of a man. The long, black muscular arms, reaching below the knees, were bare. A tattered red cloak hung to his shoulders, and his head, from which two yellow eyes glared hideously, was bound up in a scarf that was wound round the jaws. For a breath I thought it was some goblin of the night, some evil spirit that stood before me in bodily presentment. Then the thing made a strange, cackling noise from its throat, and I knew it was Majolais.

And as I looked upon the dwarf a strange feeling, it was almost gladness, came upon me. Hideous, hardly human as he was, I had at least found one whom I knew, one who, in his own wild way, had shown a savage affection for me for little kindnesses done.

“Majolais!” I cried softly.

The dwarf started. His eyes flashed as he crouched backward, peering into the darkness, and the moonlight played on the shining blade of a dagger in his hand.

“Majolais! It is I—Vibrac,” and rising, I approached him, but he had already recognized my voice, and was at my feet, his frame trembling, his poor, dumb throat choked with sobs.

I let the fit pass him, patting him gently on the shoulder as if he were a dog, and for one brief moment, in the thought of another’s sufferings, I forgot my own. We sat down together on a fallen rafter, where the moon fell brightly on us, and I tried to talk to him and to get him to explain, by signs if possible, how he had escaped from Achon; but though he understood me he could not explain to me. He unwound the scarf to show me his mutilated head, and on his body and upon his arms were the cruel welts of the lash. These he showed me, moaning and gibbering, and at each mention of Achon’s name he snarled like a tiger-cat.

I sat on a fallen rafter, Majolais crouching at my feet, and we talked for long. At least, I spoke, and gathered what I could from his signs and the broken sounds he made. At last the moon sank and the dark hours came. The dwarf drew the remnants of his cloak over his shoulders, and, curling himself up like a dog, fell asleep.

But there came no rest for me, and with burning eyes I sat staring through the darkness, where the black shadows took the form and substance of mocking devils, that flitted backward and forward, gibing at my fall. I had lost all. Wherever I went the shadow of my sin would dog my footsteps. I had diced for my soul with the fiend, and lost. Is there one who can win at that game?

Death! Yes, death offered its release; but I could not die by my own hand. It would set the seal to my infamy; and then, there was another life beyond the grave. I tried once more to pray for health and strength, but a feeling I could not restrain choked the words on my lips. For very shame I could not pray. I could not creep before God’s throne to ask back what I had thrown away with both hands.

As I sat thus Majolais shivered and moaned. Poor wretch! The cold struck him sorely, and removing my cloak, I cast it over him while he slept. I then drew my doublet closer together, and in doing so my fingers touched something soft. I took hold of it, and the faint fragrance of violets came to me. It was the remains of the little offering Yvonne de Mailly had made to me.