Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen (romantic novels in english .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER V COMRADES

They had been a week on the road and now were nearing the borders of

Flanders. The company of the other had become precious to each; though

Theirry was grave and undemonstrative, Dirk, changeable, and quick of

temper; to-day, however, the silence of mutual discontent was upon

them.

 

Open disagreement had happened once before, at the beginning of their

enterprise, when the young sculptor resolutely refused, foolishly it

seemed to Theirry, to sell his house and furniture, or even to deliver

at the church of St. Bavon the figures of St. Michael and the Devil,

though the piece was finished.

 

Instead, he had turned the key on his possessions, leaving them the

prey of dust, spiders and rats, and often Theirry would think uneasily

of the shut-up house in the deserted square, and how the merciless

sunlight must be streaming over the empty workroom and the daisies

growing upon the grave of Balthasar’s wife.

 

Nevertheless, he was in thrall to the attraction of Dirk Renswoude;

never in his life had he been so at ease with any one, never before

felt his aims and ambitions understood and shared by another.

 

He knew nothing of his companion’s history nor did he care to question

it; he fancied that Dirk was of noble birth; it seemed in his blood to

live gently and softly; at the hostel where they rested, it was he who

always insisted upon the best of accommodation, a chamber to himself,

fine food and humble service.

 

This nicety of his it was that caused the coolness between them now.

 

At the little town they had just left a fair was in holding, and the

few inns were full; lodging had been offered them in a barn with some

merchants’ clerks, and this Theirry would have accepted gladly, but

Dirk had refused peremptorily, to the accompaniment of much jeering

from those who found this daintiness amusing in a poor traveller on

foot.

 

After an altercation between the landlord and Theirry, a haughty

silence of flashing eyes and red cheeks from Dirk, they had turned

away through the gay fair, wound across the town and out on to the

high road.

 

This led up a steep, mountainous incline; they were carrying their

possessions in bundles on their backs, and when they reached the top

of the hill they turned off from the road on to the meadows that

bordered it, and sank on the grass exhausted.

 

Theirry, though coldly angry with the whim that had brought them here

to sleep under the trees, could not but admit it was an exquisite

place.

 

The evening sun overspread it all with a soft yet sparkling veil of

light; the fields of long grass that spread to right and left were

more golden than green; close by was a grove of pine-trees, whose tall

red trunks shone delicately; above them, piled up rocks starred with

white flowers mounted against the pale blue sky, beneath them the

hillside sloped to the valley where lay the little town.

 

The streets of it were built up and down the slopes of the hill, and

Theirry could see the white line of them and the irregular shapes and

colours of the roofs; the church spire sprang from the midst like a

spear head, strong and delicate, and here and there pennons fluttered;

they could see the Emperor’s flag stirring slowly above the round

tourelles of the city gate.

 

Theirry found the prospect very pleasant; he delighted in the long

flowering grass that, as he lay stretched out, with his face resting

in his hand, brushed against his cheek; in the clear-cut grey rocks

and the hardy yet frail-looking white flowers growing on the face of

them; in the up-springing lines of the pine-trees and the deep green

of their heavy foliage, intensified by the fading blue beyond. Then,

as his weariness was eased, he glanced over his shoulder at Dirk; not

being passionate by nature, and controlled by habit, his tempers

showed themselves in a mere coldness, not sullenness, the resort of

the fretful.

 

Dirk sat apart, resting his back against the foremost of the pine-trees; he was wrapped in a dark red cloak, his pale profile turned

towards the town lying below; the evening air just stirred the heavy,

smooth locks on his uncovered head; he was sitting very still.

 

The cause of the quarrel had ceased to be any matter to Theirry;

indeed he could not but admit it preferable to lie here than to herd

with noisy beer-drinking clerks in a close barn, but recollection of

the haughty spirit Dirk had discovered held him estranged still.

 

Yet his companion occupied his thoughts; his wonderful skill in those

matters he himself was most desirous of fathoming, the strange way in

which they had met, and the pleasure of having a companion—so

different from Balthasar—of a kindred mind, however whimsical his

manner.

 

At this point in his reflections Dirk turned his head.

 

“You are angry with me,” he said.

 

Theirry answered calmly.

 

“You were foolish.”

 

Dirk frowned and flushed.

 

“Certes!—a fine comrade!” his voice was vehement.

 

“Did you not swear fellowship with me? How do you fulfil that compact

by being wrathful the first time our wills clash?”

 

Theirry turned on his elbow and gazed across the flowering grass.

 

“I am not wrathful,” he smiled. “And you have had many whims…none of

them have I opposed.”

 

Dirk answered angrily.

 

“You make me out a fantastical fellow—it is not true.”

 

Theirry sat up and gazed at the lazy sunset slowly enveloping the

distant town and the hills beyond in crimson light.

 

“It is true you are as nice as a girl,” he answered. “Many a time I

would have slept by the kitchen hearth—ay, and have done, but you

must always lie soft as a prince.”

 

Dirk was scarlet from brow to chin.

 

“Well, if I choose,” he said defiantly. “If I choose, as long as I

have money in my pocket, to live gently…”

 

“Have I interfered?” interrupted Theirry. “You are of a lordly birth,

belike.”

 

“Yea, I am of a great family,” flashed Dirk. “Ill did they treat me.

No more of them…are you still angry with me?”

 

He rose; the red cloak slipped from his shoulders to the ground; he

stood with his hand on his hip, looking down at Theirry.

 

“Come,” he said gravely. “We must not quarrel, my comrade, my one

friend…when shall we find another with such aims as ours…we are

bound to each other, are we not? Certes! you swore it.”

 

Theirry lifted his beautiful face.

 

“I do like you greatly,” he answered. “And in no wise blame you

because you are weakly and used to luxury. Others have found me over

gentle.”

 

Dirk looked at him out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“Then I am pardoned?”

 

Theirry smiled.

 

“Nay, I do regret my evil humour. The sun was fierce and the bundles

heavy to drag up the hill.”

 

Dirk sank down upon the grass beside him. “Truly I am wearied to

death!”

 

Theirry considered him; panting a little, Dirk stretched himself his

full length on the blowing grass. The young scholar, used and

indifferent to his own great beauty, was deadened to the effect of it

in others, and to any eye Dirk could be no more than well-looking; but

Theirry was conscious of the charm of his slender make, his feet and

hands of feminine delicacy, his fair, full throat, and pale, curved

mouth, even the prominent jaw and square chin that marred the symmetry

of the face were potent to attract in their suggestion of strength and

the power to command.

 

His near presence, too, was fragrant; he breathed a faint atmosphere

of essences and was exquisite in his clothes.

 

As Theirry studied him, he spoke.

 

“My heart! it is sweet here—oh, sweet!”

 

Faint airs wafted from the pine, and the wild flowers hidden in the

woods below them stole through the grass; a glowing purple haze began

to obscure the valley, and where it melted into the sky the first

stars shone, pale as the moon. Overhead the dome of heaven was still

blue, and in the tops of the pines was a continuous whispering of the

perfumed boughs one to another. “Now wish yourself back in the town

among their drinking and swearing,” said Dirk. “Nay,” smiled Theirry.

“I am content.” The faint purple colour slowly spread over everything;

the towers of the town became dark, and little sharp lights twinkled

in them.

 

Dirk drew a great breath.

 

“What will you do with your life?” he asked.

 

Theirry started.

 

“In what manner?”

 

“Why, if we succeed—in any way—if we obtain great power…what would

you do with it?” Theirry felt his brain spin at the question; he gazed

across the world that was softly receding into darkness and his blood

tingled.

 

“I would be great,” he whispered. “Like Flaccus Alcuin, like Abelard—

like St. Bernard.”

 

“And I would be greater than any of these—as great as the Master we

serve can make his followers.”

 

Theirry shuddered.

 

“These I speak of were great, serving God.”

 

Dirk looked up quickly.

 

“How know you that? Many of these holy men owe their position to

strange means. I, at least, would not be content to live and die in

woollens when I could command the means to clothe me in golden silks.”

 

The beautiful darkness now encompassed them; below them the lights of

the town, above them the stars, and here, in the meadow land, the

night breeze in the long grass and in the deep boughs of pine.

 

“I am but