Part 28 (1/2)

”No, no; you never saw me, though I have been very near to you once or twice. Yet, your pardon, look again.”

Hugh obeyed, and this time, for a second only, perceived that the Man's head was surrounded by a mult.i.tude of doves. Two endless lines of doves, one line black and the other line white, stretched from his right shoulder and from his left shoulder, till miles away they melted into the lofty gloom of the sky that was full of the soughing sound of their wings.

Now he knew, and for the first time in his life fell upon his knees to a man, or to what bore the semblance of man.

”You are named Murgh, Gate of the G.o.ds,” he said. ”Murgh, whom old Sir Andrew saw in that courtyard over which the iron dragons watch in the country called Cathay, that courtyard with the pool of water and the many doors.”

”Ay,” answered the Man in a new voice, a great voice that seemed to fill the air like the mutter of distant thunder. ”I am Murgh, Gateway of the G.o.ds, and since you have striven to defend Murgh, he who is the friend of all men, although they know it not, will above all be your friend and the friend of those you love.”

He stretched out his long arms and laid his white-gloved hands for an instant, one of them upon Hugh's head and one on the shoulder of Grey d.i.c.k, who sat upon the pillar of stone.

Hugh muttered, ”I thank you,” not knowing what else to say. But in his heart he wondered what kind of friends.h.i.+p this mighty and awful being would show to him and his. Perhaps he might hold that the truest kindness would be to remove him and them from the miseries of a sinful world.

If Murgh read his thoughts he only answered them with that smile of his cold eyes which was more awful than the frown of any mortal man. Turning his head slowly he began to contemplate d.i.c.k sitting on his stone.

”If I had a son,” he said, ”by that face of yours you might be he.”

”Perchance,” answered d.i.c.k, ”since I never knew for certain who my father was. Only I have always heard that Life begets, not Death.”

”Death! You honour me with a great name. Well, life and death are one, and you and I are one with the moon and the stars above us, and many other things and beings that you cannot see. Therefore the begetter and the begotten are one in the Hand that holds them all.”

”Ay,” answered d.i.c.k, ”and so my bow and I are one: I've often thought it. Only you nearly made me one with my own arrow, which is closer kins.h.i.+p than I seek,” and he touched the cut upon his chin. ”Since you are so wise, my father, or my son, tell me, what is this Hand that holds them all?”

”Gladly. Only if I do, first I must ask you to die, then--say in a minute or two--you shall know.”

d.i.c.k peered at him doubtfully, and said:

”If that be so, I think I'll wait for the answer, which I am sure to learn soon or late.”

”Ah! Many men have thought the same, and you have sent some to seek it, have you not, being so good an archer. For instance, that was a long shaft you shot before Crecy fray at the filthy fool who mocked your English host. Doubtless now he knows the answer to your riddle.”

”Who told you of that?” asked d.i.c.k, springing up.

”A friend of mine who was in the battle. He said also that your name was Richard the Archer.”

”A friend! I believe that you were there yourself, as, if you are Death, you may well have been.”

”Perhaps you are right, Richard. Have I not just told you that we all are one; yes, even the slayer and the slain. Therefore, if my friend--did you call him Death?--was there, I was there, if you were there I was there and it was my hand that drew yonder great black bow of yours and my eye that guided the straight shaft which laid the foulmouthed jester low. Why, did you not say as much yourself when your master here bade farewell to his father in the s.h.i.+p at Calais? What were the words? Oh, I remember them. You wondered how One I may not name,”

and he bowed his solemn head, ”came to make that black bow and yours and you 'the death that draw it.'”

Now at length Grey d.i.c.k's courage gave out.

”Of no man upon earth am I afraid,” he said. ”But from you, O G.o.d or devil, who read the secret hearts of men and hear their secret words, my blood flows backward as it did when first my eyes fell on you. You would kill me because I dared to shoot at you. Well, kill, but do not torture.

It is unworthy of a knight, even if he took his accolade in h.e.l.l,” and he placed his hands before his eyes and stood before him with bent head waiting for the end.

”Why give me such high names, Richard the Fatherless, when you have heard two humbler ones? Call me Murgh, as do my friends. Or call me 'The Gate,' as do those who as yet know me less well. But talk not of G.o.ds or devils, lest suddenly one of them should answer you. Nay, man, have no fear. Those who seek Death he often flees, as I think he flees from you to-night. Yet let us see if we cannot send a longer shaft, you and I, than that which we loosed on Crecy field. Give me the bow.”

d.i.c.k, although he had never suffered living man to shoot with it before, handed him the black bow, and with it a war shaft, which he drew from his quiver.

”Tell me, Archer d.i.c.k, have you any enemy in this town of Venice?

Because if so we might try a shot at him.”