Part 4 (1/2)

Turning she bid them leave her with a nod, And they obeyed. Swift then and like a G.o.d She seemed, with bright all-knowing eyes and calm Gesture of high-held head, and open palm To greet. ”Laertes' son, what news bringst thou?”

”Lady,” he said, ”the best. The hour is now.

We stand within the heaven-establisht walls, We gird the seat. Within an hour it falls, The seat divine of Dardanos and Tros, After our ten years' travail and great loss Of heroes not yet rested, but to rest Soon.”

Then she laid her hand upon her breast To stay it. ”Who are ye that stand here-by?”

”Desperate men,” he said, ”prepared to die If thou wilt have it so. Chief is there none Beside the s.h.i.+ps but Nestor. All are gone Forth in the Horse. Under thy covering hand Thou holdest all Achaia. Here we stand, Epeios, Pyrrhos, Antiklos, with these Cretan Idomeneus, Meriones, Aias the Lokrian, Teukros, Diomede Of the loud war-cry, next thy man indeed, Golden-haired Menelaus the robbed King, And Agamemnon by him, and I who bring This news and must return to take what lot Thou choosest us; for all is thine, G.o.d wot, To end or mend, to make or mar at will.”

A weighty utterance, but she heard the thrill Within her heart, and listened only that-- To know her love so near. So near he sat Hidden when she that toucht the Horse's flank Could have toucht him! ”Odysseus!” her voice sank To the low tone of the soft murmuring dove That nests and broods, ”Odysseus, heard my love My whisper of his name when close I stood And stroked the Horse?”

”I heard and understood,”

He said, ”and Lokrian Aias would have spoken Had I not clapt a hand to his mouth--else broken By garish day had been our house of dream, And our necks too. I heard a woman scream Near by and cry upon the Ruinous Face, But none made answer to her.”

Nought she says To that but ”I am ready; let my lord Come when he will. Humbly I wait his word.”

”That word I bring,” Odysseus said, ”he comes.

Await him here.”

Her wide eyes were the homes Of long desire. ”Ah, let me go with thee Even as I am; from this dark house take me While Paris is abroad!”

He shook his head.

”Not so, but he must find thee here abed-- And Paris here.”

The light died out; a mask Of panic was her face, what time her task Stared on a field of white horror like blood: ”Here! But there must be strife then!”

”Well and good,”

Said he.

Then she, s.h.i.+vering and looking small, ”And one must fall?” she said; he, ”One must fall.”

Reeling she turned her pincht face other way And muttered with her lips, grown cold and gray, Then fawning came at him, and with her hands Besought him, but her voice made no demands, Only her haunted eyes were quick, and prayed, ”Ah, not to fall through me!”

”By thee,” he said, ”The deed is to be done.”

She droopt adown Her lovely head; he heard her broken moan, ”Have I not caused enough of blood-shedding, And enough women's tears? Is not the sting Sharp enough of the knife within my side?”

No more she could.

Then he, ”Think not to avoid The lot of man, who payeth the full price For each deed done, and riddeth vice by vice: Such is the curse upon him. The doom is By G.o.d decreed, that for thy forfeit bliss In Sparta thou shalt pay the price in Troy, Dishonour for lost honour, pain for joy; By what hot thought impelled, by that alone Win back; by violence violence atone.

If by chicane thou fleddest, by chicane Win back thy blotted footprints. Out again With all thine arts of kisses slow and long, Of smiles and stroking hands, and crooning song Whenas full-fed with love thou lulledst asleep; Renew thine eyebright glances, whisper and creep And twine about his neck thy wreathing arms: As we with spears so do thou with thy charms, Arm thee and wait the hour of fire and smoke To purge this robbery. Paris by the stroke Of him he robbed shall wash out his old cheat In blood, and thou, woman, by new deceit Of him redeem thy first. For thus G.o.d saith, Traitress, thou shalt betray thy thief to death.”

He ceased, and she by misery made wild And witless, shook, and like a little child Gazed piteous, and asked, ”What must I do?”

He answered, ”Hold him by thee, falsely true, Until the King stand armed within the house Ready to take his blood-price. Even thus, By shame alone shalt thou redeem thy shame.”

And now she claspt his knee and cried his name: ”Mercy! I cannot do it. Let me die Sooner than go to him so. What, must I lie With one and other, make myself a wh.o.r.e, And so go back to Sparta, nevermore To hold my head up level with my slaves, Nor dare to touch my child?”

Said he, ”Let knaves Deal knavishly till freedom they can win; And so let sinners purge themselves of sin.”

Then fiercely looking on her where she croucht Fast by his knees, his whole mind he avoucht: ”How many hast thou sent the way of death By thy hot fault? What ghosts like wandering breath Shudder and wail unhouseled on the plain, Shreds of Achaian honour? What hearts in pain Cry the night through? What souls this very night Fare forth? Art thou alone to sup delight, Alone to lap in pleasantness, who first And only, with thy lecher and his thirst, Wrought all the harm? Only for thy smooth sake Did Paris reive, and Menelaus ache, And Hector die ashamed, and Peleus' son Stand to the arrow, and Aias Telamon Find madness and self-murder for the crown Of all his travail?” He eyed her up and down Sternly, as measuring her worth in scorn.

”Not thus may traffic any woman born While men endure cold nights and burning days, Hunger and wretchedness.”

She stands, she says, ”Enough--I cannot answer. Tell me plain What I must do.”

”At dark,” he said, ”we gain The Gates and open them. A trumpet's blast Will sound the entry of the host. Hold fast Thy Paris then. We storm the citadel, High Pergamos; that won, the horn will tell The sack begun. But hold thou Paris bound Fast in thine arms. Once more the horn shall sound.

That third is doom for him. Release him then.”

All blank she gazed. ”Unarmed to face armed men?”

”Unarmed,” he said, ”to meet his judgment day.”

Now was thick silence broken; now no way For her to s.h.i.+ft her task nor he his fate.

Keenly she heeds. ”'Tis Paris at the gate!

What now? Whither away? Where wilt thou hide?”

He lookt her in the face. ”Here I abide What he may do. Was it not truth I spake That all h.e.l.las lay in thy hand? Now take What counsel or what comfort may avail.”

Paris stood in the door and cried her Hail.

”Hail to thee, Rose of the World!” then saw the man, And knit his brows upon him, close to scan His features; but Odysseus had his hood Shadowing his face. Some time the Trojan stood Judging, then said, ”Thou seek'st? What seekest thou?”

”A debt is owed me. I seek payment now.”

So he was told; but he drew nearer yet.

”I would know more of thee and of thy debt,”

He said.

And then Odysseus, ”This thy strife Hath ruined all my fields which are my life, Brought murrain on my beasts, cold ash to my hearth, Emptiness to my croft. Hunger and dearth, Are these enough? Who pays me?”