Domnei, James Branch Cabell [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

cardinal remained and saw to it that the chains were taken from Demetrios.

“In consequence of Messire de la Forêt’s⁠—as I must term it⁠—most unchristian decision,” said the cardinal, “it is not impossible, Messire the Proconsul, that I may head the next assault upon your territory⁠—”

Demetrios laughed. He said:

“I dare to promise your Eminence that reception you would most enjoy.”

“I had hoped for as much,” the cardinal returned; and he too laughed. To do him justice, he did not know of Battista’s makeshift.

The cardinal remained when they had gone. Seated in a king’s chair, Ayrart de Montors meditated rather wistfully upon that old time when he, also, had loved Melicent wholeheartedly. It seemed a great while ago, made him aware of his maturity.

He had put love out of his life, in common with all other weaknesses which might conceivably hinder the advancement of Ayrart de Montors. In consequence, he had climbed far. He was not dissatisfied. It was a man’s business to make his way in the world, and he had done this.

“My cousin is a brave girl, though,” he said aloud, “I must certainly do what I can to effect her rescue as soon as it is convenient to send another expedition against Demetrios.”

Then the cardinal set about concoction of a moving sonnet in praise of Monna Vittoria de’ Pazzi. Desperation loaned him extraordinary eloquence (as he complacently reflected) in addressing this obdurate woman, who had held out against his lovemaking for six weeks now.

XV How Perion Fought

Demetrios and Perion, by the quick turn of fortune previously recorded, were allied against all Christendom. They got arms at the Hôtel d’Ebelin, and they rode out of the city of Megaris, where the bonfires lighted overnight in Perion’s honour were still smouldering, amid loud execrations. Fra Battista had not delayed to spread the news of King Theodoret’s dilemma. The burghers yelled menaces; but, knowing that an endeavour to constrain the passage of these champions would prove unwholesome for at least a dozen of the arrestors, they cannily confined their malice to a vocal demonstration.

Demetrios rode unhelmeted, intending that these snarling little people of Megaris should plainly see the man whom they most feared and hated.

It was Perion who spoke first. They had passed the city walls, and had mounted the hill which leads toward the Forest of Sannazaro. Their road lay through a rocky pass above which the leaves of spring were like sparse traceries on a blue cupola, for April had not come as yet.

“I meant,” said Perion, “to hold you as the ransom of Dame Melicent. I fear that is impossible. I, who am a landless man, have neither servitors nor any castle wherein to retain you as a prisoner. I earnestly desire to kill you, forthwith, in single combat; but when your son Orestes knows that you are dead he will, so you report, kill Melicent. And yet it may be you are lying.”

Perion was of a tall imperious person, and accustomed to command. He had black hair, grey eyes which challenged you, and a thin pleasant face which was not pleasant now.

“You know that I am not a coward⁠—.” Demetrios began.

“Indeed,” said Perion, “I believe you to be the hardiest warrior in the world.”

“Therefore I may without dishonour repeat to you that my death involves the death of Melicent. Orestes hates her for his mother’s sake. I think, now we have fought so often, that each of us knows I do not fear death. I grant I had Flamberge to wield, a magic weapon⁠—” Demetrios shook himself, like a dog coming from the water, for to consider an extraneous invincibility was nauseous. “However! I who am Demetrios protest I will not fight with you, that I will accept any insult rather than risk my life in any quarrel extant, because I know the moment that Orestes has made certain I am no longer to be feared he will take vengeance on Dame Melicent.”

“Prove this!” said Perion, and with deliberation he struck Demetrios. Full in the face he struck the swart proconsul, and in the ensuing silence you could hear a feeble breeze that strayed about the treetops, but you could hear nothing else. And Perion, strong man, the willing scourge of heathendom, had half a mind to weep.

Demetrios had not moved a finger. It was appalling. The proconsul’s countenance had throughout the hue of wood-ashes, but his fixed eyes were like blown embers.

“I believe that it is proved,” said Demetrios, “since both of us are still alive.” He whispered this.

“In fact the thing is settled,” Perion agreed. “I know that nothing save your love for Melicent could possibly induce you to decline a proffered battle. When Demetrios enacts the poltroon I am the most hasty of all men living to assert that the excellency of his reason is indisputable. Let us get on! I have only 500 sequins, but this will be enough to buy your passage back to Quesiton. And inasmuch as we are near the coast⁠—”

“I think some others mean to have a spoon in that broth,” Demetrios returned. “For look, messire!” Perion saw that far beneath them a company of retainers in white and purple were spurring up the hill. “It is Duke Sigurd’s livery,” said Perion.

Demetrios forthwith interpreted and was amused by their common ruin. He said, grinning:

“Pious Theodoret has sworn a truce of twenty-four hours, and in consequence might not send any of his own lackeys after us. But there was nothing to prevent the dropping of a hint into the ear of his brother in-law, because you servitors of Christ excel in these distinctions.”

“This is hardly an opportunity for theological debate,” Perion considered. “And for the rest, time presses. It is your instant business to escape.” He gave his tiny bag of gold to his chief enemy. “Make for Narenta. It is a free city and unfriendly to Theodoret. If I survive I will