The World for Sale, Complete

by Gilbert Parker

  CHAPTER XXI. THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER

  The last rays of the setting sun touched the gorgeous Autumn woods witha loving, bright glow, and the day stole pensively away into a purplebed beyond the sight of the eyes. From a lonely spot by the river, Fledawatched the westering gleam until it vanished, her soul alive to themelancholy beauty of it all. Not a human being seemed to be within therestricted circle of her vision. There were only to be seen thedeep woods, in myriad tints of bronze and red and saffron, and theswift-flowing river. Overhead was the Northern sky, so clear, sothrilling, and the stars were beginning to sparkle in the incrediblyswift twilight which links daytime and nighttime in that Upper Land.Lonely and delicately sad it all looked, but there was no feeling ofloneliness among those who lived the life of the Sagalac. Many a man hasstood on a wide plain of snow, white to the uttermost horizon, or in theyellow-brown grass of the Summer prairie, empty of all human life so faras eye could see, and yet has felt no solitude. It is as though theair itself is inhabited by a throng of happy comrades whispering in thecommunion of the invisible world.

  As a child Fleda had often gazed upon just such scenes, lonely andluminous, but she was only conscious then of a vague and pleasant awe, akindly confusion, which, like the din of innumerable bees, lulled wonderto sleep. Even as a child, however, something of what it meant hadpierced her awe and wonder. Once as she crossed a broken, bare mountainof Roumania she had seen a wild ass perched upon a high summit gazing,as it were, over the wide valley, where beneath, among the rocks,other wild asses wandered. There was something so statue-like in thisimmovable wild creature that Fleda had watched it till it was hidfrom her view by a jutting rock. But the thing which made a lastingimpression, drawing her nearer to nature-life than all that had chancedsince she was born, was the fact that on returning, hours after, thewild ass was still standing upon the summit of the hill, still gazingacross the valley. Or was it gazing across the valley? Was there someother vision commanding its sight?

  So a young wife not yet a mother loses herself for hours together in avista of unexplored experience. Fleda had passed on, out of sight of thewild ass on the hills, but for ever after the memory of it remainedwith her and the picture of it sprang to her eye innumerable times.The hypnotized wild thing--hypnotized by its own vague instincts, or bysomething outside itself-became to her as the Sphinx to the Egyptian,the everlasting question of existence.

  Now, as she watched the day fleeing, and night with swift stealthinesscoming on, that unforgettable picture of the Roumanian hills came to heragain. The instinct of those far-off days which had been little removedfrom the finest animal intelligence had now developed into thought.Brain and soul strove to grasp what it all meant, and what therevelation was between Nature and herself. Nature was so vast; shewas so insignificant; changes in its motionless inorganic life wereimperceptible save through the telescopes of years; but she, like thewind, the water, and the clouds, was variable, inconstant. Was thereany real relation between the vast, imperturbable earth, its seas, itsforests, its mountains and its plains, its life of tree and plant andflower and the men and women dotted on its surface? Did they belongto each other, or were mankind only, as it were, vermin infesting thedesirable world? Did they belong to each other? It meant so much if theydid belong, and she loved to think they did. Many a time she kissed thesmooth bole of a maple or whispered to it; or laid her cheek against amossy rock and murmured a greeting in the spirit of a companionship asold as the making of the world.

  On the evening of this day of her destiny--carrying the story of her ownfate within its twenty-four hours--she was in a mood of detachment fromlife's routine. As at a great opera, a sensitive spirit loses itselfin visions alien to the music and yet born of it, so she, lost in thisprimeval scene before her, saw visions of things to be.

  If Ingolby's sight came back! In her abstraction she saw him with sightrestored and by her side, and even in that joy her mind felt a hoveringsense of invasion, no definite, visible thing, but a presence which madeshadow. Suddenly oppressed by it, she turned back into the woods fromthe river-bank to make for home. She had explored nearly every portionof this river-country for miles up and down, but on this evening, lostin her dreams, she had wandered into less familiar regions. There wasno chance of her being lost, so long as she kept near to the river, andindeed by instinct and not by thought or calculation she made her wayabout at all times. Turned homeward, she walked for about a quarter of amile, retreading the path by which she had come. It was growing darker,and, being in unfamiliar surroundings, she hurried on, though she knewwell what course to take. Following the bank of the river she would haveincreased her walk greatly, as the stream made a curve at a point aboveManitou, and then came back again to its original course; so she cutacross the promontory, taking the most direct line homeward.

  Presently, however, she became conscious of other people in the woodbesides herself. She saw no one, but she heard breaking twigs, the stirof leaves, the flutter of a partridge which told of human presence. Theunderbrush was considerable, darkness was coming on, and she had a senseof being surrounded. It agitated her, but she pulled herself together,stood still and admonished herself. She called herself a fool; she askedherself if she was going to be a coward. She laughed out loud at herown apprehension; but a chill stole into her blood when she heard nearby--there was no doubt about it now--mockery of her own laughter. Thensuddenly, before she could organize her senses, a score of men seemedto rise up from the ground around her, to burst out from the bushes, todrop from the trees, and to storm upon her. She had only time to realizethat they were Romanys, before scarfs were thrown around her head, boundaround her body, and, unconscious, she was carried away into the deepwoods.

  When she regained consciousness Fleda found herself in a tent, set in akind of prairie amphitheatre valanced by shrubs and trees. Bright firesburned here and there, and dark-featured men squatted upon the ground,cared for their horses, or busied themselves near two large caravans, atthe doors or on the steps of which now and again appeared a woman.

  She had waked without moving, had observed the scene without drawing theattention of a man--a sentry--who sat beside the tent-door. The tentwas empty save for herself. There was little in it besides the camp-bedagainst the tent wall, upon which she lay, and the cushions supportingher head. She had waked carefully, as it were: as though some inwardmonitor had warned her of impending danger. She realized that she hadbeen kidnapped by Romanys, and that the hand behind the business wasthat of Jethro Fawe. The adventurous and reckless Fawe family hadits many adherents in the Romany world, and Jethro was its head, thehereditary claimant for its leadership.

  Notwithstanding the Ry of Rys' prohibition, there had drawn nearer andever nearer to him, from the Romany world he had abandoned, many ofhis people, never, however, actually coming within his vision till theappearance of Jethro Fawe. Here and there on the prairie, to a pointjust beyond Gabriel Druse's horizon, they had come from all parts of theworld; and Jethro, reckless and defiant under the Sentence, and knowingthat the chances against his life were a million to one, had determinedon one bold stroke which, if it failed, would make his fate no worse,and, if it succeeded, would give him his wife and, maybe, headship overall the Romany world. For weeks he had planned, watched and waited,filling the woods with his adherents, secretly following Fleda day byday, until, at last, the place, the opportunity, seemed perfect; andhere she lay in a Romany tan once more, with the flickering firesoutside in the night, and the sentry at her doorway. This watchman wasnot Jethro Fawe, but she knew well that Jethro was not far off.

  Through the open door of the tent, for some minutes, her eyes studiedthe segment of the circle within her vision, and she realized that herewas an organized attempt to force her back into the Romany world. If sherepudiated the Gorgio life and acknowledged herself a Romany once again,she knew her safety would be secured; but in truth she had no fear forher life, for no one would dare to defy the Ry of Rys so far as tokill his daughter. But she was in dange
r of another kind--in deepand terrible danger; and she knew it well. As the thought of it tookpossession of her, her heart seemed almost to burst. Not fear, but angerand emotion possessed her. All the Romany in her stormed back again fromthe past. It sent her to her feet with a scarcely smothered cry. She wasnot quicker, however, than was the figure at the tent door, which, witha half-dozen others, sprang up as she appeared. A hand was raised, and,as if by magic, groups of Gipsies, some sitting, some standing, somewith the Gipsy fiddle, one or two with flutes, began a Romany chant ina high, victorious key, and women threw upon the fire powders from whichflamed up many coloured lights.

  In a moment the camp was transformed. From the woods around cameswarthy-faced men, with great gold rings in their ears and bright scarfsaround their necks or waists, some of them handsome, dirty and insolent;others ugly, watchful, and quiet in manner and face; others still mostfriendly and kind in face and manner. All showed instant respect forFleda. They raised their hands in a gesture of salutation as a Zuluchief thrusts up a long arm and shouts "Inkoos!" to one whom he honours.Some, however, made the sweeping Oriental gesture of the right hand,palm upward, and almost touching the ground--a sign of obedience andinfinite respect. It had all been well arranged. Skilfully managed as itwas, however, there was something in it deeper than theatrical displayor dramatic purpose.

  It was clear that many of them were deeply moved at being in thepresence of the daughter of the Ry of Rys, who had for so long exiledhimself. Racial, family, clan feeling spoke in voice and gesture, inlook and attitude; but yet there were small groups of younger men whosesalutations were perfunctory, not to say mocking. These were they whoresented deeply Fleda's defection, and truthfully felt that she hadpassed out of their circle for ever; that she despised them, and lookeddown on them from another sphere. They were all about the age of JethroFawe, but were of a less civilized type, and had semi-barbarism writtenall over them. Unlike Jethro they had never known the world of cities.They repudiated Fleda, because their ambition could not reach toher. They recognized the touch of fashion and of form, of a worldlyeducation, of a convention which lifted her away from the tan and thecaravan, from the everlasting itinerary. They had not had Jethro'sexperiences in fashionable hotels of Europe, at midnight parties, atgay suppers, at garish dances, where Gorgio ladies answered the amorouslooks of the ambitious Romany with the fiddle at his chin. Becausethese young Romanys knew they dare not aspire, they were resentful; butJethro, the head of the rival family and the son of the dead claimantto the headship, had not such compulsory modesty. He had ranged far andwide, and his expectations were extensive. He was nowhere to be seenin the groups which sang and gestured in the light of the many colouredfires, though once or twice Fleda's quickened ear detected his voice,exulting, in the chorus of song.

  Presently, as she stood watching, listening, and strangely moved inspite of herself by the sudden dramatic turn which things had taken, aseat was brought to her. It was a handsome stool, looted perhaps fromsome chateau in the Old World, and over it was thrown a dark-red clothwhich gave a semblance of dignity to the seat of authority, which it wasmeant to be.

  Fleda did not refuse the honour. She had choked back the indignant wordswhich had rushed to her lips as she left the tent where she had beenlying. Prudence had bade her await developments. She could not yet makeup her mind what to do. It was clear that a bold and deep purpose laybehind it all, and she could not tell how far-reaching it was, nor whatit represented of rebellion against her father's authority. That it didrepresent rebellion she had no doubt. She was well enough aware of theclaims of Jethro's dead father to the leadership, abandoned for threethousand pounds and marriage with herself; and she was also aware thatwhile her father's mysterious isolation might possibly have developed areverence for him, yet active pressure and calumny might well havedone its work. Also, if the marriage was repudiated, Jethro would bejustified in resuming the family claim to the leadership.

  She seated herself upon the scarlet seat with a gesture of thanks,while the salutations and greetings increased; then she awaited events,thrilled by the weird and pleasant music, with its touches of Easternfantasy. In spite of herself she was moved, as Romanys, men and women,ran forward in excitement with arms raised towards her as though theymeant to strike her, then suddenly stopped short, made obeisance, calleda greeting, and ran backwards to their places.

  Presently a group of men began a ceremony or ritual, before which thespectators now and again covered their eyes, or bent their heads low, orturned their backs, and raised their hands in a sort of ascription. Asthe ceremony neared its end, with its strange genuflections, a womandressed in white was brought forward, her hands bound behind her,her hair falling over her shoulders, and after a moment of apparentdenunciation on the part of the head of the ceremony, she was suddenlythrown to the ground, and the pretence of drawing a knife across herthroat was made. As Fleda watched it she shuddered, but presently bracedherself, because she knew that this ritual was meant to show what theend must be of those who, like herself, proved traitor to the traditionsof race.

  It was at this point, when fifty knives flashed in the air, withvengeful exclamations, that Jethro Fawe appeared in the midst of thecrowd. He was dressed in the well-known clothes which he had worn sincethe day he first declared himself at Gabriel Druse's home, and, comparedwith his friends around him, he showed to advantage. There wascommand in his bearing, and experience of life had given him primitivedistinction.

  For a moment he stood looking at Fleda in undisguised admiration, forshe made a remarkable picture. Animal beauty was hers, too. There wasa delicate, athletic charm in her body and bearing; but it added to,rather than took away from, the authority of her presence, so differingfrom Jethro. She had never compared herself with others, and herpassionate intelligence would have rebelled against the supremacy of thebody. She had no physical vanity, but she had some mental vanity, andit placed mind so far above matter that her beauty played no part inher calculations. At sight of him, Fleda's blood quickened, but inindignation and in no other sense. As he came towards her, however,despising his vanity as she did, she felt how much he was above allthose by whom he was surrounded. She realized his talent, and it almostmade her forget his cunning and his loathsomeness. As he came near toher he made a slight gesture to someone in the crowd, and a chorus ofsalutations rose.

  Composed and still she waited for him to come quite close to her, andthe look in her face was like that of one who was scarcely conscious ofwhat was passing around her, whose eyes saw distant things of infinitemoment.

  A few feet away from her he spoke.

  "Daughter of the Ry of Rys, you are among your own people once again,"he said. "From everywhere in the world they have come to show their lovefor you. You would not have come to them of your own free will, becausea madness 'got hold of you, and so they came to you. You cut yourselfoff from them and told yourself you had become a Gorgio. But that wasonly your madness; and madness can be cured. We are the Fawes, theancient Fawes, who ruled the Romany people before the Druses came topower. We are of the ancient blood, yet we are faithful to the Drusethat rules over us. His word prevails, although his daughter is mad.Daughter of the Ry of Rys, you have seen us once again. We have sung toyou; we have spoken to you; we have told you what is in our hearts; wehave shown you how good is the end of those who are faithful, and howterrible is the end of the traitor. Do not forget it. Speak to us."

  Fleda had a fierce desire to spring to her feet and declare to them allthat the sentence of the patrin had been passed upon Jethro Fawe,but she laid a hand upon herself. She knew they were unaware that theSentence had been passed, else they would not have been with Jethro. Inthat case none would give him food or shelter or the hand of friendship;none dare show him any kindness; and it was the law that any one againstwhom he committed an offence, however small, might take his life. TheSentence had been like a cloud upon her mind ever since her father hadpassed it; she could not endure the thought of it. She could not bringherself to s
peak of it--to denounce him. Sooner or later the Sentencewould reach every Romany everywhere, and Jethro would pass into thedarkness of oblivion, not in his own time nor in the time of Fate. Theman was abhorrent to her, yet his claim was there. Mad and bad as itwas, he made his claim of her upon ancient rights, and she was stillenough a Romany to see his point of view.

  Getting to her feet slowly, she ignored Jethro, looked into the face ofthe crowd, and said:

  "I am the daughter of the Ry of Rys still, though I am a Romany nolonger. I made a pledge to be no more a Romany and I will keep it;yet you and all Romany people are dear to me because through longgenerations the Druses have been of you. You have brought me hereagainst my will. Do you think the Ry of Rys will forgive that? In yourwords you have been kind to me, but yet you have threatened me. Do youthink that a Druse has any fear? Did a Druse ever turn his cheek to besmitten? You know what the Druses are. I am a Druse still. I will nottalk longer, I have nothing to say to you all except that you must takeme back to my father, and I will see that he forgives you. Some of youhave done this out of love; some of you have done it out of hate; yetset me free again upon the path to my home, and I shall forget it, andthe Ry of Rys will forget it."

  At that instant there suddenly came forward from the doorway of a tenton the outskirts of the crowd a stalwart woman, with a strong face anda self-reliant manner. She was still young, but her slightly pockmarkedcountenance showed the wear and tear of sorrow of some kind. Shehad, indeed, lost her husband and her father in the Montenegrin wars.Hastening forward to Fleda she reached out a hand.

  "Come with me," she said; "come and sleep in my tent to-night. To-morrowyou shall go back to the Ry of Rys, perhaps. Come with me."

  There was a sudden murmuring in the crowd, which was stilled by a motionof Jethro Fawe's hand, and a moment afterwards Fleda gave her hand tothe woman.

  "I will go with you," Fleda said. Then she turned to Jethro: "I wish tospeak to you alone, Jethro Fawe," she added.

  He laughed triumphantly. "The wife of Jethro Fawe wishes to speak withhim," he bombastically cried aloud to the assembled people, and heprepared to follow Fleda.

  As Fleda entered the woman's tent a black-eyed girl, with tousled hairand a bold, sensual face, ran up to Jethro, and in an undertone of evilsuggestion said to him:

  "To-night is yours, Jethro. You can make tomorrow sure."