CHAPTER III
THE GRAIL OF LOVE
Francesco was astir early with the coming of the dawn. The grass wasdrenched with dew, the woods towered heavenwards with a thousandgolden peaks. In the valleys the stream echoed back the light.
Francesco was very solemn about the eyes. He looked as one who tooklittle joy in life, but worked to forget and to ease his heart of itsgreat pain. He watched the sun climb over the leafy hills, saw theclouds trend the heavens, heard the thunder of the streams. There waslife in the day and wild love in the woods. Yet from this world ofpassion and delight he was as an exile, rather a pilgrim, fettered bya heavy vow. He was to bear the Grail of Love through all these wilds,yet might never look thereon, nor quench his thirst.
He met Ilaria in the garden, took her head between his hands, andkissed her upon the lips. She clung close to him and smiled, yet herlooks were distraught; she seemed fearful of looking in his eyes.
"I have saddled the horses," he said laconically.
She read the heroism in his heart; the bitterness of the faith shecompelled from him. The truth troubled and shamed her.
Francesco strapped the wallet and water flask to his saddle andlifted Ilaria to her steed. Then they crossed the stream and, ridingnorthwards, plunged into the woods.
All that day Francesco strove and struggled with his youth, his heartbeating fast and loud under his steel-hauberk. Love was at his side,robed in crimson and green; Ilaria's hair blinded him more than thenoon-brightness of the sun. And as for her eyes, he dared not looktherein, lest they should tempt him to deceive his honor. The silenceenfolded them as though they were half fearful of each other'sthoughts.
Francesco spoke little, keeping his distance, as though mistrustinghis own tongue. As for Ilaria, the same passionate perversenesspossessed her heart, and, though she pitied Francesco, she pitied himsilently and from afar.
The following night they lodged in a beech wood, where dead leavesspread a dry carpet under the boughs. Francesco made a bed of leavesat the foot of a great tree. He spread a cloak underneath for Ilaria'scomfort, then started away, as though to increase the distance betweenthem.
"Francesco!" she cried suddenly, looking slantwise at his face.
He turned and stood waiting.
"You have given me your cloak!"
"It will keep the chill air from you!"
"What of yourself?"
"I shall not need it!" he said. "I shall not sleep to-night. I willkeep watch and guard you! Have no fear!"
She sighed and hung her head as she sat down at the foot of the tree.Francesco's deep and unselfish love shamed her more and more. Yet hisvery patience with her hardened her discontent. Had he rebelled andconquered her against her will, she would have followed him to theends of the earth.
Francesco, with a last look, left her there and strode away to a pointwhere he might see, though not speak to her. A full moon climbed inthe east and the wide lands were smitten with her mystery. Thevalleys were as lakes of glimmering mist, the hills like icy pinnaclesgleaming towards the stars. The forest glades were white under themoon; the trees tall, sculptured obelisks, their trunks as of ebonyinlaid with pearl wherever the moonlight splashed the bark. Thesilence of the wilderness was as the silence of a windless sea.
Francesco wandered in the woods, his heart full of the strange,haunting beauty of the autumnal night. The stars spoke to him ofIlaria; the trees had her name unuttered on their lips. What was thiswoman that she should bring such bitterness into his life? Were therenot others in the world as fair as she, with lips as red and eyes asdeep? Strangeness--mystery! She was one with the moon; a goddessshrined in the gloom of forests dim. White and immaculate, beautifullystrange, she seemed as an elf child fated to doom men to despair, totheir own undoing.--
Francesco passed back and found her asleep under the trees. He stoodbeside her and gazed on the sleeping face. There was silent faith inthat slumber; trust in the man who guarded her honor. The moonlightstreamed on the upturned face, shining like ivory amid the gleam ofher dusky hair. How white her throat was, how her bosom rose and fellwith the soft white hands folded thereon.
A sudden warmth flooded Francesco's heart; and youth cried in him foryouth. Should this beauty be mured in stone, this red rose be hid byconvent trees? Was she not flesh and blood, born to love and to beloved in turn,--and what was life but love and desire?
He crept near on his knees, hung over her breathlessly, gazing on herface. God, but to wake her with one long kiss, to feel those whitearms steal around his neck! They were alone, the two of them, underthe stars. For many minutes Francesco hung there like a man totteringon a crag betwixt sea and sky. Passion whimpered in him; his heartbeat fast. Yet even as he crouched over Ilaria asleep, some dream orvision seemed to trouble her soul. Her hands stirred; her lidsquivered; the breath came fast betwixt her lips. A shadow as of painpassed over the moonlit face. Francesco, kneeling motionless, heardher utter a low name, saw tears glistening on her cheeks; she wasweeping in her sleep.
Pity, the strong tenderness of his nobler self, his great love for thegirl of his youth, rushed back into the deeps as a wave from a cliff.He rose up; the shadows flying from his heart as bats afraid of theirown flight. He knelt at the foot of the tree and covered his face withhis hands.--
On the following evening they saw the sea, a wild streak of troubledgold under the kindling cressets of the west. Beneath them lay avalley full of tangled shrubs and windworn trees. Westward rose agreat rock, thrusting its huge black bastions out into the sea. Uponthis rock rose the towers and pinnacles of San Nicandro, smitten withgold, wrapped in mysterious vapor. Into the east stretched awilderness of woods, dun and desolate, welcoming the night.
Francesco and Ilaria rode out from the woods towards the sea, while inthe west the sun sank into a bank of burning clouds. The trees werewondrous green in the slant light; the whole land seemed bathed instrange, ethereal glory. San Nicandro upon its headland stood likeblack marble above the far glimmerings of the sea.
Francesco rode with his eyes fixed on the burning clouds. Ilaria waswatching him with strange unrest. Since that first night in the woodshe had held aloof from her, had spoken little, had wrapped himself inhis iron pride. Yet at times, when his eyes had unwittingly met hers,she had seen the sudden gleam therein of a strong desire. She hadwatched the color rise in Francesco's sunburnt face; the deep-drawnsighs that ebbed and flowed under the steel hauberk. Though his mouthwas as granite, though he hid his heart from her, she knew full wellthat he loved her to the death. The fine temper of his faith hadhumiliated, even angered her. Though his silent despair defied hervanity with heroic silence, his courage made her miserable from sheersympathy and shame.
They crossed a small stream and came to a sandy region, where stuntedmyrtles clambered over the rocks, and tamarisks, tipped as with flame,waved in the wind. Storm-buffeted and dishevelled pines stood gatheredupon the hillock. The region was sombre and very desolate; silent,save for the low piping of the wind.
Neither Francesco nor Ilaria had spoken since they had left the woodsand sighted San Nicandro upon its rocky height. Suddenly he pointedwith his hands towards the cliffs, the light of the setting sunstreaming upon his white and solemn face.
"Yonder lies San Nicandro," he said to her.
There was a species of defiance in the cry, as though the man's soulchallenged fate. His heart's cords were wrung with misery. Ilariaquailed inwardly, like one ashamed; her lips quivered; her eyes forthe nonce were in peril of tears.--
"Yonder lies San Nicandro," she echoed in an undertone. "There I maybe at peace. I shall not forget--"
"Nor I," he said, with grim emphasis.
A narrow causeway curled upwards towards the tower on the rock. Thesea had sunk behind the cliff, the sky had faded to a misty gray.Ilaria's eyes were on the walls of San Nicandro and she seemed lost inmusings as they rode side by side.
"Francesco," she said suddenly, as they neared the sea, "think nothard of me! Strife and unrest
are everywhere. It is better to escapethe world!"
"Better perhaps," he said, with his eyes upon the clouds.
"Forget that there is such a woman as Ilaria," she said. "I, too,shall strive to forget the past."--
"Who can forget?" he muttered. "While life lasts, memory lives on!"
They had come to the causeway, where the track wound like a blacksnake towards the golden heights. Not a sound was there save thedistant surging of the sea. The distorted trees thrust out their handsand seemed to cry an eternal "Vale" to the two upon the road.
At the foot of the causeway, Francesco turned his horse.
"Go in peace!" he said, his voice vibrating with inward emotion, herimage haunting his heart, like a fell dream at night.
She stretched out a hand.
"Francesco--you will not leave me yet?"
"Ah!" he cried with sudden great bitterness, "is it so easy to sayfarewell?"
His strong despair swept over her like a wind. She sat mute andmotionless upon her horse, gazing at him helplessly as one half dazed.On the cliffs above, San Nicandro beckoned with the great cross aboveits topmost pinnacle.
Ilaria shivered, struggled with herself, perverse as of yore.
"What am I, that you should desire me?" she said. "I have but littlebeauty, and am growing old. Leave me, Francesco, and forget me! Forgetand forgive! I have no heart to struggle with the world!"
Francesco was white to the lips, as he stiffened his manhood to meetthe wrench.
"God knows how I have loved you,--how I love you still!"
"Francesco," she said, leaning towards him from the saddle.
He gave a hoarse cry and covered his face with his hands.
"For pity's sake," he said, "say no more to me! It is enough!"--
They had reached the gate.
He pricked his horse with his spurs, wheeled from her and dashed downthe road without a look. His face was as the face of a man who rode tomeet his death.
"Francesco!" she cried to him, as she saw him plunge to a gallop, sawthe shield between his shoulders dwindle into the night.
"Francesco!" she cried again, a sudden loneliness seizing on herheart. "Francesco, come back! Francesco--"
The cry was in vain, for he would not listen, deeming her pity moregrievous than her scorn. Despair spurred him on; the black nightcalled.
Ilaria watched him vanish into the increasing gloom, while on thecliffs San Nicandro stood, like the great gate of death.
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