Enchanting Cold Blood

by Petya Lehmann

  But Meraud smiled behind her good aunt's back as the white robe disappeared in the dark passage-way. Quietly, she shut the door, went to the mirror, plucked the cloth away, and flung it to the end of the room. Then, laughing, stretched her arms wide, went to the window, leaned out and breathed deep of the morning air. She pictured again the rider she had seen on the white horse. “I like him better than anyone I have seen,” she said to herself. “I choose him now, and I will soon come to speak with him in spite of them.”

  She bethought herself then, that of all the spoil of the cupboard nothing had fallen to her share but the little earthenware pot. So she went and fetched it. “It's a wonder they left it to me,” said she to herself. With her finger, she tapped on the paste: it was quite hard. Taking a small knife from her girdle, she raised the crust on the top. Below it was still soft, lighter in colour, and diffused an unknown perfume. Meraud dipped her finger in it; it was stained carmine. Carrying the pot over to the mirror, she lifted her finger, and soon a spot of brilliant colour glowed upon either cheek. Charmed with the sudden change she saw, she turned her tall neck from side to side and laughed again, then by a sudden instinct passed her finger upon her lips.

  And now a new face seemed to gaze back to her, charged with some message she could not comprehend. The smile faded from her face. That gleaming mouth, those forward-searching eyes, where had she beheld them in any dream? Alarmed at what she had done, she hastened and took water and washed her face. Many times over she had need to do it before the stain would leave it.

  When it was gone, her uneasiness vanished, and her joyous mood returned. Outside, the April sun was shining over the city roofs. New sounds for ever came up from the street. Was not the great Earl of Essex expected to land that very day? Even as she went to the window, there came from far away a murmur that struck upon the ear. It seemed at first like the humming of surf on a distant shore, or was it the sound of a beaten drum? From far away, the noise came nearer, till it might be known for the steady furious gallop of a body of horse, coming from the south, passing the city gates and going by to the north. Excited by the sound, Meraud craned far out from her top window. Her keen young eyes, far sighted as an eagle's, were fixed on a strip of road like a cut ribbon, all she could see of the way they must pass. In an instant, it was covered, and by the wildest riders ever she had seen, and that in a country of the greatest horses of the world. Bays and browns were these horses, some in their stride, some at the top of the bound, three foot in the air, their four hoofs together — for a moment only she saw them, and they were passed from her sight. Essex then had landed — the posts were gone by to Tyrone!

  Chapter IX. - The Young Student

  Meraud was hooded when she entered the house of her uncle, Lord Clancarty. The first person her eye lit on was Lady Clancarty, a small old woman in stiff black clothes, who tilted her head backwards to gaze at a great young man who bent his down to her, stuttering. Meraud was a free and bold girl, formed by nature to lead and command. What she desired, that she would have; what she determined on, that she would do. The scruples and coyness and titterings of other girls were strange to her altogether. Flinging her hood to the woman who attended her, she crossed the hall and sank a very fine curtsey in front of her small aunt.

  “Give you good-day, aunt,” says she. “The young gentleman seems short of his English. I am come in a fortunate time to assist you with some good Gaelic.”

  “Welcome, great-niece,” said the old lady, in the clear and fine English learned at the court of Elizabeth. “How is your honoured father and your excellent mother? I am at a loss in talking to this young man, for Latin and Gaelic are as difficult of speech to me as the English to him.”

  Meraud turned herself about and spoke to the young man in Gaelic. He answered in brief speech, looking on her with a smile as she on him. It was strange to see those two in the dark hall, beside the small old woman in black. Out of the old woman's eyes looked the deep piercing experience of thought; between her brows stood wisdom and kindly craft. They thought not of her nor did they understand her; but she looked at them and read them up and down like words in a printed book, or like two lilies growing side by side in a field. Well companioned they seemed, both tall, both strong, young, and fair. They had both the composure of beauty, the physical dignity that comes of a large and handsome make of body and limb; each, he far north, she far south, had had a common rearing in field and wood, and hills.

  “Noble person,” Meraud was saying, “what is your name, and to what sept do you belong? What errand has brought you to the city?”

  “Beautiful woman,” he answered, “my name is Estercel. I am of the O'Neills. My errand is to the most powerful Earl of Essex, who I am told holds a commission to pass the gently bred youth of Ireland to the colleges of Oxford.”

  Meraud translated his reply faithfully to her aunt, then turned back to the young man and looked him up and down.

  “Estercel of the O'Neills,” said she. “You do not appear to me to be one greatly in need of the learning to be found in books.”

  Her hazel-brown eyes travelled over him. To the young man it seemed as though two clear lamps were held up before him; to her it seemed that she had never before seen so goodly a creature whether among beasts or men. The noble head and neck towered above the splendid shoulders, the strong locks lay upon the neck. Clear, large, and grey, the eyes looked forth from his composed countenance.

  “You have the appearance,” she went on, “of a man knowing neither fear nor the need of walls, and doors, and streets to guard him. God knows I have a reverence for the learned, but they are commonly undersized or else weak of bone or of spirit.”

  Estercel looked solemnly upon her. His brain was working in his head, and although his eyes were cheerful, he spoke craftily.

  “Yet there are many lusty monks,” he said.

  “Nay,” said Meraud, “the monks have need of strength of limb, both to run from the officers of Elizabeth's religion and to guard any pieces of property that may be left them, but pure learning has no need to be either active or strong.”

  Estercel continued to gaze on the maiden, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Come now,” said she, “tell me, and I will tell nobody else. It was not for college you were bound on that white horse. What would you be doing with him in a university?”

  A broad and eager smile lit the face of Estercel. “Ah, then, and it was you looking from the window?” said he; “and so you have seen Tamburlaine — isn't he the beauty of the world? Did you notice the mane he has got? The strength and the curl of it? — it's like a lion's; and the hind leg action of him, the way he springs from his hocks as if he could carry the world on his back and go to the moon with it. Oh! he's a great beast. I love him as if I were his father.”

  “Dearly I would like to ride on such a horse,” said Meraud, and her eyes kindled. “I have but a bay pony here in Dublin, and he is fat and quiet.”

  “Tamburlaine will let no man but me upon his back,” said Estercel; “but who knows? He might take a fancy to you. Therefore, beautiful maiden, if you will come to the meadow beyond Mary's Gate at seven of the clock tomorrow morning …”

  “Niece,” interrupted Lady Clancarty, “what is the gentleman saying?”

  “He is discoursing of his horse,” said Meraud, turning to her aunt with a grave countenance. “I ask your pardon, aunt, for having talked so long with him, and you not understanding. His speech is all of his white horse, Tamburlaine, and of the colleges of England whither he desires to go for his better education. He wishes to have speech of the noble Earl of Essex.”

  “He has a good conceit of himself. And would not a less man serve him?” said Lady Clancarty. “Is the young gentleman's education, or his white horse, an affair of state?”

  Meraud laughed. “I suspect him other than what he says,” she answered. “Help him to speak with Lord Essex, aunt, if you love me, if only for the sake of his fine appearance.”

  “Ou
t upon you, you naughty baggage,” said Lady Clancarty. “What should a girl know of the comeliness of men?”

  “I don't care, aunt,” said Meraud. “You know my humour. I will make no pretence of bashfulness. Other girls may pretend blindness, but I know a man when I see one. And there he stands.”

  “I have a mind to correct you, Termagant,” said Lady Clancarty sternly.

  “Ah, but you will not!” said Meraud, flinging her arms about the other's shoulders, “because you are small of stature, and I am great. Also there is an ancient affection between us, be I Termagant or not.”

  “You will oblige me by moving two paces off at the least, niece. I like no female antics under the eyes of gentlemen.” And she waited till Meraud had obeyed. “Now tell the young gentleman in decent terms that if he will come again tomorrow evening at six of the clock, I will do for him what I may.”

  Chapter X. - Tamburlaine at Play

  At seven o'clock next morning the wild Meraud, hooded and cloaked, went on her way at a good pace to St. Mary's meadow. The gates were open, and she passed freely out and went on, looking sharply this way and that over the fields. Soon far off, she spied two moving figures, a white and a brown, that came hastening towards her. The wonder was to see them come. Estercel ran, his locks on the wind, his hands thrust within the leathern belt of his tunic, and round about him galloped, leaping, the monstrous white stallion. His red mouth was open, and from his round snorting nostrils came his breath. His gleaming, polished eyes shone in his head, and there was no spot on his beautiful white hide. So lively and full of youth and delight was the sight, that Meraud laughed out, flung back her hood, loosed her mantle and ran to meet them.

  “So you have come, beautiful girl,” said Estercel. “I am glad to see you, and so is my horse.”

  “You appear to be at play together like a couple of children,” said Meraud.

  “We are indeed,” said Estercel. “It is this way that I train him. Every morning of his life (for I had him when he was but a foal of six months) I have taken him to play for an hour. It would break his heart if I were to forget him. When I am at home, he comes to call me himself. See now, I will show you how strong his love is. Will you strike me now in play?”

  Meraud turned round to where the horse stood, his head tossing up and down to his broad chest, his hoofs far apart and firmly planted, his eyes fixed upon her as if questioning himself concerning her disposition. Meraud smiled provokingly at the animal and nodded her head to him, then raising her hand she struck Estercel a light blow on the cheek.

  The effect on the horse was fearful: he uttered a low and horrid scream, laid back his ears and bared his teeth, while his mane seemed to roughen itself, like a wild beast's hair. In a moment, all beauty and kindness had left him, and like some terror of another world, he rushed upon the maiden, rearing his front hoofs in the air that he might strike her down with them. But Estercel was beforehand. He ran and leapt on his neck, put his two hands upon his eyes and whispered fondly in the ear of his friend. The horse stood still and listened, his head began to droop, his breath still panted in his quick-heaving sides and through his nostrils, while he leaned his neck lovingly on Estercel.

  “I have told him it was only play,” said Estercel. “Come now, Meraud, and make friends with me that he may learn to know and like you too.”

  Meraud approached a little timidly, for the beast had terrified her with its awful appearance of rage. He was still looking upon her sideways with the white of an eye.

  “I dare not, Estercel,” said Meraud. “I am afraid of him, and I never was afraid of a horse before.”

  “Little wonder, noble girl,” said Estercel proudly. “Do you know that I count him the equal of twelve men in a fight? He would frighten anybody. But look at him now: he is all love. Unless he is angry, he would not hurt a child. I have seen him sweat and shake for stepping on a little rabbit. If you will come and make friends with me, he will be pleased with you in a minute.”

  Meraud still looked doubtfully at the great beast who rolled the white of his eye at her.

  “I could fancy him jealous, Estercel,” said she.

  “Not at all,” he answered. “He is not so mean as that. My friends are his friends, and I am the friend of anyone who does him a kindness.”

  A wicked light lit up Meraud's eyes. Estercel's attention was entirely upon his horse. Proudly and affectionately, he stroked the shining white neck; he never looked at her at all. A sudden impulse overcame her prudence. With an unnatural boldness she approached the youth, laid an arm upon his neck and, reaching upward, kissed his cheek once and then again. Somewhat astonished, Estercel turned his eyes upon the maiden, then back again upon the horse, who had raised his head and was regarding her with interest. Meraud's cheek had turned pale, and for the first time in her life, she trembled.

  “I thank you, noble girl, for complying with my request,” said Estercel, courteously, “and now look at my horse. He is grateful to you also. You can place your hand upon him without fear.”

  Willingly, Meraud turned from the young man, and, going fearlessly to Tamburlaine, she stroked and caressed that noble head, forgetting for a moment her secret thought to admire the life and intelligence that streamed from his eyes, answering her own, almost as though in that strange and outlandish shape there lived a spirit akin to hers.

  “Stand away now,” said Estercel, “and I will show you what he can do,” and he called and spoke to the horse as a shepherd might to his dog.

  On the instant, Tamburlaine reared upwards and, wheeling upon his hind-quarters, with tossing mane, plunged forward in a gallop. Down the field, he went and back again, but as he came near and just as Estercel whistled with a loud shrill call, he seemed to stumble and come down to his knees and then, falling sideways, lay prostrate on the ground.

  “Holy Mother!” cried out Meraud. “He is down! Was it a hole? Is his leg broken or what?”

  “Come and see,” said Estercel, and together they ran to the side of the horse where he lay motionless, with not a sign of life. Estercel lifted a foreleg and it fell back helpless. With tears in her eyes, Meraud went on her knees and stroked that large strange head, throwing back the rippled white locks of the mane and striving to look into the full half-shut eye.

  “Poor thing, poor thing, oh, what a pity!” she kept saying anxiously.

  Then the large eyes opened clear upon her, and the lip curled, and a strange whistling sound came from the nostril. Meraud started.

  “Upon my honour, he is laughing at me! Oh, and you are laughing too! Oh, it is too bad, it is a trick and nothing the matter!”

  And she started up and away, Estercel laughing loud and long and guiding her further back with his hand. He called and spoke to the horse, who gathered his legs under him. With a struggle that sent the clods of grass-tufted earth flying, he was up again and, coming to his master, was feeling with his lips at the pouch he wore.

  “Did you ever see the like of that?” said Estercel proudly. “Isn't that a wise horse? Could a man do more? He is fit to lead an army this moment. But wait till you see one trick more. Only first, he must have his reward.” Opening his pouch, he drew out a round cake and gave it to the horse, who took it piece by piece, eating daintily and with cleanliness, tossing his head gently up and down to show his pleasure in his master's kindness.

  “It is wonderful to see him,” said Meraud. “You would say he understood the thoughts in your mind.”

  “He does,” answered the other. “I know he does. I know he longs to be a man.”

  “Perhaps he would not be so happy then,” said the girl.

  “Maybe not,” answered he. For a moment, the look of youthful happiness left his face, and the smiling lips closed tight and stern: seeing which, the horse lifted his head and reached forth an immense tongue to lick his master's face. But Estercel was too quick for him and, laughing out, caught him a slap with his open hand on the side of his face. Then seizing his head in his two hands, Estercel
whispered in his ear. Turning to Meraud, he said, “We are going to show you one trick more; it is my turn now.”

  Beginning to run swiftly, he traversed the field. Tamburlaine remained beside the girl, watching his master and blowing through his nostrils, while he beat upon the ground with his hoofs. Estercel turned and came back as the horse had done. When he was near to Meraud, he called with a short bird whistle of two notes and then dropped as he ran and lay motionless. Instantly, Tamburlaine plunged forward. He was beside his master in a moment and, stooping in his trot, caught his leather belt between his teeth, then planting his feet firmly wide apart, he swung the man, tall, heavy-boned as he was, first into the air and then with a circular sweep of his strong neck sideways and towards his back. Estercel seemed to catch hold and spring. In a second, he was upright on the animal's back and going at a gallop round the field. Coming round to Meraud again where she stood: “I'll take you up,” he shouted. “Give me your hand and step on my foot and spring!”

  As the pair came by, Meraud made ready, seized the hand held out to her and with a rapid bound was in her seat, her arm round Estercel's waist, and her cheek on his shoulder. The motion of the gallop was violent beyond anything she had felt. The very air seemed to rock as she went, but for all that a strange sort of joy seemed to settle upon her. She felt the spring wind and heard a lark singing as it went up from the grass into the sky and wished she might ride so for ever. But even as she thought it, her ears, trained from birth in the stillness of an idle land, had caught, beneath the thunder of the white horse's tread, the faint intimation of another sound like an echo from miles away. Estercel heard it too, for he checked the gallop to a trot, and then to a walk, and at last stood still.