Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  “Shall we say she was easily pleased?”

  “That goes without saying,” I said.

  “Then we shall get on together, for so am I.”

  “I cannot argue,” I said. “I never could. I only feed my opponent, as you can see. But I can make a plain statement, and here it is. During this venture of ours, you have been my rod and my staff. I could not have done, without you, what I have done. Now Bell has often been my rod and my staff. But you have been more than that. A great deal more. Twenty-four hours ago, when you came running toward me, my heart leaped up. When I wake, to meet your smile, I feel a new man. The sight of you, moving before me, makes me less tired. And when I hold you like this, the courage that is within you seems to flow into my veins. From first to last, Colette, you have been the light of my eyes.”

  Colette made no answer, but only sat very still.

  When at last I turned to regard her, I saw that tears were trickling upon her cheeks.

  “Colette, my beauty!”

  She hid her face in my jacket and spoke very low.

  “I am—very—happy, my darling. A spring in my heart has broken, that I never knew was there. Your ‘plain statement’ has set it running; and now, though my body may age, my heart will be always young.”

  With my eyes on the fading landscape, I sat very still, holding her close and feeling as feels a rich man who, in some game of hazard, has won from his poor opponent all that he had.

  Nearly five hours had gone by and I could hear the roar of the torrent, a quarter of a mile ahead.

  So far all had gone well.

  Colette had never faltered, and though I found the gems heavy—a signal, if ever there was one, that I was upon my last legs—the cool night air, inspired with the generous virtue of countless springs, had been the saving of me. Tired as I was, I felt fresher than I had felt all day, because, I suppose, my blood was fortified.

  One mercy we had been vouchsafed—Orris was gone. To this I could not swear, for I had not killed the man nor had I seen him die. But two miles back I had set my trap for him, and, though I had waited five minutes, he had not appeared. This was a great relief, for up to then I had walked with my chin on my shoulder, in case of accidents. But now it seemed clear that we could dismiss the specter which had been lurking behind us for so many hours.

  I touched Colette on her shoulder.

  “Five minutes’ rest,” I said, as she turned.

  We turned aside and sat down.

  “You can hear the water, Colette?”

  “Yes, Adam.”

  “When we come to cross it, I want you to wear the gems. I will fasten the cord round your neck and bind the bag to your back. So you will have your arms free. When we are over the torrent, then I will take them again.”

  Her hand stole into mine.

  “Of course I will bear them, Adam, but why do you wish me to?”

  “In case I should fail to land. Then, when the rope stops swinging, we shall be hanging directly over the water, beneath a great bough. I do not think it will happen; but, if it should, when I jerk my head—for of course we cannot talk—you must lay hold of the rope, mount on my shoulders and clamber onto the bough. Move along it at once, until you come to the trunk. There you can wait for me or slip down to the ground.”

  “I see,” said Colette. “And you?”

  “Once your weight is gone, I shall follow you up. But this is only in case I should fail to land.”

  “You might have failed to land when we crossed before. But you gave me no such instructions before we crossed.”

  “I know. I should have done so. But now we have the gems with us, and we must take no risks.”

  “I see,” said Colette, again. “And you will follow me up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And if you have not the strength to climb the rope?”

  I laughed.

  “Of course I shall have the strength. It’s only about six feet, and I shall be up on the bough before you have reached the trunk.”

  Colette held my hand very tight.

  “Listen, my very dear. Let us cross the water in turn. I will go first, if you like. But for you to support us both is a fearful strain. And if you should fail to land. . . and when the rope has stopped swinging, I am to stand upon your shoulders, as though upon the rung of a ladder, to reach the bough. . . I know you are very strong, but that is to ask too much of any man. You will see me up, I know, but supposing, after that, your tired arms cannot hoist you onto the bough . . .”

  I shook my head.

  “My sweet, I cannot let you cross that water alone. But I will meet you halfway. Instead of clasping my neck, you shall lay hold of the rope before we take off. That will relieve me a lot. In any event, your weight is nothing at all, and I am so glad to carry ‘the light of my eyes.’ ”

  Colette caught my hand to her lips.

  After a moment—

  “I will do as you say,” she said. “I will not fail you, my dear.”

  And then we were moving again. Of instinct, I looked behind, but nothing blotted the darkness, which was not Stygian. Though there was no moon, the stars were very bright, and I could tell substance from shadow five or six paces away.

  So we came to the savage water that barred our way.

  At once I sought for the staple, to find the rope safe and sound. Having made sure, I left it, for I did not want to be hampered while I attired Colette. This was easy to do, but I had to open the kit bag to get at a length of cord. I did not pass the cord round her neck, for fear of embarrassing her, but over her shoulders instead; then I crossed the ends on her chest and brought them back under her arms; then with four or five turns I bound the bag to her body, so that it could not move.

  “Put up your arms, my beauty, and show me you’re free to move.”

  She did as I said, bending forward and sideways and shaking herself. But the bag never moved.

  “I shan’t speak again, till we’re over. But please hold on very tight, for the fairest of all the gems is not in the bag.”

  She made as though she would answer, but when I bent my head, I felt her lips on my cheek.

  For a moment, I held her close.

  Then I stepped to the staple and loosed the rope.

  I have said that, attached to the rope, was a fishing line. Before I unfastened the former, I took two turns of the latter about my wrist. I did this more of instinct than of intelligence, for the fishing line was also attached to the staple, and, had I let the rope go, I had but to pick up the line to pull it in. But, because I was so weary, I did as I did.

  When I got back to Colette, she had put off her brogues and, tying them by their laces, had hung them about her neck. It was too late to protest, but I knew she had done it to spare me, in case she must mount upon my shoulders, to make her way into the tree.

  And then, for the first time, I looked at that thirsty water, flowing out of and into the darkness and raging for a turbulent moment under our eyes. Savage, cold, ruthless, unearthly strong, though it did not seem to flaunt it, its power was manifest. The weight of a breaker is there for all to see—and the strength which it spends on some rock or the head of some pier. But the weight and fury of the torrent was more restrained and seemed to swallow resistance, punishing all obstruction, forcing narrows with a grim, overbearing thrust, and reducing to the rank of pebbles the boulders that littered its bed.

  Well, I had beaten it twice, and I would beat it again.

  I turned to measure my distance.

  Then I laid hold of the rope and signed to Colette.

  In a trice she was on my back and, stretching up her arms, had grasped the rope above the grip of my hands.

  I turned to smile into her eyes, and she bent her head.

  I moved back as far as I could, then I hurled myself forward with all my might.

  And, as I launched us, somebody tackled me low. . .

  I knew, of course, who it was. What I shall never know is how, for all those
miles, he had clung to our heels, not once declaring his presence, never approaching too close, nor falling too far behind, avoiding the trap I had set and sinking his very existence, until at last he had made me drop my guard. For that was what Orris had done. Had I looked over my shoulder before I took off, he must either have stayed in the shadows or launched his attack while my feet were still on the ground. But I did not look over my shoulder and so I played into his hands.

  I sometimes think that he must have been able to see, as cats are said to be able, as well by night as by day, which would resolve the riddle, for the blind would then have been leading a rogue with the gift of sight.

  Be that as it may, at the most perilous moment, Orris had struck.

  He had, of course, surveyed our preparations—had watched me attire Colette and then unfasten the rope. Till then he had not perceived how we were proposing to cross so important a stream. But when, with Colette on my back, I laid hold of the rope, he saw, I suppose, in a flash not only how we were to cross, but that once we had left the bank, he would see us no more.

  And so he dropped his mask and flung himself upon me, to spoil our game.

  By the mercy of God, he moved one instant too late to reach Colette, but he caught me about the thighs, and the three of us swung together over the flood.

  The strain upon my arms was awful, but somehow I kept my hold, and because of the drag on the rope at the moment of taking off, we hardly passed the dead center and came to rest almost at once.

  I jerked my head to the left.

  At once Colette drew herself up . . . Then her knees were upon my shoulders . .. and then her feet. . .

  For a moment she seemed to be groping. . .

  And then she gave a light spring and I knew she was up on the bough.

  At once I lashed out at Orris, as best I could. I dared not relax my grip, which was failing fast, but I kicked and squirmed like a madman, to shake him off. But he only clung closer, using his nails on my flesh as the claws of a beast—a behavior, I fancy, dictated as much by fear as by malice, for the torrent threatened much more than a watery grave.

  So we fought this desperate battle, both very badly placed, for if he won, we should both die together a very unpleasant death; but if I won, I should not have the strength left to climb the rope and so should lose my life a few moments later than he.

  And then he ended the matter by sinking his teeth in my leg.

  I can only suppose that this was a dying gesture—the impulse of the jackal to mutilate the being he cannot kill. It enraged me as nothing else he had done, and since I had no hope left, I determined to send him to hell before the torrent below us should rob me of my clear right.

  I took my right hand from the rope and felt for and found his throat. And then I tore him off me and shook him with all my might. Then I dragged his face up to mine and looked into his eyes, to meet the bright stare of horror, with which such beings greet death. So for one last moment. Then my left hand gave in, and, thrusting Orris before me, I fell down into the race.

  In that instant he must have died, for the force of the water slammed us against a boulder as though we were lay-figures or baulks of wood. But though my breath was taken, I was not hurt, for Orris’ body was my buffer and took the shock. Then the water swept me sideways to jam me in the jaws of a chasm between two rocks, but though I was bruised and shaken, my head was above the flood. Till then I had not thought to make any effort at all to save my life; I had never dreamed I could live in such water as that, but now, although I was in a strait-jacket, I was not dead. I could neither see nor hear, and the movement and the bellow about me bade fair to disorder my wits. I was fast in a welter of tumult, such as I never conceived, that overwhelmed mind and body—a blinding, deafening volume of merciless force that was holding my frame in a vice and was viciously lashing my face, which was looking upstream. But it was not injuring me, and, so far as I could judge, I was still unhurt. Still, if I was to go on living, I knew I must leave the water as quickly as I could, for, for one thing, the turmoil and uproar would very soon steal my brain and, for another, the water was very cold; and once my limbs were numbed, I could never emerge alive.

  And there I remembered the rope . . .

  (This shows, I think, how dazed and shaken I was, for I had entirely forgotten the obvious and only thing which could at all avail me to save my life.)

  The question was how to regain it. And then I remembered the line of which I had taken two turns about my wrist. I recalled that this had been taut, when I was still in mid-air; it was just possible, therefore, that it was still in place.

  Such was the pressure of the water, it took me all I knew to bring my right hand over to meet my left, when at once this encountered the line, still fast to my wrist.

  A few moments later, I had the rope in my hands.

  This I drew gradually tight, hauling it in against the will of the torrent, which seemed to be doing its best to tear it away. Then I pulled myself up a little out of the pounding flood, till my neck was clear of the water and so I could turn my head. I could still see next to nothing because of the spray, but I did make out that the rock on my right, that is to say, toward the Italian side, was higher than that on my left. If, then, I could get below it, I might find a little shelter—if you can give it that name, for the rock, being high, would receive the full force of the water, but, I, being under its lee, should only receive the inrush from either side.

  I had no means of knowing whether the length of the rope would allow me to make this move; but I knew that if I stayed where I was, I must surely die; and since, as I saw it, there was no better move which I could endeavor to make, I hauled myself slowly forward, trying to bear to the right.

  It was the hardest labor, and more than once I very near threw in my hand, for I was breasting a savage, relentless force, to which flesh and blood were playthings, which frowned upon obstruction, which seemed determined to tear the rope from my grasp, for the thrash of the rope’s end behind me was unbelievable.

  The critical moment would come when I was free of the chasm in the jaws of which I had stuck, for then the race would sweep my legs from beneath me and do its very utmost to carry me off. Indeed, I had small hope of reaching my rock, for only the current itself could carry me there.

  As I had foreseen, when I pulled myself clear of the cleft, my legs were swept from beneath me before I could think, but thrusting out my left leg, I encountered an edge of rock, and that enabled me to bear to the right. Paying out a little rope, I found myself lying across the jaws of the chasm in which I had lately been held, with my shoulders against the rock I was trying to reach; but the pressure upon my stomach was painfully high and I knew I must move or perish before many moments had passed. In desperation, I took my right hand from the rope, and sought for some handhold by which I could drag myself on. This I found almost at once, for my fingers encountered a crevice which seemed to be full of slime. I instantly dragged myself forward, taking, as I did so, a fearful punishment; for the water was actually breaking about my head, and if my left hand had slipped, my skull would at once have been fractured against the rock. And then I was clear of the chasm and was lying against my rock, with my right foot braced against something—I know not what, and, to my great relief, with both hands again on the rope.

  I pulled myself up a little and tried to take stock, for my strength was nearly gone, and I knew if I made one mistake, it would be my last. And then I saw that the sloping top of my rock was hardly awash. Perhaps two inches of water were flowing over its head, which meant I could stand upon it, provided I had my rope.

  Once again I took my right hand away from the rope and, throwing up my right arm, found the edge of the rock with my arm pit and strove to heave myself up; but the gesture had cost me the little foothold I had and the water seized my legs and pinned and drove them against the side of the rock. Since this had been worn away, I seemed to be in a fair way to be broken in two, for my body was being bent sideways int
o a bow, but I had enough sense to pay out a little rope, and a moment later had both my arms on the rock. So some of the strain was gone, and though my body was still bent into a bow, at least I was not being tortured, for now my legs were directly beneath my arms. But my back was now being pounded as never before. It seemed as though tons of water were falling upon my spine—and not continuously, but with shock upon shock, for that is the way of a torrent, if it is heavy enough, as any man who has watched one will readily testify.

  I think it goes without saying that only a man of iron could endure for long such terrible punishment, and once again in my life I proved the truth of the adage that out of the eater will sometimes come forth meat. Driven to desperation, I made such an effort as I never made before. With both my hands on the rope, I bent my elbows and hoisted my body up; then somehow I bent my knees, and a moment later I was swept onto the rock.

  And there I lay, all asprawl, with shallow water about me, flowing as fast as it could, but with a force that was insignificant. Still, when I dropped my head, it ran into my mouth; so I heaved on my faithful rope until I was sitting up with my back to the stream. And then, at last, I relaxed, with the rope lying over my shoulder tight in my hands, drawing deep, sobbing breaths, as a man that has run himself out.

  Although this escape from death has taken some time to tell, I very much doubt if more than two minutes went by between the end of Orris and my coming out of the storm. At the time, it seemed longer than that. . . it seemed a century. But that is always the way, when you walk with death.

  How long I sat upon that rock, I have no idea; but I was so much exhausted that I was halfway to stupor, when something that was not water struck me upon my left cheek.

  At once I roused myself and looked to the left, and there, ten paces away, Colette was standing. I could see the white of her shirt, and after a little I made out the white of her face.

  This brought me back to my senses. I might be out of the pit, but I was not out of the wood. And I had to get out of the wood . . . and back to Jade.

  To be perfectly frank, I had forgotten Colette and the gems and everything. But when a man fights for his life, he can think about little else, and in this particular conflict I had been matched against no ordinary foe.