"No!"
"It will serve no purpose," she counseled, hearing in her words the exact echo of Mary's words to Burke. "If they must fight—and I be-
lieve they must—Burke's decision was wise. And FU ask Alex to stop them before—"
"No," Mary repeated, not looking up. Her voice suddenly grew hard. "Let them finish it. I want to see what it looks like—the sight of two men beating each other senseless."
Against the hardness, Elizabeth had no defense. "Mary, please. Spare yourself—"
"No. I want to see it all." Then she added with complex female cunning, "And I want them to see me watching them."
That was all she said. Slowly she pushed away from the chair, took a last look at the remains of her wedding banquet and proceeded through the door at the end of the room.
Elizabeth knew that she should follow after her immediately. The appearance of strength was impressive, but in the event it was just fagade, someone should be with her. Suddenly she suffered a deep dread. On the sideboard she spied a decanter of brandy and hurried toward it, confident that she would never have greater need for it.
She drank quickly, several burning swallows. Her eyes watered. As the warmth entered her throat, she lifted her head and looked toward the door, saw a steady parade of servants, upper level as well as lower, all hurrying toward the courtyard. Apparently the word of this grand theatrical had spread.
Then she must join them, though she wished with all her heart that someone in authority would send her up to her chambers, as she'd recently sent Lady Haniet.
She found Mary at the top of the Great Hall steps, looking out over the incredible scene. About forty watchmen had formed a large circle directly at the center of the inner courtyard. They stood in perfect symmetry a distance apart, each supporting a standard topped with a flaming torch. Though it was black beyond that ring of fire, it was as bright as day within it.
Around the outer edges of the circle stood the entire staff of Eden Castle. On the right was the Keep and what once had been the Charnel House and, beyond that, Elizabeth saw the solitary black finger of the whipping oak.
In quiet despair she compared the two barbaric visions: one ancient and imperious, the fight ring as old, yet more democratic, though the purpose of both was identical, two arenas where one human being could inflict senseless pain on another.
In an attempt to escape her own thoughts, she moved into position behind Mary. "You're chilled/' she whispered, observing a faint trembling in her shoulders. "Shall I fetch a shawl for—"
"No," Mary said, though she never altered the direction of her vision to the spot where Burke stood, coatless, his white shirtwaist like a gleaming eye in the red-black scene, talking quietly with Alex Aid-well. They seemed so calm. They might have been indulging in little more than a quiet post-dinner conversation.
EHzabeth noticed a distinct silence falling over the courtyard, the once chattering servants standing at attention, their heads swiveling in several directions, up to the top of the steps where Elizabeth and Mary stood, back to the center of the ring where Burke and Alex were quietly chatting. A few even looked over their shoulders, bewildered by the missing half of this macabre show.
If EHzabeth had felt so inclined, she could have informed them that John Muney Eden would not appear until he was certain of ev-er^'one's undivided attention.
As though to prove her thoughts, there he was, appearing in the Great Hall arch less than ten feet from where Elizabeth stood. He was coatless, as was Burke, his trousers tucked into highly poHshed black boots, his long hair slightly mussed.
Compelled to make one last effort to alter the inevitable, Elizabeth went to his side. "John, please," she entreated, "please call this madness off. I'm certain that Burke would agree. Whatever differences you have, you share many similarities as well. For Mary's sake, please!"
Standing close to him, she was certain that he'd heard every word. But he walked past her and Mary as well, never looking to the right or left.
The earlier silence of the night was nothing as compared to that which descended on the inner courtyard now, the only sound that of John's boots as he strode across the gravel and entered the circle.
Lifting her eyes to rest them and searching for a safe vista when the time and the need came, Elizabeth saw Alex Aldwell approaching John, saving a few words to him. If there was any response, Elizabeth could not detect it. John's attention, like Mary's, had never lifted from the man standing at the exact center of the ring, still relaxed-appearing, his arms hanging easily at his sides.
In the last moment of sanity, EHzabeth found herself tr3ang to assess the two men according to height, body weight, strength. Physi-
cally, they appeared to be perfectly matched. Then victory would go to the most determined, the one who had been the most deeply offended. Yet even there the match was equal, John aware of Burke's hand behind the Lord Ripples column which had caused him such grief; aware, too, that he had in fact stolen Mary away from him.
And Burke, of course, avenging Mary herself, the forged notes that had lured her into the park where the assailants had been waiting, the violent attack which would leave her permanently scarred, in spite of the richness of Burke's love for her.
The motivation on both sides was powerful, and there was a good possibility that neither would cease until one or both was dead. Her last thought was one of regret, that Burke had refused the offer of the duel. On reconsideration how clean and simple it would be, over in less than a minute, whereas this—
Then it was time, and her attention was drawn down to the arena where she saw Alex Aldwell retreating, the two men confronting each other with less than two feet between them. She saw Mary stiffen and stand more erect as though to fortify herself for the first blow.
Then it came, John leveling the first, moving forward with singular speed, a sharp jab to the side of Burke's face which unbalanced him, his body twisting in the process, both arms raised now for protection.
Both men began a slow encircling, arms extended. John lunged forward again and missed, and for his efforts received Burke's first stunning blow. As John's neck snapped back, Elizabeth heard Mary gasp, but no other sound escaped her lips.
They continued to circle each other, as though sizing up the potency of each blow, practical men, both of them, even in such base matters as the supremacy of the foe.
Elizabeth now observed something almost polite about their movements, as if in that first exchange a curious respect had sprung up between them. Each apparently knew now that the other was capable of inflicting damage, thus strategies were being altered.
Then, as though he'd heard a command to break free from the encircling, John sprang forward, pummeling Burke with blow after blow, a relentless attack which drove him almost to the edge of the ring, his head lifting grotesquely with each thrust until finally he fell backward onto the gravel, first blood spotting the white shirtwaist.
Even though Burke was still down, John lunged forward, though
Burke was ready for him, reaching out quickly and grabbing his wrists, twisting him over, his body landing heavily, his arms flailing uselessly against Burke's assault, both men grappling each other, rolling over and over, Burke pushed to his feet first and dragged John behind him, holding him at arm's length and delivering a blow that sent John reeling into the circle of watchmen, who calmly moved back in accommodation, then, as John dragged himself forward, reformed the circle as tight as before.
Elizabeth closed her eyes to rest them and opened them as she heard the crowd in a collective gasp and looked down to see John lunge for Burke's legs, toppling him, then straddling him, his knees pinning Burke's shoulders, levehng several blows directly into his exposed face.
Both men were wounded now, blood flowing from their noses, their shirtwaists speckled. Beneath the repeated blows Burke seemed to go hmp. Suddenly his knee hfted with such force that John was instantly dislodged and for the first time a sharp cry punctuated the curious silence.
On his hands and knees, John allowed his head to fall limp while he waited out the discomfort, momentarily paying no attention to his opponent who, though on his feet, was trying to repair his own damage. As Burke wiped his sleeve across his mouth, Elizabeth saw the sleeve turn crimson, the blood running down his chin now, one hand covering his ear as though that were the main center of his discomfort.
As though by tacit agreement, each man gave the other a few seconds, though, as John was rising to his feet, Burke stepped forward with a blow of such force that it seemed literally to hft John into the air. His body whirled around in a half-turn and as he fell forward Burke delivered a second blow to his midsection, which caused him to buckle, his arms clasped about his stomach.
Though Elizabeth fully expected to see John collapse, instead she saw him lift himself out of the downward spiral, his fists continuously pounding as he drove Burke around the perimeter of the circle, the two men now a blur of white and red, exchanging blows of equal devastation, yet both somehow miraculously still on their feet, each exposing the other to the most severe and prolonged attack.
Elizabeth looked away and in the process saw several female servants do the same, one completely obscuring her face behind her
apron, another pushing toward the back of the crowd, searching for a place where she could not see as well.
For herself, Elizabeth focused on the darkness beyond the circle of torches, but she could still hear the impact of fists, the boots scuffling over the gravel, the single cry now and then, bespeaking pain.
For over three-quarters of an hour the battle went on until the gravel within the ring was red with blood, until both men no longer resembled men but rather half-butchered animals in a slaughterhouse. Repeatedly Elizabeth looked away, thinking. Now surely it will endl But each time they dragged themselves upward, their lunges and thrusts less meticulous now, clinging to each other as often as not, their hair matted with blood, their shirtwaists torn, Burke's almost completely gone, the endless blood coating his chest.
Still it went on, though most of the females in the audience had long since turned away. Only the males were loyal, with their wagers clutched in their hands.
Concerned for Mary, Elizabeth tried twice to lead her away. But the girl refused to leave, though now she presented a spectacle as pitiful as those two bloodied, still-encircling men. Elizabeth looked toward her and saw tears on her face, though there was not one sound of grief as she watched them in their final agony, both men so exhausted they could scarcely stand, yet summoning energy from someplace to land another blow, then another, and still another, their movements so enatic that they appeared inebriated.
Enough! Elizabeth decided, sickened by the sight. It had to be stopped. As she started down the stairs she saw Alex Aldwell break through the circle, heading toward the two men, his hand outstretched as though he, too, had had enough.
But as John staggered fonvard he shouted, "Stay back! I warn you. Stay back, all of you!" And he turned quickly as though fearful that some of the watchmen might be approaching to assist Alex.
None did, and finally Alex retreated. Elizabeth, alone at midstep and helpless to alter the edict, watched close at hand as the two men staggered toward each other, bearing down on the advancing enemy and striking each other again and again amidst showers of blood.
Simultaneously they fell, though both lifted their heads, prepared for treachery, and, as though not to disappoint each other, it came. John crawled forward, half-wrapping himself around Burke, a curious, almost loving stance except for the fist which was shattering
against Burke's ribs. For one instant a prolonged scream escaped Burke's lips, though he dragged himself away and turned back and lifted John by the hair and held his face suspended before him, then delivered a monstrous blow. The force sent both of them sprawling in opposite directions, Burke lying on his back, his legs and arms askew, his face a mass of blood, his knuckles bleeding, his bare chest heaving.
John lay sprawled opposite him, on his side, one arm extended toward his enemy as though even now he wanted to inflict more damage.
But for both it was over. Each lay upon the gravel, not cleansed of their mahce but simply too injured and too exhausted to see it to completion.
Elizabeth stared down on the arena, no one moving, not even the crowd of witnesses, as though all were trying very hard to figure out precisely what had been accomplished here in this blood-drenched circle.
She saw Alex Aldwell start forward, but he stopped short of the two battered men, as though up close the sight would be even more grim. Then, remembering Mary, Elizabeth shook herself out of her horror and climbed back up the stairs, never taking her eyes off the young woman who had endured it all, who, to the best of Elizabeth's knowledge, had never averted her eyes or made a single cry beyond that one small gasp which had escaped her lips with the first blow.
It was Elizabeth's intention to block her path down to that scene if she were entertaining thoughts of that nature. But obviously she was not. As Elizabeth drew near she heard Mary say, "They will both require a physician. Send for one in Mortemouth. I'll be in my mother's chambers."
That was all she said. She turned her back on the grisly scene and walked steadily through the Great Hall, her movement almost serene.
"I'll be in my mother's chambers."
Not a very promising place to begin a wedding night. Slowly Elizabeth looked back to the arena where the two men still lay, unmoved and unattended.
Then, because someone had to move, to disperse the servants, to lift the two "noble gladiators" to their feet and cleanse the area of spilled blood, she drew a deep breath and plunged directly into the
circle and saw the hem of her gown growing red-splotched with blood, and began issuing orders.
He had not once lost consciousness.
With a stubborn pride that refused to acknowledge the pain, John lay on his bed in his chambers and watched through swollen eyes the ministrations of the physician. The damage was more severe than he had guessed: a fractured right wrist, a broken finger on his left hand, countless deep lacerations on his face, his lower lip split open, and a persistent agony in the small of his back, which had eluded the doctor.
Now, patched and splinted, he saw the physician leaving the room and longed to call after him for a report on his opponent. But he couldn't open his mouth for fear of reopening his lip, and, helpless, he watched Alex show the man out, then turn back, the censure clear on his face, though blended with what looked dangerously like pity.
John wanted neither and, in spite of his discomfort, he muttered, "Get out. Leave me alone."
At first Alex held his position, anchored by love and loyalty. "Can I fetch you anything, John? The physician said no solid food for a while, just—"
"—want nothing," John muttered. "Go on with you."
Still Alex stared down to the bed. Then he left, clearly eager to find a more pleasing vista on which to rest his eyes.
Good riddance, John thought, and for the first time, with no need to keep up a front, dared to relax into the pillow, although for his efforts he felt a burning pain in the small of his back and with his good hand clasped the bed hnens in an effort to wait out the discomfort.
A few moments later it passed and left him with the belated realization that he did not really want to be alone. Alex was good company and the night would be long. The physician had warned him of that.
In increasing loneliness he glanced toward the door and tried to call Alex back. But he could scarcely raise his voice above a whisper. Damn! He was alone, while undoubtedly someplace else in his castle the American bastard was receiving the loving attention of Mary and Elizabeth and possibly even Harriet. As hate rose within him, he
closed his eyes and regretted only that he'd lacked the strength to kill him.
Overcome with longing and need, he tried with his good hand to drag himself upward. The shadowy chamber whirled about him. He clung to the side of the bed for fear of f
alhng and felt a pulse in every wound.
Still he persisted until he was sitting upright, though every nerve in his body resisted the position. His mind, impaired by effort and pain, moved in a bleak direction, back to the Banqueting Hall, Harriet's scream and collapse as he'd almost revealed their secret.
Gasping with delayed terror, he lifted his head in an attempt to accommodate the pain in his back which, for all its intensity, was nothing compared to the pain in his head, the realization of what he'd almost done.
As his thoughts blurred under the duress of effort, he began to doubt his memory. Had he stopped short of complete revelation?
Propelled forward by an urgency which defied common sense, he reached out with the intention of seeking Harriet's chambers just down the corridor. He had to know; he had to ask her forgiveness.
Someone had to forgive him.
He stumbled forward, suffering a sensation in his back as though a spear had been driven into it, yet persisting, until through blurred eyes he located the doorknob and found himself in the darkened, chilled corridor.
Grasping the wall and leaning heavily against it, he made his way slowly forward, his eyes lifting to Harriet's chamber door about twenty-five yards removed. Twice he had to stop for breath. The corridor walls seemed to be pressing closer. Shivering in his nightshirt, he heard his teeth rattiing together.
Suddenly at the far end of the corridor he saw a light. Thank God! Someone was coming. Someone would assist him, take pity on him and lead him into her chambers.
Standing motionless, still clinging to the wall, he looked up. The light was increasing, a curious illumination, not localized in the specific beam of a lamp but seeming to emanate from the floor to the ceiling, a solid column of blue-white light which hurt his eyes.
"Who is it?" he called out feebly, trying to shield his eyes with his good arm. "Who comes?"
Receiving no answer, he squinted into the brilliant illumination and saw the column of light moving steadily toward him.
"Please answer," he begged, cowering against the wall.
The Women of Eden Page 65
