VII
THE SHADOW IN THE SUNLIGHT
The torn web fell--the last veil of the Strange Hathor. It fell, and allits unravelled threads of glittering gold and scarlet rippled and coiledabout the Wanderer's feet, and about the pillars of the loom.
The web was torn, the veil was rent, the labour was lost, the picturedstory of loves and wars was all undone.
But there, white in the silvery dusk of the alabaster shrine, there wasthe visible Helen, the bride and the daughter of Mystery, the World'sDesire!
There shone that fabled loveliness of which no story was too strange, ofwhich all miracles seemed true. There, her hands folded on her lap, herhead bowed--there sat she whose voice was the echo of all sweet voices,she whose shape was the mirror of all fair forms, she whose changefulbeauty, so they said, was the child of the changeful moon.
Helen sat in a chair of ivory, gleaming even through the sunshine of heroutspread hair. She was clothed in soft folds of white; on her breastgleamed the Starstone, the red stone of the sea-deeps that melts in thesunshine, but that melted not on the breast of Helen. Moment by momentthe red drops from the ruby heart of the star fell on her snowy raiment,fell and vanished,--fell and vanished,--and left no stain.
The Wanderer looked on her face, but the beauty and the terror of it, asshe raised it, were more than he could bear, and he stood like those whosaw the terror and the beauty of that face which changes men to stone.
For the lovely eyes of Helen stared wide, her lips, yet quivering withthe last notes of song, were wide open in fear. She seemed like one whowalks alone, and suddenly, in the noonday light, meets the hated dead;encountering the ghost of an enemy come back to earth with the instantsummons of doom.
For a moment the sight of her terror made even the Wanderer afraid. Whatwas the horror she beheld in this haunted shrine, where was none savethemselves alone? What was with them in the shrine?
Then he saw that her eyes were fixed on his golden armour which Parisonce had worn, on the golden shield with the blazon of the White Bull,on the golden helm, whose visor was down so that it quite hid his eyesand his face--and then at last her voice broke from her:
"_Paris! Paris! Paris!_ Has Death lost hold of thee? Hast thou cometo drag me back to thee and to shame? Paris, dead Paris! Who gave theecourage to pass the shadows of men whom on earth thou hadst not dared toface in war?"
Then she wrung her hands, and laughed aloud with the empty laugh offear.
A thought came into that crafty mind of the Wanderer's, and he answeredher, not in his own voice, but in the smooth, soft, mocking voice of thetraitor, Paris, whom he had heard forswear himself in the oath beforeIlios.
"So, lady, thou hast not yet forgiven Paris? Thou weavest the ancientweb, thou singest the ancient songs--art thou still unkind as of old?"
"Why art thou come back to taunt me?" she said, and now she spoke as ifan old familiar fear and horror were laying hold of her and masteringher again, after long freedom. "Was it not enough to betray me in thesemblance of my wedded lord? Why dost thou mock?"
"In love all arts are fair," he answered in the voice of Paris. "Manyhave loved thee, Lady, and they are all dead for thy sake, and no lovebut mine has been more strong than death. There is none to blame us now,and none to hinder. Troy is down, the heroes are white dust; only Lovelives yet. Wilt thou not learn, Lady, how a shadow can love?"
She had listened with her head bowed, but now she leaped up with blazingeyes and face of fire.
"Begone!" she said, "the heroes are dead for my sake, and to my shame,but the shame is living yet. Begone! Never in life or death shall mylips touch the false lips that lied away my honour, and the false facethat wore the favour of my lord's."
For it was by shape-shifting and magic art, as poets tell, that Parisfirst beguiled Fair Helen.
Then the Wanderer spoke again with the sweet, smooth voice of Paris, sonof Priam.
"As I passed up the shrine where thy glory dwells, Helen, I heard theesing. And thou didst sing of the waking of thy heart, of the arising ofLove within thy soul, and of the coming of one for whom thou dost wait,whom thou didst love long since and shalt love for ever more. And asthou sangest, I came, I Paris, who was thy love, and who am thy love,and who alone of ghosts and men shall be thy love again. Wilt thou stillbid me go?"
"I sang," she answered, "yes, as the Gods put it in my heart so Isang--for indeed it seemed to me that one came who was my love of old,and whom alone I must love, alone for ever. But thou wast not in myheart, thou false Paris! Nay, I will tell thee, and with the name willscare thee back to Hell. He was in my heart whom once as a maid I sawdriving in his chariot through the ford of Eurotas while I bore waterfrom the well. He was in my heart whom once I saw in Troy, when he creptthither clad in beggar's guise. Ay, Paris, I will name him by his name,for though he is long dead, yet him alone methinks I loved from thevery first, and him alone I shall love till my deathlessness isdone--Odysseus, son of Laertes, Odysseus of Ithaca, he was named amongmen, and Odysseus was in my heart as I sang and in my heart he shallever be, though the Gods in their wrath have given me to others, to myshame, and against my will."
Now when the Wanderer heard her speak, and heard his own name upon herlips, and knew that the Golden Helen loved him alone, it seemed to himas though his heart would burst his harness. No word could he find inhis heart to speak, but he raised the visor of his helm.
She looked--she saw and knew him for Odysseus--even Odysseus of Ithaca.Then in turn she hid her eyes with her hands, and speaking through themsaid:
"Oh, Paris! ever wast thou false, but, ghost or man, of all thy shamesthis is the shamefullest. Thou hast taken the likeness of a hero dead,and thou hast heard me speak such words of him as Helen never spokebefore. Fie on thee, Paris! fie on thee! who wouldest trick me intoshame as once before thou didst trick me in the shape of Menelaus, whowas my lord. Now I will call on Zeus to blast thee with his bolts. Nay,not on Zeus will I call, but on Odysseus' self. _Odysseus! Odysseus!_Come thou from the shades and smite this Paris, this trickster, who evenin death finds ways to mock thee."
She ceased, and with eyes upturned and arms outstretched murmured,"Odysseus! Odysseus! Come."
Slowly the Wanderer drew near to the glory of the Golden Helen--slowly,slowly he came, till his dark eyes looked into her eyes of blue. Then atlast he found his voice and spake.
"Helen! Argive Helen!" he said, "I am no shadow come up from Hell totorment thee, and of Trojan Paris I know nothing. For I am Odysseus,Odysseus of Ithaca, a living man beneath the sunlight. Hither am I cometo see thee, hither I am come to win thee to my heart. For yonder inIthaca Aphrodite visited me in a dream, and bade me wander out upon theseas till at length I found thee, Helen, and saw the Red Star blaze uponthy breast. And I have wandered, and I have dared, and I have heard thysong, and rent the web of Fate, and I have seen the Star, and lo! atlast, at last! I find thee. Well I saw thou knewest the arms of Paris,who was thy husband, and to try thee I spoke with the voice of Paris,as of old thou didst feign the voices of our wives when we lay in thewooden horse within the walls of Troy. Thus I drew the sweetness of thylove from thy secret breast, as the sun draws out the sweetness of theflowers. But now I declare myself to be Odysseus, clad in the mail ofParis--Odysseus come on this last journey to be thy love and lord." Andhe ceased.
She trembled and looked at him doubtfully, but at last she spoke:
"Well do I remember," she said, "that when I washed the limbs ofOdysseus, in the halls of Ilios, I marked a great white scar beneath hisknee. If indeed thou art Odysseus, and not a phantom from the Gods, showme that great scar."
Then the Wanderer smiled, and, resting his buckler against the pillarof the loom, drew off his golden greave, and there was the scar that theboar dealt with his tusk on the Parnassian hill when Odysseus was a boy.
"Look, Lady," he said; "is this the scar that once thine eyes looked onin the halls of Troy?"
"Yea," she said, "it is the very scar, and now I know that thou art
noghost and no lying shape, but Odysseus' self, come to be my love andlord," and she looked most sweetly in his eyes.
Now the Wanderer wavered no more, but put out his arms to gather her tohis heart. Now the Red Star was hidden on his breast, now the red dropsdripped from the Star upon his mail, and the face of her who is theWorld's Desire grew soft in the shadow of his helm, while her eyes weremelted to tears beneath his kiss. The Gods send all lovers like joy!
Softly she sighed, softly drew back from his arms, and her lips wereopened to speak when a change came over her face. The kind eyes werefull of fear again, as she gazed where, through the window of the shrineof alabaster, the sunlight flickered in gold upon the chapel floor. Whatwas that which flickered in the sunlight? or was it only the dance ofthe motes in the beam? There was no shadow cast in the sunshine; whydid she gaze as if she saw another watching this meeting of their loves?However it chanced, she mastered her fear; there was even a smile on herlips and mirth in her eyes as she turned and spoke again.
"Odysseus, thou art indeed the cunningest of men. Thou hast stolen mysecret by thy craft; who save thee would dream of craft in such an hour?For when I thought thee Paris, and thy face was hidden by thy helm, Icalled on Odysseus in my terror, as a child cries to a mother. MethinksI have ever held him dear; always I have found him ready at need, thoughthe Gods have willed that till this hour my love might not be known,nay, not to my own heart; so I called on Odysseus, and those words werewrung from me to scare false Paris back to his own place. But the wordsthat should have driven Paris down to Hell drew Odysseus to my breast.And now it is done, and I will not go back upon my words, for we havekissed our kiss of troth, before the immortal Gods have we kissed, andthose ghosts who guard the way to Helen, and whom thou alone couldstpass, as it was fated, are witnesses to our oath. And now the ghostsdepart, for no more need they guard the beauty of Helen. It is given tothee to have and keep, and now is Helen once more a very woman, forat thy kiss the curse was broken. Ah, friend! since my lord died inpleasant Lacedaemon, what things have I seen and suffered by the Gods'decree! But two things I will tell thee, Odysseus, and thou shalt readthem as thou mayest. Though never before in thy life-days did thy lipstouch mine, yet I know that not now for the first time we kiss. And thisI know also, for the Gods have set it in my heart, that though our loveshall be short, and little joy shall we have one of another, yet deathshall not end it. For, Odysseus, I am a daughter of the Gods, and thoughI sleep and forget that which has been in my sleep, and though my shapechange as but now it seemed to change in the eyes of those ripe to die,yet I die not. And for thee, though thou art mortal, death shall be butas the short summer nights that mark off day from day. For thou shaltlive again, Odysseus, as thou hast lived before, and life by life weshall meet and love till the end is come."
As the Wanderer listened he thought once more of that dream of Meriamunthe Queen, which the priest Rei had told him. But he said nothing of itto Helen; for about the Queen and her words to him it seemed wisest notto speak.
"It will be well to live, Lady, if life by life I find thee for a love."
"Life by life thou shalt find me, Odysseus, in this shape or in thatshalt thou find me--for beauty has many forms, and love has manynames--but thou shalt ever find me but to lose me again. I tell theethat as but now thou wonnest thy way through the ranks of those whowatch me, the cloud lifted from my mind, and I remembered, and Iforesaw, and I knew why I, the loved of many, might never love in turn.I knew then, Odysseus, that I am but the instrument of the Gods, who useme for their ends. And I knew that I loved thee, and thee only, but witha love that began before the birth-bed, and shall not be consumed by thefuneral flame."
"So be it, Lady," said the Wanderer, "for this I know, that never haveI loved woman or Goddess as I love thee, who art henceforth as the heartin my breast, that without which I may not live."
"Now speak on," she said, "for such words as these are like music in myears."
"Ay, I will speak on. Short shall be our love, thou sayest, Lady, and myown heart tells me that it is born to be brief of days. I know that nowI go on my last voyaging, and that death comes upon me from the water,the swiftest death that may be. This then I would dare to ask: Whenshall we twain be one? For if the hours of life be short, let us lovewhile we may."
Now Helen's golden hair fell before her eyes like the bride's veil, andshe was silent for a time. Then she spoke:
"Not now, and not while I dwell in this holy place may we be wed,Odysseus, for so should we call down upon us the hate of Gods and men.Tell me, then, where thou dwellest in the city, and I will come to thee.Nay, it is not meet. Hearken, Odysseus. To-morrow, one hour before themidnight, see that thou dost stand without the pylon gates of this mytemple; then I will pass out to thee as well I may, and thou shalt knowme by the jewel, the Star-stone on my breast that shines through thedarkness, and by that alone, and lead me whither thou wilt. For thenthou shalt be my lord, and I will be thy wife. And thereafter, as theGods show us, so will we go. For know, it is in my mind to fly this landof Khem, where month by month the Gods have made the people die for me.So till then, farewell, Odysseus, my love, found after many days."
"It is well, Lady," answered the Wanderer. "To-morrow night I meet theewithout the pylon gates. I also am minded to fly this land of witchcraftand of horror, but I may scarce depart till Pharaoh return again. For hehas gone down to battle and left me to guard his palace."
"Of that we will talk hereafter. Go now! Go swiftly, for here we may nottalk more of earthly love," said the Golden Helen.
Then he took her hand and kissed it and passed from before her glory asa man amazed.
But in his foolish wisdom he spoke no word to her of Meriamun the Queen.