The Wanderer's Necklace

  CHAPTER III

  THE VALLEY OF THE DEAD KINGS

  Martina and I had made a plan. Palka, after much coaxing, took us withher one evening when she went to place the accustomed offerings in theValley of the Dead. Indeed, at first she refused outright to allow usto accompany her, because, she said, only those who were born inthe village of Kurna had made such offerings since the days when thePharaohs ruled, and that if strangers shared in this duty it might bringmisfortune. We answered, however, that if so the misfortune would fallon us, the intruders. Also we pointed out that the jars of water andmilk were heavy, and, as it happened, there was no one from the hamletto help to carry them this night. Having weighed these facts, Palkachanged her mind.

  "Well," she said, "it is true that I grow fat, and after labouring allday at this and that have no desire to bear burdens like an ass. So comeif you will, and if you die or evil spirits carry you away, do notadd yourselves to the number of the ghosts, of whom there are too manyhereabouts, and blame me afterwards."

  "On the contrary," I said, "we will make you our heirs," and I laid abag containing some pieces of money upon the table.

  Palka, who was a saving woman, took the money, for I heard it rattle inher hand, hung the jars about my shoulders, and gave Martina the meatand corn in a basket. The flat cakes, however, she carried herself on awooden trencher, because, as she said, she feared lest we should breakthem and anger the ghosts, who liked their food to be well served. Sowe started, and presently entered the mouth of that awful valley which,Martina told me, looked as though it had been riven through the mountainby lightning strokes and then blasted with a curse.

  Up this dry and desolate place, which, she said, was bordered on eitherside by walls of grey and jagged rock, we walked in silence. Only Inoted that the dog which had followed us from the house clung close toour heels and now and again whimpered uneasily.

  "The beast sees what we cannot see," whispered Palka in explanation.

  At last we halted, and I set down the jars at her bidding upon a flatrock which she called the Table of Offerings.

  "See!" she exclaimed to Martina, "those that were placed here threedays ago are all emptied and neatly piled together by the ghosts. I toldHodur that they did this, but he would not believe me. Now let us packthem up in the baskets and begone, for the sun sets and the moon riseswithin the half of an hour. I would not be here in the dark for tenpieces of pure gold."

  "Then go swiftly, Palka," I said, "for we bide here this night."

  "Are you mad?" she asked.

  "Not at all," I answered. "A wise man once told me that if one who isblind can but come face to face with a spirit, he sees it and therebyregains his sight. If you would know the truth, that is why I havewandered so far from my own country to find some land where ghosts maybe met."

  "Now I am sure that you are mad," exclaimed Palka. "Come, Hilda, andleave this fool to make trial of his cure for blindness."

  "Nay," answered Martina, "I must stay with my uncle, although I am verymuch afraid. If I did not, he would beat me afterwards."

  "Beat you! Hodur beat a woman! Oh! you are both mad. Or perhaps you areghosts also. I have thought it once or twice, who at least am sure thatyou are other than you seem. Holy Jesus! this place grows dark, andI tell you it is full of dead kings. May the Saints guard you; atthe least, you'll keep high company at your death. Farewell; whate'erbefalls, blame me not who warned you," and she departed at a run, theempty vessels rattling on her back and the dog yapping behind her.

  When she had gone the silence grew deep.

  "Now, Martina," I whispered, "find some place where we may hide whenceyou can see this Table of Offerings."

  She led me to where a fallen rock lay within a few paces, and behind itwe sat ourselves down in such a position that Martina could watch theTable of Offerings by the light of the moon.

  Here we waited for a long while; it may have been two hours, or three,or four. At least I knew that, although I could see nothing, thesolemnity of that place sank into my soul. I felt as though the deadwere moving about me in the silence. I think it was the same withMartina, for although the night was very hot in that stifling, airlessvalley, she shivered at my side. At last I felt her start and heard herwhisper:

  "I see a figure. It creeps from the shadow of the cliff towards theTable of Offerings."

  "What is it like?" I asked.

  "It is a woman's figure draped in white cloths; she looks about her; shetakes up the offerings and places them in a basket she carries. It isa woman--no ghost--for she drinks from one of the jars. Oh! now themoonlight shines upon her face; it is _that of Heliodore!_"

  I heard and could restrain myself no longer. Leaping up, I ran towardswhere I knew the Table of Offerings to be. I tried to speak, but myvoice choked in my throat. The woman saw or heard me coming through theshadows. At least, uttering a low cry, she fled away, for I caught thesound of her feet on the rocks and sand. Then I tripped over a stone andfell down.

  In a moment Martina was at my side.

  "Truly you are foolish, Olaf," she said. "Did you think that the ladyHeliodore would know you at night, changed as you are and in this garb,that you must rush at her like an angry bull? Now she has gone, andperchance we shall never find her more. Why did you not speak to her?"

  "Because my voice choked within me. Oh! blame me not, Martina. If youknew what it is to love as I do and after so many fears and sorrows----"

  "I trust that I should know also how to control my love," broke inMartina sharply. "Come, waste no more time in talk. Let us search."

  Then she took me by the hand and led me to where she had last seenHeliodore.

  "She has vanished away," she said, "here is nothing but rock."

  "It cannot be," I answered. "Oh! that I had my eyes again, if for anhour, I who was the best tracker in Jutland. See if no stone has beenstirred, Martina. The sand will be damper where it has lain."

  She left me, and presently returned.

  "I have found something," she said. "When Heliodore fled she still heldher basket, which from the look of it was last used by the Pharaohs. Atleast, one of the cakes has fallen from or through it. Come."

  She led me to the cliff, and up it to perhaps twice the height of a man,then round a projecting rock.

  "Here is a hole," she said, "such as jackals might make. Perchance itleads into one of the old tombs whereof the mouth is sealed. It wason the edge of the hole that I found the cake, therefore doubtlessHeliodore went down it. Now, what shall we do?"

  "Follow, I think. Where is it?"

  "Nay, I go first. Give me your hand, Olaf, and lie upon your breast."

  I did so, and presently felt the weight of Martina swinging on my arm.

  "Leave go," she said faintly, like one who is afraid.

  I obeyed, though with doubt, and heard her feet strike upon some floor.

  "Thanks be the saints, all is well," she said. "For aught I knew thishole might have been as deep as that in the Chamber of the Pit. Letyourself down it, feet first, and drop. 'Tis but shallow."

  I did so, and found myself beside Martina.

  "Now, in the darkness you are the better guide," she whispered. "Leadon, I'll follow, holding to your robe."

  So I crept forward warily and safely, as the blind can do, tillpresently she exclaimed,

  "Halt, here is light again. I think that the roof of the tomb, for bythe paintings on the walls such it must be, has fallen in. It seemsto be a kind of central chamber, out of which run great galleries thatslope downwards and are full of bats. Ah! one of them is caught inmy hair. Olaf, I will go no farther. I fear bats more than ghosts, oranything in the world."

  Now, I considered a while till a thought struck me. On my back was mybeggar's harp. I unslung it and swept its chords, and wild and sad theysounded in that solemn place. Then I began to sing an old song thattwice or thrice I had sung with Heliodore in Byzantium. This song toldof a lover seeking his mistress. It was for two voices, since in thesong the mistress a
nswered verse for verse. Here are those of the linesthat I remember, or, rather, the spirit of them rendered into English. Isang the first verse and waited.

  "Dear maid of mine, / I bid my strings Beat on thy shrine / With music's wings. Palace or cell / A shrine I see, If there thou dwell / And answer me."

  There was no answer, so I sang the second verse and once more waited.

  "On thy love's fire / My passion breathes, Wind of Desire / Thy incense wreathes. Greeting! To thee, / Or soon or late, I, bond or free, / Am dedicate."

  And from somewhere far away in the recesses of that great cave came theanswering strophe.

  "O Love sublime / And undismayed, No touch of Time / Upon thee laid. That that is thine; / Ended the quest! I seek _my_ shrine / Upon _thy_ breast."

  Then I laid down the harp.

  At last a voice, the voice of Heliodore speaking whence I knew not,asked,

  "Do the dead sing, or is it a living man? And if so, how is that mannamed?"

  "A living man," I replied, "and he is named Olaf, son of Thorvald,or otherwise Michael. That name was given him in the cathedral atByzantium, where first his eyes fell on a certain Heliodore, daughter ofMagas the Egyptian, whom now he seeks."

  I heard the sound of footsteps creeping towards me and Heliodore's voicesay,

  "Let me see your face, you who name yourself Olaf, for know that inthese haunted tombs ghosts and visions and mocking voices play strangetricks. Why do you hide your face, you who call yourself Olaf?"

  "Because the eyes are gone from it, Heliodore. Irene robbed it of theeyes from jealousy of you, swearing that never more should they beholdyour beauty. Perchance you would not wish to come too near to an eyelessman wrapped in a beggar's robe."

  She looked--I felt her look. She sobbed--I heard her sob, and then herarms were about me and her lips were pressed upon my own.

  So at length came joy such as I cannot tell; the joy of lost love foundagain.