“Not yet,” said Rodvard, lifting his head from arms wrapped around his knees. “You said she would stay to talk with the fat priest. . . . In this light, your eyes are green.”
237
“It is the sign of a bad temper, my mother tells me. She looked in the waters for me once, and says that when I am married, I will be a frightful2 shrew.” (It was almost too much trouble to move, she was glad even to make a slender line of conversation that would hold her immobile in the calm twilight3.)
“Then you must be fated to marry a bad man. I do not see—if you really loved someone, how could you be shrewish with them?”
“Oh, the girls of our heritage cannot marry for love. It is the tradition of the witch-families.” She sat up suddenly. “Now I must absolutely go.”
He placed his hand over hers, where it rested on the long green moss4 under the cedars5. “Absolutely, I will not let you go. I will bind6 you with hard bonds, till you tell me more about your family. Do you really have a Blue Star?”
“My mother does. . . . I do not know. My father would never use it, that is why we are so poor. He said it was wrong and dangerous. My mother’s father used it though, she says, before she got it from him. It was he who told her to choose my father. He was a Capellan in the army, you know, and was killed in the war at the siege of Sedad Mir. My mother’s father could read through the Star that my father wanted my mother for herself and not for her heritage. It was a love-match, but now there is no one that can use the Star.” (Lalette thought: I really must not tell stories like that that are not true, it only slipped out because I do not wish to go back and hear her talking about Count Cleudi again.)
“Could not you sell it?” asked Rodvard.
“Who would buy it? It would be a confession7 that someone wanted to practice witchery, and then the priests would come down and there’d be a church trial. It is a very strange thing and a burden to have witchery in one’s blood.” She shuddered8 a little (attracted and yet depressed9, as always when it was a question of That). “I do not want to be a witch, ever—”
“Why, I would think—” began Rodvard, (really thinking that in spite of her beauty, this was the reason she more than a little repelled).
“—and have people hating me, and those who want to like me not sure whether they really do, or whether it is only another witchery. The only real friend my mother has is Uncle Bontembi, and that’s because he’s a priest, and I don’t think he’s a real friend either, but keeps watch of her so that when she makes a witchery he can collect another fine for the Church.” Rodvard felt the small hand clench10 beneath his own. “I’ll never marry, and stay a virgin11, and will not be a witch!”
238
“What would happen to the Blue Star then? You have no sisters, have you?”
“Only a brother, and he went overseas to Mancherei when the Prophet began to preach there. Somebody said he went beyond to the Green Isles12 afterward13, when the Prophet left. We do not hear from him any more. . . . But he couldn’t use the Blue Star anyway, unless he were bound with a girl from one of the other families, who could witch it for him.”
Overhead the sky was deepening, with one faint easterly star agleam, a long slow smoke rose in convolutions from the chimney of a cot down there, (and Rodvard thought desperately14 of the lovely light-haired girl who had come so many times to search witch-family records at his clerk’s cabinet in the Office of Pedigree, but she was a baron’s daughter by her badge, and even if he did obtain the Blue Star from this one, and used it to win the light-haired girl, then Lalette would be a witch and put a spell on him—oh tangle15!). The hand within his stirred.
“I must go,” said Lalette again. (He looks something like Cleudi, she was thinking, but not so old and hard and a little romantic, and he had eye enough to catch the wonderful tiny flash of green among the blue when the sun dipped under.)
“Ah, no. You shall not go, not yet. This is a magic evening and we will keep it forever till all’s dark.”
Her face softened16 a trifle in the fading light, but she pulled to withdraw her hand. “Truly.”
He clung the tighter, feeling heart-beat, vein-beat in the momentary17 small struggle. “What if I will not let you go till lantern-glass and the gates are closed?”
”Then Uncle Bontembi will expect me to make a confession and if I do not, he will put a fine on me, and it will be bad for my mother because we are so poor.”
“But if I kept you, it would be to run away with you, ah, far beyond the Shining Mountains, and live with you forever.”
Her hand went passive again, she leaned toward him a trifle, as though to see more surely the expression on his face. “Do you mean that, Rodvard Bergelin?”
He caught breath. “Why—why should I say it else?”
“You do not. Let me go, let me go, or I’ll make you.” She half turned, trying to rise, bringing the other hand to help pull loose his fingers.
“Will you witch me, witch?” he cried, struggling, and his grasp slipped to her wrist.
239
“No—.” She snatched at the held hand with the other, catching19 the thumb and crying fiercely; “I’ll break my own finger, I swear it, if you do not let go.”
“No. . . .” He flung her two hands apart. Lithe20 as a serpent, she wrung21 one and then the other from his grasp, but it was with an effort that carried her off balance and supine asprawl. He rolled on his hip22 to pin her down, hands on her elbows, breast to breast, and was kissing her half-opened mouth till she stopped trying, turning her face from his and whispering: “Let me go. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.”
“I will not,” and he released one hand to feel where the maddening sensation of her breast came against him and the laces began. (The thought was fleetingly23 seen in the camera obscura of his inner mind that he did not love her and would have to pay for this somehow.)
“Let me go!” she cried again in a strangled voice, and convulsing, struck him on the side of the head with her free hand. At that moment the laces gave, her hand came round his head instead of against it, drawing his face down in a long sobbing24 kiss, through which a murmur26, softer than a whisper; “All right, oh, all right, go on.” (There was one little flash of triumph across her mind, one trouble solved, Cleudi would never want her now.)
Afterward, he knelt to kiss her skirt-hem. Her lips were compressed at the center, a little raised at the corners. “Now I understand,” said she; but he did not, and all the way home was eaten by the most dreadful cold fear that she would revenge herself on him with a witchery that would leave him stark27 idiot or smitten28 with dreadful disease. And the other, the other; his mind would not form her name, and there was a cry within him.
II
All three of them were waiting, with that man of Count Cleudi’s—the olive-skinned one with such intense eyes—what was his name? Lalette curtsied; Uncle Bontembi smiled. Said Cleudi; “Mathurin, the baskets. I commenced to think we should miss the pleasure of your company tonight, charming Demoiselle Lalette, and my heart was desolated30.”
“Oh,” she said, (thinking—what if they knew?). “But here is Uncle Bontembi who will tell you that to be desolate29 of heart is to serve evil and not true religion, since God wishes us to be happy; for since he has created us in his image, it must be an image of delight.”
240
“You reason like an angel, Demoiselle Lalette; permit that I salute31 you.” She moved just enough to make his kiss fall on her cheek. Dame32 Leonalda simpered, but there was, flick33 and gone again, a frown across Cleudi’s high-cheekboned face. “What a lovely color your daughter has!”
Mathurin laid out the table with napkins which he unfolded from the baskets. There were oysters34 packed in snow; bubbling wine; a pastry35 of truffles and pike-livers; small artichokes pickled entire, peaches that must have come from the south, since it was only peach-blossom time in Dossola; white bread; a ham enriched with spices; honeyed small sweetmeats of dwarf36 fruit. (If he were only more to me and less for himself, thought Lalette, he might be possible; for he does not stint37.) They sat down with herself and her mother opposite each other and the two men at the sides of the table, so small that knees touched. Mathurin the servant stood beside her chair, but flitted round to give to the rest as occasion demanded. Cleudi discoursed—a thousand things, eating with his left hand and letting his right now and again drop to touch the fabric38 over Lalette’s leg, which, laughing with talk and wine, she did not deny him. (An aura, like a perfume of virility39 and desire and pleasure, emanated40 from him; Lalette felt as though she were swaying slightly in her seat.)
“Lalette Asterhax; the name has fifteen letters,” said Cleudi, “and the sum of one and five is six, which fails by one the mystical number of seven. Look also, how you may take it by another route, L being the twelfth letter of the alphabet, so that to it, there is added one for A, another twelve for the second L and so on, the sum of all being eighty-seven.” (He has prepared this in advance, she thought.) “Being itself summed up again this eighty-seven is fifteen, so it is evident that you will be incomplete and thus lacking in happiness, until united with a man who can supply the missing figures.”
“I am not sure that the Church would approve your doctrine,” said Uncle Bontembi. He had moved his chair around to place his arm over the back of Dame Leonalda’s, and she had thrown her head back to rest on the arm.
“You are clearly wrong, my friend,” said Cleudi. “The Church itself takes cognizance of the power of numbers, which are the sign-manual of enlistment41 under God against evil, rather than being the protection itself, as some ignorant persons would make them. Look, does not the Church in Dossola have seven Episcopals? Are there not seven varieties of angels, and is it not dulcet42 to make seven prayers within the period? Whereas it is the heretical followers43 of the Prophet who deny the value of numbers.”
241
“Then,” said Lalette, “I must never complete myself by union with you; for you have five letters and the seven of my first name being added to them, make twelve, which is three by your manner of computation, and an evil omen18.”
Cleudi laughed. “All, divine Lalette, your reasoning is unreason.” He poured more wine. “For it is clear that man and woman are each incomplete by themselves, not to be completed until they are united; else we were not so formed. Now such union is manifestly to the pleasure of God, since he arranged it thus, so that if anything prevent true union, it must be contrary to the ordinance44 of God. Is this not exact, Uncle Bontembi?”
Through Dame Leonalda’s giggle45 the priest smiled, his face curling in wrinkles around the fat. “Your lordship lacks only the oath and a drop of oil in the palm to be an Episcopal. I resign in your favor my chance of preferment.”
“But I’ll resign no chance of preferment.” Cleudi reached to squeeze Lalette’s hand, where it lay on the table. “A stroke of fortune. I happened to fall in with His Grace the Chancellor46 only this morning. He spoke47 of the difficulty in finance, which is such that—would you believe it?—there is even some question whether Her Majesty48 will be able to take her summer holiday in the mountains.”
Dame Leonalda raised her head. “Oh, oh, the disgrace!” she sighed.
“I do not see the stroke of fortune,” said Lalette simply.
“A disgrace, yes,” said Cleudi, his mobile face for a moment morose49. “But I was happily able to suggest to His Grace that the matter of taxes be placed in the hands of the lords of court, themselves to be taxed an amount equal to that due from their seignories, and they to collect it within their estates.”
“Again—the stroke of fortune?” said Lalette, not much interested, as she dipped a finger in the wine and drew arabesques50 on the table-napkin in the damp.
“His Grace was so much charmed with my plan that he offered me a place in the service, with the directorate of the lottery51, so that I now am happy enough to be no more a Tritulaccan, but Dossolan by service of adoption52.” He lifted his glass to Lalette. “I shall drink to your grey eyes, and you to my fortune.”
The glasses touched. “I do wish you good fortune,” she said.
“What better fortune could there be than to have you attend with me the first opera-ball of the season, and make the drawing of the lottery as its queen?”
242
Said Uncle Bontembi, in a voice as rich as though he were addressing a congregation; “Spring is the season most calculated to show forth53 the victory of God over evil and the beginning of new growth and happiness. Not only do we celebrate the return of the sun, but the rejection54 of darkness, as the former Prince and false Prophet.” Lalette did not look at him.
“I will send a costumer to make you one of the new puffed55 bodices in—yes, I think it must be red for your coloring . . .” began Cleudi, and then stopped, his eyes seeming to jut56 from their sockets57, as he stared at the wet design under Lalette’s finger. Her own gaze focussed, and suddenly she felt tired and very old and not wine-struck any more, for without thinking at all she had traced the witch-patterns her mother taught her long ago, and now they were smoking gently on the table-cloth.
“Witchery!” croaked58 the Count, but recovered faster than the shock itself, and slid in one motion to his feet, with an ironical59 bow. “Madame, my congratulations on your skill in deception60, which should take you far. You and your precious mother made me believe you pure.”
“Yes, witchery.” She was up, too. “It would have been the same in all cases. I don’t want your filthy61 costume and your filthy scudi. Now, go!” Before he could sign himself, she splashed him with a spray of the dazzling drops from her fingertips. “Go, in the name of Trustemus and Vaton, before I bid you go in such a manner you can never rest again.”
Off to one side Lalette heard her mother sob25; Cleudi’s face took on a look of dogged blankness. Without another word he let his hands drop loose to his side, trotted62 to the door and through it. Cried Uncle Bontembi; “We’ll see to her later. I must release him,” and rushed after, his fingers fumbling63 in his robe for the holy oil, his flesh sagging64 in grey bags above his jowls.
Lalette sat down slowly, (her mind devoid65 of any thought save a kind of regretful calm now she had done it), as her mother raised a face where tears had streaked66 the powder. “Oh, Lalette, how could you—” (the girl felt a wild flutter of being trapped again), but both had forgotten the servant Mathurin, who stepped forward to grip urgently at Lalette’s elbow. “Rodvard Bergelin?” he demanded, and she recoiled67 from the temper of his face, then remembered her new-won power, and touched his hand lightly as though to brush it away, saying:
“And what business of yours if it was?”
243
“He is the only one can save you. The Blue Star, quickly! Cleudi will never forgive you. He’ll have you before the Court of Deacons; he’ll—” He ran round the table to Dame Leonalda. “Madame, where is the Blue Star? It belongs to your daughter, and she must leave on the moment. You will not know her if she has the torturers to deal with.”
The older woman only collapsed68 into a passion of alcoholic69 sobbing, head on arms across the table. “I suppose I must trust you,” said Lalette. “I think I know where it is.”
“Believe me, you must. He is as cruel as a crocodile; would strew70 your grave afterward with poems written by himself, but not till he has the fullest pains from you. . . . Is it in that?”
Lalette had pulled aside her mother’s bed, beneath which lay the old leather portmanteau with the bar-lock. Mathurin tried it once, twice; it would not give. Before the girl could protest, he whipped a knife like a steel tongue from beneath his jacket and expertly slashed71 around the fastening. The portmanteau fell open on a collection of such small gauds and bits of clothing as women treasure, Mathurin shovelling72 them onto the floor with both hands until at the back he came on an old, old wooden box, maybe a handsquare across, with a crack in the wood and a thin slab73 of marble that might once have borne an inscription74 set in its cover.
“That must be it,” said Lalette, “though I have seen it only outside the case. I cannot be certain now.”
“Why?”
“A witchery is needed, and—”
“Get your cloak and what money you have. Rodvard lives in the Street of the Weavers75, the third house on the left as you turn in, the one with the blue door. Do not wait; I must attend my master.”
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1
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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2
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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6
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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8
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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clench
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| vt.捏紧（拳头等），咬紧（牙齿等），紧紧握住 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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13
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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15
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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16
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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17
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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fleetingly
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| adv.飞快地，疾驰地 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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31
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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32
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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33
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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38
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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39
virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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40
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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41
enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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42
dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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43
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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44
ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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45
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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46
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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49
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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50
arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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51
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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52
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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53
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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54
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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55
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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56
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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57
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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59
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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60
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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62
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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63
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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64
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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66
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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67
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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68
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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69
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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72
shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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73
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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74
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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