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CHAPTER XVIII
We are now in a room in the castle of the cruel king, on top of the hill.
The four walls of the room were grim and forbidding of aspect. The tapestry covering them in places was old and of somber design. There were two doors opening to the room: one on the right and one on the left. At the far side of the room there was a deep-silled window with leaded panes through which a dreary light struggled.
At first you would have said that the room was empty; and then you would have perceived the Masked Lady and Mr. Literal, occupying a position among the shadows, not far from the deep-silled window.
The Masked Lady was again wearing the white garment in which we first beheld her. She was seated before a desk, writing in a large book in which you could see a few initial letters in red, outlined in gold.
Mr. Literal stood by her, regarding her with an impatient, puzzled air. And presently it would have seemed that he could no longer endure her silence; for he asked in a fault-finding tone:
"Can you tell me what you're doing here? This place is—is genuine. And of late it has been your fancy to haunt places which have existed only in the imaginations of the story-tellers."
Without looking up from the Book of Truth (for this was the volume in which she was writing) the Masked Lady replied: "Did you say that this place is genuine?"
"Of course," said Mr. Literal. "We are in a medieval castle in Northampton—the castle of King John of England. King John or his chamberlain is likely to enter at any moment. And goodness knows what they'd say at finding you here."
The Masked Lady turned a page. "King John would not see me here if he were to enter," said she; "no, neither here nor anywhere. And as for honest old Hubert de Burgh … well, perhaps I have a purpose in being here. You have said this place is genuine; yet I sometimes wonder if any place in all the world is so unreal as the palace of a king." She gazed before her dreamily for an instant and added, "I can see a day coming when all such palaces will be viewed by wondering, emancipated people, their minds filled with incredulity: because they will realize that kings' palaces have represented the most terrible delusion of all."
There was a footfall without at that moment, and the Masked Lady resumed her writing.
A bluff, soldierly-appearing man of middle age entered the room: a bearded man of harsh visage, yet with an eye in which justice sat enthroned. He looked about the room with an air of dawning relief; and when two villainous-looking rascals followed him into the room he remarked, with a sigh: "He's not here. And that's a bit of luck at least—to have no one about whilst we mix this devil's brew." Then more briskly: "A red-hot iron—red-hot, do you hear?—in a hurry!"
The first attendant, to whom he had spoken, glanced darkly at the second door of the room, which remained closed. "A hot iron? Yes, sir," he said, trying to speak naturally. "It shall be prepared."
The second attendant seemed incapable of remaining silent—after the manner of sorry men. "It will be quite simple, sir," he said.
Hubert de Burgh (for the soldierly-appearing man was he) turned upon them fiercely. "Enough!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how men of your breed go about a task like this, but Hubert de Burgh has always faced the truth. Listen: When you've fetched me the hot iron you'll hide behind the tapestry there. And when I stamp on the floor you'll come quickly and bind him hand and foot."
The first attendant found courage to say: "Bind him? A little lad like that? A man might do the job with one hand without half trying."
But Hubert de Burgh gazed at the man darkly. "Look you, fellow," he said, "there are forces besides a man's hands which are powerful. His very helplessness and innocence … I think they shall paralyze my hands and make me helpless. Do as I say: bind the boy and stand near, ready to lend a hand."
Whereupon the first and second attendants withdrew, staring as if with terror at the unopened door near which they had to pass.
Hubert de Burgh took no further notice of them, but dropped into a chair and stared straight before him.
At this point Mr. Literal began rubbing his hands and smiling with pleased excitement. "It seems," he remarked to the Masked Lady, "that we're to be in on a really famous event—the slaying of Prince Arthur. It's a great opportunity of its kind. It will give me a chance to confute the historians who have quarreled among themselves about how the poor boy met his death. How—er—how should you say he dies?"
The Masked Lady replied tranquilly: "He does not die. He lives forever to proclaim to all mankind that the way of kings is an evil way."
It was now that Hubert de Burgh bestirred himself as if he could no longer bear to be alone with his thoughts. He cried out sharply—"Arthur! Arthur!"
The second door now opened and Prince Arthur appeared: a handsome boy, perhaps fourteen years of age, straight of limb and noble of countenance. He wore a velvet suit, including knee breeches and silk hose and gaiters, and a jacket with a flowing lace collar.
He regarded Hubert de Burgh with dull eyes which slowly began to brighten. "Oh, it's you?" he cried after a pause. And then, "If you could know how glad I am to see you!" And then, falteringly, "Hubert—when you were a boy, were you ever kept hidden away as if you meant ill to every one?"
And now he approached Hubert with a wistful air, and leaned against his knee, and placed his hand on his shoulder.
But the chamberlain flinched beneath the weight of that light hand. "There, there, Arthur!—take your hand away!" he said. And then, with an attempt to be severe, "We'll have none of that, you know!"
Prince Arthur pondered, and then his eyes brightened. "I'm glad you said that, Hubert," he declared. "If you feel that way toward me you can tell me why—why all the others feel so. Every face I look into seems either to pity or to hate me; and I'd so like people to be friendly. Tell me, why must I take my hand away?"
The stern man plucked at his beard thoughtfully; and suddenly he turned to the boy with a quality of stern candor which was a true prince's due. "Listen, boy," he said. "It is the fate of kings to tremble at many things: at the too great misery of their subjects, at their too great liberty; at the touch of those who claim to be friends, at the whisper of a foe's voice. They have taught themselves that they rule by divine right, yet they move by day and by night like any thief who carries booty beneath his cloak when he walks before those in authority, or like one who is wounded unto death who would hide his wound from a strong adversary. Your Uncle John fears you, Arthur, because his throne is yours by right—if there were such a thing as right to any throne. And he has willed that you must die. He has appointed me … but there, I must to my task. No struggling, now—no resistence. It will be better so. The king's will be done."
He would have summoned his attendants then, but Prince Arthur stayed him with one more question. "And how would you take my life, dear Hubert?" he asked in a gentle voice.
But this the chamberlain would not tell him. Instead he stamped on the floor and the two attendants entered hurriedly, one bearing a hot iron and the other a cord with which to bind the prince's hands and feet. "These," said Hubert, "will make plain the manner of the deed."
But Arthur only clapped his hands in mirth. "It is your way of jesting, Hubert," he said, "to amuse me." But there was a catch in his voice as he continued, "It is your way of driving away the shadows which hang about me always. Dear Hubert, I know what a kind heart you have!"
But despite these brave words he turned pale and suddenly clapped his hands to his eyes to shut out the terrible vision he had beheld.
Hubert cried out huskily to the attendants, "Bind him—and be quick!"
With this the attendants seized the prince, one on either side. Yet they paused when they perceived that the prince wished to speak: a final word to the chamberlain. The boy had turned upon Hubert a calm glance. A strange stillness had come over him. He spoke in a low, intense voice—
"Do not permit them to bind me," he said. "It would be shameful for a prince to be bound. I know you were not speaking in jest, but please do not let them bind me, as if I were a slave. I shall think of you as my friend—as long as my hands are free. Come, Hubert … do you recall how, when your head once ached, I put my handkerchief about it to comfort you? It was one that a princess did make for me. Remember how I have loved you—and do not let them bind me!"
His plea prevailed. "So—then they shall not!" cried Hubert. And to the attendants he exclaimed fiercely, "Begone! Did I not bid you be swift, that the very blood in my veins should not turn to water? Fellows—begone! It may be that my task will be easier if I work alone and he resist me."
The two attendants turned in terror before the wrath of the chamberlain and fled. And before Hubert had withdrawn his eyes from their retreating forms certain strange events came to pass.
The Masked Lady had remained, strangely tranquil, before the Book of Truth; but now she lifted her eyes, because the great windows with their leaded panes had been thrust open. Outside the open windows there were revealed the head and shoulders of the giant, Will o'Dreams.
The giant paused long enough to take in the scene before him, and then he disappeared in great agitation.
A moment later he had reappeared and had lifted Everychild to a level with the window sill.