Under King Constantine Part 4

KATHa.n.a.l.

The sky was one unbroken pall of gray, Casting a gloom upon the restless sea, Dulling her sapphire splendour to a dark And minor beauty. All the rock-bound sh.o.r.e Was silent, save a widowed song-bird sang Far off at intervals a mournful note, And on the broken crags of dark gray rock The waves dashed ceaselessly. Sir Katha.n.a.l Stood with uncovered head and folded arms, His soul as restless as the surging sea Lashed into pa.s.sion by the coming storm.

His helmet lay upon the sand; its crest, A floating plume of deep-hued violet, Was tossed and torn in fury by the wind Until it seemed a thing of life. He stood And watched it, only half aware at first That it was there, then scarce aware of aught Besides the plume. As in the room of death Some iterated sound or motion holds Attent the stricken mind, benumbed, and keeps The horror of its grief awhile at bay As by a spell, so now, though Katha.n.a.l Had sought the sea-sh.o.r.e to be free of men Because of his sore agony of heart, And all the pa.s.sion of his daring soul Was tossing like the sea in fierce revolt, His thoughts and gaze were centred on his crest.

Before the gray of sea and sky he saw Naught but the waving, waving of the plume; Before the vision of his love, Leorre, Her tender eyes aglow with changeless light, The golden splendour of her sunny hair, Her winning smiles of grace and sweetness blent, There came the waving, waving of the plume; Between his sorrow and his weary soul, Between his trouble and his clear-eyed self, There came the waving, waving of the plume; Until he felt, in some half-conscious way, It was his heart, and he a stranger there That looked down, from a height, indifferent Upon it at the mercy of the wind.

Sudden, with that long lingering trace of youth That gave to him the fascinating charm Which other men were fain to emulate, He quickly stooped, and tore it from his helm, And cast it far out on the tossing sea.

It lighted on the waves a purple bird, Floating with swan-like grace before the wind.

The action quenched impatience. Katha.n.a.l, Impulsive, pa.s.sionate and sensitive, In moods was ever ready with response To omen and to change of circ.u.mstance.

He stood a moment, and then forward sprang To catch it ere it vanished out of reach.

It was too late--the outward-flowing tide Bore it from wave to wave beyond his sight.

"Ah, G.o.d!" he cried aloud, "what have I done?

It is the omen of a curse to me; My crest is gone, my knightly symbol lost, My helm dishonoured through an act of mine."

Then came the memory of early youth, The recollection of a high resolve To keep his manhood free from touch of stain, To be a knight like Galahad, pure and true.

So few short years had pa.s.sed since that resolve, And yet he had forgotten loyalty And truth and honour for the fair Leorre, The wife of Reginault, his patron knight,-- The brave old man who treated him as son.

Long had he loved her with a knightly love, And fought for her, and chosen her the queen Of many a tournament. She still was young, Fairer than morning in the early spring.

When she had come, a gladsome bride, to grace The castle of old Reginault, and warm His grand old spirit into youth again, Sir Katha.n.a.l had bowed before her, saying, "My gracious lady, take me as your knight"; And she had answered, with her winning smile, "You are Sir Reginault's, and therefore mine."

Well had he loved her from that very hour, Giving her honour as his old friend's bride, Making the castle ring with merriment To do her service, and fulfil the best Of Reginault, who bade him use his grace To make her life a round of holidays.

But day by day his selfish love had grown From friendly service to a lover's claim, Until he had forgotten Reginault In her fair eyes, and all things else but her, Who granted him no boon, no smallest act Of love or tenderness.

At last the strife Between deep yearning for some touch of love, And brave endeavour for self-mastery, Had driven him to madness and despair.

To the lone sea he brought his agony To face it boldly, and his spirit, quick To wear new moods, caught a despondent gloom From the dark omen that oppressed his soul.

"Love is divine," he said, "and it is well To love Leorre, wife though she be, for love Is free to n.o.ble natures; but at last, When in her shining eyes I see response, Albeit unconscious, to my longing pain, I cannot rest content with boonless love, Although divine. I fear me, if I stay Within the circle of her tempting charm, I shall, through some wild impulse, wantonly Fling my unsullied knighthood to the winds, As now I flung the plume from out my helm."

He went at even-song time to Leorre, And told her of his struggle by the sea, Of his determined purpose and resolve.

"Leorre, I love you with a love unsung By poets, and unknown by other men, Undreamed by women; I must leave you, dear; I cannot see you fair for Reginault, I cannot watch your sweetness not for me.

I will go far upon some distant quest Until this frenzy ceases, and the quest Shall be for you, my love, for you alone.

"Dear, sunny head that lights my darkened way With its bright, golden glory, let me seek A crown that well befits it for my quest.

Fair waist that curves beneath the heart I love, I shall engirdle you with priceless gems Won by my prowess for your perfect grace.

O wondrous neck! great l.u.s.trous, flawless pearls, That shall be royal in their worth, to match The white enchantment of your beauty fair, Shall be my quest for you.

"I will not come Back to the court of Constantine, Leorre, Until I bring that which shall honour you, And winning which, I shall have cooled my pain."

She came and knelt beside him, took his hand, Looked deep into his ardent eyes,--her own Like stars that shone into his inmost soul.

"Will you, indeed, go forth," she answered low, "Across the world upon a quest for me?

And will you falter not, nor swerve, nor fail, Nor turn aside from seeking, night nor day, Until you conquer with your prowess rare The prize for me? And may I choose the quest I most desire?"

"Ah! surely, what you will,"

Said Katha.n.a.l, as echo to his eyes, Which answered ere the words could form themselves.

She waited, silently; the room was still; Sir Katha.n.a.l was faint from drinking deep, With thirsty eyes, the beauty of her face.

At last she spoke, almost inaudibly, But evermore the thought of her low speech Made melody within his memory.

"Go forth, my knight of love, o'er land and sea, And purify your spirit and your life, And seek until you find the Holy Grail, Keeping the vision ever in your thought, The inspiration ever in your soul.

Let Tristram yield his loyalty and honour For fair Isoud, and die inglorious,-- Let Launcelot in Guenever's embrace Forget the consecrated vows he swore, And bring dark desolation on the land,-- My knight must grow the greater through his love, The better for my favour, the more pure!

More than all gifts, or wealth of royal dower, I want, I crave, I claim this boon of thee."

Between the bronze-brown of his eyes and her, There sudden came a faint and misty veil; Through the wide-open window a sun's beam Flashed on it, making o'er her bowed head A halo from his own unfallen tears.

He rose and lifted her, loosed her sweet hands, And fell upon his knees low at her feet.

"Leorre, my love, my queen, my woman-saint, I am not worthy, but I take your quest; I will not falter and I will not swerve Until I see the Grail, or pa.s.s to where I see the glory it but symbols here, In Paradise. Beloved, all the world Is better for your living, all the air Is sweeter for your breathing, and all love Is holier, purer, that you may be loved."

"Rise, Katha.n.a.l, stand still and let me gaze Upon you with that purpose in your face!

So brave, so resolute! I love you, Katha.n.a.l!

Nay! do not touch me, listen to my words!

Surely it cannot be a sin to speak, Perchance it is a debt I owe my knight For his life's consecration, once to say To him, as I have said to my own heart, Just how I love him.

"I would follow you Across the world, if it might be, a slave, To serve you at your bidding night and day; Or I would rouse me to my highest pride That I might be your queen, and lead you on To glory. I am strong to do and bear The uttermost my mind can think, for you, To cheer you, help you, strengthen you; and yet-- I am a woman, and my senses thrill If you but touch the border of my robe, And if you take my hand, before the court, And raise it to your lips, I faint, I die, With the vast tide of my unconquered love."

"Great Christ! how can I hear you and depart?

I did not know you loved me. O my sweet, Here by your side I stay; my quest shall be The love-light dawning in your shining eyes."

"Is this your answer, Katha.n.a.l," she sighed, "To the unveiling of my heart of hearts?

No! now, if ever, you will surely go On the sole quest that makes that action right."

"Leorre, come once to me!" he said with arms Outstretched to her. Quickly she backward drew With one swift whispered "Katha.n.a.l!"

"Leorre, You cannot love and be so calm and still; My soul would sacrifice both earth and heaven For one full, rapturous kiss from those sweet lips That lure me on to madness by their spell."

"It is my love that keeps me calm," she said; "Love makes us strong for what is bitterest; Were we faint-hearted through imperfect love We could not part; but loving perfectly We are full strong for that, and all things else.

"Farewell, my Katha.n.a.l, take as you go This spotless scarf, the girdle from my robe, And put it where the purple plume has been, And wear it as my favour in your helm.

If that lost plume was darksome omen ill, Let this defy it with an omen fair, A prophecy to spur you on your quest.

My heart says it is better as it is; I joy me that you flung into the sea That purple plume my loving, longing gaze Has often followed in the tournament.

Remember, purple doth betoken pain, And white betokens conquest, purity; Look, Katha.n.a.l, beloved, in my eyes!

I _know_ that you will find the Holy Grail."

She stood immaculate, and from those eyes That oft had kindled pa.s.sionate desire He drew an inspiration high and pure, A prescient sense of victory and peace, And falling on his knees once more, he bowed, Kissed her white robe, and left her standing there.

Then followed days of struggle and dark gloom.

Far from the court he found a lonely cell, Where morn and night he prayed, and, praying, wrought A score of earnest, unrecorded deeds To purify and cleanse himself from sin.

Oft the old pa.s.sion would arise and sweep His spirit bare of every conquest Once The longing and the yearning were so great, So strong beyond all thought of holiness, He sprang up from his bed at dead of night And stopped not, night nor day, until he reached His old home by the sea, and saw Leorre.

Her hair had its untarnished golden glow, Her beauty was unchanged, but her sweet mouth Had caught a touch of pathos in its smile; She wore a purple robe, and stood in state Beside Sir Reginault,--who greeted him With tender, grave, and kind solicitude,-- And lifted eyes that smote upon his heart With a long gaze of pa.s.sionate appeal That held a pain at bay deep in their depths.

"So weak," he whispered to his heart, "for self, I will be strong for her, she needs my strength."

Again he hurried from her sight, half glad For the remembered pain within her eyes; Ashamed of his own soul that it was glad.