Аврам Дэвидсон - Peregrine - primus

Peregrine reached out to uphold him, but the man eluded his grasp, fell to his knees, and kissed Peregrine’s feet. Then he raised his head, and embracing the knees of the man who had freed him, said, “I am your liege man of love and of loyalty and of all homage and all honor, of all duty, even unto death, from now and forever.” Peregrine, who had never heard such words before, was nonetheless extremely moved, and, not knowing what to do, raised Julianus up and embraced him.

“Now, there seems to be a novel and an interesting philosophy in those phrases,” said Volumnius. “In these days of crumbling empire and divided faith one does seem to feel the need of something more to cling to, even if it is only another man’s knees . . .”

All the city was quiet as they emerged. There had been, of course, another way out — Peregrine had somehow known that there must be. They had frighted a great rat, as they peered and poked about there under the ground, and, by the familiar old trick of following it (familiar old tricks have generally become familiar and old because they so often work) as it darted into a particularly large pile of bones, they had found that other way. And then it was, inexplicably to his companions, that Peregrine said that he would turn back.

“Tut-tut,” said Volumnius. “This is surely carrying gamesmanship too far.”

“No, lord, no,” said Julianus, kneeling once again, this time in supplication.

The sight of him seemed to awaken something in Peregrine’s mind. “Indeed, it was not for love of the dungeon crypt that I wanted to go back,” he explained, “In fact, that would be doing it the hard way. Julianus, though I know you not, one thing about you is certain, for it was that one thing which brought us both so close to death. Tell me how I may find my way to her— more safely than before, I need not say—if such is possible.”

It was clear that Julianus felt his vow or pledge or oath as well as that same grateful inclination of the heart which had produced it, required that he go with Peregrine. But his terror at the thought of once more falling into the hands of Sulla was too great. “Only tell me,” said Peregrine. “Is there such a way?”

Julianus considered, there in the quiet street, whilst all the city slept. Then, slowly, his bowed head came up, and he nodded. “Openly, there is no way where for sure he may not find his way. But. . . between the walls . . . Yes. There is a way . . .”

And so it was that Peregrine found his way, and through deeper darkness at first than that of the crypt, with a wall brushing him on either hand and pressing close. And after many a turning he saw a glimmer of light. And, measuring his breaths and his heartbeats, he came to a halt. And pressed his eye to the chink in the wall.

There she was, sitting upright in her chair, a lamp on her desk, and her tablets open in her lap. “What place did Austin mention?” she asked. And answered herself, “He did indeed mention many places. He spoke of the sea more than once. Thalassa, thalassa, he would say. He mentioned Rome and Ravenna and

Byzantium. He spoke of the great forests. And, to be sure, he mentioned the desert and the pyramidal treasure-houses of the Ptolemies . . . but, too, he spoke regretfully of the great heats and thirsts of the deserts as travellers have told.”

Peregrine raised his hand to tap gently. But that inch or so between upraised hand and wall, his hand never travelled. For, as though coming from almost directly beneath it, a voice spoke, familiar and unfamiliar, slow and dreamy and deep. “Now, easier might this one sib of his find his own way through the trackless maze of the great northern forests, and up from the bottom of the deep, black sea, and across deserts with their heats and thirsts as travellers have told, than ever he shall find his way up and out from where he now lies and is lodged.”

“In a way it is too bad,” she said. “It is too bad in a way. For he did nothing, you know. Some absurd scruple concerning his brother prevented him, I think.”

A wordless sound of quiet rage and smothering hate came from the man sitting against the wall. “No scruple, absurd or otherwise, concerning me, did in any way prevent his brother— enough! This one has by virtue of his blood endorsed that other one’s note: and now payment is demanded. And pay he shall. For, whilst it is true that the other’s guilt did in no wise exceed yours, still and still and still, you are my wife whom I love and must forgive: and they others must I neither. Therefore, he must suffer, he shall and he will. —Eh? As others have before him? Yes, and, I fear, as others shall, after him. Thus it is and will be, as long as you are you and I am I.

There was the sound of a chair scraping. “But I waste time, for even now I feel my rage growing hot and strong within me. If not by the rack, then by other means. And you must come with me, and watch, and see what you have brought about.”

Clothilda sighed and Clothilda nodded and Clothilda arose.

If it be so, then so be it. I cannot in either event either prevent or help. And if I, by looking on, shall suffer, well, let it be my punishment. For though not faithful, I am loyal. In my way I love you very much.

He took up the lamp, she took his hand, arm in arm they went out. Peregrine, feeling rather sick, followed by his own way. The lamp flickered like a fire-fly, the gardens were cool. It still

lacked some hours till day. He flitted behind them on his toes and over the damp and springy turf, from hedge to hedge. The thick door to the crypt gave some trouble, as—he now recalled, it had the first time—but then there had been several men to strain. At length, however, Sulla and his lady wife had it open. And Peregrine heard him say, “Let this piece of wood serve as shim to keep it open until we return, for by then I shall be weakened. It is always so . ..”

And she murmured something sympathetic. And the dim light dwindled, and was gone.

There was, there had been no doubt in Peregrine’s mind as to what he was going to do. He waited just what he considered long enough. Then he took up the shim. Its wood was soft, and splintered easily. He broke off some splinters of it and shoved them into the keyhole, jamming them with his hand. Then he leaned against the door until he heard the dull heavy click. Stay there, forever, of course, they would not; much though he would have wished it so. Sooner or later, if the couple did not discover the other way out, some household staff would bethink them of the crypt. Their laird’s ways surely could not be unknown to all of those who served him. But, and until then

Turning swiftly, his hands fixed in such wise as to grasp and throw whoever might lurk behind, he recognized a faint but paunchy figure. “Excuse me, sir,” said a familiar voice, “but are you not the young man whom we not long ago left securely, or so we thought, shackled in the dungeon crypt?”

“And if I am, what then . . . Sempronius?”

“It is very civil of you, sir, to remember my name. Many a person in your then position might have never even noticed it, but, then, I always say, Breeding is breeding, and that s what counts. Being of breeding, then, sir, you would not wish to hold against me any actions at which I was obliged to assist on my master’s orders. And of course a sorcerer of great skill, which it is hardly needful to acknowledge you must be in order to have escaped, wouldn’t be bothering—may I not say ‘Your Honor’?wouldn’t be bothering to afflict an enchantment upon me- ”

“Stop babbling and spit it out.”

Sempronius coughed again. “The it of it, sir and Your Honor, is that I perceive that where my master now is, is a very good place for him to is—that is, I mean, to be. And it was in my