The Greatest Occult & Supernatural Tales of Marjorie Bowen. Bowen Marjorie
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So cold is she, so cloistered cold” . . .
Theirry sat up, conscious of a burning, aching head and a room flooded with sunshine.
“To her my sins are all confest —
So wise is she, so wise and old —
So I blow off my loves like the thistledown”
A burst of laughter interrupted the song; Theirry knew now that it was Balthasar’s voice, and he rose from the couch with a sense of haste and discomfiture.
What hour was it?
The day was of a drowsing heat; the glare of the sun had taken all colour out of the walls opposite, the grass and vines; they all blazed together, a shimmer of gold.
“So I blow off my loves like the thistledown
And ride from the gates of Courtrai town” . . .
Theirry descended.
He found Balthasar in the workshop; there were the remains of a meal on the table, and the Knight, red and fresh as a rose, was polishing up his sword handle, singing the while, as if in pleased expression of his own thoughts.
In the corner sat Dirk, drawn into himself and gilding the devil.
Theirry was conscious of a great dislike to Balthasar; ghosts nor devils, nor the thought of them had troubled his repose; there was annoyance in the fact that he had slept well, eaten well, and was now singing in sheer careless gaiety of heart; yet what other side of life should a mere animal like Balthasar know?
Dirk looked up, then quickly down again; Theirry sank on a stool by the table.
Balthasar turned to him.
“Are you sick?” he asked, wide-eyed.
The scholar’s dishevelled appearance, haggard eyes, tumbled locks and peevish gathering of the brows, justified his comment, but Theirry turned an angry eye on him.
“Something sick,” he answered curtly. Balthasar glanced from him to Dirk’s back, bending over his work.
“There is much companionship to be got from learned men, truly!” he remarked; his blue eyes and white teeth flashed in a half amusement; he put one foot on a chair and balanced his glittering sword across his knee; Theirry averted a bitter gaze from his young splendour, but Balthasar laughed and broke into his song again.
“My heart’s a nun within my breast,
So proud is she, so hard and proud,
Absolving me, she gives me rest” . . .
“We part ways here,” said Theirry.
“So soon?” asked the Knight, then sang indifferently —
“So I blow off my loves like the thistledown.
And ride through the gates of Courtrai town.” . . .
Theirry glanced now at his bright face, smooth yellow hair and gorgeous vestments. “Ay,” he said. “I go to Basle.”
“And I to Frankfort; still, we might have kept company a little longer.”
“I have other plans,” said Theirry shortly.
Balthasar smiled good-humouredly.
“You are not wont to be so evil-tempered,” he remarked.
Then he looked from one to the other; silent both and unresponsive.
“I will even take my leave;” he laid the great glittering sword across the table.
Dirk turned on his stool with the roll of gilding in his hand.
At his cold gaze, that seemed to hold something of enmity and an unfriendly knowledge, Balthasar’s dazzlingly fresh face flushed deeper in the cheeks.
“Since I have been so manifestly unwelcome,” he said, “I will pay for what I have had of you.” Dirk rose.
“You mistake,” he answered. “I have been pleased to see you for many reasons, Balthasar of Courtrai.”
The young Knight thrust his hands into his linked belt and eyed the speaker.
“You condemn me,” he said defiantly. “Well, Theirry is more to your mind —”
He opened his purse of curiously cut and coloured leather, and taking from it four gold coins laid them on the corner of the table.
“So you may buy masses for the soul of Ursula of Rooselaare.” He indicated the money with a swaggering gesture.
“Think you her soul is lost?” queried Dirk.
“A choired saint is glad of prayers,” returned Balthasar. “But you are in an ill mood, master, so good-bye to you and God send you sweeter manners when next we meet.”
He moved to the door, vivid blue and gold and purple; without looking back he flung on his orange hat.
Theirry roused himself and turned with a reluctant interest.
“You are going to Frankfort?” he asked.
“Ay,” Balthasar nodded pleasantly. “I shall see in the town to the hire of a horse and man —— mine own beast being lamed, as you know, Theirry.”
The scholar rose.
“Why do you go to Frankfort?” he asked. He spoke with no object, in a half-sick envy of the Knight’s gaiety and light-heartedness, but Balthasar coloured for the second time.
“All men go to Frankfort,” he answered. “Is not the Emperor there?”
Theirry lifted his shoulders.
“’Tis no matter of mine.”
“Nay,” said Balthasar, who appeared to have been both disturbed and confused by the question, “no more than it is my affair to ask you — why go you to Basle?”
The scholar’s eyes gleamed behind his thick lashes.
“It is very clear why I go to Basle. To study medicine and philosophy.”
They quitted the room, leaving Dirk looking covertly after them, and were proceeding through the dusty, neglected rooms.
“I do not like the place,” said Balthasar. “Nor yet the youth. But he has served my purpose.” And now they were in the hall.
“We shall meet again,” said Theirry, opening the door.
The Knight turned his bright face.
“Like enough,” he answered easily. “Farewell.” With that and a smile he was swinging off across the cobbles, tightening his sword straps.
Against the sun-dried, decayed houses, across the grass-grown square his vivid garments flashed and his voice came over his shoulder through the hot blue air —
“So I blew off my loves like the thistledown And rode through the gates of Courtrai town.”
Theirry watched him disappear round the angle of the houses, then bolted the door and returned to the workroom.
Dirk was standing very much as he had left him, half resting against the table with the roll of gilding in his white fingers.
“What do you know of that man?” he asked as Theirry entered. “Where did you meet him?” “Balthasar?”
“Yea.”
Theirry frowned.
“At his father’s house. I taught his sister music. There was, in a manner, some friendship between us . . . we both wearied of Courtrai . . . so it came we were together. I never loved him.” Dirk returned quietly to the now completely gilded devil.
“Know you anything of the woman he spoke of?” he asked.
“Did he speak of one?”