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gained from me. If they be simple refugees as she says, and lovers of music,
they may enjoy the airs from Ascolais; it will repay, in some measure, their
hospitality." He reached into his saddle-bag, brought forth his flute, and
tucked it inside his jerkin.
He ran back to where the girl awaited him.
"You have not told me your name," she reminded him, "that I may introduce you
to my uncle."
"I am Guyal of Sfere, by the River Scaum in Ascolais. And you?"
She smiled, pushing the portal wider. Warm yellow light fell into the cobbled
street.
"I have no name. I need none. There has never been any but my uncle; and when
he speaks, there is no one to answer but I."
Guyal stared in astonishment; then, deeming his wonder too apparent for
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courtesy, he controlled his expression. Perhaps she suspected him of wizardry
and feared to pronounce her name lest he make magic with it.
They entered a flagged hall, and the sound of piping grew louder.
"I will call you Ameth, if I may," said Guyal. "That is a flower of the south,
as golden and kind and fragrant as you seem to be."
She nodded. "You may call me Ameth."
They entered a tapestry-hung chamber, large and warm. A great fire glowed at
one wall, and here stood a table bearing food. On a bench sat the
musician an old man, untidy, unkempt. His white hair hung tangled down his
back; his beard, in no better case, was dirty and yellow. He wore a ragged
kirtle, by no means clean, and the leather of his sandals had broken into dry
cracks.
Strangely, be did not take the flute from his mouth, but kept up his piping;
and the girl in yellow, so Guyal noted, seemed to move in rhythm to the tones.
"Uncle Ludowik," she cried in a gay voice, "I bring you a guest, Sir Guyal of
Sfere."
Guyal looked into the man's face and wondered. The eyes, though somewhat
rheumy with age, were gray and bright feverishly bright and intelligent; and,
so Guyal thought, awake with a strange joy. This joy further puzzled Guyal,
for the lines of the face indicated nothing other than years of misery.
"Perhaps you play?" inquired Ameth. "My uncle is a great musician, and this is
his time for music. He has kept the routine for many years . . ." She turned
and smiled at Ludowik the musician. Guyal nodded politely.
Ameth motioned to the bounteous table. "Eat, Guyal, and I will pour you wine.
Afterwards perhaps you will play the flute for us."
"Gladly," said Guyal, and he noticed how the joy on Ludowik's face grew more
apparent, quivering around the corners of his mouth.
He ate and Ameth poured him golden wine until his head went to reeling.
And never did Ludowik cease his piping now a tender melody of running water,
again a grave tune that told of the lost ocean to the west, another time a
simple melody such as a child might sing at his games. Guyal noted with wonder
how Ameth fitted her mood to the music grave and gay as the music led her.
Strange! thought Guyal. But then people thus isolated were apt to develop
peculiar mannerisms, and they seemed kindly withal.
He finished his meal and stood erect, steadying himself against the table.
Ludowik was playing a lilting tune, a melody of glass birds swinging round and
round on a red string in the sunlight. Ameth came dancing over to him and
stood close very close and he smelled the warm perfume of her loose golden
hair. Her face was happy and wild . . . Peculiar how Ludowik watched so
grimly, and yet without a word. Perhaps he misdoubted a stranger's intent.
Still...
"Now," breathed Ameth, "perhaps you will play the flute; you are so strong and
young." Then she said quickly, as she saw Guyal's eyes widen. "I mean you will
play on the flute for old uncle Ludowik, and he will be happy and go off to
bed and then we will sit and talk far into the night."
"Gladly will I play the flute," said Guyal. Curse the tongue of his, at once
so fluent and yet so numb. It was the wine. "Gladly will I play. I am
accounted quite skillfull at my home manse at Sfere."
He glanced at Ludowik, then stared at the expression of crazy gladness he had
surprised. Marvelous that a man should be so fond of music.
"Then play!" breathed Ameth, urging him a little toward Ludowik and the flute.
"Perhaps," suggested Guyal, "I had better wait till your uncle pauses. I
would seem discourteous "
"No, as soon as you indicate that you wish to play, he will let off.
Merely take the flute. You see," she confided, "he is rather deaf."
"Very well," said Guyal, "except that I have my own flute." And he brought it
out from under his jerkin. "Why what is the matter?" For a startling change
had come over the girl and the old man. A quick light had risen in her eyes,
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and Ludowik's strange gladness had gone, and there was but dull hopelessness
in his eyes, stupid resignation.
Guyal slowly stood back, bewildered. "Do you not wish me to play?"
There was a pause. "Of course," said Ameth, young and charming once more.
"But I'm sure that Uncle Ludowik would enjoy hearing you play his flute. He is
accustomed to the pitch another scale might be unfamiliar . .."
Ludowik nodded, and hope again shone in the rheumy old eyes. It was indeed a
fine flute, Guyal saw, a rich piece of white metal, chased and set with
gold, and Ludowik clutched this flute as if he would never let go.
"Take the flute," suggested Ameth. "He will not mind in the least."
Ludowik shook his head, to signify the absence of his objections. But Guyal,
noting with distaste the long stained beard, also shook his head. "I can play [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
