The leper said, “Nevertheless—”
“To many ladies of romance and of legend,” Alfgar continued, now that his mind was upon this matter, “has my heart been given likewise; and those queens who ruled most notably in the world’s youth have ruled also in my heart, because it is the way of Ecben to know that every woman is holy and more fine than a man may ever be—”
To that the leper answered, without any doubtfulness, “Stuff and nonsense!”
“—And moreover,” Alfgar said, with the quiet pertinacity of an aged person, “it is the way of youth to desire that which cannot ever be attained.”
“These reflections appear as handsome as they are irrelevant,” the leper returned.” Now that you have done with your interminable and very foolish talking, I cry to you for my proper gift, in the name of no harem, but in the name of Ettarre.”
“And in that that most dear name,” said Alfgar, “I grant all askings.”
So then the leper told his asking, and Alfgar sighed. Yet, in that grave and lordly manner of his, which merely rational persons found unendurable, decrepit Alfgar said:
“I will not depart from the old way of Ecben. Therefore I may not deny to anybody that which is asked in the name of my lady in domnei. And indeed, it may be that I shall make shift well enough, even so. For I have seen the face of Ettarre, and I desire only to retain my loyal memories of that beauty which had in it not any flaw.”
The leper replied, “Loyalty is a fine jewel; yet many that wear it die beggars.”
Then the leper touched the eyes of Alfgar, and Alfgar fared onward upon a gray and windy way. But the leper arose, and put off his black robe, and from behind the rock upon which he had been sitting he took up the most sharp of scythes and the oldest of all hour glasses.
Chapter XI. How Time Passed
THEN this very old, lean man cried out “Oho!” and yet again he cried “Oho!” and, after that, he went away chuckling, and saying to himself:
“I have well repaired the hurt honor of the gods of Rorn. I have well dealt with this Alfgar who, because of his fond notions, has yielded up to me willingly that which other men give perforce. For I take this toll from all. There is no youth which I do not lead into corruption; there is no loveliness but becomes my pillage; and man’s magnanimity begets no bustlings which I do not quiet by and by. I chill faith. I teach hope to deride itself. I parch charity. The strong cities, which withstand the battalions and the arbalests and the scaling ladders, may not withstand me. I play with kingdoms. Oho, but I play with every kingdom as I played with Atlantis and with Chaldea and with Carthage and with Troy. I break my playthings. I ignore neither the duke nor the plowman. All withers under my touch, and is not any longer remembered anywhere upon earth.”
After that the old man said:
“The earth itself I waste away into a cinder adrift in that wind which fans the flickering of the stars. I know this assuredly, for my skill is proved, and in heaven I keep always before me the cold, quiet moon as a model of what I mean to make of this earth. Oho, and in heaven also, all gods observe me with the alert eyes which rabbits turn toward the hound who is not yet upon their scent. They know that I alone exalt the Heavenly Ones, and that for some while I humor them, as I today have humored the vexed minds of the gods of Rorn. Yet these Heavenly Ones well know what in the end I make of their omnipotence. Let Kuri and Uwardowa, and Kogi also, have a care of my industry! The road behind me is littered with despoiled temples. The majesty of many gods is the dust in that roadway.”
And this very old, lean man said likewise:
“But the road before me, oho, but the road before me, is obscure. Its goal is not known. If there be any power above me, it is not known. If there be any purpose anywhere in my all-ruining labor, it is not known. Yet if that power exists, and if that purpose and that goal be set, I pray that these may end my endless laboring by and by, for I am old and tired, and there is no joy to be got out of my laboring.”
PART THREE: Of Alfgar in the Grayness
“The Touch of Time does More than the Club of Hercules.”
Chapter XII. The Way of All Women
IT IS told that infirm old Alfgar passed on a gray road beneath gray skies, and about him blew that wind which fans the flickering of the stars. The first woman that he met there was gray and fat as a fed coffin worm. She mumbled, between toothless gums,—
“Tarry! for I am that Cathra who was your first love.”
And it is told also that the second woman he met was gray and lean. A piping voice came out of her lank quivering jaws, and that voice said,—
“Tarry! for I am Olwen whom you loved with your whole heart.”
Then Hrefna, and Guen, and Lliach, and Astrid, and Una, and all the other most dear maids that Alfgar had followed after in his youth, cried out their willingness to reward his love. Ettaine came also, bent and infirm and gray; her withered, hands trembled, and her guts rumbled rattlingly, in the while that Ettaine was saying,—
“Tarry, delight of both my eyes!”
For youth had long ago gone out of these maidens; the years had pilfered their sweet colorings; and time had so nibbled away every part of their comeliness, that these were but gray and decayed old harridans who leered and cackled and broke wind as each plucked at Alfgar’s ragged sleeve in the windy grayness.
The gaunt tall King trudged onward.
But here, the gray way was littered to the right hand and to the left hand with a scattering of papers which flutteringly rose up in the persistent wind, and these also spoke with Alfgar.
“Tarry! for I am Oriana, the most faithful and most fair of all women,” was the first thin whispering that the old King heard: “but Amadis is far from this place, so let us now take our glad fill of love.”
Then another paper rustled: “I am Aude. Roland loved me until his death, and it was of Roland’s death that I died; but for your dear love’s sake I live again.”
And a third paper lisped:” I am Yseult, Mark’s queen. But I loved a harper, and the music of this Tristram made all my life a music. Not even death might still that music, for our names endure as one song that answers to another song. But Alfgar now is my one love.”
He saw then that upon these papers were very crudely drawn the figures of women, in old and faded colors, and he so knew that he was being wooed by the fairest ladies of romance and of legend. But these swept about him futilely, adrift in the wind which fans the flickering of the stars: and all these paper figures were smutched with the thumb marks and the fly droppings and the dim grime of uncountable years. So did they pass as tatterings of soiled, splotched paper in which time had left no magic and no warmth and no beauty.
Alfgar sighed: but he went onward.
Then very many skeletons came crying out to Alfgar. And the first skeleton said:
“Tarry! for I am Cleopatra. I am that one Cleopatra whose name yet lives. All the large world lay in this little hand, as my plaything. I ruled the South and North: and I ruled merrily, as became the daughter of Ra, the Lord of Crowns, and the well beloved of Amen-Ra, the Lord of the Throne of the Two Lands. The war drums and the shoutings of the legions under their tall crests of red horsehair could not prevail against the sweetness of my laughter: with one kiss I conquered Caesar, and all his army. Then Antony brought me new kingdoms, and with each of these, and with him also, I played as I desired, at the price of yet another kiss. But my third lover was more wise and cold than were these Roman captains, and yet I died of his kissing, because that dusty-colored, horned worm was too fiercely enamored of my loveliness.”