Jurgen - James Branch Cabell (reading a book TXT) 📗

Heitman Michael does his next dancing it will not be hereabouts.”

Jurgen had decided what he must do.

And then Heitman Michael saluted them civilly. “But I fear I must rob you of this fair lady, Master Jurgen,” says he.

Jurgen remembered that the man had said precisely this a score of years ago; and that Jurgen had mumbled polite regrets, and had stood aside while Heitman Michael bore off Dorothy to dance with him. And this dance had been the beginning of intimacy between Heitman Michael and Dorothy.

“Heitman,” says Jurgen, “the bereavement which you threaten is very happily spared me, since, as it happens, the next dance is to be mine.”

“We can but leave it to the lady,” says Heitman Michael, laughing.

“Not I,” says Jurgen. “For I know too well what would come of that. I intend to leave my destiny to no one.”

“Your conduct, Master Jurgen, is somewhat strange,” observed Heitman Michael.

“Ah, but I will show you a thing yet stranger. For, look you, there seem to be three of us here on this terrace. Yet I can assure you there are four.”

“Read me the riddle, my boy, and have done.”

“The fourth of us, Heitman, is a goddess that wears a speckled garment and has black wings. She can boast of no temples, and no priests cry to her anywhere, because she is the only deity whom no prayers can move or any sacrifices placate. I allude, sir, to the eldest daughter of Nox and Erebus.”

“You speak of death, I take it.”

“Your apprehension, Heitman, is nimble. Even so, it is not quick enough, I fear, to forerun the whims of goddesses. Indeed, what person could have foreseen that this implacable lady would have taken such a strong fancy for your company.”

“Ah, my young bantam,” replies Heitman Michael, “it is quite true that she and I are acquainted. I may even boast of having despatched one or two stout warriors to serve her underground. Now, as I divine your meaning, you plan that I should decrease her obligation by sending her a whippersnapper.”

“My notion, Heitman, is that since this dark goddess is about to leave us, she should not, in common gallantry, be permitted to go hence unaccompanied. I propose, therefore, that we forthwith decide who is to be her escort.”

Now Heitman Michael had drawn his sword. “You are insane. But you extend an invitation which I have never yet refused.”

“Heitman,” cries Jurgen, in honest gratitude and admiration, “I bear you no ill-will. But it is highly necessary you die tonight, in order that my soul may not perish too many years before my body.”

With that he too whipped out his sword.

So they fought. Now Jurgen was a very acceptable swordsman, but from the start he found in Heitman Michael his master. Jurgen had never reckoned upon that, and he considered it annoying. If Heitman Michael perforated Jurgen the future would be altered, certainly, but not quite as Jurgen had decided it ought to be remodeled. So this unlooked-for complication seemed preposterous, and Jurgen began to be irritated by the suspicion that he was getting himself killed for nothing at all.

Meanwhile his unruffled tall antagonist seemed but to play with Jurgen, so that Jurgen was steadily forced back toward the balustrade. And presently Jurgen’s sword was twisted from his hand, and sent flashing over the balustrade, into the public highway.

“So now, Master Jurgen,” says Heitman Michael, “that is the end of your nonsense. Why, no, there is not any occasion to posture like a statue. I do not intend to kill you. Why the devil’s name, should I? To do so would only get me an ill name with your parents: and besides it is infinitely more pleasant to dance with this lady, just as I first intended.” And he turned gaily toward Madame Dorothy.

But Jurgen found this outcome of affairs insufferable. This man was stronger than he, this man was of the sort that takes and uses gallantly all the world’s prizes which mere poets can but respectfully admire. All was to do again: Heitman Michael, in his own hateful phrase, would act just as he had first intended, and Jurgen would be brushed aside by the man’s brute strength. This man would take away Dorothy, and leave the life of Jurgen to become a business which Jurgen remembered with distaste. It was unfair.

So Jurgen snatched out his dagger, and drove it deep into the undefended back of Heitman Michael. Three times young Jurgen stabbed and hacked the burly soldier, just underneath the left ribs. Even in his fury Jurgen remembered to strike on the left side.

It was all very quickly done. Heitman Michael’s arms jerked upward, and in the moonlight his fingers spread and clutched. He made curious gurgling noises. Then the strength went from his knees, so that he toppled backward. His head fell upon Jurgen’s shoulder, resting there for an instant fraternally; and as Jurgen shuddered away from the abhorred contact, the body of Heitman Michael collapsed. Now he lay staring upward, dead at the feet of his murderer. He was horrible looking, but he was quite dead.

“What will become of you?” Dorothy whispered, after a while. “Oh, Jurgen, it was foully done, that which you did was infamous! What will become of you, my dear?”

“I will take my doom,” says Jurgen, “and without whimpering, so that I get justice. But I shall certainly insist upon justice.” Then Jurgen raised his face to the bright heavens. “The man was stronger than I and wanted what I wanted. So I have compromised with necessity, in the only way I could make sure of getting that which was requisite to me. I cry for justice to the power that gave him strength and gave me weakness, and gave to each of us his desires. That which I have done, I have done. Now judge!”

Then Jurgen tugged and shoved the heavy body of Heitman Michael, until it lay well out of sight, under the bench upon which Jurgen and Dorothy had