Thus Manuel came again to Freydis. He had his first private talk with her in a room that was hung with black and gold brocade. White mats lay upon the ground, and placed irregularly about the room were large brass vases filled with lotus blossoms. Here Freydis sat on a three-legged stool, in conference with a panther. From the ceiling hung rigid blue and orange and reddish-brown serpents, all dead and embalmed; and in the middle of the ceiling was painted a face which was not quite human, looking downward, with evil eyes half closed, and with its mouth half open in discomfortable laughter.
Freydis was clad in scarlet completely, and, as has been said, a golden panther was talking to her when Dom Manuel came in. She at once dismissed the beast, which smiled amicably at Dom Manuel, and then arched high its back in the manner of all the cat tribe, and so flattened out into a thin transparent goldness, and, flickering, vanished upward as a flame leaves a lampwick.
“Well, well, you bade me come to you, dear friend, when I had need of you,” says Manuel, very cordially shaking hands, “and nobody’s need could be more great than mine.”
“Different people have different needs,” Freydis replied, rather gravely, “but all passes in this world.”
“Friendship, however, does not pass, I hope.”
She answered slowly: “It is we who pass, so that the young Manuel whom I loved in a summer that is gone, is nowadays as perished as that summer’s gay leaves. What, grizzled fighting-man, have you to do with that young Manuel who had comeliness and youth and courage, but no human pity and no constant love? and why should I be harboring his lighthearted mischiefs against you? Ah, no, gray Manuel, you are quite certain no woman would do that; and people say you are shrewd. So I bid you very welcome to Sargyll, where my will is the only law.”
“You at least have not changed,” Dom Manuel replied, with utter truth, “for you appear today, if anything, more fair and young than you were that first night upon Morven when I evoked you from tall flames to lend life to the image I had made. Well, that seems now a lengthy while ago, and I make no more images.”
“Your wife would be considering it a waste of time,” Queen Freydis estimated.
“No, that is not quite the way it is. For Niafer is the dearest and most dutiful of women, and she never crosses my wishes in anything.”
Freydis now smiled a little, for she saw that Manuel believed he was speaking veraciously. “At all events,” said Freydis, “it is a queer thing surely that in the month which is to come the stork will be fetching your second child to a woman resting under my roof and in my golden bed. Yes, Thurinel has just been telling me of your plan, and it is a queer thing. Yet it is a far queerer thing that your first child, whom no stork fetched nor had any say in shaping, but whom you made of clay to the will of your proud youth and in your proud youth’s likeness, should be limping about the world somewhere in the appearance of a strapping tall young fellow, and that you should know nothing about his doings.”
“Ah! what have you heard? and what do you know about him, Freydis?”
“I suspicion many things, gray Manuel, by virtue of my dabblings in that gray art which makes neither for good nor evil.”
“Yes,” said Manuel, practically, “but what do you know?”
She took his hand again. “I know that in Sargyll, where my will is the only law, you are welcome, false friend and very faithless lover.”
He could get no more out of her, as they stood there under the painted face which looked down upon them with discomfortable laughter.
So Manuel and Niafer remained at Sargyll until the baby should be delivered. King Ferdinand, then in the midst of another campaign against the Moors, could do nothing for his vassal just now. But glittering messengers came from Raymond Bérenger, and from King Helmas, and from Queen Stultitia, each to discuss this and that possible alliance and aid by and by. Everybody was very friendly if rather vague. But Manuel for the present considered only Niafer and the baby that was to come, and he let statecraft bide.
Then two other ships, that were laden with Duke Asmund’s men, came also, in an attempt to capture Manuel: so Freydis despatched a sending which caused these soldiers to run about the decks howling like wolves, and to fling away their swords and winged helmets, and to fight one against the other with hands and teeth until all were slain.
The month passed thus uneventfully. And Niafer and Freydis became the best and most intimate of friends, and their cordiality to each other could not but have appeared to the discerning rather ominous.
“She seems to be a very good-hearted sort of a person,” Niafer conceded, in matrimonial privacy, “though certainly she is rather queer. Why, Manuel, she showed me this afternoon ten of the drollest figures to which—but, no, you would never guess it in the world—to which she is going to give life some day, just as you did to me when you got my looks and legs and pretty much everything else all wrong.”
“When does she mean to quicken them?” Dom Manuel asked: and he added, “Not that I did, dear snip, but I shall not argue about it.”
“Why,
