The Certain Hour (Dizain des Poëtes)Cabell, James Branch
General
The Certain Hour (Dizain des Poëtes)
Cabell, James Branch
Fantasy fiction; Short stories
Count Eglamore plucked aimlessly at his chin. Then he laughed as a dog
yelps. He dropped the gloves which he had held till this,
deliberately, as if the act were a rite. His shoulders straightened
and purpose seemed to flow into the man. "No," he said quietly, "I
will not have it. It was not altogether I who made a brain-sick beast
of you, my prince; but even so, I have never been too nice to profit by
your vices. I have taken my thrifty toll of abomination, I have stood
by contentedly, not urging you on, yet never trying to stay you, as you
waded deeper and ever deeper into the filth of your debaucheries,
because meanwhile you left me so much power. Yes, in some part it is
my own handiwork which is my ruin. I accept it. Nevertheless, you
shall not harm this child."
"I venture to remind you, Eglamore, that I am still the master of this
duchy." Alessandro was languidly amused, and had begun to regard his
adversary with real curiosity.
"Oh, yes, but that is nothing to me. At court you are the master. At
court I have seen mothers raise the veil from their daughters' faces,
with smiles that were more loathsome than the grimaces of a fiend,
because you happened to be passing. But here in these woods, your
highness, I see only the woman I love and the man who has insulted her."
"This is very admirable fooling," the Duke considered. "So all the
world is changed and Pandarus is transformed into Hector? These are
sonorous words, Eglamore, but with what deeds do you propose to back
them?"
"By killing you, your highness."
"So!" said the Duke. "The farce ascends in interest." He drew with a
flourish, with actual animation, for sottish, debauched and
power-crazed as this man was, he came of a race to whom danger was a
cordial. "Very luckily a sword forms part of your disguise, so let us
amuse ourselves. It is always diverting to kill, and if by any chance
you kill me I shall at least be rid of the intolerable knowledge that
to-morrow will be just like to-day." The Duke descended blithely into
the level road and placed himself on guard.
Then both men silently went about the business in hand. Both were
oddly calm, almost as if preoccupied by some more important matter to
be settled later. The two swords clashed, gleamed rigidly for an
instant, and then their rapid interplay, so far as vision went, melted
into a flickering snarl of silver, for the sun was high and each man's
shadow was huddled under him. Then Eglamore thrust savagely and in the
act trod the edge of a puddle, and fell ignominiously prostrate. His
sword was wrenched ten feet from him, for the Duke had parried
skilfully. Eglamore lay thus at Alessandro's mercy.
"Well, well!" the Duke cried petulantly, "and am I to be kept waiting
forever? You were a thought quicker in obeying my caprices yesterday.
Get up, you muddy lout, and let us kill each other with some pretension
of adroitness."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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