At first the darkness was impenetrable, black and choking. There was no sound, except for the occasional soft spatter of water that dripped to the stone floor from the mouldy ceiling. Then through a narrow, barred window came the moonlight in a mottled shaft of phosphorescent green, and licked its way across the floor, to the edge of the bier. It shone on two kneeling, crouching figures, and full on the face of the corpse.

The eunuch, a great, gaunt negro, lifted his head and showed his red, rolling eyes and his skin, gleaming like bronze in the moonlight. "He was my friend," he whimpered, bending over the loathsome dead. "He was my friend."

"Aye, aye," mused the jester, fingering the mildewed shroud, "and sooth, he was the finest mute that ever crooked a back in the Bohemian court. Famous he was, all hereabouts, to the marches of the northern sea."

"And so high was he in the king's favor and graces!" snivelled the eunuch. "They shall never find another such as he."

"True, true; and yet hast heard another must be found? The king has thus ordered: another mute must now be gotten to take his place—another just so strange." The jester bent over the face and shuddered. A few swift clouds sped across the moon, and caused the greenish shadows under the misshapen features to flicker and melt grotesquely. Then the light shone clear again and he saw the broken, twisted nose; and the eyes that stared obstinately from their split lids; and the gaping, grinning mouth that, years ago, the torturers had cut wide upon each seared and tattooed cheek; and the swollen, split lips that could not hide where once had been a tongue. He passed his hand along the shroud and lightly touched the ugly hump where the spine had been pressed and snapped, and the slanted shoulders and the twisted hips and legs. "Thou wast so laughable to all the court," he cried. "Thy bones were so comically broken. And now, another must be made for the court's delight, just so comical as thou. Aye, aye," and he sighed heavily, "Jesu have pity on the child's face of some young page or squire."

The iron door behind them swung suddenly open, and a captain of the palace guard clanked into the donjon. The flare of a spluttering flambeau, which he held in his hand, caused them to blink and shrink away, beyond its yellow circle. But he thrust it close to their faces with a cross oath. "Silence," he growled, "cease thy shrill chatterings. What dost thou here, foul black? By what right hast thou left thy post before the ladies' hall—before the chamber of the king's favorite?"

"He was my friend," the eunuch faltered. "I wished to pray for him that was my friend."

"Pray? To thy heathen gods?" Upon his coat of mail the captain thumped a vigorous sign of the cross. "Go, get thee back, lest aught should happen in thy absence. Thou knowest the penalty, both for thee and any gallant that dare pass the Lady Suelva's portal. Thou know'st the penalty," and he slapped his thigh with the flat of the halberd that hung from his girdle.

"Hush!" Faint from across the courtyard came a voice singing, a high fresh tenor voice. The black sprang to his feet and stood rooted in trembling horror. "From what corner of the yard comes that serenading?" thundered the captain. The jester rose to the window; he looked first out into the courtyard, then back at the eunuch, who stood picking nervously at his tunic; then out of the window again. "From below the Lady Suelva's chambers. See! Someone is climbing the winding steps of her balcony!"

"And Lady Suelva? Has she come out on the balcony?"

"I cannot see; a tilting-post stands directly in the way." In the furthest corner of the donjon, a dim black square disclosed an ugly trap leading down to the torture-room. To the trap-door the captain bounded, and from above, they could hear the thump of his feet on the creaking ladder. He was up again in an instant, chuckling viciously. "I found them all asleep, the old torturer and his two sons. But ho! they are awake now—I kicked them hard awake. They have much to do to-night." He stopped for a moment at the big iron door. "Wait here till I return," he commanded, and ran stealthily into the courtyard.

The eunuch fell to his knees again, and prayed jabberingly—this time for his own soul. The jester softly trod the length and breadth of the stone flaggings, and stopped to peer at the corpse and its face. "Jesu ha' mercy," he repeated ofttimes; "Jesu ha' mercy!"

The pulsating suspense broke with the reentrance of the captain. Over his shoulder was slung a dark, limp burden which he swung down and held out in the crook of his thick arms, as if it were a doll.

"Twas a tussle the young peacock gave me," he said thickly. "Look ye—I have lost my flambeau, but come to the window and take a squint at him." He held the figure up to the grating, to where the moon shone pale on its face and tumbled locks and over its gay-colored tunic, and lustered its silken hose.

"By St. Godfrey, what a handsome lad! Who is he?"

"Methinks he is a squire but lately come to court, so there'll be few to miss him, when the night's work is done."

The jester sighed. "So young he is and fair. See that great purple welt across his forehead."

"'Twas where I clubbed him senseless."

"And must thou torture him to death? Must he so surely die?"

"Aye, so run my orders. He will die—and thou too, black. Hold thou my burden, fool, whilst I undo my halberd!"

From the kneeling eunuch came a shriek and moan and incoherent jabbering. The captain cursed and stayed his uplifted arm.

"It is too dark to strike," he growled. "Wait till the moon is from behind that cloud. Ugh! It is black here, pitchy black." A full, heavy minute elapsed, disturbed by the scuffle of the negro's feet as he ran and cowered in the furthest corner, and the soft creaking of the iron door, and a sudden suck and soughing of the night air. Then the moon slipped slyly from its frayed woolly covers, and relit the donjon keep. "Holy God and Father," and the halberd clanked noisily to the floor. In the half open doorway stood the king's favorite, the Lady Suelva. Against the frosted green background of the moonlit courtyard her shimmering robe, her white face and throat, and her long hair of flaming copper stood out gloriously. She did not move, but stayed peering through the unaccustomed gloom, as if to recognize the dark figures before her. The eunuch flung himself at her feet, and squirmed and grovelled. "Save me, lady save me!" But she thrust him from her with a sharp push of her foot.

The captain turned to the jester. "Take down thy burden," he whispered. "Down to the torture room with him."

But the lady heard and came forward. "No," she said imperiously, "lay him down upon the floor, and let me see what has been done with him."

The captain grumbled and swore under his heavy mustache. "Take him away, fool. Do as I bid!"

But the lady stepped between. "Stop! Let me see him." Her voice rose high and shaking; she was fast losing her stately calmness.

The captain sneered. "See him! And why? Have you not seen enough of him this night?"

"No, no! he was but singing to me!"

"Yet I found you with him on the balcony."

"I swear it," she repeated, "he was but singing to me."

The captain heaved his shoulders with so great a shrug that the ringlets of his coat of mail jangled and clinked. "I have my orders," he said, "which come from the king himself."

"The king?" She snapped her fingers. "And who orders the king? He would obey my slightest wish."

"No use, dame. Nor heaven nor hell could save this squire from his death. As for the eunuch, he will mayhap be spared, if thou so wish it. He is thy servant—and his life at thy command." The negro whined and moaned and crept to kiss her feet.

But Suelva flung herself back. "What care I for his foul black hide?
'Tis the young squire's life I crave."

"Then both must die."

"Mother Mary! But let me hold him in my arms." She tore the jester's burden from him, and staggering under its weight, turned to the middle of the room. Then she saw, for the first time, the bier and what it bore. She gasped, and let the squire's body sink in a huddled heap on the floor. "Who is it?" she asked, crossing herself. She looked closer. "Yes, I remember thee, fond old mute. Pha! but thou smellest of the grave. And why have they left thee lying here, this fortnight?"

From the dark corner came a stifled cry and piping gurgle. "My lady, oh, my lady!"

"How now, black; let go my skirt."

"Mistress, let me whisper close. He need not die, thy lover."

"Hast thou some scheme? Quick, tell it to me."

"First speak the word to let me live."

"Aye, we spare thy life—but haste!"

"He is but a young stripling; his bones are not yet set and hardened.
Let him be made the king's mute."

The jester heard the words. He flung himself upon the eunuch, and grasping his throat, throttled him until his black face ran with shiny sweat and his great white eyes hung nearly from their sockets. "I feared that thou wouldst dare to speak of that—squealing coward—I might have known it." Again he whacked the woolly head against the pavement.

The captain dragged them apart. "Why so wroth, fool?" he asked. "Sooth, 'tis a wise plan, and one to save me a deal of trouble. For it was my special commission from the king to furnish a new mute. And since the lad must suffer, lady—come, by the Holy Tokens, I'll make a bond with thee. I'll spare his life, an' ye say nought of it to the king. I'll keep intact his pulse and true heart's beat; and thou, in turn, give me his lower limbs to twist and his doll's face to alter—only to alter slightly," and he laughed lewdly.

Lady Suelva moved to look at the dead mute; but the wily black had thrust himself before the face and hid its loathsomeness. "Do as he bids, mistress," he whispered. "Let thy lover live and love thee. Let him have life."

"And what a life!" cried the jester. "Oh, noble lady, be merciful and let him die."

"Would not the king or some one recognize him?" she asked.

"No," answered the captain; "he is but lately come to court—and anyway, there's none would recognize him after—"

"Might he not some day blurt out the truth?"

"Ho, you forget: mutes make safe lovers, for they have no tongues."

She recoiled. "True. And so, may he love me fearlessly in such a guise?"

"Aye, and thou him—that we promise thee."

She dropped to her knees, beside the unconscious squire. She took his head in her lap, and with her warm hands brushed back the locks from his bruised forehead. "He is so beautiful," she sighed, wavering. "It were a shame—"

"He would never be beautiful again," said the jester.

"Rather an ugly lover than a dead one," retorted the captain.

Lady Suelva fell to sobbing. "Canst thou not spare him altogether?"

"Nay! nay!" He stamped his foot impatiently. "And it were best to hurry."

"Only wait till he awakes from the hard blow thou gavest him. He will decide for himself."

"'Twill be by far less painful if done now."

"Then take him."

"Think well and long," said the jester. "'Tis a life of hell thou wouldst prolong him to. The jeers, the coarse and ribald laughter of the court, the scorn and teasing—aye—God! I know the life, for I too suffer as a courtier's play-thing—and yet, I have a straight body and a human face and a tongue to answer with. What canst thou offer him to compensate for all his loss and misery?"

She looked up proudly. "My love. Is it not enough?"

The fool bowed. "It must be, when kings crave for it. Yet beauty such as thine can only love the beautiful."

"Then I shall pity him—with all my heart's strength; I'll comfort his poor life with sweetest pity."

"Lady, pity is the meanest gate of love."

The captain growled and swung his halberd viciously. "Keep thy wit for the king's ear," he said. "The lady Suelva hath spoken her decision. We dally no longer." He bent down and lifted the squire's body over his back. Then he turned to the eunuch. "Take thou the old mute's corpse. I have kept his carcass these seven days; to serve as a pattern. So carry it down."

The black's eyes dilated again, and he shrank back. "I dare not touch it. He was my friend."

"Bah. Then take thou my load," and in exchange the captain slung the corpse across his own shoulders. As he crossed the room, the loose head showed upside-down over his back, bobbing and flabbily wagging its grin-split face.

The lady stared at it rigidly. She seized the jester's arm. "And is his face to be a counterpart of that one?"

"Aye—every feature exactly."

The captain threw open the trap-door and went down the ladder. The eunuch, staggering a little under the squire's weight, followed him and disappeared from view. Suelva ran forward a few steps as if to call them back; then she stopped short, hand at breast.

"'Tis too late," said the jester bitterly, and shut down the trap-door.

"God pity me," she sobbed. "I was too selfish of his life—and of his love."

"And now, be sure, he will do naught but hate thee!"

As if to spite her overwrought emotions, she turned on him sharply.
"Thou art impertinent, fool."

He smiled sadly. "Unpleasant truths must ever seem impertinent—but they are no less true. An' I be the court fool, pray, noble lady, what art thou? We be all king's play-things—my wit and thy beauty and the mute's deformities. For all of us sweet life is slowly spoiled—for the mute and me by scorn and snickerings; for thee by the cold glitter of lavished finery and callous flattery. That squire, young and beautiful and bursting with ambition, was only a play-thing, too—thy toy, to dally with and break."

"Nay, nay! I loved him dearly and so shall for all time."

The jester laughed shortly. "I had not meant for thee to glance upon this scene," he said, "but if 'twere best, then look, lady, look!" and he threw open the trap. A great red light flared up into the donjon, and waved and danced along the moon-green walls. The empty bier seemed licked in ruddy flames, and on the moist mould of the ceiling, each little drop of water sparkled like a ruby.

"Look at him," repeated the jester. "Shrink not; they are only heating the irons."

She crept to the edge of the trap, and peered down, fascinated. "Who are those huge hairy men, with wild beasts' faces?" she asked.

"The torturers."

"Oh! what have they done to his hair—to all his long, pretty locks? How strange he looks with his head shaven thus! And see! what is the torturer to do with that glowing iron in his hand? Ugh!" and she fell back, near swooning.

There was a sudden sizzle of burnt flesh and stenching smoke.

"Look," commanded the jester. "Look again."

"I dare not—nay, I cannot," and she flung herself away from the trap, and lay at full length on the floor, with the moon and the furnace light reflecting a mad swirl of color over her upturned, staring face. For some moments she lay there, and above her stood the jester. Neither spoke nor moved; they could only listen and listen to the noises below them: the soft purring of the furnace-fire; the scuffle of the workers' feet; the deadened clank of instruments; the faint groans of the insensible youth; the binding, searing, ripping of flesh; the crack and crunch of bones.

"Quick," cried the jester, "before they bandage him; quick! look again," and when she shrank further back, he pushed her forward to the very edge of the trap, until she could not help but see. "And couldst thou love him now?" he asked, and keenly searched her face.

She said no word, but slightly swayed from side to side. She threw her hands before her eyes, and dug her fists deep into them, as if to blot the sight from her memory. She crouched, stunned and sickened. Her hands dropped back to her breast; and the jester saw the expression of her features.

There was no sign of love in her face; there was no tenderness or pity. Only black horror and disgust; only a sullen, disappointed rage, and a scowling disgust.

"They have made him as ugly as the king's gorillas," she sobbed. "Ugh! he is ugly!"

The jester nodded his head mockingly. "Thou art right. They have made him too foul for thee ever to love, have they not?"

"Love? God! I could not love a beast like that."

"Nor couldst thou even pity him—is he not too foul even for pity?"

"Nay, I'd never dare to pity such a thing. He is too horrible, too loathsome. I would swoon if he touched me."

"What, lady, neither love nor pity? Yet this may merely be a passing sickness of the humours. To-morrow thou mayest love him better than before."

"Love?" She was fast growing hysterical. "I could never bear the sight of such a mangled dwarf." Thrusting her hand inside her dress, she drew out a gleaming bodkin, and flung it at the fool's feet. "Kill him," she screamed, "kill him!" Then she rose unsteadily and staggered out the iron door.

"Kill him!" the jester echoed. "Merciful Mary, I thank thee!" and, concealing the bodkin in his blouse, he descended the ladder, to help the captain and the torturers in their work.

An hour later, the squire's corpse was thrown over the castle walls. "'Tis a shame," growled the captain; "he would have made so fine a mute. One of the torturers' knives must ha' slipped, whilst they were cutting out his tongue. For I noticed that the spinal cord was severed at the base of the mouth—and that is a sure death, you know."

"So? I had not known that," said the jester softly, and he smiled to himself.

The old dead mute was placed back on his bier and the trap-door shut down. "So now I must hunt for another page or squire," growled the captain, and he clanked wrathfully out of the donjon.

The jester stayed a little while, to pray for the mute's soul and for the squire's soul and for his own. Then he too rose and, swinging the iron door behind him, left the corpse alone. The moonlight shone dimly and more dimly through the grating, and soon had disappeared. It left the donjon keep in total darkness, and in a stillness broken only by the dripping of water from the mouldy ceiling.

Literary Monthly, 1910.