MADOUC Page 10

  Madouc's mouth dropped. "Am I to return to Sarris?"

  "Where else?" asked Twisk, somewhat tartly.

  "We could live together in a pretty little castle of our own, perhaps beside the sea."

  "That would not be practical. You are quite suitably housed at Sarris. But remember: no one must learn of our meeting - King Casmir, in particular!"

  "Why so? Though I had no intention of telling him."

  "It is a complicated story. He knows that you are a changeling, but, try as he might, he has never been able to identify Suldrun's true child. Were he to know-and he would force the truth from you-he would send out assassins, and Dhrun would soon be dead."

  Madouc grimaced. "Why should he do such a terrible deed?"

  "Because of a prediction in regard to Suldrun's first-born son, which causes him anxiety. Only the priest Umphred knows the secret and he hugs it close, at least for the moment. Now then, Madouc, while this has been an interesting occasion-"

  "Not yet! There is still much to talk about! Will we meet again soon?"

  Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. "I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans."

  "I am not sure whether I live in a flux or not," said Madouc. "I know only that Devonet and Chiodys call me ‘bastard' and insist that I lack all pedigree."

  "In a formal sense, they are correct, if somewhat rude."

  Madouc spoke wistfully: "I suspected as much. Still, I would like to know the name of my father and all the particulars of his personality and condition."

  Twisk laughed. "You pose a conundrum I cannot even begin to solve."

  Madouc spoke in shock: "You cannot remember his name?"

  "No.

  "Nor his rank? Nor his race? Nor his appearance?"

  "The episode occurred long ago. I cannot recall every trifling incident of my life."

  "Still, since he was my father, he was surely a gentleman of rank, with a very long and fine pedigree."

  "I remember no such individual."

  "It seems, then, that I cannot even claim to be a bastard of high degree!"

  Twisk had become bored with the subject. "Make whatever claim you like; no one can disprove you, not even I! In any case, bastard or not, you are still reckoned to be Princess Madouc of Lyonesse! This is an enviable estate!"

  From the corner of her eye Madouc glimpsed a flicker of green and blue. "Zocco has returned."

  Zocco reported his findings. "Neither corpse nor cadaver made itself known, and I adjudged the issue to be moot. Proceeding eastward along Old Street, I discovered two rogues on horseback. Fat Sammikin sat high on a tall bay like the hump on a camel. Ossip Longshanks bestrode a dappled pony, with his feet dragging the ground."

  "Alas, poor Tyfer!" mourned Madouc.

  Twisk asked: "And how did you resolve the case?"

  "The horses are tethered in the paddock. The rogues are running across Lanklyn Down pursued by bears."

  "Sammikin perhaps should have been transformed into a toad and Ossip into a salamander," said Twisk. "I would also have verified Pymfyd's death more carefully, if only that I might observe the prodigy of a walking corpse."

  Madouc suggested: "Perhaps he is not dead?"

  "That, of course, is possible," said Twisk.

  Zocco grumbled: "If he wanted to be thought dead, he should have remained in place."

  "Quite so," said Twisk. "Now you may go your way. In the future try no more sly tricks upon my innocent young daughter."

  Zocco grumbled: "She is young, but I doubt if she is all so innocent. Still, I will now bid you farewell." Zocco seemed to fall backward off the stone and was gone.

  "Zocco is not a bad sort, as wefkins go," said Twisk. "Now then, time presses. It has been a pleasure to meet you after so many years, but-"

  "Wait!" cried Madouc. "I still know nothing of my father, nor my pedigree!"

  "I will give the matter thought. In the meantime-"

  "Not yet, Mother dear! I need your help in a few other small ways!"

  "If I must, I must," said Twisk. "What are your needs?"

  "Pymfyd may be in bad case, sore and ill. Give me something to make him well."

  "That is simple enough." Twisk plucked a laurel leaf, spat delicately into its center. She folded the leaf into a wad, touched it to her forehead, nose and chin, and gave it to Madouc. "Rub this upon Pymfyd's wounds, for his quick good health. Is there anything else? If not-"

  "There is something else! Should I use the Tinkle-toe upon Lady Desdea? She might jump so high as to cause an embarrassment, or even to injure herself!"

  "You have a kind heart," said Twisk. "As for the Tinkle-toe, you must learn to gauge both the finesse of your gesture and the thrust of your chin. With practice, you will control the vigor of her jump to exactly a proper altitude. What else?"

  Madouc considered. "I would like a wand to do transformations, a cap of invisibility, swift slippers to walk the air, a purse of boundless wealth, a talisman to compel the love of all, a mirror-"

  "Stop!" cried Twisk. "Your needs are excessive!"

  "It does no harm to ask," said Madouc. "When will I see you again?"

  "If necessary, come to Thripsey Shee."

  "How will I find this place?"

  "Fare along Old Street to Little Saffield. Turn north up Timble Way, pass first through Tawn Timble, then Glymwode, which is hard by the forest. Take directions to Wamble Path, which leads into Thripsey Meadow. Arrive at noon, but never at night, for a variety of reasons. Stand at the edge of the meadow and softly speak my name three times, and I will come. If nuisances are committed upon you, cry out: ‘Trouble me not, by fairy law!'"

  Madouc made a hopeful suggestion: "It might be more convenient if I called you with the grass flute."

  "More convenient for you perhaps; not necessarily for me." Twisk stepped forward and kissed Madouc's forehead. She stood back smiling. "I have been remiss, but that is my nature, and you must expect nothing better from me."

  Twisk was gone. Madouc, her forehead tingling, stood alone in the glade. She looked at the place where Twisk had stood, then turned away and also departed.

  IV

  Madouc returned through the forest the way she had come. In the sheepfold she found Tyfer and Pymfyd's bay tethered to a post. She mounted Tyfer and rode down the lane toward Old Street, leading the bay. As she rode, she searched carefully to either side of the way, but Pymfyd was nowhere to be seen, neither alive nor dead. The circumstances caused Madouc both anxiety and puzzlement. If Pymfyd were alive, why had he lain so limp and still in the ditch? If Pymfyd were dead, why should he walk away?

  Madouc, with wary glances to right and left, crossed Old Street into Fanship Way. She continued south, and presently arrived at Sarris. In a mournful mood she took the horses around to the stables, and at last the mystery in regard to Pymfyd's disappearance was clarified. Sitting disconsolately beside the dungheap was Pymfyd himself.

  At the sight of Madouc, Pymfyd jumped to his feet. "At last you trouble to show yourself!" he cried out. "Why have you dallied so long?"

  Madouc responded with dignity: "I was delayed by events beyond my control."

  "All very well!" growled Pymfyd. "Meanwhile I have been sitting here on tenterhooks! If King Casmir had come before your return, I would now be crouching deep in a dungeon."

  "Your worries seem far less for me than for yourself," said Madouc with a sniff.

  "Not so! I made several guesses as to your probable fate, and was not cheered. Exactly what happened to you?"

  Madouc saw no need to report the full scope of her adventures. "The robbers chased me deep into the forest. After I eluded them I circled back to Old Street and rode home. That, in general, is what happened." She dismounted from Tyfer, and examined Pymfyd from head to toe. "You seem in adequately good health. I feared that you were dead, from the effect of so many cruel blows."

  "Hah!" said Pymfyd scornfully. "I am not so easily daunted! My head is thick."

  "On the whole, and tak
ing all with all, your conduct cannot be faulted," said Madouc. "You fought your best."

  "True! Still, I am not a fool! When I saw how events were going I feigned death."

  "Have you bruises? Do you hurt?"

  "I cannot deny a few aches and as many pains. My head throbs like a great bell!"

  "Approach me, Pymfyd! I will try to allay your suffering."

  Pymfyd asked suspiciously: "What do you plan to do?"

  "You need ask no questions."

  "I tend to be cautious in the matter of cures. I want neither cathartics nor clysters."

  Madouc paid no heed to the remark. "Come here and show me where you hurt."

  Pymfyd approached and gingerly indicated his bruises. Madouc applied the poultice she had received from Twisk, and Pymfyd's pain instantly disappeared.

  "That was well done," said Pymfyd grudgingly. "Where did you learn such a trick?"

  "It is a natural art," said Madouc. "I also wish to commend your bravery. You fought hard and well, and deserve recognition." She looked here and there, but discovered no implement suitable to her needs save the manure fork. "Pymfyd, kneel before me!"

  Once again Pymfyd stared in perplexity. "Now what?"

  "Do as I say! It is my royal command!"

  Pymfyd gave a fatalistic shrug. "I suppose I must humor you, though I see no reason for such humility."

  "Cease grumbling, as well!"

  "Then be quick with whatever game you are playing! Already I feel a fool."

  Madouc took up the manure fork and raised it on high. Pymfyd dodged and threw his arm over his head. "What are you up to?"

  "Patience, Pymfyd! This tool symbolizes a sword of fine steel!" Madouc touched the fork to Pymfyd's head. "For notable valor on the field of combat, I dub you Sir Pom-Pom, and by this title shall you be known henceforth. Arise, Sir Pom-Pom! In my eyes, at least, you have proved your mettle!"

  Pymfyd rose to his feet, grinning and scowling at the same time. "The stablemen will not care a fig one way or the other."

  "No matter! In my opinion you are now ‘Sir Pom-Pom'."

  The newly knighted Sir Pom-Pom shrugged. "It is at least a start."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lady Desdea, upon receiving word from the stable of Madouc's return to Sarris, posted herself in the entry hail, where she could be sure to intercept the miscreant princess.

  Five minutes passed. Lady Desdea waited with eyes glittering and arms crossed, fingers tap-tapping against her elbow. Madouc, listless and weary, pushed open the door and entered the hall. She crossed to the side passage, looking neither right nor left as if absorbed in her private thoughts, ignoring Lady Desdea as if she were not there.

  Smiling a small grim smile, Lady Desdea called out: "Princess Madouc! If you please, I would like a word with you!"

  Madouc stopped short, shoulders sagging. Reluctantly she turned. "Yes, Lady Desdea? What do you wish?"

  Lady Desdea spoke with restraint. "First, I wish to comment upon your conduct, which has caused us all a distraction. Next, I wish to inform you of certain plans which have been made."

  "If you are tired," said Madouc in a voice of forlorn hope, "you need not trouble with the comment. As for the plans, we can discuss them another time."

  Lady Desdea's small smile seemed frozen on her face. "As you wish, though the comment is most pertinent and the plans concern you both directly and indirectly."

  Madouc started to turn away. "One moment," said Lady Desdea. "I will mention only this: Their Majesties will celebrate Prince Cassander's birthday with a grand fête. Many important persons will be on hand. There will be a formal reception, at which you will sit with the rest of the royal family."

  "Ah well, I suppose it is no great matter," said Madouc, and again started to turn away, and again Lady Desdea's voice gave her pause. "In the interim you must school yourself in the customary social graces, that you may appear at your best advantage."

  Madouc spoke over her shoulder: "There is little for me to learn, since all I need do is sit quietly and nod my head from time to time."

  "Ha, there is more to it than that," said Lady Desdea. "You will learn the details tomorrow."

  Madouc pretended not to hear and went off down the passage to her chambers. She went directly to her bed and looked down at the pillow. What would she find beneath? Slowly, and fearful that she would find nothing, she lifted the pillow, and saw a small silver comb.

  Madouc gave a quiet little cry of joy. Twisk was not a totally adequate mother, but at least she was alive and not dead, like the Princess Suldrun; and Madouc was not alone in the world, after all.

  On the wall beside her dressing table was a mirror of Byzantine glass, rejected by Queen Sollace for reason of flaws and distortions, but which had been considered good enough for the use of Princess Madouc, who, in any case, seldom used the mirror.

  Madouc went to stand before the mirror. She looked at her reflection, and blue eyes looked back at her, under a careless tumble of copper-gold curls. "My hair is not such a frightful vision as they like to make out," Madouc told herself bravely. "It is perhaps not constrained in an even bundle, but I would not have it so. Let us see what happens."

  Madouc pulled the comb through her hair. It slid easily through the strands, with none of the usual jerks and snags; the comb was a pleasure to use. Madouc stopped to appraise her reflection. The change, while not startling, was definite. The curls seemed to fall into locks, and arranged themselves of their own accord around her face. "No doubt it is an improvement," Madouc told herself. "Especially if it helps me escape ridicule and criticism. Today has been most eventful!"

  In the morning Madouc took her breakfast of porridge and boiled bacon in a sunny little alcove to the side of the kitchen, where she knew she would not be likely to encounter either Devonet or Chlodys. Madouc decided to consume a peach, then loitered over a bunch of grapes. She was not surprised when Lady Desdea looked through the door. "So this is where you are hiding."

  "I am not hiding," said Madouc coldly. "I am taking my breakfast."

  "I see. Are you finished?"

  "Not quite. I am still eating grapes."

  "When you have finally eaten your fill, please come to the morning room. I will await you there."

  Madouc resignedly rose to her feet. "I will come now."

  In the morning room, Lady Desdea pointed to a chair. "You may sit."

  Madouc, disliking Lady Desdea's tone, turned her a sulky glance, then slumped upon the chair, legs spraddled forward, chin on her chest.

  Lady Desdea, after a glance of disapproval, said: "Her Highness the queen feels that your deportment is unsatisfactory. I am in accord."

  Madouc twisted her mouth into a crooked line, but said nothing.

  Lady Desdea went on. "The situation is neither casual nor trivial. Of all your adjuncts and possessions the most precious is your reputation. Ah!" Lady Desdea thrust her face forward. "You puff out your cheeks; you are in doubt. However, I am correct!"

  "Yes, Lady Desdea."

  "As a princess of Lyonesse, you are a person of importance! Your renown, for good or bad, travels far and fast, as if on the wings of a bird! For this reason you must be at all times gentle, gracious and nice; you must nurture your reputation, as if it were a beautiful garden of fragrant flowers!"

  Madouc said thoughtfully: "You can help by giving good reports of me in all quarters."

  "First you must alter your habits, since I do not care to look ridiculous."

  "In that case I suppose you had better remain silent."

  Lady Desdea paced two steps in one direction, then two steps in the other. Halting, she faced Madouc once more. "Do you wish to be known as a lovely young princess notable for her decorum, or an unprincipled little hussy, all dirty face and knobby knees?"

  Madouc reflected. "Are there no other choices?"

  "These will suffice at the moment."

  Madouc heaved a deep sigh. "I don't mind being thought a lovely young princess so long as I am n
ot expected to act like one."

  Lady Desdea smiled her grim smile. "Unfortunately that is impossible. You will never be thought something you are not. Since it is essential that, during the fête, you present yourself as a gracious and virtuous young princess, you must act like one. Since you seem to be ignorant of that skill, you must learn it. By the wishes of the queen, you will not be allowed to ride your horse, or otherwise wander the countryside, or swim the river, until after the fête."

  Madouc looked up with a stricken expression. "What will I do with myself?"

  "You will learn the conventions of the court and good deportment, and your lessons begin at this instant. Extricate your self from that ungainly slouch and sit erect in the chair, hands folded in your lap."

  II

  The occasion of Prince Cassander's eighteenth birthday would be celebrated at a festival which King Casmir intended should surpass any that had yet enlivened the summer palace at Sarris. For days wagons had been arriving from all directions, loaded with sacks, crocks and crates, tubs of pickled fish; racks dangling with sausages, hams and bacon; barrels of oil, wine, cider and ale; baskets laden with onions, turnips, cabbages, leeks; also parcels of ramp, parsley, sweet herbs and cress. Day and night the kitchens were active, with the stoves never allowed to go cold. In the service-yard four ovens, constructed for the occasion, produced crusty loaves, saffron buns, fruit tarts; also sweet-cakes flavored with currants, anise, honey and nuts, or even cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. One of the ovens produced only pies and pasties, stuffed with beef and leeks, or spiced hare seethed in wine, or pork and onions, or pike with fennel, or carp in a swelter of dill, butter and mushrooms, or mutton with barley and thyme.

  On the night previous to Cassander's birthday, a pair of oxen were set to roast over the fire on heavy iron spits, along with two boars and four sheep. In the morning two hundred fowl would join the display, that they might be ready for the great banquet which would begin at noon and continue until the hunger of the company had been totally satiated.

  As early as two days before the celebration, notables began to arrive at Sarris, coming from all quarters of Lyonesse; from Blaloc, Pomperol and Dahaut; from as far afield as Aquitaine, Armorica, Ireland and Wales. The most exalted of the lords and ladies were quartered either in the east wing or the west wing of Sarris proper; late-corners and folk of lesser estate used equally pleasant pavilions on the lawn beside the river. Miscellaneous dignitaries-the barons, knights, marshals, along with their ladies-were required to make shift with pallets and couches in certain of the halls and galleries of Sarris. Most of the notables would depart on the day following the banquet, though a few might linger in order to confer with King Casmir upon matters of high policy. Immediately before the banquet, the royal family planned to sit at a reception, that they might formally greet their guests. The reception would begin at mid-morning and proceed until noon. Madouc had been duly notified that her presence at the function would be required, and she had further been advised that only her best and most maidenly conduct would suit the occasion.