MADOUC Read online

  Lady Desdea went to investigate, only to find Master Jocelyn standing idly by the window, while the four musicians, playing lute, pipes, drums and flute, rehearsed tunes from their repertory.

  Master Jocelyn, in response to Lady Desdea's question, merely shrugged. "And if she were here: what then? She cares nothing for what I teach her; she skips and jumps; she hops on one leg like a bird. I ask: ‘Is that how you will dance at the Grand Ball?' And she replies: ‘I am not a devotee of this foolish strutting and smirking. I doubt if I will be present.'"

  Lady Desdea muttered under her breath and turned away. She went outside to look up and down the terrace, just in time to discover Madouc perched proudly on the seat of a pony-cart with Tyfer trotting briskly off across the meadow.

  Lady Desdea gave a cry of outrage, and sent a footman to ride after the pony-cart and bring the truant princess back to Sarris.

  A few minutes later the pony-cart returned, Madouc now crestfallen and Tyfer moving at a slow walk.

  "Be so good as to dismount," said Lady Desdea.

  Madouc, her face screwed up into a resentful scowl, jumped to the ground.

  "Well then, Your Highness? You were expressly forbidden to use your horse or to go near the stables."

  "That wasn't what you said!" cried Madouc. "You told me that I was not to ride Tyfer, and I am not doing so! I summoned the stableboy Pymfyd and required that he bring up the cart, so I never so much as approached the stables."

  Lady Desdea stared with twitching lips. "Very well! I will rephrase the order. You are forbidden to use your horse, or any other horse, or any other beast, be it cow, goat, sheep, dog, or bullock, or any other means of propulsion, on any sort of vehicle or mode of transportation, including carts, carriages, wagons, boats, sleds, palanquins and litters. That should define the exact scope of the queen's command. Second, even as you tried to evade the queen's command, you also became remiss with your lessons. What is your response to this?"

  Madouc made a brave gesture. "Today the rain is gone and the world is bright, and I preferred to be out in the air, rather than toiling over Herodotus or Junifer Algo, or practicing calligraphy or pricking my fingers at needlework."

  Lady Desdea turned away. "I will not argue with you the relative merits of learning versus torpid idleness. What must be done, we will do."

  Three days later Lady Desdea, in a troubled spirit, reported to Queen Sollace. "I do my best with Princess Madouc, but I seem to achieve nothing."

  "You must not be discouraged!" said the queen.

  A maid brought a silver dish on which were arranged twelve ripe figs. She placed the dish on a tabouret close by the queen's elbow. "Shall I peel, Your Highness?"

  "Please do."

  Lady Desdea's voice rose in pitch. "Were it not disrespectful, I might declare Her Highness a red-headed little brat who needs nothing more than a good whisking."

  "No doubt she is a trial. But continue as before, and brook no nonsense." Queen Sollace tasted one of the figs, and rolled up her eyes in pleasure. "Here is perfection!"

  "Another matter," said Lady Desdea. "Something very strange is going on, which I must bring to your attention."

  Queen Sollace sighed and leaned back in the cushions of the divan. "Cannot I be spared these intricate complexities? Some-times, my dear Ottile, and despite your good intentions, you become most tiresome."

  Lady Desdea could have wept for sheer frustration. "It is all the more tiresome for me! Indeed, I am baffled! The circumstances transcend anything I have known before!"

  Queen Sollace accepted another plump fig from the maid. "How so?"

  "I will recite to you the facts exactly as they occurred. Three days ago I had reason to reprimand Her Highness for scamping her work. She seemed unconcerned-pensive rather than remorseful. As I turned away, an extraordinary sensation struck through every fiber of my being! My skin tingled, as if I had been whipped by nettles! Blue lights flashed and flared before my eyes! My teeth set up an uncontrollable rattling that I thought must never cease! I assure you that it was an alarming sensation!"

  Queen Sollace, munching at the fig, considered Lady Desdea's complaint. "Odd. You have never taken such a fit before?"

  "Never! But there is more! At the same time I thought to hear a faint sound issuing from Her Highness! A hiss, almost inaudible."

  "It might have been an expression of shock or surprise," mused Queen Sollace.

  "So it might seem. I will cite another incident, which occurred yesterday morning, as Princess Madouc took breakfast with Devonet and Chiodys. There was an exchange of banter and the usual giggling. Then as I watched dumbfounded, Devonet lifted the milk jug, that she might pour milk into her bowl. Instead, her hand jerked and she poured the milk across her neck and chest, and all the while her teeth were chattering like castanets. Finally she dropped the jug and rushed from the room. I followed, that I might learn the reason for her strange convulsion. Devonet declared that the Princess Madouc had prompted her to the act by uttering a soft hiss. There was no real provocation, according to Devonet. She informed me: ‘I only said that while bastards might wet into silver chamber pots, they still lacked the most precious of all, a fine pedigree!' I asked: ‘And then what?' ‘And then I reached for the milk jug; I lifted it and poured milk all over myself, while Madouc sat grinning and making a hissing sound.' And that is what happened to Devonet."

  Queen Sollace sucked at her fingers, then wiped them on a damask napkin. "It sounds to me like simple carelessness," said Queen Sollace. "Devonet must learn to grasp the jug more firmly."

  Lady Desdea gave a scornful sniff. "And what of Princess Madouc's cryptic grin?"

  "Perhaps she was amused. Is that not possible?"

  "Yes," said Lady Desdea grimly. "It is possible. But, once again, listen to this! As a penalty, I assigned Her Highness double lessons: in orthography, grammar, needlework and dancing; also special texts in genealogy, astronomy, the geometries of Aristarchus, Candasces and Euclid. I also assigned readings from the works of Matreo, Orgon Photis, Junifer Algo, Panis the lonian, Dalziel of Avallon, Ovid and one or two others."

  Queen Sollace shook her head in bemusement. "I found Junifer always a bore, nor could I make head nor tail of Euclid."

  "I am sure Your Majesty was more than clever at your lessons; it reveals itself in your conversation."

  Sollace looked off across the room, and did not respond until she had thoroughly masticated another fig. "Well then: what of the readings?"

  "I deputed Chlodys to attend Madouc as she read, to make sure that she was supplied the proper texts. This morning Chlodys reached to take a fine volume of Dalziel from the shelf and felt a spasm come over her, which caused her to throw the book high into the air and set her teeth to chattering. She came running to me in complaint. I took Princess Madouc for her dancing lesson. The musicians set up a nice tune; Master Jocelyn declared that he would now demonstrate the step he wished the princess to learn. Instead he jumped six feet into the air, with his feet twirling and toes pointed as if he were a dervish. When at last he descended to the floor, Madouc said that it was a step she did not care to try. She asked me if I cared to demonstrate the step, but there was something in her smile which prompted me to refuse. Now, I am at my wit's end."

  Queen Sollace accepted a fig from the maid. "That will be all; I am almost sated with these wonderful morsels; they are as sweet as honey!" She turned to Lady Desdea. "Proceed as before; I can advise you no better,"

  "But you have heard the problems!"

  "It might be coincidence, or fancy, or even a bit of hysteria. We cannot let such silly panics affect our policy."

  Lady Desdea cried another protest, but Queen Sollace held up her hand. "No, not another word! I have heard all I care to hear."

  The drowsy days of summer passed: fresh dawns, with dew on the lawns and bird calls floating through the air from far distances; then the bright mornings and golden afternoons, followed by orange, yellow and red sunsets; then the blue-gray dusk an
d at last the starry nights, with Vega at the zenith, Antares to the south, Altair in the east and Spica declining in the west. Lady Desdea had discovered a convenient way to deal with Madouc since her unproductive and frustrating report to Queen Sollace. She spoke in a grim monotone, assigning the lessons and stating the schedule, then with a scornful sniff and a stiff back she departed and gave no further heed either to Madouc or her achievements. Madouc accepted the system and pursued only the reading which interested her. Lady Desdea, in her turn, discovered that life had become less of a trial. Queen Sollace was content to hear no more of Madouc's transgressions, and in her conversations with Lady Desdea avoided all reference to Ma douc.

  After a week of relative placidity, Madouc delicately mentioned ‘Tyfer and his need for exercise. Lady Desdea said crossly:

  "The proscription derives not from me but from Her Majesty. I can grant no permission. If you ride your horse, you risk the queen's displeasure. But it is all one to me."

  "Thank you," said Madouc. "I feared that you might be difficult."

  "Ha hah! Why should I beat my head against a rock?" Lady Desdea started to turn away, then halted. "Tell me: where did you learn that opprobrious little trick?"

  "The ‘Sissle-way'? It was taught to me by Shimrod the Magician, that I might defend myself against tyrants."

  "Hmf." Lady Desdea departed. Madouc at once took herself to the stables, where she ordered Sir Pom-Pom to saddle up Tyfer and prepare for an excursion across the countryside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shimrod rode in company with Dhrun to Lyonesse Town, where Dhrun, with Amery, took passage to Domreis aboard a Troice cog. Shimrod watched from the quayside until the tawny sails dwindled across the horizon, then went to a nearby inn and seated himself in the shade of a grape arbor. Over a platter of sausages and a mug of ale he considered the possibilities of the next few days and what might lie in store for him.

  The time had come when he must take himself to Swer Smod, that he might confer with Murgen and learn whatever needed learning. The prospect did not lift his spirits. Murgen's dreary disposition blended well with the somber and darkling atmosphere of Swer Smod; his sour smile was equivalent to another man's wild frivolity. Shimrod knew well what to expect at Swer Smod and prepared himself accordingly; had he discovered good cheer and merrymaking, he would have wondered as to Murgen's sanity.

  Shimrod left the arbor and went to a baker's booth, where he bought two large honeycakes, each packed in a reed basket. One of the cakes was sprinkled with chopped raisins, the other was cast over with nuts. Shimrod took up the cakes and stepped around to the back of the booth. The baker, assured that Shimrod had gone to relieve himself, ran out to remonstrate. "Hold hard, sir! Go elsewhere for such business! I want no great chife in the air; it is poor advertisement!" He halted, looking right and left. "Where are you, sir?" He heard a mutter, a whimper, a rush of wind. Something whisked up at a blur and away from his vision, but of Shimrod there was naught to be seen.

  Slow of foot the baker returned to the front of his booth but told no one of the event, for fear of being thought over-imaginative.

  II

  Shimrod was transported to a stony flat high on the slopes of the Teach tac Teach, with the panorama to the east swathed under the Forest of Tantrevalles out to the edge of vision. The walls of Swer Smod rose at his back: a set of massive rectangular shapes, meshed and merged, stacked and layered, with three towers of unequal height rising about all, like sentinels surveying the landscape.

  Shimrod's approach to the castle was obstructed by a stone wall eight feet high. At the portal hung a sign he had not seen before. Black symbols conveyed a daunting admonition:

  WARNING!

  TRESPASSERS! WAYFARERS! ALL OTHERS!

  ADVANCE AT RISK!

  If you cannot read these words, cry out ‘KLARO!' and the sign will declare the message aloud.

  PROCEED NO FARTHER, AT PERIL OF DEATH!

  In case of need, consult Shimrod the Magician, at his manse Trilda, in the Great Forest of Tantrevalles.

  Shimrod halted at the portal and surveyed the yard beyond. Nothing had changed since his last visit. On guard were the same two gryphs: Vus, mottled moss-green, and maroon-red Vuwas, whose color was that of old blood, or raw liver. Both stood eight feet tall, with massive torsos clad in plaques of horny carapace. Vus displayed a crest of six black spikes, to which, in his vanity, he had affixed a number of medals and emblems. Vuwas wore across his scalp and down the nape of his neck a stiff brush of black-red fibers. Not to be outdone by Vus, he had attached several fine pearls to this bristle. Vus and Vuwas, at this moment, sat beside their sentinel box, hunched over a chessboard wrought from black iron and bone. The pieces stood four inches high, and cried out as they were moved, in derision, shock, outrage, or occasionally approval. The gryphs paid no heed to the comments and played their own game.

  Shimrod pushed through the iron gate and entered the fore court. The gryphs glared hot-eyed over their pronged shoulders. Each ordered the other to rise up and kill Shimrod; each demurred. "Do you take me for a fool?" demanded Vuwas. "In my absence, you would make three illicit moves and no doubt abuse my pieces. It is you who must do your duty, and at this very moment."

  "Not I!" said the moss-green Vus. "Your remarks merely indicate what you yourself have in mind. While I killed this sheep-faced fool, you would push my reignet into limbo and baffle my darkdog into the corner."

  Vuwas growled to Shimrod over his shoulder: "Go away; it is simpler for everyone. We avoid the trouble of killing you, and you need not worry about arranging your affairs."

  "Out of the question," said Shimrod. "I am here on important business. Do you not recognize me? I am Murgen's scion Shimrod."

  "We remember nothing," grunted Vuwas. "One earthling looks much like another."

  Vus pointed to the ground. "Wait where you stand until we finish our game. This is a critical juncture!"

  Shimrod sauntered over to inspect the chessboard. The gryphs paid him no heed.

  "Ludicrous," said Shimrod after a moment.

  "Hist!" snarled Vuwas, the maroon-red gryph. "We will tolerate no interference!"

  Vus looked around challengingly: "Do you intend insult? If so, we will tear you limb from limb on the spot!"

  Shimrod asked: "Can a cow be insulted by the word ‘bovine'? Can a bird be insulted by the word ‘flighty'? Can a pair of bumbling mooncalves be insulted by the word ‘ludicrous'?"

  Vuwas spoke sharply: "Your hints are not clear. What are you trying to tell us?"

  "Simply that either of you could win the game with a single move."

  The gryphs glumly examined the board. "How so?" asked Vus.

  "In your case, you need only conquer this bezander with your caitiff, then march the arch-priestess forward to confront the serpent, and the game is yours."

  "Never mind all that!" snapped Vuwas. "How might I win?"

  "Is it not obvious? These mordykes stand in your way. Strike them aside with your ghost, like this, whereupon your caitiffs have the freedom of the board."

  "Ingenious," said Vus the mottled green gryph. "Those moves, however, are considered improper on the world Pharsad. Further, you have called the pieces by their wrong names, and also you have disarranged the board!"

  "No matter," said Shimrod. "Simply replay the game, and now I must be on my way."

  "Not so fast!" cried out Vuwas. "There is still a small task to be accomplished!"

  "We were not born yesterday," stated Vus. "Prepare for death."

  Shimrod put the reed baskets on the table. Vuwas the dark red gryph asked suspiciously: "What is in the baskets?"

  "They contain honeycakes," said Shimrod. "One of the cakes is somewhat larger and more tasty then the other."

  "Aha!" said Vus. "Which is which?"

  "You must open the baskets," said Shimrod. "The larger cake is for whichever of you is the most deserving."

  "Indeed!"

  Shimrod sauntered off across the forec
ourt. For a moment there was silence behind him, then a mutter, then a sharp remark, an equally sharp retort, followed by a sudden outburst of horrid snarls, bellows, thuds and tearing sounds.

  Traversing the forecourt, Shimrod climbed three steps to a stone porch. Stone columns framed an alcove and a ponderous black iron door, twice his height and wider than his arms could span. Black iron faces looked through festoons of black iron vines; black iron eyes watched Shimrod with sardonic curiosity. Shimrod touched a stud; the door swung open to the grinding of iron on iron. He stepped through the opening, into a high-ceilinged entry hail. To right and left pedestals supported a pair of stone statues, of exaggerated attenuation, robed and cowled so that the gaunt faces remained in shadow. No servitor appeared; Shimrod expected none. Murgen's servitors were more often than not invisible.

  The way was familiar to Shimrod. He passed through the entry hall into a long gallery. At regular intervals, tail portals opened into chambers serving a variety of functions. There was no one to be seen nor any sound to be heard; an almost unnatural stillness held Swer Smod.

  Shimrod walked along the gallery without haste, looking into the chambers on either side to discover what changes had been made since his last visit. Often the chambers were dark, and usually empty. Some served conventional purposes; others were dedicated to a use less ordinary. In one of these chambers Shimrod discovered a tall woman standing before an easel, back turned to the doorway. She wore a long gown of gray-blue linen; cloud-white hair was gathered at the nape of her neck by a ribbon, then hung down her back. The easel supported a panel; using brushes and pigments from a dozen clay pots, the woman worked to create an image on the surface of the panel.

  Shimrod watched a moment, but could not clearly define the nature of the image. He entered the chamber, that he might observe at closer range and perhaps with better understanding, but had no great success. The pigments looked to be an identical heavy black, allowing the woman small scope for contrast, or so it seemed to Shimrod. He moved a step closer, then another. At last he was able to perceive that each pigment, anomalous and strange to his eyes, quivered with a particular subtle luster unique to itself. He studied the panel; the shapes formed by the black oozes swam before his vision; neither their definition nor their pattern were at all obvious.