MADOUC Page 5

  Madouc licked her lips. "I do not think it sensible, if I am to be beaten for my pains."

  Sollace stared in wonder. "I can hardly credit my ears. Father Umphred, kindly escort the princess to me."

  The priest in all affability put his hand on Madouc's shoulder and urged her across the room. Sollace swept Madouc across her great lap, raised high the skirt of Madouc's frock, and plied the withes upon the narrow little haunches. Madouc lay limp as a rag, making no sound.

  The lack of response annoyed Sollace; she struck again and again, and finally pulled down Madouc's smallclothes in order to belabor the naked buttocks, while Father Umphred looked on, smiling approval and nodding in time to the strokes.

  Madouc made no sound. Sollace at last becoming bored, threw down the withes, and pushed Madouc from her lap to her feet. Tight-faced, her mouth set in a thin white line, Madouc pulled up her undergarments, settled her skirt and started to walk from the room.

  Sollace called out sharply: "I did not give you leave to go." Madouc halted and looked back over her shoulder. "Do you intend to beat me again?"

  "Not at this moment. My arm is tired and sore."

  "Then you are done with me." Madouc left the parlour, with Sollace blinking slack-jawed after her.

  II

  Queen Sollace had been adversely affected by Madouc's conduct and also by her demeanour, which seemed deficient in the respect that Sollace conceived to be her due. She had long heard rumours in regard to Madouc's willfulness, but the firsthand experience came as something of a shock. If Madouc were to become a truly gracious maiden and an ornament to the court, then, clearly, remedial measures were instantly necessary.

  Queen Sollace discussed the problem with Father Umphred, who proposed that the little princess be allowed religious instruction. Lady Marmone scoffed at the idea. "That is most impractical and would waste everyone's time."

  Queen Sollace, herself devout, was somewhat nettled. She demanded: "Then what action do you yourself advocate?"

  "I have, for a fact, given the matter thought. The instruction must continue as before, with perhaps more emphasis upon the niceties of deportment. Further, it might be well if she were provided a retinue of noble maidens, so that gracious conduct may be learned by force of example. She is almost to the age when you will be providing such a retinue in any case; I say, the sooner the better!"

  Sollace gave a grudging nod. "It is perhaps a year or two early for such an arrangement, but the circumstances are special. Madouc is as brash and insolent as a little creature of the wild, and surely needs a restraining influence."

  A week later Madouc was summoned to the morning parlour, on the second level of the East Tower. Here she was introduced to six noble damsels, who, so she was told, would serve as her maids-in-waiting. Madouc, aware that protest was futile, stood back appraising her new companions and not liking what she saw. The six maidens were all dressed in fine garments and carried themselves with an exaggerated delicacy of poise. The six, after small formal curtseys, subjected Madouc to an inspection of their own, and showed no more enthusiasm than Madouc. They had been instructed in their duties, which most of them expected to be irksome. In general, they were to provide the princess companionship, run small errands at her behest, regale her with tidbits of gossip, and share the tedium of her lessons. At Madouc's pleasure, the damsels would frolic together and play at quoits, jump-rope, catch-ball, blinko, mains, shuttlecock and battledore, and other such games; together they would sit at needlework, mix potpourris, compound sachets, weave flower garlands and learn the steps of those dances currently in vogue. All would take instructions in reading and writing; more importantly, they would be schooled in decorum, court convention, and the unalterable rules of precedence.

  The six maidens were:

  Devonet of Castle Folize.

  Felice, daughter of Sir Mungo, the High Seneschal.

  Ydraint of Damar Greathouse.

  Artwen of Kassie Keep.

  Chlodys of the Fanistry.

  Elissia of Yorn.

  The six were a diverse group, all older than Madouc, save Felice, who was about her own age. Chlodys was large, blonde and somewhat ungainly; Elissia was small, dark and neat. Artwen was assertive; Felice was subdued, somewhat absent minded, unobtrusively pretty, if frail. Ydraint was both radiant with health and definitely pretty; Devonet was beautiful. Chlodys and Ydraint were noticeably pubescent; Devonet and Artwen were somewhat less so; Felice and Elissia, like Madouc, were still at the threshold of change.

  In fond theory the six maidens would accompany their adored princess everywhere, chattering merry nonsense, each vying to fulfill her little duties, overjoyed to hear her praise, penitent at her kindly censure. In effect, the six would form a miniature court of virtuous and joyful damsels, over whom Princess Madouc would reign serene, like a precious jewel in a golden setting.

  In practice, the situation was different. From the first, Madouc was suspicious of the new arrangement, deeming it a nuisance which could only limit her freedom. The six maidens, in their turn, showed little zeal in the performance of their duties. Madouc was considered queer and eccentric, with no penchant whatever for style and naive to the point of vapidity.

  The conditions of Madouc ‘s birth, as understood by the court, brought her no great prestige, which the maidens also were quick to perceive. After a few days of cautious formality, the maids formed a clique from which Madouc was pointedly excluded. Madouc thereafter was treated to only a flippant pretense at courtesy; her inclinations were greeted with vacant stares; her remarks were lost in the chatter, or if heard were ignored.

  Madouc was at first puzzled, then amused, then piqued, finally she decided that she cared not a whit, one way or the other and, as far as practical, followed her own pursuits.

  Madouc's~detachment brought even greater disapproval from the maidens, who found her to be more peculiar than ever. The guiding spirit of the cabal was Devonet: a maiden dainty and graceful, fresh as a flower, already skilled in the arts of charm. Glossy golden curls hung to her shoulders; her eyes were golden - hazel pools of innocence. Devonet was also competent at mach inations and intrigues; at her signal-a twitch of the finger, a tilt of the head-the maidens would wander away from Madouc and gather in a huddle across the room, from which they would peer back at her over their shoulders, then whisper and giggle. On other occasions, they made a game of peeping around corners at Madouc, to jerk back when she looked up.

  Madouc sighed, shrugged and ignored the mischief. One morning, while taking breakfast with her maid-in-attendance, Madouc discovered a dead mouse in her bowl of porridge. She wrinkled her nose and drew back in distaste. Glancing around the table, she noted the covert attention of the six maidens; clearly they were aware of what she would find. Chlodys clapped a hand over her mouth to restrain a giggle; Devonet's gaze was limpid and bland.

  Madouc pushed the bowl aside, pursed her lips, but made no comment.

  Two days later Madouc-by a series of mysterious acts and feigned stealth-so aroused the curiosity of Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint that they followed her surreptitiously in order to spy out the reason for her strange conduct. Clearly, it could only be scandalous, and the potentialities were delicious indeed. So tempted, they followed Madouc to the top of the Tall Tower, and watched as Madouc climbed a ladder up to a range of abandoned dovecotes. When at last she descended the ladder and hurried off down the stairs, Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint emerged from their hiding places, climbed the ladder, pushed through a trap door and cautiously explored the dovecotes. To their disappointment, there was nothing to be found but dust, dirt, a few feathers and a bad smell, but no evidence of depravity. Glumly they returned to the trapdoor, only to discover that the ladder had been removed, with the stone floor a daunting twelve feet below.

  At noon the absence of Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint was noticed, to the general perplexity. Artwen, Elissia and Felice were questioned, but could supply no information. Lady Desdea put a sharp question to Madou
c, who likewise professed puzzlement. "They are very lazy; perhaps they still lie asleep in their beds."

  "Not likely!" said Lady Desdea crisply. "I find the situation most peculiar!"

  "So do I," said Madouc. "I suspect that they are up to no good."

  The day passed, and the night. Early the next morning, when all was still, a kitchen maid, crossing the service-yard, heard a thin wailing sound coming from a source she could not at once identify. She stopped to listen, and finally fixed upon the dove cotes at the top of the Tall Tower. She reported her findings to Dame Boudetta, the housekeeper, and the mystery was at last resolved. The three girls, dirty, frightened, cold and aggrieved, were rescued from their high prison. In hysterical voices they denounced Madouc and blamed her for all their discomfort. ("She wanted us to go hungry and starve!" "It was cold, and the wind blew, and we heard the ghost!" "We were frightened! She did it all on purpose!")

  Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone listened with stony faces, but were at a loss to adjudicate the situation. The issues were confused; further, if the case were brought to the attention of the queen, Madouc might well bring accusations of her own, in regard to dead mice in the porridge, for instance.

  In the end, Chlodys, Ydraint and Devonet were brusquely advised that climbing around abandoned dovecotes was behavior unsuitable for highborn young ladies.

  Up to this time, the affair of the rotten quinces, along with King Casmir's embarrassment and Madouc's subsequent travail, had been sternly suppressed. Now, through some clandestine source, the news reached the ears of the six maids-in-waiting, to their delight. Over needlework, Devonet spoke softly: "What a sight, what a sight, when Madouc was beaten!"

  "Kicking and squalling, bare bottom high!" said Chlodys quietly, as if awed by the thought.

  "Was it truly so?" marvelled Artwen.

  Devonet nodded primly. "Indeed! Did you not hear the dismal howling?"

  "Everyone heard it," said Ydraint. "Still, no one knew where it came from."

  "Everyone knows now," said Chlodys. "It was Madouc, roaring like a sick cow!"

  Elissia spoke with sly mirth: "Princess Madouc, you are so quiet! Are you discontented with our conversation?"

  "Not altogether. I am amused by your jokes. Sometime you shall repeat them for me."

  "How so?" asked Devonet, puzzled and alert.

  "Can you not imagine? Someday I will marry a great king and sit on a golden throne. At that time I may well command the six of you to my court, that you may produce some of this ‘dismal howling' which seems to be so amusing."

  The maidens fell uneasily silent. Devonet was the first to recover her composure. She gave a tinkle of laughter. "It is not certain, nor even likely, that you shall marry a king-since you have no pedigree! Chlodys, has Princess Madouc a pedigree?"

  "No pedigree whatever, poor thing."

  Madouc asked innocently: "What is a pedigree?"

  Devonet laughed again. "It is something you do not have! Perhaps we should not tell you this, but truth is truth! You have no father! Elissia, what is a girl who lacks a father?"

  "She is a bastard."

  "Exactly true! Sad to say, the Princess Madouc is a bastard, and no one will ever want to marry her!"

  Chlodys gave an exaggerated shudder. "I am glad that I am not a bastard."

  "But you are wrong," said Madouc in a voice of sweet reason. "I do have a father. He is dead, or so it is said, along with my mother."

  Devonet spoke with disdain: "Perhaps he is dead, perhaps not. They threw him into a hole, and there he is today. He was a vagabond, and no one even troubled to ask his name."

  "In any event," said Chlodys, "you lack a pedigree, and so you shall never marry. It is hard news, but it is best that you learn the facts now, so that you may become inured to them."

  "Just so," said Ydraint. "We tell you this because it is our duty to do so."

  Madouc controlled the quaver in her voice. "It is your duty to tell only the truth."

  "Ah, but we have done so!" declared Devonet.

  "I do not believe it!" said Madouc. "My father was a noble knight, since I am his daughter! How could it be otherwise?"

  Devonet looked Madouc up and down, then said: "Very easily."

  III

  Madouc had no sure understanding as to what might be a ‘pedigree'. She had heard the word used once or twice before, but its exact significance had never been made clear. A few days past she had gone to the stables to groom her pony Tyfer; nearby a pair of gentlemen were discussing a horse and its ‘fine pedigree'. The horse, a black stallion, had been notably well-hung; but this would not seem to be the determining factor, and certainly not so far as Madouc was concerned. Devonet and the other maidens could not reasonably expect her to flaunt an article of this sort.

  It was all very puzzling. Perhaps the gentlemen had been alluding to the quality of the horse's tail. As before, and for much the same reason, Madouc rejected the theory. She decided to speculate no further but to make inquiries at the first opportu nity.

  Madouc was on tolerably good terms with Prince Cassander, only son to King Casmir and Queen Sollace, and heir-apparent to the crown of Lyonesse. Cassander over the years had become something of a gay blade. His physique was robust. Under tight blond curls his face was round, with small stiff features and round blue eyes. From his father Cassander had inherited, or had learned, a whole set of curt gestures and habits of command; from Sollace had come his fine pale pink skin, small hands and feet, and a temperament easier and more flexible than that of King Casmir.

  Madouc discovered Cassander sitting alone in the orangery, writing with concentration upon a parchment with a quill pen. Madouc stood watching a moment. Did Cassander spend his energies upon poetry? Song? An amorous ode? Cassander, looking up, caught sight of Madouc. He put his pen aside and dropped the parchment into a box.

  Madouc slowly approached. Cassander seemed in a jovial mood, and gave Madouc a heavily facetious greeting: "Hail and thrice hail, to the avenging Fury of the castle, clothed in darts and spasms of purple lightning! Who will be next to know the sting of your awful wrath? Or-I should say-the impact of your over-ripe quinces?"

  Madouc smiled wanly and settled herself upon the bench be side Cassander. "His Majesty has issued exact orders; I may no longer do what needs to be done." Madouc sighed. "I have decided to obey."

  "That is a wise decision."

  Madouc went on, in a wistful voice. "One would think that, as a royal princess, I might be entitled to throw quince in what ever direction and as often as I chose."

  "So one might think, but the act is not considered decorous, and above all, decorum is the duty of a royal princess!"

  "What of my mother, the Princess Suldrun-was she decorous?"

  Cassander, raising his eyebrows, slanted a quizzical glance down upon Madouc. "What an odd question! How should I answer? In all honesty, I would be forced to say something like: ‘not altogether'."

  "Because she lived alone in a garden? Or because I was born to her when she was not married?"

  "Neither form of conduct is considered truly decorous."

  Madouc pursed her lips. "I want to know more about her, but no one will speak. Why is there so much mystery?"

  Cassander laughed ruefully. "There is a mystery because no one knows what went on."

  "Tell me what you know of my father."

  Cassander said ponderously: "I can tell you next to nothing because that is all I know. Apparently he was a handsome young vagabond who chanced to find Suidrun alone in the garden and imposed himself upon her lonely condition."

  "Maybe she was glad to see him."

  Cassander spoke with unconvincing primness: "She acted without decorum, and only that may be said for Suldrun. But his was insolent conduct! He made a fleeting mockery of our royal dignity, and well deserved his fate."

  Madouc reflected. "It is very odd. Did Suldrun complain of my father's conduct?"

  Cassander frowned. "By no means! The poor little wight seems t
o have loved him. But tush! I know little of the affair, except that it was the priest Umphred who found the two together and brought the news to His Majesty."

  "My poor father was punished terribly," said Madouc. "I cannot understand the reason."

  Again Cassander spoke virtuously: "The reason is clear! It was necessary to teach the churl a stern lesson, and to discourage all others of like mind."

  With a sudden quiver in her voice Madouc asked: "Is he then still alive?"

  "That I doubt."

  "Where is the hole into which he was cast?"

  Cassander jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "In the rocks behind the Peinhador. The oubliette is a hundred feet deep with a dark little cell at the bottom. It is where incorrigible criminals and enemies of the state are punished."

  Madouc looked up the hill to where the gray roof of the Peinhador could be glimpsed behind Zoltra Bright-Star's Wall. "My father would be neither of those."

  Cassander shrugged. "Such was the royal justice, and doubtless correct."

  "Still, my mother was a royal princess! She would not have loved just anyone who happened to look over the fence."

  Cassander shrugged, to indicate the puzzle took him beyond his depth. "So it would seem; I grant you that. Still-who knows? Royal princess or not, Suldrun was a girl, and girls are female, and females are as wayward as dandelion fluff in the wind! Such is my experience."

  "Perhaps my father was highborn," Madouc mused. "No one troubled to ask."

  "Unlikely," said Cassander. "He was a foolish young rogue who received his just deserts. You are not convinced? This is the law of nature! Each person is born into his proper place, which he must keep, unless his king grants him advancement for valor in war. No other system is proper, right, or natural."

  "What then of me?" asked Madouc in a troubled voice. "Where is my ‘pedigree'?"

  Cassander gave a bark of laughter. "Who knows? You have been granted the status of a royal princess; that should suffice."