Jack Vance, page 11
“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.”
1 Jousting in full armour with battle lances was not yet in vogue. During this era lances were heavily padded with pillowlike buffs, and jousting seldom caused injuries more serious than bruises and sprains.
CHAPTER
FOUR
1
Lady Desdea, upon receiving word from the stable of Madouc’s return to Sarris, posted herself in the entry hall, 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 not 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 yourself from that ungainly slouch and sit erect in the chair, hands folded in your lap.”
2
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-comers 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.
Late in the evening of the day before the event, Lady Desdea took herself to Madouc’s bedchamber, where she made explicit to Madouc the conduct which would be expected of her. In response to Madouc’s disinterested comment she became testy. “We will not on this occasion niggle over paltry details! Each is significant; and if you will trouble to recall your Euclid, you will remember that the whole is the sum of its parts!”
“Whatever you say. Now I am tired and I will go to my bed.”
“Not yet! It is necessary that you understand the reasons for our concern. There have been rumours far and wide of your unruly behavior and wildness. Each of the guests will be watching you with an almost morbid fascination, waiting for some peculiar or even freakish demonstration.”
“Bah,” muttered Madouc. “They can ogle as they like; it is all the same to me. Are you now done?”
“Not yet!” snapped Lady Desdea. “I am still far from reassured by your attitude. Further, the guests will include a number of young princes. Many of these will be anxious to make suitable marriages.”
Madouc yawned. “I care not a whit. Their intrigues are no concern of mine.”
“You had better be concerned, and intimately so! Any of these princes would happily connect with the royal house of Lyonesse! They will be studying you with keen interest, appraising your possibilities.”
“That is vulgar conduct,” said Madouc.
“Not altogether; in fact, it is natural and right. They wish to make a good match for themselves! At the moment, you are too young for any thought of marriage, but the years are swift, and when the time comes to discuss betrothal, we want the princes to remember you with approval. This will enable King Casmir to make the best possible arrangement.”
“Foolishness and absurdity, both up and down!” said Madouc crossly. “If King Casmir likes marriage so much, let him marry off Devonet and Chlodys, or Prince Cassander, or you, for that matter. But he must not expect me to take any part in the ceremonies.”
Lady Desdea cried out in shock: “Your talk is a scandal!” She groped for words. “I will say no more; you may retire now. I only hope that you are more reasonable in the morning.”
Madouc deigned no reply, and marched silently off to her bed.
In the morning maids and under-maids arrived in force. Warm water was poured into a great wooden tub; Madouc was lathered with white Egyptian soap, rinsed clean in water scented with balm from Old Tingis. Her hair was brushed till it shone, after which she unobtrusively combed it with her own comb, so that the copper-golden curls arranged themselves to best advantage. She was dressed in a confection of blue lawn ruffled at shoulder and sleeve, pleated with white in the skirt.
Lady Desdea watched critically from the side. Life at Sarris, so she reflected, seemed to agree with Madouc; at times the scamp looked almost pretty, although her contours and long legs were deplorably boyish.
Madouc was not happy with the gown. “There are too many pleats and twickets.”
“Nonsense!” said Lady Desdea. “The gown makes the most of what little figure you have; you should be grateful. It is quite becoming.”
Madouc ignored the remarks, which pleased her not at all. She sat glowering as her hair was brushed once again ‘for the sake of a job well done’, as Lady Desdea put it, then confined by a silver fillet set with cabochons of lapis lazuli.
Lady Desdea gave Madouc her final instructions. “You will be meeting a number of notables! Remember: you must engage them with your charm, and make sure of their extreme good opinion, in order that all the sour and stealthy rumours once and for all are given the lie and nailed to the wall!”
“I cannot achieve the impossible,” growled Madouc. “If persons intend to think ill of me, they will do so, even though I grovel at their feet and implore their respectful admiration.”
“Such extreme conduct will surely not be necessary,” said Lady Desdea tartly. “Amiability and courtesy are usually sufficient.”
“You are fitting horseshoes on a cow! Since I am the princess, it is they who must supplicate my good opinion; not I theirs. That is simple and reasonable.”
Lady Desdea refused to pursue the subject. “No matter! Listen as the notables are introduced and greet them nicely, by title and by name. They will thereby think you gracious and kind, and instantly begin to doubt the rumours.”
Madouc made no response, and Lady Desdea continued with her instructions: “Sit quietly; neither fidget nor scratch, neither wriggle nor writhe. Keep your knees together; do not sprawl, spraddle, slump nor kick out your feet. Your elbows must be held close, unlike the wings of a seagull as it veers on the wind. If you see an acquaintance across the room, do not set up a boisterous outcry; that is not proper conduct. Do not wipe your nose on the back of your hand. Do not grimace, blow out your cheeks; do not giggle, with or without reason. Can you remember all this?”
Lady Desdea awaited a response, but Madouc sat staring blankly across the room. Lady Desdea peered close, then called out sharply: “Well then, Princess Madouc? Will you give me an answer?”
“Certainly, whenever you wish! Say what you wish to say!”
“I have already spoken at length.”
“Evidently my thoughts were elsewhere, and I did not hear you.”
Lady Desdea’s hands twitched. She said in a metallic voice: “Come. The reception will be underway in short order. For once in your life you must evince the conduct to be expected of a royal princess, so that you will make a good impression.”
Madouc said in an even voice: “I am not anxious to make a good impression. Someone might want to marry me.”
Lady Desdea confined her response to a sarcastic sniff. “Come; we are expected.”
Lady Desdea led the way: down the passage to the main gallery and the Great Hall, with Madouc lagging behind, using a loping bent-kneed gait which Lady Desdea ascribed to sheer perversity and ignored.
Folk had already gathered in the Great Hall, where they stood in groups, greeting acquaintances, appraising new arrivals, bowing stiffly to adversaries, ignoring their enemies. Each wore his most splendid garments, hoping to command, at minimum, attention or, better, admiration or, at best, envy. As the notables moved from place to place, silks and satins swirled and caught the glow of light; the room swam with color, so vivid and rich that each hue displayed a vitality of its own: lavender, purple, dead black; intense saturated yellow and mustard-ocher; vermilion, scarlet, the carmine red of pomegranate; all manner of blues: sky-blue, smalt, mid-ocean blue, beetle-wing black-blue; greens in every range.
Bowing, nodding and smiling, Lady Desdea took Madouc to the royal dais, where a pretty little throne of gilded wood and ivory, with a pad of red felt on the seat and at the back, awaited her occupation.
Lady Desdea spoke in a confidential mutter: “For your information, Prince Bittern of Pomperol will be on hand today, also Prince Chalmes of Montferrone and Prince Garcelin of Aquitaine and several others of high degree.”
Madouc stared at her blankly. “As you know, these persons are of no interest to me.”
Lady Desdea smiled her tight grim smile. “Nevertheless, they will come before you, and look you over with care, to gauge your charm and discover your attributes. They will learn whether you are pocked or cross-eyed, wizened or wild, afflicted with sores or mentally deficient, with high ears and low forehead. Now then! Compose yourself and sit quietly.”
Madouc scowled. “No one else is on hand. Why should I sit here, like a bird on a post? It is foolishness. The seat looks uncomfortable. Why did they not give me a nice cushion? Both King Casmir and Queen Sollace sit on pillows four inches thick. There is only a bit of red cloth on my seat.”
