Jack Vance, page 7
“Why, then, are you not at the cotillion, sweating and hopping with the others?”
“I have had my share of it—never fear! It is now your turn.”
“I will have none of it, and this is what Lady Desdea must get through her head.”
Cassander chuckled. “Such mutiny might easily earn you another beating.”
Madouc gave her head a scornful toss. “No matter! I shall utter not a sound, and they will quickly tire of their sport.”
Cassander uttered a bark of laughter. “Wrong, in every respect! I discussed this same topic only last week with Tanchet the under-torturer. He states that voluble types who instantly screech and blubber and make horrid noises—these are the ones who fare the best, since the torturer is quickly satisfied that his job has been well and truly done. Take my advice! A few shrill screams and a convulsion or two might save your skin a whole medley of tingles!”
“This bears thinking about,” said Madouc.
“Or—from a different perspective—you might try to be mild and meek, and avoid the beatings altogether.”
Madouc gave her head a dubious shake. “My mother, the Princess Suldrun, was mild and meek, but failed to escape an awful penalty—which the poor creature never deserved. That is my opinion.”
Cassander spoke in measured tones: “Suldrun disobeyed the king’s command, and had only herself to blame.”
“Nevertheless, it seems very harsh treatment to visit upon one’s own dear daughter.”
Cassander was not comfortable with the topic. “Royal justice is not for us to question.”
Madouc gave Cassander a cool appraisal. He frowned down at her. “Why do you stare at me so?”
“Someday you will be king.”
“That well may be—later, so I hope, rather than sooner. I am in no haste to rule.”
“Would you treat your daughter in such a fashion?”
Cassander pursed his lips. “I would do what I thought to be correct and kingly.”
“And if I were still unmarried, would you try to wed me to some fat bad-smelling prince, so as to make me miserable the rest of my life?”
Cassander gave an exclamation of annoyance. “Why ask such pointless questions? You will be of age long before I wear the crown. Your marriage will be arranged by someone other than me.”
“Small chance of that,” said Madouc under her breath.
“I did not hear your remark.”
“No matter. Do you often visit the old garden where my mother died?”
“I have not done so for years.”
“Take me there now.”
“Now? When you should be at the cotillion?”
“No time could be more convenient.”
Cassander looked toward the palace, and seeing no one, gave a flippant wave of the hand. “I should stand aloof from your vagaries! Still, at the moment I have nothing better to do. Come then, while Lady Desdea is yet dormant. I do not take kindly to complaints and reproaches.”
Madouc said wisely: “I have learned the best response. I feign a blank stupid perplexity, so that they weary themselves with explanations, and forget all else.”
“Ah Madouc, you are a crafty one! Come then, before we are apprehended.”
The two set off up the cloistered way toward Zoltra Bright-Star’s Wall: up past the orangery, through the wall itself by a dank passage and out upon the parade ground at the front of the Peinhador: a place known as ‘The Urquial’. To the right, the wall veered sharply to the south; in the angle, a thicket of larch and juniper concealed a decaying postern of black timber.
Cassander, already beset by second thoughts, pushed through the thicket, cursing the brambles and the drift of pollen from the larches. He thrust at the postern and grunted at the recalcitrance of the sagging timbers. Putting his shoulder to the wood, he heaved hard; with a dismal groaning of corroded iron hinges the postern swung open. Cassander gave a grim nod of triumph for his victory over the obstacle. He beckoned to Madouc. “Behold! The secret garden!”
The two stood at the head of a narrow vale, sloping down to a little crescent of beach. At one time the garden had been landscaped after the classic Arcadian style, but now grew rank and wild with trees and shrubs of many sorts: oak, olive, laurel, bay and myrtle; hydrangea, heliotrope, asphodel, vervane, purple thyme. Halfway down to the beach a clutter of marble blocks and a few standing columns indicated the site of an ancient Roman villa. The single whole structure to be seen was near at hand: a small chapel, now dank with lichen and the odor of wet stone.
Cassander pointed to the stone chapel. “That is where Suldrun took shelter from the weather. She spent many lonely nights in that small place.” He gave his head a wry shake. “And also a few nights not so lonely, which cost her dear in grief and sorrow.”
Madouc blinked at the tears which had come to her eyes and turned away. Cassander said gruffly: “The events are many years gone; one should not mourn forever.”
Madouc looked down the long descent of the garden. “It was my mother, whom I never knew, and it was my father, who was put in a hole to die! How can I forget so easily?”
Cassander shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only assure you that your emotion is wasted. Do you wish to see more of the garden?”
“Let us follow the path and find where it leads.”
“It goes here and there, and finally down to the beach. Suldrun whiled away her days paving the path with pebbles from the beach. Rains have undone the path; there is little to show for her work—or her life, for that matter.”
“Except me.”
“Except you! A notable accomplishment, to be sure!”
Madouc ignored the jocularity, which she found to be in rather poor taste.
Cassander said thoughtfully, “For a fact, you are not at all like her. Evidently, you resemble your father, whoever or whatever he might have been.”
Madouc spoke with feeling: “Since my mother loved him, he was surely a person of high estate and noble character! Nevertheless, they call me ‘bastard’ and insist that I have no pedigree.”
Cassander frowned. “Who commits such discourtesy?”
“The six maidens who attend me.”
Cassander was shocked. “Really! They all seem so sweet and pretty—Devonet in particular!”
“She is the worst; in fact, she is a little serpent.”
Cassander’s displeasure had lost its edge. “Ah well, girls can be saucy at times. The facts, sadly enough, cannot be denied. Do you care to go further?”
Madouc halted in the path. “Had Suldrun no friends to help her?”
“None who dared defy the king. The priest Umphred came occasionally; he said he wanted her for Christianity. I suspect he wanted her for something else, which was no doubt denied him. Perhaps for this reason he betrayed her to the king.”
“So Priest Umphred was the traitor.”
“I suppose he thought it his duty.”
Madouc nodded, assimilating the information. “Why did she stay? I would have been over the wall and away inside the hour.”
“Knowing you, I well believe it! Suldrun, as I remember her, was of a dreamy gentle cast.”
“Still, she need not have remained here. Had she no spirit?”
Cassander considered. “I suppose that she hoped always for the king’s forgiveness. If she ran away, what then? She had no taste for filth or hunger, nor the cold wind by night, nor the certainty of rape.”
Madouc was uncertain as to the exact meaning of the word. “What is ‘rape’?”
Cassander explained in lofty terms. Madouc compressed her lips. “That is boorish conduct! If it were tried on me, I would not tolerate it for a moment, and I certainly would have something very sharp to say!”
“Suldrun also disliked the idea,” said Cassander. “So ends the story, and nothing remains but memories and Princess Madouc. Have you seen enough of this old garden?”
Madouc looked all around. “It is quiet here, and eery. The world is far away. By moonlight it must be sad, and so beautiful as to break one’s heart. I want never to come here again.”
6
An under-maid informed Lady Desdea of Madouc’s return to the castle, in the company of Prince Cassander.
Lady Desdea was taken aback. Her intent had been to chide the little minx at some length and then ordain six punitive hours of dancing lessons. Prince Cassander’s participation totally altered the case. To punish Madouc would imply criticism of Prince Cassander, and Lady Desdea was chary of such a risk. One day Cassander would become king, and kings were notoriously long of memory.
Lady Desdea turned on her heel and marched to the queen’s parlour, where she found Sollace relaxing among her cushions while Father Umphred read psalms in sonorous Latin from a scroll. Sollace understood none of the sense, but she found Father Umphred’s voice soothing, and meanwhile she refreshed herself with curds and honey from a bowl.
Lady Desdea stood impatiently to the side until Father Umphred completed his reading, then, in response to Sollace’s inquiring nod, she told of Madouc’s latest delinquency.
Sollace listened without emotion, supping all the while from her bowl.
Lady Desdea warmed to her subject. “I am bewildered! Rather than acting in accordance with my instructions, she chose to saunter here and there with Prince Cassander, heedless of the arrangements. Were her rank less exalted, one could almost think her controlled by a cacodaemon, or an esper or some other malignant entity! Such is the perversity of the child.”
Queen Sollace failed to become exercised. “She is a trifle wayward; no doubt as to that.”
Lady Desdea’s voice rose in pitch. “I am at my wit’s end! She does not even trouble to defy me; she simply pays me no heed. I might as well be talking out the window!”
“I will reprimand the child later this afternoon,” said Queen Sollace. “Or perhaps tomorrow, if I decide to beat her. At the moment, I have a dozen other matters on my mind.”
Father Umphred cleared his throat. “Perhaps Your Highness will allow me a suggestion.”
“Of course! I value your counsel!”
Father Umphred placed the tips of his fingers together. “Lady Desdea alluded to the possibility of an alien influence. All taken with all, I think this unlikely—but not beyond the realm of imagination, and the Holy Church recognizes such afflictions. As a precaution I would suggest that the Princess Madouc be baptized into the Christian faith and thereupon be instructed in the tenets of orthodoxy. The routines of devotion, meditation and prayer will gently but surely persuade her to those virtues of obedience and humility which we so long to inculcate in her.”
Queen Sollace put aside the empty bowl. “The idea has merit, but I wonder if the Princess Madouc would find such a program appealing.”
Father Umphred smiled. “A child is the last to appreciate what is pure and good. If Princess Madouc finds the environment of Haidion too stimulating, we can send her to the convent at Bulmer Skeme. The Mother Superior is both thorough and rigorous when the need exists.”
Queen Sollace sank back into the cushions of the couch. “I will discuss the matter with the king.”
Sollace waited until King Casmir had taken his supper, and had become somewhat mellow with wine; then, as if casually, she brought Madouc’s name into the conversation. “Have you heard the latest? Madouc is not behaving as I might hope.”
“Ah bah,” growled King Casmir. “It is no great matter. I am bored with this constant recital.”
“It is a subject not to be dismissed lightly. With full and insolent purpose she defied the instructions of Lady Desdea! Father Umphred is convinced that Madouc should be baptized and trained in Christian doctrine.”
“Eh? What nonsense is this?”
“It is scarcely nonsense,” said Sollace. “Lady Desdea is beside herself with anxiety; she suspects that Madouc is moonstruck or possibly possessed by a familiar.”
“Absurd! The girl is full of nervous energy.” For a variety of reasons, Casmir had never informed Sollace of Madouc’s provenance, nor the fact of her fairy blood. He said gruffly: “She is a bit odd, perhaps, but no doubt she will grow out of it.”
“Father Umphred believes that Madouc is definitely in need of religious guidance and I agree.”
Casmir’s voice took on an edge: “You are far too amiable with that fat priest! I will send him away if he does not keep his opinions to himself!”
Sollace said stiffly: “We are concerned only for the salvation of Madouc’s eternal soul!”
“She is a clever little creature; let her worry about her own soul.”
“Hmf,” said Sollace. “Whoever marries Madouc will be getting far more than he bargained for.”
King Casmir gave a frosty chuckle. “You are correct on this account, for more reasons than one! In any event we will be off to Sarris in a week’s time and everything will be changed.”
“Lady Desdea will have more difficulty than ever,” said Sollace with a sniff. “Madouc will run wild as a hare.”
“Lady Desdea must then give chase, if she is truly in earnest.”
“You minimize the difficulties,” said Sollace. “As for me, I find Sarris tiresome enough, without added exasperation.”
“The country air will do you a benefit,” said Casmir. “We shall all enjoy Sarris.”
CHAPTER
THREE
1
Each summer King Casmir moved with household and court to Sarris, a rambling old mansion about forty miles northeast of Lyonesse Town. The site, beside the River Glame, in a region of gently rolling parkland, was most pleasant. Sarris itself made no pretensions either to elegance or grandeur. Queen Sollace, for one, found the amenities at Sarris much inferior to those at Haidion, and described Sarris as ‘a great overgrown barn of a farmhouse’. She also decried the rustic informality which, despite her best efforts, pervaded life at Sarris and which, in her opinion, diminished the dignity of the court and, further, infected the servants with slackness.
There was little society at Sarris, other than an occasional banquet at which King Casmir entertained certain of the local gentry, most of whom Queen Sollace found tedious. She often spoke to King Casmir of her boredom: “In essence, I do not enjoy living like a peasant, with animals braying through the windows of my bedchamber and every cock of the fowl-run crying out alarums each morning before dawn.”
King Casmir turned a deaf ear to the complaints. Sarris was sufficiently convenient for the conduct of state business; for sport he played his falcons and hunted his parklands, or at times, when the chase was hot, he ranged far beyond, sometimes into the fringes of Forest Tantrevalles, only a few miles to the north.
The rest of the royal household also found Sarris to their taste. Prince Cassander was attended by convivial comrades; daily they amused themselves riding abroad, or boating on the river, or practicing the sport of jousting, which recently had become fashionable. During the evening they fancied sport of another kind, in association with certain merry girls of the locality, using an abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage for their venue.
Princess Madouc also took pleasure in the move, which, if nothing else, delivered her from the attendance of her six maids-in-waiting. Her pony Tyfer was ready at hand; every day she rode happily out on the meadows, with Pymfyd for her groom. Not all circumstances were halcyon; she was expected to comport herself in a style befitting her place. Madouc, however, paid little heed to the circumscriptions imposed by Lady Desdea, and followed her own inclinations.
Lady Desdea at last took Madouc aside for an earnest discussion. “My dear, it is time and past time that reality enters your life! You must accept the fact that you are the Princess Madouc of Lyonesse, not some vulgar little ruffian girl, with neither rank nor responsibility!”
“Very well, Lady Desdea; I will remember this. Can I go now?”
“Not yet; in fact, I am barely started. I am trying to point out that each of your acts redounds to the credit, or discredit, not only of yourself and the royal family, but of the entire kingdom! It is awesome to think about! Are you quite clear on this?”
“Yes, Lady Desdea. And yet—”
“And yet—what?”
“No one seems to notice my conduct but you. So it makes little difference after all, and the kingdom is not in danger.”
“It makes a great deal of difference!” snapped Lady Desdea. “Bad habits are easy to learn and hard to forget! You must learn the gracious good habits that will make you admired and respected!”
Madouc gave a doubtful assent. “I do not think anyone will ever admire my needlework or respect my dancing.”
“Nevertheless, these are skills and graces which you must learn, and learn well! Time is advancing; the days go by; the months become years while you are not even noticing. Before long there will be talk of betrothals, and then you and your conduct will be the subject of the most minute scrutiny and the most careful analysis.”
Madouc gave a disdainful grimace. “If anyone scrutinizes me, they will need no analysis to discover what I think of them.”
“My dear, that is not the proper attitude.”
“No matter; I want nothing to do with such things. They must look elsewhere for their betrothals.”
Lady Desdea chuckled grimly. “Do not be too positive too soon, since surely you will change your mind. In any case, I expect you to start practicing genteel conduct.”
“It would be a waste of time.”
“Indeed? Consider this case. A noble prince comes to Lyonesse, hoping to meet a princess modest and pure, of charm and delicacy. He asks: ‘And where is Princess Madouc, who, so I expect, is beautiful, kind and good?’ For answer they point out the window and say: ‘There she goes now!’ He looks out the window and sees you running past, helter-skelter, hair like red rope, with all the charm and grace of a banshee from hell! What then?”
“If the prince is wise, he will order up his horse and leave at once.” Madouc jumped to her feet. “Are you finished? If so, I will be happy to leave.”
