5.

 

 

 

KING CASMIR STOOD BY THE WINDOW OF HIS PRIVATE PARLOR, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back. The Troice flotilla had departed and was gone beyond the eastern headlands; the Lir stretched blank and wide before him. Casmir muttered soft words under his breath and turned away from the window. Hands still clasped behind his back, Casmir paced back and forth across the room, slow step after slow step, head bent forward so that his beard brushed his chest.

Queen Sollace entered the parlor. She halted and stood watching King Casmir’s ponderous travels. Casmir darted her an ice-blue glance sidewise from under his eyebrows, and continued to pace in silence.

With nostrils haughtily pinched, Queen Sollace marched across the room to the couch and seated herself.

King Casmir at last halted. He spoke, as much to himself as to Sollace, “It cannot be brushed aside. Once again my progress is checked and my great effort thwarted—by the same agency and for the same reasons. The facts are blunt. I must accept them.”

“Indeed?” asked Sollace. “What are these ugly facts which cause you such distress?”

“They concern my plans for Blaloc,” grumbled Casmir. “I cannot intervene without bringing Aillas and his Troice warships down around my ears. Thereupon that fat jackal Audry would be sure to turn on me, and I cannot withstand so many blows from so many directions.”

“Perhaps you should adopt a different plan,” said Queen Sollace brightly. “Or you might make do with no plan at all.”

“Ha!” barked Casmir. “So it might seem! King Aillas talks softly and with great politeness; he has the uncomfortable skill of calling one a false-hearted blackguard, a liar, a cheat and a villain, but making it seem a fulsome compliment.”

Queen Sollace shook her head in bewilderment. “I am surprised! I thought King Aillas and Prince Dhrun had come to pay a courtesy call.”

“That was not his only reason: I assure you of that!”

Queen Sollace sighed. “King Aillas has achieved his own great successes; why cannot he be more tolerant of your hopes and dreams? There must be an element of jealousy at work.”

Casmir nodded curtly. “There is no love lost between us, that is fact. Still, he only acts as he must. He knows my ultimate goal as well as I know it myself!”

“But it is a glorious goal!” bleated Queen Sollace. “To unite the Elder Isles once again, as of old: that is a noble dream! It would surely give impetus to our holy faith! Think! One day Father Umphred might be Archbishop over all the Elder Isles!”

King Casmir spoke in disgust: “Once again you have been listening to that clabber-faced priest. He has cozened you into your cathedral; let that suffice.”

Queen Sollace raised her moist gaze to the ceiling. She spoke in long-suffering tones: “No matter what else, please realize that my prayers are dedicated to your success. You must surely win in the end!”

“I wish it were so easy.” King Casmir flung himself heavily into a chair. “All is not lost. I am checked in Blaloc, but there are always two ways around the barn!”

“Your meaning escapes me.”

“I will give new instructions to my agents. There will be no more disorder. When King Milo dies, Brezante will be king. We will give him Madouc in marriage, and by this means join our houses.”

Queen Sollace made an objection. “Brezante is already wed! He married Glodwyn of Bor!”

“She was frail, young and sickly, and she died in child-birth. Brezante is notably uxorious, and he will be quite ready for new nuptials.”

Queen Sollace said mournfully: “Poor little Glodwyn! She was barely more than a child, it is said she never gave over her homesickness.”

Casmir shrugged. “Still and all, it might well work to our advantage. King Milo is as good as dead. Brezante is a bit dull, a factor favorable to our cause. We must make occasion for his visit.”

Sollace said doubtfully: “Brezante is not altogether gallant, nor is he handsome, or even dashing. His penchant for young maidens is notorious.”

“Bah! Old or young, what of that? The business is all cut from the same cloth! Kings are above small-minded scandal.”

Queen Sollace sniffed. “And queens as well, no doubt!”

Casmir, staring thoughtfully across the room, ignored the remark.

“One matter further,” said Sollace. “I refer to Madouc. She is difficult in matters of this sort.”

“She will obey because she must,” said Casmir. “It is I who am king, not Madouc.”

“Aha! But it is Madouc who is Madouc!”

“We cannot make bread without flour. Scrawny red-headed little whelp she may be: still she must yield to my command.”

“She is not ugly,” said Queen Sollace. “Her time has come, and she is developing—slowly, of course, and with little to show for the effort. She will never boast a fashionable figure, such as mine.”

“It will be enough to affect Brezante.” He slapped his hands decisively on the arms of the chair. “I am prepared to act with expedition.”

“Your policy is no doubt wise,” said Queen Sollace. “Still—”

“Still what?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

King Casmir acted without delay. Three couriers rode off from Haidion into the evening: the first to Fort Mael, ordering a return to routine conditions; the second to a high-placed agent in Twissamy; the third to King Milo, wishing him health, deploring the ruffians who flouted royal authority, and inviting King Milo and Prince Brezante to Haidion for a gala visit. Or Prince Brezante alone, if King Milo’s health made such a visit impractical.

A few days later the couriers returned. From Fort Mael and the agent in Twissamy came simple acknowledgments that his orders had been received and would be acted upon. From King Milo came a dispatch of greater interest. King Milo thanked King Casmir for his kindly wishes and fraternal support. Next he announced his return to jovial good health and described how the change had come about. In a passage of some length he described the circumstances. It seemed that one day, just prior to his dinner, a sudden desperate spasm came upon him. Instead of his usual regimen: one quail egg and half a gill of buttermilk, he commanded a joint of roast beef with horseradish and suet pudding, a suckling pig sizzling on the spit surrounded by roast cinnamon apples, a pot of pigeon stew and three gallons of good red wine. For his supper he took a more moderate repast of four roast fowl, a pork and onion pie, a salmon and a number of sausages, along with sufficient wine to assist in digestion. After a night’s sound sleep, he breakfasted on fried flounder, three dozen oysters, a raisin cake, a cassoulet of broad beans and ham for a savory, and a tankard or two of a particularly fine white wine. It was this return to a sound and wholesome diet, declared King Milo, which had renewed his strength; he now felt as good as new, if not better. Therefore, wrote King Milo, he and the recently bereaved Prince Brezante would be delighted to accept King Casmir’s invitation. Neither he nor Brezante would be reluctant to discuss the topic at which King Casmir had hinted. He endorsed King Casmir’s suggestion that an era of friendlier relations between their two realms was about to be initiated.

Madouc learned of the projected visit from several sources, but it remained for Devonet to explain the occasion in detail. “You will find Prince Brezante very attentive,” said Devonet airily. “He may wish to take you somewhere alone, perhaps to his rooms, for a game of ‘sly’ or ‘fiddle-de-doodle’; in this case you must be on your guard. Brezante is partial to young maidens. He may even suggest a marriage contract! In any case you should not succumb to his blandishments, since some men become bored with easy conquests.”

Madouc said stiffly: “You need not fear on that account. I am interested neither in Prince Brezante nor his blandishments.”

Devonet paid no heed. “Think of it! Is it not exciting? Someday you might be Queen Madouc of Blaloc!”

“I think not.”

Devonet spoke reasonably: “I agree that Brezante is not the most comely of men; indeed, he is fleshy and squat, with a round belly and a big nose. Still, what of that? He is a royal prince, and you are to be envied, or so I suppose.”

“You are talking sheer foolishness. I have not the slightest interest in Prince Brezante, nor he in me.”

“Do not be too sure of that! You are much like his previous spouse. She was a young princess from Wales: a little wisp of a thing, naive and innocent.”

Chlodys joined the conversation with eager zest. “They say that she cried constantly from both homesickness and distress! I believe that eventually she went out of her mind, poor thing. Prince Brezante was troubled not at all and bedded with her nightly, until at last she died in childbirth.”

“It is a sad story,” said Madouc.

“Exactly! The little princess is dead and Prince Brezante is heartsick. You must do your best to console him.”

“He will surely want to kiss you,” said Chlodys with a giggle. “If so, you must kiss him nicely in return; that is the way one wins a husband. Am I not right, Devonet?”

“That is one of the ways, certainly.”

Madouc spoke with disdain: “Sometimes I marvel at the ideas which seep through your minds!”

“Ah well,” sighed Devonet. “It is less disgraceful to think than to do.”

“Although not so much fun,” added Chlodys.

“Either of you, or both, are welcome to Prince Brezante,” said Madouc. “He will surely find you more interesting than me.”

Later in the day King Casmir met Madouc in the gallery. He was about to pass her by, eyes averted, in his usual style; instead, he stopped in his tracks. “Madouc, I want a word with you.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Come with me.” King Casmir led the way into a nearby council chamber, with Madouc lagging reluctantly six paces behind.

Casmir, smiling the smallest of grim smiles, waited by the door until Madouc entered, then closed the door and went to stand by the table. “Sit.”

Madouc seated herself primly in a chair across the table from Casmir.

“I must now instruct you,” said Casmir ponderously: “Listen with care and heed me well. Certain events of importance are in the offing. King Milo of Blaloc will presently be our guest, in company with Queen Caudabil and Prince Brezante. I intend to propose a contract of betrothal between you and Prince Brezante. The marriage will be joined at an appropriate time, possibly in three years. It will be an important marriage, in that it will consolidate a strong alliance with Blaloc, to counter Pomperol’s tendency toward Dahaut. These are affairs of state which you will not understand, but you must believe that they are of the highest priority.”

Madouc tried to think of something to say, which would delicately convey her feelings and yet not enrage King Casmir. Several times she started to speak, then thought better of her remarks, and closed her mouth. At last she said, rather lamely: “Prince Brezante may not favor such a match.”

“I suspect otherwise. King Milo has already expressed interest in the arrangement. Almost certainly an announcement will be made during the royal visit. It is a good match for you, and you may consider yourself lucky. Now then, attend! Lady Vosse will instruct you in the proprieties which must be observed. I expect total decorum from you on this occasion. You may not indulge in any of your famous vapors or tantrums, at risk of my extreme displeasure. Is this quite clear?”

Madouc answered in a tremulous voice: “Yes, Your Highness, I understand your words.” She drew a deep breath. “But they fly wide of the mark. It is best that you should know this now.”

King Casmir started to speak, using a dangerous voice, but Madouc was quick to anticipate him. “In ordinary matters I would hope to obey you, but remember: my marriage is far more important to me than it is to you.”

King Casmir bent slowly forward. Over the years dozens of frightened wretches had seen such an expression on his face before being dragged away to torment in the dungeons under the Peinhador.

Casmir spoke from deep in his throat: “So you think to thwart my volition?”

Madouc spoke more carefully than ever. “There are circumstances, Your Highness, which make the plan impossible!”

“What circumstances are these?”

“First, I despise Prince Brezante. If he is so anxious to marry, let him betroth himself to Lady Vosse or Chlodys. Second, if you will recall, I am born of halfling mother and an unknown father. I know nothing of my pedigree; for practical purposes it is lacking; for this reason, my maidens call me ‘bastard’, which I cannot deny. If King Milo knew of this, he would consider the betrothal a mockery, and an insult to his house.”

King Casmir blinked and stood silent. Madouc rose to her feet and stood demurely leaning on the table. “Therefore, Your Highness, the betrothal is not possible. You must make other plans, which do not include me.”

“Bah!” muttered Casmir. “All these circumstances are small fish in a big pan. Neither Milo nor Brezante need know of them! After all, who would tell them?”

“The task would fall to me,” said Madouc. “It would be my duty.”

“That is sheer blather!”

Madouc hurried on, her tongue almost tripping over itself. “Not so, Your Highness! I merely use the faith and candour I have learned from your noble example! Decent respect for the honour of both royal houses would compel me to admit my condition, no matter what the consequences!”

King Casmir spoke out harshly: “It means nothing; I assure you of this! To talk of honour is frivol and foolishness! If it is a pedigree you need, the heralds will contrive something suitable and I will fix it upon you by ordinance!”

Madouc smilingly shook her head. “Bad cheese stinks, no matter how thin it is sliced. Such a pedigree would be a laughable deceit. Folk would call you a ‘black-hearted monster’, as false as a stoat, ready for any lie or duplicity. Everyone would sneer and joke; I would be doubly ridiculed, and doubly demeaned, for allowing such a brazen falsity! They would further call you a—”

Casmir made a brusque gesture. “Stop! That is enough!”

Madouc said meekly: “I was only explaining why my true and very own pedigree is essential to me.”

King Casmir’s patience was wearing thin. “This is folly, and quite beside the point! I do not propose to be thwarted by such paltriness! Now then—”

Madouc cried out plaintively: “The facts cannot be denied, Your Highness! I lack all pedigree.”

“Then construct yourself a pedigree, or find one that you deem proper, and it shall be fixed upon you by fiat! Only be quick! Ask Spargoy the Chief Herald for help.”

“I would prefer the help of someone else.”

“Whoever you like! Fact or fancy, it is all one; I am indifferent to your whims. Only be quick!”

“Just so, Your Majesty. I will do as you command.”

Casmir’s attention was caught by a bland overtone in Madouc’s response: why had she become so docile? “In the meantime, I will initiate discussions in regard to the betrothal. This must proceed!”

Madouc gave a poignant little cry of protest. “Your Highness, have I not just explained that this cannot be?”

Casmir’s torso seemed to swell. Madouc moved a slow step around the table, to put its maximum diameter between her and King Casmir. She cried out: “Nothing has changed, Your Highness! I will search everywhere for my pedigree, but even should I discover the King of Byzantium for my sire, Prince Brezante remains as obnoxious as ever. If he speaks a single word to me, I shall declare myself an orphan bastard whom King Casmir wishes to foist off on him. If he is not deterred I will show him the ‘Impspring Tinkle-toe’, so that he leaps six feet into the air.”

King Casmir’s cheeks had become pink and his eyes bulged blue from his face. He took three strides around the table, in order that he might seize Madouc and beat her well. Madouc warily darted off an equal distance around the table. Casmir lumbered in pursuit, but Madouc ran nimbly to keep the table always between them.

Casmir at last halted, breathing hard both from passion and exertion. Madouc said breathlessly: “You must excuse me for evading you, Your Highness, but I do not care to be beaten again.”

“I will call the footmen,” said Casmir. “They will take you to a dark room, and I will beat you at my leisure and perhaps do else to you. No one defies me and escapes unscathed.” He took a slow step around the table, staring fixedly at Madouc as if trying to fascinate her into immobility.

Madouc sidled aside, and spoke tremulously: “I beg you not to do such things, Your Highness! You will notice that I have not used my fairy magic upon you, which would be disrespectful. I command not only the Sissle-way and the Tinkle-toe but also—” Madouc groped for inspiration, which was not slow in coming “—an irksome spell called ‘Insect’s Arrayance’, to be used only on persons who threaten me!”

“Oh?” asked King Casmir in a gentle voice. “Tell me of this spell!” And he took a slow step around the table.

Madouc hurriedly skipped aside. “When I am compelled to afflict some vile cur of a villain, insects swarm upon him from all directions! By day and by night they come, high and low, down from the sky, up from the soil!”

“That is an unnerving prospect.”

“True, Your Highness! Please do not creep around the table, as you frighten me and I might blurt out the ‘Arrayance’ by mistake!”

“Indeed? Tell me more of this marvellous spell.”

“First come the fleas! They jump through the vile cur’s golden beard, also his hair; they swarm in his rich garments till he tears his skin for scratching!”

“Irksome! Stand quietly, and tell me more!” King Casmir made a sudden movement; Madouc jumped around the table and spoke in desperate haste: “When he sleeps large spiders crawl across his face! Weevils burrow into his skin and drop from his nose! He finds beetles in his soup and roaches in his porridge! Blow-flies crawl into his mouth and lay eggs in his ears; when he walks out he is beleaguered by gnats and moths and darting grass-hoppers; wasps and bumble-bees sting him at random!”

King Casmir stood scowling. “And you control this awful spell?”

“Oh yes indeed! There is worse to come! Should the villain fall to the ground, he is instantly overcome by a seethe of ants. Naturally, I would use this spell only to protect myself!”

“Of course!” King Casmir smiled a small hard smile. “But do you truly command a spell of such power? I suspect not.”

“In all candour, I have forgotten one or two of the syllables,” said Madouc bravely. “However they come readily enough from my mother’s tongue. I can call her at need, and she will transform my enemies into toads, moles or salamanders, as I dictate, and this you must believe, since it is truth!”

King Casmir stared at Madouc a long moment. He made an abrupt gesture signifying a dozen emotions. “Go. Remove yourself from my sight.”

Madouc performed a dainty little curtsey. “I am grateful for Your Majesty’s kind clemency.” She slipped gingerly past Casmir; then, with a sly glance back over her shoulder, ran quickly from the room.