by Joan Aiken
But even this promise failed to arouse any enthusiasm in Dido. She said, "Thanks, Mr. Mully," in a flat little voice, and continued to gaze glumly at her saddlebow, or sometimes ahead, to where Mr. Holystone and Princess Elen rode in silence side by side.
It is a considerable shock when somebody you have known (you thought) very well indeed, and have been fond of, not only proves to be a completely different person from the one you believed to be your friend, but also fails to remember you at all. If, on top of that, he turns out to be a king, reborn after thirteen hundred years, the shock is greater still. And if, into the bargain, he is married to one of the wickedest and most horrible people you have ever met, you can hardly help feeling very unhappy about it. Especially if he seems to be showing rather too much interest in a princess who certainly isn't his wife.
Not that Mr. Holystone talked much to the princess; but all the way on the journey, whether in motion or at rest, they kept near to each other, and there seemed to be a kind of wordless communication going on between them.
"What the dickens does it matter to me," Dido said to herself crossly, "if he rides beside her and helps her on and off her moke? I ain't in charge of em."
But she couldn't help thinking how very much Queen Ginevra would dislike it, if she knew that her newly recovered Rex Quondam, instead of making all possible speed back to Bath Regis to greet his long-lost queen, was riding in precisely the opposite direction, by the side of a much younger, and very beautiful, princess.
"The queen'll never let Cap'n Hughes out of prison at this rate," Dido thought gloomily. "And we can't go off and leave poor old Cap hobbled up in Cumbria. And it's bezants to breadcrumbs she'll grab the lot of us if we go back—have our heads shrunk, or our tongues cut out, or drop us in the river for those pesky fish to guzzle."
Dido's thoughts were far from cheerful.
But when they were about five miles from Wandesborough, they saw a mounted party approaching them at full gallop, accompanied by waving banners and the sound of bocinas; and the little brown-faced, roly-poly man on a fiery mountain pony in the lead proved to be none other than King Mabon himself, impatient for reunion with his daughter. He flung himself off his mount and ran to embrace her, then turned to address her rescuers in a flood of joyful Latin. As this was received by all except Mr. Windward and Mr. Holystone with blank faces, he switched to English.
"Heroes you are indeed, every one of you! My gratitude to the end of your days you will be having. Anything in Lyonesse is yours for the asking! Well, well, now—what a big bonny girl you have grown, cariad! I can see Miss Castlereagh fed you all those years on milk and honey, even if you are a bit skinny just now, with you," he added, giving Elen another hug. "And plenty of learning to go with the bonny looks, I am hoping?"
"Oh yes, Papa, I can speak seven languages, and Professor Crumhorn gave me AA for disputation, and I have reached the second part of the calculus."
"There, now! A bluestocking I have got myself! But as for that Ginevra," said King Mabon, suddenly becoming formidable, "as for that fiend in human form, boiling in oil would be too good for her. She should be—"
"But, Dadda—"
"Well, what?"
"Gwydion is married to her!"
"What?"
"They say that Cousin Gwydion is Queen Ginevra's Rex Quondam."
"Who say?"
"Caradog, the old guardian—and Gwydion himself says it."
The guardian, however, had prudently seen fit to make himself scarce and disappear during the bustle of departure from the Pass of Nimue.
King Mabon said to Mr. Holystone, "Is this so, my boy? Are you Mercurius Artaius? Are you the Pendragon?"
"Yes; it is true," said Mr. Holystone, who still looked very tired.
"Then I salute you, my liege lord, and offer you fealty," said King Mabon, going down without more ado on one knobby knee. This was not comfortable for him, since he wore a toga and short tunic, and the ground was stony; he kissed Holystone's hand, then briskly stood up again. "But, my boy, how is it you never knew that before? All those years when you used to visit us as a child, and play with Elen and her brothers—"
"His time had not yet come," interposed Bran, who now, greatly to Dido's astonishment, limped out from among King Mabon's escorting troop. I suppose it was him as passed word that Elen was up there in the stable, Dido thought. Bran wore a white tunic and purple toga. A pageboy carried his cockatoo. He went on, "No use to ask the chrysalis why it is not a butterfly. The hour had not yet struck nor the hilt of Caliburn come to his hand."
"But—bless me—this puts an entirely new complexion on the matter." King Mabon ran a hand through his dark hair, which was cut short, Roman fashion. "Married to Ginevra, you are? Shocking pity that is, indeed! I don't mind telling you, some nasty rumors have been coming through about her, these twenty years and more. Still," he added, not very hopefully, "maybe now you are returned to her she will be a bit more neighborly. Closed her frontier, she did, years back, and the tales that trickle out from Cumbria I would sooner not be believing."
"I reckon they're all true, Mr. King," said Dido, who saw no reason why she should not take part in this discussion.
"And who might you be, my dear?" King Mabon turned his intense, dark, very intelligent eyes on her.
"Why, this is Dido, Papa, who rescued me; she helped me out of the cave."
"Then it's welcome you are as lambs in spring," said King Mabon. "But why are we all standing like this in the fosseway? Let us go back directly to Wandesborough so that the feasting may commence."
They remounted, the troop of legionaries riding ahead, the frontier patrol behind, and King Mabon and his daughter's rescuers in the middle.
King Mabon talked hard all the way.
"Now you are back, my boy—and delighted I am, though I won't say it wasn't a surprise—"
Wonder what Cap'n Hughes'll say when he finds his steward's a king, Dido thought.
"—unification of the three kingdoms—need for a strong, guiding hand," King Mabon was continuing. "Danger from Biru, from Patagonia, and the Southern Incas—"
Mr. Holystone seemed to have little to say. He remained silent and listened.
Bran, who, despite his wooden leg, appeared able to ride a mule without any difficulty, came alongside Dido. Noticing her despondent looks, he broke into one of his little songs, sung very softly for her alone:
"I like the way
You say my name
None other says it
Quite the same
The syllables sing like the notes of a song
When you say it, I wish it were Jive times as long!
So when I die
Pray don't feel glum
But simply write
Upon my tomb
Forget his career; but tell this to his credit
His name sounded best in the way that she said it!"
"Your songs are downright silly sometimes," said Dido crossly. "And how did you get here, anyway? You belong in Cumbria. And the frontier is closed, King Mabon said."
"Smugglers, minstrels, and messengers travel where they choose," Bran said. "And a good storyteller is welcome anywhere. Shall I tell you a story, child? You appear somewhat despondent."
"Despondent?" said Dido. "D'you expect me to be as chirpy as a cricket? Cap'n Hughes is in jail, and Mr. Holystone says he's Arthur come back, so—so he's married to that hateful woman." Her voice wavered. To cover this she added quickly, "D'you reckon that's true?"
Despite his oddity, she felt sure that Bran would know, and give her a true answer. But instead of replying directly, he said:
"Once there was a wicked rich man who had gained all his riches by despoiling his neighbors. He had particularly abused a man called Abel, taking his land unlawfully, bearing false witness against him; in the end he had Abel turned out of his home. Abel, penniless, became a sailor, and was absent from his homeland for many years, and came back no richer than he had gone.
"But when he
did come back, Cain, the rich man, was dying; all his ill-won riches could not protect him from death. And as he lay tossing and turning on his velvet couch, he was tormented by one desperate, feverish craving. 'In all my life I have never heard the sound of the sea! Oh, if I could but hear the sound of the waves beating on the shore, I believe I might recover. Or at least I could die happy.' But the sea was many thousands of leagues away.
"Now, as you know, you can hear the sound of the sea if you hold a shell to your ear. There was only one man in the town who possessed a shell, and that was Abel. The shell, indeed, was his only possession. But when he heard of his enemy's wish, he carried the shell to Cain's house and said, 'Here it is; listen to it by all means if you think it will ease you.' And Cain held the shell to his ear, and his face contorted with rage and envy. ' You have had this all these years, while I parched on the dry land?' he cried. 'But I will take it from you now!' And he crushed the shell between his hands, and so doing, he died. But Abel said, 'I can still listen to the wind. Its voice is as sweet as the voice of the sea.'"
"Just the same," said Dido indignantly, "that rich man was a pig. A real pig! Did Abel get his things back after Cain died?"
"As to that," Bran said, "I can't tell you. But see, here we are, arriving in Wandesborough."
The assize town was very different from Bath Regis. It was laid out geometrically, a small walled town of neat thatched Roman villas, built strongly of clay and wattle, and all painted white. Mabon was staying in the governor's house, which was simply a bigger villa, with a large, square inner court containing the usual fountain and cactuses.
King Mabon instantly set his stewards to organizing a feast in the main hall, and dispatched messengers to Lyonesse City to make arrangements for the return of Lake Arianrod.
"Fair's fair," he said. "Let no one claim I don't keep my word. I have my child, the old woman can have her pond. And furthermore, I'll send it back faster than I took it." He chuckled. "My master of irrigation has hatched up a plan to ship it back by a series of air balloons, helped by the updraft over Mount Catelonde—which will be a deal quicker and cheaper than all those llamas."
"How did you manage to remove it without the guardian's knowledge?" inquired Mr. Windward.
"My spies picked a couple of nights when he was down in Bath reporting to the queen, which he does twice a month."
What a deal of trouble would have been saved, Dido thought, if the spies had only found the princess. I'd have been home by this time, and Cap'n Hughes wouldn't be in jail.
While the mutton was roasting for the feast, they all lolled on warm earthenware couches shaped like the letter P laid on its side. The villa was centrally heated by underground ducts from Pampoyle and Catelonde. They reclined against wool-stuffed cushions and drank mead, while Bran played his harp and sang. Elen and Mr. Holystone sat side by side, apparently listening to the music, not talking to one another. Dido felt a painful tightness in her chest, either at the music or at the sight of them, so she moved over and listened instead to King Mabon discussing with the English officers the state of affairs in New Cumbria.
"Bad as it can be, and no better in Hy Brasil," Mabon was saying. "Gwydion's foster brother Ccaedmon—lucky the relationship is no closer, proper tyrant he is—turned the whole country into a big-game preserve—evicted half his subjects from their homes. Cuts off the peasants' hands if they catch so much as a guinea pig."
"A guinea pig, sir?"
"Indeed yes! Cui, they call them hereabouts—because of the sound, you know"—King Mabon imitated a guinea pig's squeak so realistically that the governor's cat shot into the room and began searching suspiciously under the couches. "Or," the king went on, "some say it is short for cui cui modo. Guinea pigs used to be the staple diet in Hy Brasil until Ccaedmon declared that they belonged to the crown." He glanced over at his daughter and Holystone. His brow clouded slightly. He called, "Gwydion, my boy!"
Holystone rose a little reluctantly and came across the room.
"Sir?"
Dido caught a queer, polite echo of Captain Hughes's steward.
"Now, now, boyo, it is I who should be calling you sir," Mabon said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Only it comes hard with a lad I taught to cast his first trout fly. Queer it must be for you, indeed, and difficult to take it all in."
"Oh, why," burst out Holystone, looking harassed and miserable, "why must this happen to me? Why should I, of all people, be brought back in this way? To what end?"
"As to why you, bless me if I know!" said King Mabon frankly. "But it had to be someone, now, didn't it? And when you ask to what end—haven't I just been saying? Gracious to goodness, why this whole region—with the exception of Lyonesse, which, I pride myself, is as peaceful and prosperous a little country as you could hope to visit—the whole of Roman America apart from that is in a disgraceful condition of tyranny, anarchy, and misrule. Time it was the High King came back; someone who will be accepted by the people and set matters to rights.
"Are they still head-hunting in Cumbria?" he asked Windward.
"Indeed yes, sir; I gather it is a thriving practice."
"And the things that go on in Biru you'd never believe—brigandage, cannibalism—I believe they even sacrifice their grandmothers to Sul. Grandmothers! And in the streets of Manoa you daren't go out at night because robbers make off with the silver manhole covers; you could fall straight into the sewers and get washed away. No, no, my dear Gwydion—Artaius—time it is you came back, not a moment too soon indeed. And then there's your good lady over in Cumbria—time some of her habits were taken in hand."
Holystone looked even more unhappy.
"Have you ever met her, sir?"
"Not I, my boy! Won't cross her frontiers; won't receive foreign rulers. But these gentlemen have met her, I believe."
Multiple shook his head. The lieutenant said, "The young lady has talked to her more than I have."
"Have you indeed, my dear? And lived to tell the tale? Uncommon, that is," King Mabon said. "Tell us what she is like, then, eh?"
How to describe someone who is both wicked and sentimental, self-centered, silly, and terrifyingly powerful? Dido's usual readiness of tongue deserted her. And besides, it was, after all, poor Mr. Holystone's wife they were talking about; and he looked glum enough already.
After some thought, Dido muttered, "She sure wants Mr. Holy back. She don't think of much else. She wanted me to try and gull King Mabon into believing I was his daughter. So she'd get the lake back."
She looked up into Mr. Holystone's sad gray eyes.
"You have seen Guinevere?" he said slowly. "Is she—is she much changed?"
"How'd I know?" Dido said crossly. "I dunno what she was like afore, do I? All I know is, she's been waiting a plaguy long time and it's—upset her. She'd be the better for not having that mess o' havey-cavey old witches round her, too—Lady Ettarde, and Morgan, and the other one. Well, one of 'em's dead," she added thoughtfully, remembering the scene at Elen's rescue.
"Which one?" inquired Bran, who had joined the group. His voice was sharp with interest. Dido glanced at him in surprise.
"I'd have thought you'd know, mister! It's the one as called herself Mrs. Vavasour."
An odd look came into Bran's face—sorrow compounded with relief. He lifted his shoulders as if a weight had fallen from them. And his cockatoo flew across the room and perched on his wrist.
Dido wondered what Bran's connection had been with the witch-dressmaker. But Princess Elen had now followed Holystone, and sat down by her father, who tucked his arm round her affectionately. She said, "Mrs. Vavasour is dead? I am glad of that."
She shivered, and went on: "She told me she had set a snake to watch me, outside the cave entrance, and that it would grow and double its size every day, and could see me through the crack and would bite me if I tried to get out. I—I didn't really believe her, but I used to think I could hear it hissing."
"Ugh! How could you bear it, ma'am?" said Multiple with
a shudder. "I can't abide snakes."
"I daresay most of their witcheries are no more than mumbo-jumbo, done to frighten credulous folk," said Mabon.
"But that owl did turn into Mrs. Vavasour," said Dido. "It ain't all mumbo-jumbo." And there was my reflection in the mirror, she thought.
Elen said, "Bran used to tell us when we were children that witchcraft was the wickedness in several people's minds combining to form something worse still. Like making poison by mixing things that are harmless taken singly." She looked into Holystone's face wistfully. "Artaius? Gwydion? Can you really remember nothing of when we were children?"
He shook his head. "Only a vagueness—like a dream, half-caught."
"You don't recall how you used to stay with us? Or that Bran here was your tutor?"
"The best pupil I ever had," Bran said. "He never had to stay in to learn his principal parts, as you and your brothers did, Princess."
" Why can't I remember?" muttered Holystone, pressing his brow, as if to make a hole and let air into his brain.
"Some external force is blocking your mind for its own ends," Bran told him. "It is of no consequence. You know that you are the High King. Other memory will return in time."
The governor's cat had followed Elen and now jumped into her lap.
"They still follow you, eh?" said her father. "Did they do so in that English Bath? And what did Miss Castlereagh say to that?"
"Oh, she was a very kind lady, Dadda. She sent her dutiful respects to you, when I left, and gave me a pomander ball and a copy of Dr. Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language. The pomander ball I lost when the pirates captured our ship, but the dictionary has proved very useful."
"Nothing like a good vocabulary, I always say." King Mabon beamed at his daughter. "But look, supper's ready—all your favorites, my dear. Roast mutton, bara brith, and syllabub!"