MADOUC

by Jack Vance

  Later in the day Devonet and Chlodys reported to Lady Desdea. Both were thoroughly annoyed with Madouc, who had acceded to none of their wishes. "She kept us there forever while she groomed her Tyfer horse and braided its mane!"

  But worse was to come. Madouc finished with Tyfer and led him away, but failed to return. The two girls went to find her. As they picked their way fastidiously around the stable, an exit gate swung open without warning, thrusting them from the stone coping into the drainage sump, so that both stumbled and fell. At this point Madouc appeared in the opening and asked why they were playing in the manure. "This is not what I consider ladylike behavior," Madouc told them haughtily. "Have you no regard for decency?"

  Lady Desdea could only deplore the misfortune. "You should be more careful. Still, Madouc need not lavish so much time on that horse. Tomorrow I shall see to it! We shall sit to our needlework, with honeycakes and sangaree for us all to enjoy."

  At twilight the three girls supped on cold fowl and onion pudding in a pleasant little room overlooking the park. Prince Cassander came to sit with them. At his order, the steward brought a flask of pale sweet wine. Cassander sat back in his chair, sipping from the goblet and talking largely of his theories and exploits. On the morrow he and his comrades intended to ride north to Flauhamet, a town on Old Street, where a great fair was in progress. "There will be jousting,"* said Cassander. "Perhaps I will take up a gage or two, if the competition is fair; we do not wish to compete against yokels and ploughboys; that goes without saying."

  Even at her relatively early age, Devonet was always ready to test her skills. "You must be very brave, to take such risks!"

  Cassander made an expansive gesture. "It is a complicated skill, comprised of practice, horsemanship and natural ability. I flatter myself that I run a good course. You three should come to Flauhamet, at least to see the fair. Then, should we joust, we will wear your ribbons! What do you think of that?"

  "It sounds splendid," said Chlodys. "But Lady Desdea has other plans for tomorrow."

  "In the morning we will sit at our needlework in the conservatory, while Master Jocelyn sings to the lute." Devonet darted a glance toward Madouc. "In the afternoon the queen holds court and we will all attend her, as is proper."

  "Ah well, you must do what Lady Desdea thinks best," said Cassander. "Perhaps there will be another occasion before summer is over."

  "I do hope so!" said Devonet. "It would be most exciting to watch you vanquish your opponents, one after the other!"

  "It is not so easy as that," said Cassander. "And there may be only bumpkins on plough horses to ride against. Still, we shall see."

  II

  In the morning, early, with the sun still red in the east, Madouc rose from her bed, dressed, took a hasty breakfast of porridge and figs in the kitchen, then ran around to the stables. Here she searched out Pymfyd and commanded him to saddle Tyfer, and his own horse as well.

  Pymfyd blinked, yawned and scratched his head. "It is neither entertaining nor sensible to ride out so early."

  "Do not attempt to think, Pymfyd! I have already made the decisions. Merely saddle the horses, and without delay."

  "I see no need for haste," growled Pymfyd. "The day is young and the day is long."

  "Is it not clear? I want to avoid Devonet and Chlodys! You have heard my orders; please be quick."

  "Very good, Your Highness." Pymfyd languidly saddled the horses, and led them from the stable. "Where do you intend to ride?"

  "Here, there, up the lane, perhaps as far as Old Street."

  "Old Street? That is a goodly distance: four miles, or is it five?"

  "No matter; the day is fine and the horses are eager for their run."

  "But we will not be back for our dinner! Must I go hungry on this account?"

  "Come along, Pymfyd! Today your stomach is not important."

  "Perhaps not to you of the royalty, who nibble at will upon saffron cakes and tripes in honey! I am a vulgar lout with a gut to match, and now you must wait till I find bread and cheese for my dinner."

  "Be quick!"

  Pymfyd ran off and returned a few moments later carrying a cloth sack which he tied to the back of his saddle.

  Madouc asked: "Are you ready at last? Then let us be off."

  III

  The two rode up Sarris Way across the royal parkland: past meadows sparkling with daisies, lupines, wild mustard, flaming red poppies, past copses of ash and birch; through the shade of massive oaks where they overhung the lane. They departed the royal domain through a stone portal and almost immediately encountered a crossroads, where Sarris Way became Fanship Lane.

  Madouc and Pymfyd rode north up Fanship Lane, not without grumbling from Pymfyd, who could not understand Madouc's interest in Old Street. "There is nothing to see but the road, which runs to the right and also to the left."

  "Just so," said Madouc. "Let us proceed."

  The countryside presently became marked by evidence of cultivation: fields planted to oats and barley, marked off by old stone fences, an occasional farmhouse. After a mile or two, the lane ascended a long easy slope by slants and traverses, finally, at the top of the rise, intersecting with Old Street.

  Madouc and Pymfyd pulled up their horses. Looking back across the panorama to the south, they could trace the entire length of Fanship Lane to the crossroads, and beyond, across the king's park to the poplars beside the River Glame, though Sarris itself was concealed behind trees.

  As Pymfyd had asserted, Old Street continued in both directions, over the downs and out of sight. Fanship Lane, crossing Old Street, proceeded onward toward the somber loom of Forest Tantrevalles, at this point little more than a mile to the north.

  At the moment Old Street was empty of traffic: a fact that seemed to excite Pymfyd's suspicions. Craning his neck, he stared first in one direction then the other. Madouc watched in puzzlement, and finally asked: "Why are you searching so carefully, when there is nothing to be seen?"

  "That is what I want to see."

  "I don't quite understand."

  "Naturally not," said Pymfyd loftily. "You are too young to know the woes of the world, which are many. There is also much wickedness, if one cares to look, or even if one takes care not to look."

  Madouc inspected the road: first to the east, then to the west. "At the moment I see nothing either woeful or wicked."

  "That is because the road is empty. Wickedness often springs into view from nowhere, which makes it so fearful."

  "Pymfyd, I believe that you are obsessed by fear."

  "It may well be, since fear rules the world. The hare fears the fox, who fears the hound, who fears the kennelmaster, who fears the lord, who fears the king whose fears I would not have the impudence to think upon."

  "Poor Pymfyd! Your world is built of fear and dread! As for me, I have no time for such emotions."

  Pymfyd spoke in an even voice. "You are a royal princess and I may not call you a witless little fool, even should the thought cross my mind."

  Madouc turned him a sad blue-eyed glance. "So that, after all, is your concept of me."

  "I will say only this: persons who fear nothing are soon dead."

  "I have a fear or two," said Madouc. "Needlework, Master Jocelyn's dancing lessons, one or two other things which need not be mentioned."

  "I have many fears," said Pymfyd proudly. "Mad dogs, lepers and leper bells, hellhorses, harpies, and witches; lightning- riders and the creatures who live at the bottom of wells; also: hop-legs, irchments and ghosts who wait by the lych gate."

  "Is that all?" asked Madouc.

  "By no means! I fear dropsy, milkeye and the pox. Now that I think of it, I very much fear the king's displeasure! We must turn back before someone sees us so far from Sarris and carries tales!"

  "Not so fast!" said Madouc. "When it is time to return I will give the signal." She studied the signpost. "Flauhamet is only four miles distant."

  Pymfyd cried out in quick alarm: "Four miles or four hundr
ed - it makes no difference!"

  "Prince Cassander mentioned the Flauhamet fair, and said it was very gay."

  "One fair is much like another," declared Pymfyd. "The favored resort of rogues, cheats and cut-purses!"

  Madouc paid no heed. "There are to be jugglers, buffoons, songsters, stilt-dancers, mimes and mountebanks."

  "These folk are by and large disreputable," growled Pymfyd. "That is common knowledge."

  "There is also a tournament of jousting. Prince Cassander may take a turn in the lists, if the competition suits him."

  "Hmf. That I doubt."

  "Oh? How so?"

  Pymfyd looked off across the landscape. "It is not fitting that I discuss Prince Cassander."

  "Speak! Your words will go no farther."

  "I doubt if he will risk the lists with so many folk to watch should he take a tumble."

  Madouc grinned. "For a fact, he is vain. In any event, I don't care to watch the jousting. I would rather wander among the booths."

  Pymfyd's honest face took on a set of mulish obstinacy. "We cannot ride into town so free and easy, to rub elbows with the bumpkins! Can you imagine Her Majesty's disapproval? You would be chided and I would be beaten. We must turn back, since the day advances."

  "It is still early! Devonet and Chiodys are only just settling to their needlework."

  Pymfyd gave a cry of consternation. He pointed westward along Old Street. "Folk are approaching; they are gentry and you will be recognized! We must be gone before they arrive."

  Madouc heaved a sigh. Pymfyd's logic could not be refuted. Reining Tyfer about, she started back along Fanship Lane, only to stop short.

  "What now?" demanded Pymfyd.

  "A party is coming up Fanship Lane. That is Cassander on the bay horse, and it is no doubt King Casmir himself on the great black charger."

  Pymfyd gave a groan of despair. "We are trapped!"

  "Not so! We will cross Old Street and take cover up Fanship Lane until the way is clear."

  "A sound idea, for once!" muttered Pymfyd. "Hurry! There is no time to waste; we can hide behind yonder trees!"

  Touching up their horses, the two trotted across Old Street and north along the continuation of Fanship Lane, which quickly became little more than a track across the meadow. They approached a copse of poplar trees, where they hoped to take concealment.

  Madouc called over her shoulder: "I smell smoke!"

  Pymfyd called back: "There will be a crofter's hut nearby. You smell the smoke from his hearth."

  "I see no hut."

  "That is not our great concern. Quick now, into the shade!" The two took themselves under the poplars, where they discovered the source of the smoke: a fire over which a pair of vagabonds roasted a rabbit. One was short and big-bellied, with a round flat face surrounded by an untidy fringe of black beard and black hair. The second was tall and thin as a stick, lank of arm and leg, with a face long and vacuous, like the face of a cod. Both wore ragged garments and tattered buskins. The tall vagabond wore a high piked cap of black felt; his fat comrade wore a low-crowned hat with a very wide brim. To the side were a pair of sacks in which they evidently carried their belongings. At the sight of Madouc and Pymfyd, the two rose to their feet, and stood appraising the situation.

  Madouc gave the two a cold inspection in return, and concluded that never had she encountered a more unsavory pair of rogues.

  The short fat vagabond spoke: "And what are you two doing here, so fresh and airy?"

  "That is none of your concern," said Madouc. "Pymfyd, let us proceed; we disturb these persons at their meal."

  "Not at all," said the short vagabond. He spoke to his tall comrade without taking his eyes from Madouc and Pymfyd. "Ossip, have a look down the lane; see who else is near."

  "All clear; no one in sight," reported Ossip.

  "Those are fine horses," said the burly rogue. "The saddles and fitments are also of fine quality."

  "Sammikin, notice! The red-haired brat wears a golden clasp."

  "Is it not a farce, Ossip? That some wear gold, while others go without?"

  "It is the injustice of life! Were I to wield power, everyone should share alike!"

  "That is a noble concept indeed!"

  Ossip peered at Tyfer's bridle. "See here! Even the horse wears gold!" He spoke with unctuous fervor: "Here is rich ness!"

  Sammikin snapped his fingers. "I cannot help but rejoice! The sun shines bright and our luck has turned at last!"

  "Still, we must exert ourselves in a certain way that we know of, in order to safeguard our reputations."

  "Wise words, Ossip!" The two moved forward. Pymfyd called sharply to Madouc: "Ride off at speed!" He wheeled his own horse, but Ossip reached out a gangling arm and seized his bridle. Pymfyd kicked out vigorously and caught Ossip in the face, causing him to blink and clap his hand to his eye. "Ah, you little viper; you have shown your teeth! Alas, my poor face! What pain!"

  Sammikin had made a dancing little run toward Madouc, but she had kicked Tyfer into motion, to ride a few yards up the lane, where she halted in an agony of indecision.

  Sammikin turned back to where Ossip still hung to the bridle of Pymfyd's horse, despite Pymfyd's kicks and curses. Sammikin, coming up behind, seized Pymfyd around the waist and flung him rudely to the ground. Pymfyd bellowed in outrage. Rolling to the side, he seized up a broken tree branch and, jumping to his feet, he stood at bay. "Dogs!" He brandished the limb with hysterical bravado. "Vermin! Come at me if you dare!" He looked over his shoulder to where Madouc sat rigid on Tyfer. "Ride away, you little fool, and be quick! Fetch help!"

  Sammikin and Ossip without haste took up their staffs and closed in on Pymfyd, who defended himself with might and main, until Sammikin's staff broke his branch into splinters. Sammikin feinted; Ossip raised his staff on high and struck Pymfyd across the side of the head, so that Pymfyd's eyes looked in opposite directions. He fell to the ground. Sammikin struck him again and again, while Ossip tied Pymfyd's horse to a tree. He started at a run toward Madouc. She finally roused herself from stupefaction, wheeled Tyfer, and set off up the lane at a gallop.

  Pymfyd's head lolled to the side, with blood trickling from his mouth. Sammikin stood back with a grunt of approval. "This one will carry no tales! Now for the other."

  Madouc, crouching low in the saddle, galloped up the lane, stone fences to either side. She looked over her shoulder; Ossip and Sammikin were trotting up the lane in pursuit. Madouc gave a low wild cry and kicked Tyfer to his best speed. She would ride up the lane until she found a gap in one of the fences, then dash away across the downs and back to Old Street.

  Behind came the vagabonds, Ossip pacing with long stately strides, Sammikin pumping his arms and scuttling like a fat rat. As before, they seemed in no great haste.

  Madouc looked right and left. A ditch flowing with water ran beside the lane on one side with the stone fence beyond; to the other, the fence had given way to a hawthorn hedge. Ahead the lane curved to the side and passed through a gap in the fence. Without a pause Madouc galloped Tyfer through the gap. She stopped short in consternation, to find that she had entered a sheepfold of no great extent. She looked here and there and all around, but discovered no exit.

  Up the lane came Ossip and Sammikin, puffing and blowing from their exertion. Ossip called out in a fluting voice: "Nicely, nicely now! Stand your horse; be calm and ready! Do not make us dodge about!"

  ‘Quiet' is the word!" called Sammikin. "It will soon be over, and you will find it very quiet, so I am told."

  "That is my understanding!" agreed Ossip. "Stand still and do not cry; I cannot abide a wailing child!"

  Madouc looked desperately around the paddock, seeking a break or a low place over which Tyfer might jump, but in vain. She slid to the ground, and hugged Tyfer's neck. "Goodbye, my dear good friend! I must leave you to save my life!" She ran to the fence, scrambled up and over and was gone from the fold.

  Ossip and Sammikin called out in anger: "Stop! Come
back! It is all in fun! We mean no harm!"

  Madouc turned a frightened glance over her shoulder and only fled the faster, with the dark shade of the Forest Tantrevalles now close at hand.

  Cursing, lamenting the need for so much exercise, and calling out the most awful threats that came to their minds, Sammikin and Ossip scrambled over the fence and came in pursuit.

  At the edge of the forest Madouc paused a moment to gasp and lean against the bole of a crooked old oak. Up the meadow, not fifty yards distant, came Ossip and Sammikin, both now barely able to run for fatigue. Sammikin took note of Madouc, where she stood by the tree, coppery curls in wild disarray. The two slowed almost to a halt, then advanced a sly step at a time. Sammikin called in a voice of syrup: "Ah, dear child, how clever you are to wait for us! Beware the forest, where the bogies live!"

  Ossip added: "They will eat you alive and spit up your bones! You are safer with us!"

  "Come, dear little chick!" called Sammikin. "We will play a jolly game together!"

  Madouc turned and plunged into the forest. Sammikin and Ossip raised cries of wrathful disappointment. "Come back, you raddle-topped little itling!" "Now we are angry; you must be punished, and severely!" "Ah, vixen, but you will squeak and gasp and shudder! Our mercy? None! You had none for us!"

  Madouc grimaced. Uneasy little spasms tugged at her stomach. What a terrible place the world could be! They had killed poor Pymfyd, so good and so brave! And Tyfer! Never would she ride Tyfer again! And if they caught her, they would wring her neck on the spot-unless they thought to use her for some unthinkable amusement.

  Madouc stopped to listen. She held her breath. The thud and crush of heavy feet on the dead leaves came frighteningly close at hand. Madouc darted off at an angle, around a thicket of blackthorn and another of bay, hoping to befuddle her pursuers.

  The forest became dense; foliage blocked away the sky, save only where a fallen tree, or an outcrop of rock, or some inexplicable circumstances, created a glade. A rotting log blocked Madouc's way; she clambered over, ducked around a blackberry bush, jumped a little rill where it trickled through watercress. She paused to look back and to catch her breath. Nothing fearful could be seen; undoubtedly she had evaded the two robbers. She held her breath to listen.