"She is twisted and alien even to us, and she must seem powerful strange to thee. We were beginning to fear her. Her minions were fell and skillful, but thou hast well and truly pulled her teeth."
Aye, we killed her teeth, but I fear that we didn't get them all.
"Enough of her. Just know that she is an aberration. Know also that in our lands, Thomas, when a lady gives a man her kiss, she is offering a challenge. She is wagering that she shall beguile the man. 'Tis a weird to us. Perhaps 'tis magic, perhaps 'tis pheromones, perhaps 'tis true love. A high-tech world would dissect it, and they would kill it in their effort to find out what it is. Whate'er it is, I offer thee this challenge. Kiss me, Thomas. After thou hast tasted, thou shalt be mine."
"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said;
"Harp and carp along wi' me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be."
Alien. Unexpected, unheralded, yet consistently and inevitably, the reminders come. They are alien.
No, this is no creature of heaven. What she desires is to be kissed, worshipped, and adored . . . on earth. But what man of mettle could turn down such a challenge and still respect himself?
"What if I am undaunted? What if I accept this challenge from a charming lady, as any gallant gentleman would? What, O Princess, if I choose to taste the fruit of your lips and am not bewitched? If I'm not beguiled, what then?"
She reached out and stroked his face again, tenderly, with the tips of her fingers, with a tear in her eye as she replied, "Then ye wouldst gain even more honor amongst us, for few can summon the willpower, the resolve to do so. And I should still be, and ever shall be, a true friend to ye. My love is mine to give to whom I will. But if love is offered and rejected, 'tis still love. Otherwise 'twould be some selfish, twisted thing that surely is not love."
"Then for good or ill, for well or woe, I accept your challenge, and 'your weird' shall not daunt me."
* * *
"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten me,"
Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
Melville took his monkey from off his shoulder, and gently placed it upon Daisy's head where it scampered about, delightedly probing and exploring the huge, patient beaste. Then he wrapped his arms around his princess, and leaned her back onto his jacket, spread across the deep, soft moss.
The monkey had a very good time. . . .
"Now I am thine," she said, "and thou art mine. Ever and always mine. . . ."
"Now ye must go wi' me," she said,
"True Thomas, ye must go wi' me;
And ye must serve me seven years,
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be."
"Now rest thy head, and I will tell thee what it is that I offer to thee, my True Thomas. . . ."
"Light down, light down now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three."
"On the one hand, thou canst follow the path of duty to thy Queen and Kingdom . . ."
"O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires."
"Ah! 'The road less traveled,' " he said with a smile. "That's the one for me."
"Nay, Thomas," she said, placing a finger on his lips, "hear me out, I pray thee. For on the other hand thou canst go the way of the world, and chose selfishness, and greed."
"And see ye not yon broad, broad road,
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven."
"Or, on the gripping hand, ye can chose fealty to my grandfather. That is my grandfather's offer. And dost thou see, Thomas, that is thy duty! Wouldst thou take that magnificent Ship and crew so far away when righteous battle calls? Nay! This is thy duty, thy destiny! I have studied thy history. 'Tis an honorable choice. Thou wouldst be like Chenault and his Flying Tigers in China. Like the American fliers who served the RAF early in Earth's World War Two! And thou wouldst receive wealth, appreciation, and honor."
"And see ye not yon bonny road
That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the Road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night must gae."
Aye, though Melville, looking at her wonderingly, she's not from Heaven or from Hell. She's not the least concerned with wickedness or righteousness. She's interested only in the road that leads to the country where she is queen. Conquest in the country of men's hearts. Of my heart. That's what is most important to her. And yet it was all so beautiful, so pure. There was no pretense. No deception. She had made her bid, offered her challenge, thrown down her gauntlet. She had given it her best shot, her best kiss. And what a kiss it was . . . Now the choice was his, to be enchanted and beguiled . . . or not.
Still, he didn't fully understand. "Why do you want me? What makes me worthy to be wooed by a princess?"
"O Thomas. 'Tis thee that I love. Were thee but a lowly foot soldier I think that I shouldst love thee still. But as a princess royal I may not give myself and my love to just anyone. But thou! Thou, my Thomas, hast earned it. 'Tis thy martial glories that make thee respected and revered. Our men would follow thee." She smiled wickedly and added, "And thou hast neatly depleted Auntie's carefully chosen household retainers. The survivors are scared to death of thee." Then she added with a slight shudder, "And it takes a lot to frighten them. So Aunt Madelia cannot stand in thy way. Great Aunt Ondelesa has been quite distressed by how the whole matter turned out. She will not stand in thy way. At every turn thou hast earned thy way into our family and our navy by right of battle and blood!"
It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
They waded thro' red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that's shed on the earth
Runs through the springs o' that countrie.
Aye, a trail of blood brought him here, and made him desired by kings and princesses. A river of blood. How much blood ran upon the decks of his Ship? Other Ships? Frozen in space? Soaked into the soil of Broadax's World? How much blood?
"Blood," he said, thoughtfully. "It's always about blood and battle. Even you, my princess, are named after a sword. That's what 'Glaive' means in our tongue. Did you know that?"
"Aye, as 'Bilbo' in thy mythos is named after an obscure word meaning a sword, a well-tempered blade. We chose the English translations of our names very carefully. Your language is so powerful, so beautiful. Like your literature, it has conquered us."
Melville smiled. "Churchill called it, 'the all-conquering English language.' By the end of the twentieth century it was the common language spoken by every pilot coming into every international airport in the world, and over ninety percent of everything on the old Internet was in English. By the end of the twenty-first century it was the first or second language of almost every person on Earth, and all the other languages were well on their way to virtually disappearing. Even in Churchill's time it was evident that English would conquer the Earth, but I wonder what he would have made of this."
Melville was determined not to be distracted, so he brought the subject around to its original intent, to understand about her. "Princess Glaive Newra. That has subtle meaning to us. I understand the Newra part, but why Glaive, why a sword?"
"My father said that only two women had ev'r been faithful and true in his hour of need. His wife—mine mother—and his sword. When I was born he named me after his blade, and bade me to be straight and true."
"Aye, he has named you well. And straight and true you have cut to my soul and pierced my heart. You are my glaive, and I am your warrior. But I cannot grant your request, I cannot obey your command. Not now, much as I may desire it."
She looked bewildered as
he continued. As if she couldn't believe that he was denying her.
"I cannot explain it, but only the concept of duty, the fulfillment of my oath to Constitution and Queen, only they can make all the blood right. If I'm not under authority, then I'm just another criminal, and the vilest of mass murderers at that. But I follow an oath. Would you really want a man who could lightly set aside his oath? Would your father really want such a man? I would not."
"Oh, Thomas," she said, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, "our nation is at war and we need thee. Just pledge thy sword! Pledge thy sword, and pledge that silver tongue of thine. Pledge it to my grandfather. And . . . to me," she added coyly through her tears. "And we shall take thee away from a lifetime of tramping across the galaxy, buying and selling, and give thee pride of place in a nation that honors its mighty warriors."
He held her hand tightly and felt his traitor voice quaver, as he took a deep breath and said, "Send my love and my friendship to your grandfather, and you have my love and my heart. But my tongue is my own, and my sword is pledged to my Queen. Your grandfather couldn't truly respect me if I broke my oath. I wouldn't be the man you want, I wouldn't be the man you love, if I were to do as you ask."
"My toungue is my ain," true Thomas he said;
"A goodly gift ye would give to me!"
"Now hold thy peace, Thomas," she said,
"For as I say, so must it be."
She smiled softly. O such a smile. It made his heart melt. "It is not over, dear Thomas. Thou shalt remember me, and thou shalt come back to me. I will call thee from across the galaxy, and thou shalt come. I have woven mine magic, the simple magic of a sincere woman's true love, and now thou art mine. For as I say, so must it be."
"Aye," he said, and now it was his turn to reach out and stroke her face, striving to echo her gentleness with his rough hands, so calloused by sword, pistol and his Ship's rigging. "If it is within my power, I shall return. I'm not sure of the ending, but it will never be boring. I promise."
Chapter the 18th
Conclusion: The Dreamer
Sentry pass him through!
Drawbridge let fall, 'tis the Lord of us all,
The Dreamer whose dreams come true!
"The Fairies' Siege"
Rudyard Kipling
After meeting with Princess Glaive in the Royal Glen, Melville went to the embassy to confer with Colonel Hayl. Now it was late in the day as he finally walked home. His guards were behind him. Ulrich was scowling along beside him.
His coxswain seemed to have been offended (perhaps mortified or humiliated would be a better word) at missing out on the gunfight against Aunt Madelia's goons. He seemed to be determined to make up for it, right now, by starting a fight with every individual who came down the street. If looks could incite a battle, then Ulrich would have completed an entire war by the time they got halfway back to the Ship.
The Ship. His Ship. He was going to take his Ship to the far side of the galaxy. Distant ports. Exotic lands. Adventure! And his princess waited for him.
Adventure before him, great deeds behind him, and love waiting patiently for him. What more could any man ask?
As he walked along through the Sylvan streets an overwhelming fit of random, senseless happiness came over him. There was a song in his heart and a bounce in his step. Far more of a bounce than could be explained by the light gravity. He was walking on air with the disgusted, scowling Ulrich serving as his anchor.
As they headed down the streets toward the Pier, Melville saw something strange in front of him. Later he felt guilty for thinking it, but in truth the very first thing he thought was that a skinny man was leading an ape by the hand.
Then he realized that it was Hans and Broadax, in civilian clothing, walking hand-in-hand down the street. The two crusty ex-NCOs—his sailing master and his marine lieutenant—were walking down the street holding hands, headed toward him. Again he was ashamed of himself, but he couldn't help a panicky initial inclination to duck down a side street and avoid the meeting. But it was too late; they saw him and waved.
He gulped, breathed, and tried not to change his pace as he walked toward them. Funny, when someone was watching you closely and you consciously tried to walk nonchalantly, it was almost impossible to do. "Conscious nonchalance" was probably an oxymoron, or at least damned difficult, and he suddenly felt very young and awkward as he approached them.
Their civilian clothing was in subtle disarray. Broadax was in a blue gingham dress (a dress by God!) and Hans wore denim pants and a red plaid shirt. Broadax was absent her helmet with her wiry hair in wild disorder, but she had her cigar in her mouth, puffing happily, and various lumps in her dress indicated that she was carrying her "cutlery" with her. There was also the distinct tinkle of her chainmail lingerie. Hans had a chaw of tobacco in his lip and a bulge that could only be a .45 (" . . . or are you just happy to see me?" said some uncontrollable, mischievous inner voice). Their monkeys lounged comfortably on their shoulders.
They also were obviously well lubricated by alcohol and . . . yes, apparently . . . love. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof . . .
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
As they drew to speaking distance, Hans wrapped his arm around Broadax (or kind of down and around) and caressed her. At least . . . that's what it might have been, Melville tried hard not to look. They were both grinning like fools, but this last action by Hans caused Broadax to giggle, exhaling a cloud of noxious cigar smoke.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
Broadax.
Giggle.
Those two words didn't belong in the same sentence. Hell, they didn't belong in the same paragraph. Then Melville's stunned mind realized that Broadax had little blue gingham bows in her sparse, stringy beard.
"Evenin', Cap'n," said Hans pleasantly.
"Lieutenant Broadax, Mister Hans, good evening to you both." Then, taking the bull, or bulls, by the . . . horns, or whatever, Melville continued. "I see that you two have taken this opportunity to become friends . . . ?"
"Aye Cap'n," said Broadax jovially, in her gravelly voice. "Ye might say that." She laughed again, sounding like a foghorn, and Hans joined in with a hooting chuckle.
I love to hear her speak,—yet well I know
That music hath far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—
My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground;
Thank God she didn't giggle again, thought Melville. He didn't think he could handle another giggle from her. He looked her up and down, or at least down and further down, and wondered what Hans saw.
"Aye, well I know you're both professionals, so . . . hopefully you'll keep it on shore."
"Oh, aye, Cap'n," Broadax said and they both seemed to sober up a little, "but we's both ossifers, so's it's okay, eh?"
Melville nodded. Fraternization between superiors and subordinate was forbidden, but it was permitted within the same ranks, off ship.
Hans continued, "Aye, so's we'll be gittin' while the gittin's gud! Heh heh. Good day to ya sur, an' God bless ya fer a hell of a damn fine cap'n, if'n I may say so."
"Aye," echoed Broadax, "Aye, by God ta that!"
Then with mutual nods they went their way. Melville looked over his shoulder and watched wonderingly as they walked away, holding each other tightly, finding a little bit of love in the midst of war and madness.
And yet, by heavens, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
On his way up to his ship Melville saw the Honorable Cuthbert Asquith XVI pacing the pier next to Fang's berth. He look
ed haggard and worn, and appeared as though he was going to approach Melville. Then he appeared to change his mind, and he spun away. Melville shook his head in bewilderment. The whole world was acting crazy today.
When Melville came aboard he had many things to deal with, and little time to dwell on his officers' antics ashore, or the bizarre behavior of an earthworm diplomat. A good portion of the crew was on shore leave, but his first officer was standing by. Melville grinned to himself as he realized that Fielder was unlikely to leave the ship again in this port. Melville called him into his cabin.
"Daniel, the Sylvans will come tomorrow to take two of the 24-pounders. Apparently they want to conduct research on them so they can start manufacturing their own 24-pounders. Do you suppose you 'manufacture' Keel charges?"
"Damned if I know, sir," Fielder replied pleasantly. "How the Keels are made is a deep dark secret of the Celebrimbor shipwrights. Whatever their reason, I guess this is the Sylvan's price for all the support they have given us."
"Aye. I do hate to give up the guns, but they promise to replace them with their finest 12-pounders. And, as you say, it's really a small price to pay for all that they have done for us. After that they'll give us the prize money. I want us to get underway after the crew has had one day on the town with their prize money. Hopefully they won't be able to fritter it all away in just one day. Also, coordinate for a Sylvan bank representative to be here when we pass out the prize money. We'll pressure the men to save some of their money in the bank."
"Aye, sir. Prize money," Fielder said with wonder and amazement. "Now that is a civilized way of saying 'thank you.' "
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