by Jack Vance
"Ah," cried Naupt. "Remember that strange old chalice we took long ago from the Irish monk? Perhaps that might be in Sir Pom-Pom's style!"
"Just conceivably," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Fetch it here and let me see it."
"I wonder where I stored the old piece," mused Naupt. "I believe it is in the cupboard beside the entrance to the dungeons."
Naupt ran off, to return with a dusty old double-handled cup, of fair size, pale blue in color.
Madouc noticed that the rim was marred by a small chipped place, and that it otherwise resembled the drawing she had seen in the library at Haidion. She said: "If I were you, Sir Pom-Pom, I would accept this old cup and not dither any longer, even though it is old and chipped, and of no value whatever."
Sir Pom-Pom took the chalice in trembling hands. "I suppose it will serve me well enough."
"Good," said Pasm. "This affair of gifts and giving is now at an end, and we must take up other matters."
Posm called to Naupt: "Have you prepared a bill of damages?"
"Not yet, Your Honour!"
"You must include charges for the time we have wasted with the Princess Madouc and Travante the Sage. Sir Pom-Pom brought an article of value; both Madouc and Travante tried to befuddle us with talk and nonsense! They must pay the penalty for their deceit!"
Posm said: "Put the onions into the pot and prepare the kitchen for our work."
Madouc licked her lips nervously, and spoke in a faltering voice: "You cannot be planning what I suspect you are planning!"
"Hah batasta!" declared Pism. "Your suspicions may not fall short of the truth!"
"But we are your guests!"
"And no less savory for all of that, especially with our special seasoning, of ramp and horseradish."
Pasm said: "Before we proceed with our work, perhaps we should enjoy a draught or two from our golden vessel of plenty."
"A good idea," said Posm.
Sir Pom-Pom rose to his feet. "I will demonstrate the best method of pouring. Naupt, bring tankards of large size! Pism, Pasm and Posm wish to drink deep of the stuff they love the best!"
"Just so," said Pasm. "Naupt, bring out the great pewter tankards, that we may enjoy our draughts!"
"Yes, Your Honour."
Sir Pom-Pom busied himself at the golden vessel. "What then will each drink?"
Pism said: "I will take mead, in plenitude!"
Pasm said: "As before, I will drink red wine, in copious flow!"
Posm said: "I crave more of that walloping ale, and let it not all be foam in the tankard!"
Sir Pom-Pom poured from the three spouts, and Naupt carried the tankards to Throop of the Three Heads. "I bid you, raise your tankards high and drink deep! An amplitude remains in the vessel."
"Ha hah batasta!" cried Pasm. "One and all: drink deep!" Throop's two hands raised the three tankards, and poured the contents down the throats of Pism, Pasm and Posm all together.
Three seconds passed. Pism's great round face turned bright red and his eyes bulged three inches from his head, while his teeth clattered to the floor. Pasm's countenance seemed to vibrate and turn upside-down. Posm's face became as black as coal and red flames darted from his eyes. Throop rose to his feet, to stand swaying. Within his great belly sounded first a rumble, then a muffled explosion and Throop fell over backward, in a tumble of unrelated parts. Travante stepped forward and taking up Throop's massive sword, hacked the three heads free of the body. "Naupt, where are you?"
"Here, sir!"
"Take up these three heads and throw them into the fire, at this instant, that they may be destroyed."
"As you say, sir!" Naupt carried the heads to the fireplace and thrust them into the heart of the flames. "Watch to make sure that they are utterly consumed!" said Travante. "Now then: are prisoners pent in the dungeons?"
"No, Your Lordship! Throop ate them all, every one!"
"In that case there is nothing to delay our going."
"To the contrary," said Madouc in a faint voice. "Sir Pom-Pom, you evidently pushed the onyx bead, not once but twice?"
"Not twice," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I pushed it a full five times, and once more for good measure. I notice that the vessel has collapsed into corroded fragments."
"It has served its purpose well," said Madouc. "Naupt, we spare you your horrid little life, but you must alter your ways!"
"With pleasure and gratitude, Your Ladyship!"
"Henceforth you must devote your time to good works and a kindly hospitality toward wayfarers!"
"Just so! How glorious to be free of my thralldom!"
"Nothing more detains us," said Madouc. "Sir Pom-Pom has found the object of his quest; I have learned that Sir Pellinore exists elsewhere; Travante is assured that his lost youth is not immured among the oddments and forgotten curios of Castle Doldil."
"It is something, but not much," sighed Travante. "I must continue my search elsewhere."
"Come!" said Madouc. "On this instant let us depart! I am sickened by the air!"
III
The three travellers departed Castle Doldil at their best speed, giving a wide berth to the corpse of the goblin knight with the broken neck. They marched westward in silence along Munkins Road, which, according to Naupt would presently join the Great North-South Road. And many glances were turned backward, as if in expectation of something terrible coming in pursuit. But the way remained placid and the only sounds to be heard were of birds in the forest.
The three walked on, mile after mile, each preoccupied with his own concerns. At last Madouc spoke to Travante. "I have derived some benefit, so I suppose, from this awful occasion. I can, at the very least, give a name to my father, and it would seem that he is alive. Therefore, I have not quested in vain. At Haidion I will make inquiries, and surely some grandee of Aquitaine will give me news of Pellinore."
"My quest has also been advanced," said Travante, without great conviction. "I can dismiss Castle Doldil from all future concerns. This is a small but positive gain."
"It is surely better than nothing," said Madouc. She called out to Sir Pom-Pom, who walked ahead. "What of you, Sir Pom-Pom? You have found the Holy Grail and so you are successful in your quest!"
"I am dazed by events. I can hardly believe in my achievement!"
"It is real! You carry the Grail, and now may rely on the king's bounty."
"I must give the matter serious thought."
"Do not choose to wed the royal princess," said Madouc. "Some maidens sigh and fret; she uses both Sissle-way and Tinkle-toe with no remorse whatever."
"I have already made a decision on that score," said Sir Pom-Pom shortly. "I want no spouse so willful and reckless as the royal princess."
Travante said, smiling: "Perhaps Madouc might become meek and submissive once she was married."
"I, for one, would not take such a risk," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Perhaps I shall marry Devonet, who is very pretty and remarkably dainty, though a trifle sharp of tongue. She berated me bitterly one day in regard to a loose surcingle. Still, failings such as hers can be cured by a beating or two." Sir Pom-Pom nodded slowly and reflectively. "I must give the matter thought."
For a time the road followed the river: beside pools shadowed under weeping willows, along reaches where reeds trembled to the current. At a ledge of gray rock, the river swung south; the road rose at an incline, dropped in a swoop, then veered away under enormous elms, with foliage glowing all shades of green in the afternoon sunlight.
The sun declined and dusk approached. As shadows fell over the forest, the road entered a quiet glade, empty save for the ruins of an old stone cottage. Travante looked through the doorway to find a compost of dust and mouldering leaves, an ancient table and a cabinet, to which, by some miracle the door still clung. Travarite pulled open the door to find, almost invisible on a high shelf, a booklet of stiff parchment, the leaves bound between sheets of gray slate. He gave the booklet to Madouc. "My eyes are no longer apt for reading. Words blur and squirm, and reveal none of their secrets. It w
as not so in the old days, before my youth slipped away."
"You have suffered a serious loss," said Madouc. "As for remedy, you can surely do no more than what you are doing."
"That is my own feeling," said Travante. "I shall not be discouraged."
Madouc looked around the glade. "This seems a pleasant place to pass the night, especially since dusk will soon be dimming the road."
"Agreed!" said Travante. "I am ready to rest."
"And I am ready to eat," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Today we were offered no food except Throop's grape, which we declined. Now I am hungry."
"Thanks to my kind mother, we shall both rest and dine," said Madouc. She laid out the pink and white kerchief and cried:
"Aroisus!" and raised the pavilion. Entering, the travellers found the table laid as usual with a bounty of excellent comestibles: a roast of beef with suet pudding; fowl fresh from the spit and fish still sizzling from the pan; a ragout of hare and another of pigeons; a great dish of mussels cooked with butter, garlic and herbs; a salad of cress; butter and bread, salt fish, pickled cucumbers, cheeses of three sorts, milk, wine, honey; fried tarts, wild strawberries in clotted cream; and much else. The three refreshed themselves in basins of scented water, then dined to repletion.
In the light of the four bronze lamps Madouc examined the booklet taken from the cottage. "It appears to be an almanac of sorts, or a collection of notes and advices. It was indited by a maiden who lived in the cottage. Here is her recipe for a fine complexion: 'It is said that cream of almonds mixed with oil of poppy is very good, if applied faithfully, and also a lotion of sweet alyssum drowned in the milk of a white vixen (Alas! Where would a white vixen be found?), then ground with a few pinches of powdered chalk. As for me, I command none of these ingredients and might not use them were they at hand, since who would trouble to notice?' Hmm." Madouc turned a page.
"Here is her instruction for training crows to speak. 'First, find a young crow of alert disposition, jolly and able. You must treat it kindly, though you will clip its wings that it may not fly. For one month, add to its usual food a decoction of good valenan, into which you have seethed six hairs from the beard of a wise philosopher. At the end of the month you must say: "Crow, my dear crow: hear me now! When I raise my finger you must speak! Let your words be clever and to the point! So you shall make for the joy of us both, since we may relieve each other of our loneliness. Crow, speak!" 'I followed the instruction with every possible care, but my crows all remained mute, and my loneliness has never been abated.'
"Most odd," mused Sir Pom-Pom. "I suspect that the 'philosopher' from whose beard she plucked the six hairs was not truly wise, or possibly he deceived her with a display of false credentials."
"Possibly true," said Madouc.
"In such a lonely place, an innocent maiden might easily be deceived," said Travante. "Even by a philosopher."
Madouc returned to the booklet. "Here is another recipe. It is called 'Infallible Means for Instilling Full Constancy and Amatory Love in One Whom You Love.'
"That should be interesting," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Read the recipe, if you will, and with exact accuracy."
Madouc read:
'When the dying moon wanders distrait and, moving low in the sky, rides the clouds like a ghostly boat, then is the time to prepare, for a vapor often condenses and seeps down the shining rind, to hang as a droplet from the lower horn. It slowly, slowly, swells and sags and falls, and if a person, running below, can catch the droplet in a silver basin, he will have gained an elixir of many merits. For me there is scope for much dreaming here, since, if a drop of this syrup is mixed into a goblet of pale wine and, if two drink together from the goblet, a sweet love is infallibly induced between the two. So I have made my resolve. One night when the moon rides low I will run from this place with my basin and never pause until I stand below the horn of the moon, and there I will wait to catch the wonderful droplet.'
Travante asked: "Are there further notations?"
"That is all to the recipe."
"I wonder if the maiden did so run through the night, and whether, in the end, she caught her precious droplet!"
Madouc turned the parchment pages. "There is nothing more; the rain has blurred what remains."
Sir Pom-Pom rubbed his chin. He glanced toward the sacred chalice, where it reposed on a cushion; then he rose to his feet and, going to the front of the pavilion, looked out across the glade. After a moment he returned to the table.
Travante asked: "How goes the night, Sir Pom-Pom?"
"The moon is near the full and the sky is clear."
"Aha! Then there will be no seepage of moon syrup tonight!" Madouc asked Sir Pom-Pom: "Were you planning to run through the forest carrying a basin at the ready?"
Sir Pom-Pom responded with dignity: "Why not? A drop or two of the moon elixir might someday come in useful." He turned a quick glance toward Madouc. "I am still uncertain as to the boon I will ask."
"I thought that you had decided to become a baron and wed Devonet."
"Espousing a royal princess might be more prestigious, if you take my meaning."
Madouc laughed. "I take your meaning, Sir Pom-Pom, and henceforth I will be wary of your pale wine, though you offer it by the gallon on your bended knee."
"Bah!" muttered Sir Pom-Pom. "You are absolutely unreasonable."
"No doubt," sighed Madouc. "You must make do with Devonet."
"I will think on the matter."
In the morning the three continued along Munkins Road, under great trees which filtered the morning sunlight. They travelled an hour, when suddenly Travante gave a startled cry. Madouc turned to find him staring into the forest.
"I saw it!" cried Travante. "I am sure of it! Look yonder; see for yourself!" He pointed, and Madouc looked to barely see a flash of movement under the trees. Travante cried out: "Hold! Do not go away! It is I, Travante!" He raced off into the forest, shouting: "Do not flee from me now! I see you plain! Will you not slow your pace; why are you so fleet of foot?"
Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom followed for a space, then stopped to listen, hoping that Travante would return, but the cries grew fainter and ever fainter and at last could be heard no more.
The two returned slowly to the road, pausing often to look and listen, but the forest had become still. In the road, they waited an hour, walking slowly back and forth, but at last they reluctantly set off into the west.
At noon they arrived at the Great North-South Road. The two turned south, Sir Pom-Pom as usual in the lead.
Finally Sir Pom-Pom halted in exasperation and looked over his shoulder. "I have had enough forest! The open country lies ahead; why do you tarry and loiter?"
"It happens without my knowing," said Madouc. "The reason I suppose is this: each step brings me closer to Haidion and I have decided that I am a better vagabond than princess."
Sir Pom-Pom gave a scornful grunt. "As for me, I am bored with this constant trudging through the dust! The roads never end; they simply join into another road, so that a wanderer never comes to his journey's end."
"That is the nature of the vagabond."
"Bah! It is not for me! The scenery shifts with every ten steps; before one can start to enjoy the view it is gone!"
Madouc sighed. "I understand your impatience! it is reasonable! You want to present the Holy Grail to the church and win grand honours for yourself."
"The honours need not be so grand," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I would like the rank of baron or knight, a small estate with a manor house, stables, barn, sty, stock, poultry and hives, a patch of quiet woodland and a stream of good fishing."
"So it may be," said Madouc. "As for me, if I did not want Spargoy the Chief Herald to identify Sir Pellinore, I might not go back to Haidion at all."
"That is folly," said Sir Pom-Pom.
"So it may be," said Madouc once again.
"In any event, since we have decided to return, let us not delay."
IV
At Old Street Madouc a
nd Sir Pom-Pom turned west until they arrived at the village Frogmarsh and the road south, sometimes known as 'the Lower Way', which led to Lyonesse Town.
During the afternoon clouds began to loom in the west; toward evening trails of rain brushed the landscape. In a convenient meadow, behind a copse of olive trees, Madouc raised the pavilion, and the two rested warm and secure while the rain drummed on the fabric. For much of the night lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, but in the morning the clouds had broken and the sun rose bright to shine upon a world fresh and wet.
Madouc reduced the pavilion; the two continued down the road: into a region of pinnacles and gorges, between the twin crags Maegher and Yax-known as the Arqueers-then out under the open sky and down a long rolling slope, with the Lir visible in the distance.
From behind came the rumble of galloping hooves. The two moved to the side of the road, and the riders passed by: three rakehelly young noblemen, with three equerries riding at their backs. Madouc looked up at the same moment Prince Cassander glanced aside and into her face. For a fleeting instant their eyes met, and in that time Cassander's face sagged into a mask of ack Vance disbelief. With a flapping arm he waved his comrades to a halt, then wheeled his horse and trotted back, to learn whether or not his eyes had deceived him.
Cassander reined up his horse near Madouc and his expression changed to half-scornful half-pitying amusement. He looked Madouc up and down, darted a glinting blue glance at Sir Pom-Pom, then gave a chuckle of incredulous laughter. "Either I am hallucinating or this unkempt little ragamuffin lurking beside the ditch is the Princess Madouc! Sometimes known as Madouc of the Hundred Follies and the Fifty Crimes!"
Madouc said stiffly: "You may put aside that tone of voice, since I am neither fool nor criminal, nor yet do I lurk."
Cassander jumped down from his horse. The years had changed him, thought Madouc, and not for the better. His amiability had disappeared under a crust of vanity; his self-conscious airs made him seem pompous; with his highly colored face, tight brassy curls, petulant mouth and hard blue eyes, he seemed a callow replica of his father. In measured tones he answered Madouc: "Your condition lacks dignity; you bring ridicule upon us all."