‘Three years?’ gasped Malva.
‘That’s impossible!’ cried Orpheus. ‘Your Alteza … the Princess left Galnicia a year ago. And I’ve been gone only four or five months. You must remember the Errabunda and the Mary-Belle!’
The Coronador drew his white brows together and looked carefully at Orpheus. ‘The Errabunda … yes. Were you her Captain?’
‘Only her quartermaster,’ replied Orpheus modestly. ‘I’m Hannibal McBott’s son.’
The Coronador waved his hand vaguely as if shooing a fly.
‘It’s all so long ago,’ he said. ‘But I think I remember old Captain Hannibal. He was a great credit to our fleet in the past.’
‘I must set you right there,’ replied Orpheus forcefully. ‘My father was not a credit to the Galnician fleet, or his country, or his Coronador. He betrayed you. He was only a pirate, a robber who never believed in the precepts of Tranquillity and Harmony.’
‘Really?’ said the Coronador. ‘What a pity … though I thought …’
He was silent for a moment, his face working as he tried to collect his thoughts.
‘You were saying that my mother the Coronada died three years ago,’ Malva went on, faintly. ‘That can’t be right! Your memory must be playing tricks on you.’
The Coronador placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. ‘Look at these hands, Malva!’ he said. ‘They’re useless, they shake, but see: they still have ten fingers. And those ten fingers allowed me to count the years that have passed since you went away. Ten fingers. Ten years. And … well, many things have happened here in those ten years.’
An appalled silence greeted this statement. How could they believe anything so absurd? How could time be so distorted that it passed more quickly in Galnicia than anywhere else? It was impossible! Yet at the same time, it did explain certain oddities: the rundown state of the city, the Coronador’s lined face and white hair … and after all, so many inexplicable things had happened in the Archipelago. Perhaps the Nokros had eaten up more time than was intended.
‘Go on,’ said Malva. ‘I want to know everything.’
‘After over a year without any news of the Errabunda,’ said the Coronador, ‘I gave orders for a second expedition to set out. I don’t remember the names of the ships that left any more. They never came back either. Then, giving up all hope of expeditions by sea, I sent out troops of armed horsemen. They set off for the Orniant to liberate you from the Emperor Temir-Gai. Only one of my men came back, two years later. He brought bad news: a pitiless war was laying waste the steppes. My soldiers found themselves caught up in the fighting, and they were all killed. The worst news of all was that Temir-Gai no longer held my daughter prisoner. No one knew if she was alive or dead.’
Malva sighed as she heard this story. One by one, her visions on Mount Ur-Tha were being confirmed. Her mother was dead, the Baighurs and Philomena had known the horrors of war. She shuddered. Had they survived?
Darkness was gradually invading the Hall of Delicacies, but no servant came to light the chandeliers. No one around the table dared move.
‘So we had sent out three expeditions to no avail,’ the Coronador went on. ‘We had no heir to the throne. Little by little, despair took hold of our hearts. The Coronada fell ill. Plots were coming to fruition all over the country. The Archont had sown discord and greed everywhere. Only a spark was needed to light the smouldering fire.’
‘The Archont is dead,’ said Orpheus. ‘He pursued us over seas and oceans, but he won’t be coming back again.’
‘Did you kill him?’ asked the Coronador.
‘No,’ said Orpheus, ‘but he was left a prisoner in a certain place, an Archipelago that –’
Under the table, Malva squeezed Orpheus’s hand a little tighter to make him stop talking.
‘We didn’t see him die, Father,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think he’ll be coming back either.’
‘Good,’ sighed the Coronador sadly, ‘although it’s too late anyway. Galnicia was attacked on all sides. Terrible battles were fought here too, until the final collapse. That was two years ago. Cannon and hordes of soldiers from Dunbraven and Andemark – it was carnage. The inhabitants of the Upper Town were the first to flee to the mountains. Then the people, starving and suffering epidemics of disease, were decimated. The survivors left the Lower Town to take refuge further west, near the frontier. I don’t know what’s become of them. I am not Coronador now, and Galnicia no longer exists. It has been divided up and thrown to our conquerors. All that remains is this ruined Citadel, where I am granted permission to end my days.’
His voice died away. He was out of breath, bowed down by grief and fatigue. He looked at Malva.
‘All these years I have never stopped thinking of the dreadful day when you disappeared. At first I thought you had been abducted. Then I held the Archont responsible. I was angry, and I wanted to find you to restore order to my country. I wanted my property back! At last, one day a maid brought me a letter she had found while she was doing housework in a little alcove in the South Wing. It was just after the Coronada’s death.’
Malva gave a start. Her farewell letter! How much time had passed before it reached its destination? Years and years!
‘When I read the letter,’ the Coronador went on, ‘I realised the truth. I suddenly understood why my daughter had … had run away. It was because of me.’
The Coronador sounded a broken man.
‘I know that letter by heart. I have read and reread it until my eyes were worn out. You are right, Malva. From that day on, remorse has kept me from sleeping. Every night I thought of what I had done. I saw myself through your eyes … a cruel, heartless man. And so I was: a Coronador obsessed by power and duty. A father unable to understand his daughter.’
Hob, Lei, Babilas and Orpheus looked at the old man’s face in amazement. They turned to Malva. She was very pale, and didn’t know what to do or what to think. The revelations had stunned her.
‘But you have come back,’ murmured the Coronador. ‘That’s all I hoped for: to see you again and ask you to forgive me.’
The tears that the Princess had been trying to hold back suddenly rolled down her cheeks. Her mouth opened, but only a sigh came out. At that moment, though, Orpheus knew that Malva would be able to make her peace with her father.
45
Reparations
The five survivors of the Fabula settled into the Citadel with the Coronador. Hob, who had dreamed of being admitted to the place for so long, was beside himself. He strode along the corridors and galleries, ignoring the general dilapidation and exploring every nook and cranny with an excitement that he couldn’t contain. He got lost in secret passages several times, and Malva had to go and find him. In the evenings he walked in the now wild gardens, his eyes riveted to a particular place in the sky. Orpheus guessed that he was talking to Peppe.
Babilas and Lei found what quarters they could in old lumber rooms that the bad weather had spared. Malva refused to go back to the room that had been hers as a child. She asked Orpheus to help her move a bed to the alcove of her bedchamber in the South Wing. The little room was damp, the window panes were broken, but apart from that nothing had changed.
‘This is where I want to sleep,’ said Malva, looking at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.
She lifted her long black hair and then let it fall over her shoulders again, remembering the night when she had given herself a hedgehog haircut … she smiled as she remembered Philomena’s cries of horror, and then sighed. Where was her chambermaid now? Would she ever see her again? She banished these gloomy thoughts, and looked at Orpheus.
‘I’d like it,’ she said, blushing, ‘if you were to share this bed with me.’
Orpheus gave a start. He placed his hands on Malva’s waist.
‘Settle in here with the Princess?’ he said, smiling. ‘Isn’t that against all protocol?’
‘There isn’t any protocol now,’ replied Malva.
Orpheus nodded. His heart was thudding wildly.
‘In that case, I’m happy to say yes,’ he told her.
The days and weeks went by. There was so much to do in the Citadel! Babilas set about repairing the leaking roof in the East Wing. Lei and Hob took over the horses; they spent whole days in the stables caring for the old nags there. Once again, Lei’s medicine had to work a great many miracles.
Malva and Orpheus put the Coronador’s affairs in order. They installed themselves in the Council Chamber and classified, arranged and copied the official records, so that the memory of the country would be preserved. It was tedious work.
Now and then Malva raised her head from the account books, looked at the Galnician flag hanging above the hearth, and remembered the day when her father had made her burn her notebooks. She no longer felt the humiliation that had gnawed at her heart so long.
‘One day I’ll write our story,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The Galnicians must know what happened to us in the Archipelago.’
‘And there must be new maps too,’ added Orpheus. ‘The limits of the Known World should be pushed further south. How astonished the scientists at the Maritime Institute would be if they were still here!’
He picked up a pen and sketched the outlines of the islands, adding their names: Catabea’s island, Jahalod-Rin’s island, the island of the Unseen …
‘Here’s the rock where Zeph was trapped, there are the reefs on which the toothless men ran aground, here are Finopico’s reefs. And there’s the site of the Immuration, where Peppe threw himself in …’
Malva shivered. The friends they had lost were sadly missed. To banish her melancholy, she went back to work with a new determination.
The Coronador was growing weaker every day. He spent his time sitting in a rickety armchair, looking at his gardens as they began to emerge from their neglected state. Malva often went to see him, though they did not talk to each other much. What could they say after so many years of silence?
As the weeks went on, news of Malva’s return spread to the old provinces. The boldest of the Galnicians decided to come to see for themselves if the rumour was true. They arrived by the road from the north, alone or with their families, bringing their possessions, and came to the gates of the Citadel. Malva was glad to welcome them, and they in turn raised their eyes to heaven to thank Holy Tranquillity for preserving their Princess’s life.
Referring to the city maps and the records she had restored, Malva gave all the new arrivals a place to live. A dozen families set up house in the Lower Town, and children could be heard playing in the streets again.
Further off, in the port, Babilas had begun repairing the ships. He caulked the hulls, stood the masts erect and repainted the landing stages. Some fishermen came back, and on certain mornings set up their stalls on the quayside and sold their catch. It was all on a very small scale, but Malva could feel her country’s soul slowly reviving.
‘Don’t you ever feel any regrets?’ Orpheus asked her from time to time.
‘About coming back?’
‘Yes. About not staying in your ideal country.’
‘I wouldn’t have liked it in Elgolia without you,’ Malva replied. ‘No, I have no regrets.’
One morning Lei and Hob called Malva to come out of doors, where the weather was fine. The trees in the orchards were coming into bud. Lei and Hob were sitting proudly astride two chestnut mares who were pawing the ground outside the stables.
‘Look!’ cried Lei.
She dug her heels into her horse’s side, and set off for the sycamore avenue at a gallop, followed by Hob, who was laughing whole-heartedly. At the other end of the avenue they turned and rode back to Malva.
‘Those were the last two!’ Hob told her.
‘Horses all healthy now,’ Lei added. ‘Thirteen in good condition.’
‘See what this one can do, Princess!’ cried Hob. He shorted the reins, dug his heels into the mare a few times, and she reared and turned round on her back legs before doing a little dance, which delighted Malva.
‘I didn’t know you rode so well! You could almost compete with the Baighur horsemen!’
‘I know!’ said the boy. ‘Lei’s promised me we’ll go by way of the steppes!’
Malva looked at him, unable to believe her ears. Hob at once looked downcast, realising that he had given away a secret.
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Malva with concern, looking at Lei.
Lei sighed, and then resigned herself to telling Malva her plan. She told her how much she missed her country and its customs, and above all her family. Her heart felt a little heavier every day. So now that the horses were restored to health, she wanted to go home to the kingdom of Balmun.
‘My place there,’ she added. ‘And Hob …’
The boy blushed, and went closer to her. He had grown a great deal recently, and riding and looking after the horses had made him sturdier.
‘I’ve decided to go with Lei,’ he said. ‘I feel too sad here in Galnicia without my brother. I must go away again. A long way away. I’m going to escort Lei. What do you think, Princess?’
Malva opened her mouth, and found she had nothing to say. She had not marked the passage of time since their return. Day had followed day, and she hadn’t noticed Lei’s sadness.
‘You’re going by way of the Great Azizian Steppes, then?’ was all she said.
Lei nodded.
‘Good,’ sighed Malva. ‘When are you going to leave?’
46
Farewells and Meetings
It was still dark when all the inhabitants of the Citadel met outside the stables. The air was chilly. The maids clutched mended shawls around them, the menservants stamped their feet on the ground to keep warm. They stood in a circle around the Coronador, who, in spite of having a cough, had wanted to get up early to see off Hob and Lei. Nearby, Malva, Orpheus and Babilas were watching the last preparations.
Once the two chestnut mares were saddled and loaded up, the two travellers mounted. Their faces were drawn with lack of sleep, but it was obvious that they were impatient to be off.
‘Are you sure you have enough food and water?’ asked Malva, going over to Lei. ‘And what about musketoons? The roads aren’t safe! Suppose you meet the Amoyeds …’
The daughter of Balmun pointed to a blade hanging from her saddle.
‘And blankets?’ asked Malva. ‘You’ll need them when you go over the snowbound passes on the borders of Gurkistan.’
‘We’ve thought of everything,’ Hob reassured her. ‘The cook’s even given us some jars of herrings with myrtle berries to take to Lei’s parents.’
‘Excellent!’ smiled the Coronador. ‘There’s nothing better than herrings preserved in the Galnician style.’
The sun rose above the horizon. It was the sign for the travellers to leave. Hob raised one hand and signalled to Orpheus.
‘I shall take our bearings from the stars,’ he told him, with a lump in his throat. ‘I shall always remember the night you and I spent together watching the stars on the deck of the Fabula.’
‘Peppe will be watching over you,’ said Orpheus. ‘So don’t do anything stupid!’
‘I never do anything stupid these days,’ the boy told him.
Lei stifled laughter. Her pearl-like eyes passed over the faces of her friends, and lingered on Malva. She held out her hand.
‘Look after yourself,’ Malva begged her, holding it tightly. ‘I don’t want to lose any more of my friends.’
‘We take great care, I promise.’
Malva patted the horse’s glossy coat. ‘You do realise that when you get home everything will have changed there? The time that’s passed in Galnicia will have passed in Balmun too. Ten years, nearly eleven now.’
‘I get used to that idea. My parents perhaps dead, not my brothers and sisters. They grown up is all.’
‘If you’d like to come back here and visit now and then, you’ll always be welcome.’
‘You too, Malva. If you want see kingdom where Lei live, you very welcome too. Always.’
‘I don’t feel like going away again just now,’ sighed Malva. ‘I need to rest, and …’ She cast her father a brief glance. He was coughing again. ‘And the Coronador isn’t well, so I must stay with him.’
‘And Orpheus!’ added Lei, winking.
Malva nodded. Then she put a hand under her jacket and brought out a scroll of paper, which she handed to Lei.
‘It’s a message for Philomena. Give it to her if you meet her on the steppes.’
Lei took the letter and promised she would. Then Babilas and Orpheus went to say their own goodbyes to the two riders.
Now Hob and Lei turned their horses towards the road out of the Citadel, following the same path as the cart in which Malva and Philomena had escaped, hidden in barrels of Rioro wine. They waved one last time, and gradually moved away.
Malva and Orpheus, red-eyed, stood for some time outside the stables without moving or speaking. Then they climbed to the northern side of the ramparts of the Citadel. There was a wide view from up there, and they could watch the two chestnut mares on their way.
‘They’re already far off,’ sighed Malva.
At that moment she saw silhouettes moving along the same road, but in the opposite direction.
‘Who are they?’
Orpheus narrowed his eyes. It looked like a long procession of peasants on foot. They moved in a ribbon along the road, like a troop of ants.
‘Galnicians,’ he murmured. ‘At least a hundred of them. It looks as if they’re on their way home.’
From their observation post, Malva and Orpheus watched the progress of the column. Gradually they could make out women and children, soldiers carrying old carabins under their arms, beggars, merchants, sailors, noble Donias, even a Venerable Monje and two or three Holy Diafrons, who could be recognised by their yellow caps worn at a slight angle.
‘We must welcome them,’ decided Malva, shaking off her melancholy mood. ‘These people must have walked for days and days. Let’s open the doors of the Hall of Delicacies to them!’
The Princess and the Captain Page 33