by E R Eddison
When greetings were done and they three alone upon the poop, ‘My lord Admiral,’ said Barrian, ‘I was directed to your excellence upon matter runneth to danger. And ’tis more than common fortune I should also a found your lordship,’ (to the Chancellor); ‘Medor was sent to you, and some question where to find you. But, for the business, ’tis shortest peruse this letter, that my lord the Duke had but on Saturday evening from him we know on, out of Rerek. No forgery: the signet is knowable; and trusty for bad, if less for good. And for what his grace accounteth of it, let its plight acquaint you: ripped up the middle like a pair of breeches.’
‘Let’s read it,’ said the Admiral, fumbling for his perspective-glass. He and Beroald, holding it down upon the binnacle, read it together. ‘Openeth very sweetly: the hand I know too (too well by now), that Gabriel Flores’: unctuous sweet beginnings wont to steam up in the end into assafoetida. Ha, and there’s the true whiff on’t,’ he said, scoring it with his thumb-nail: ‘“Mandricard to be of Alzulma enfeoffed in fee simple.” But, Alzulma? ’Tis in South Meszria, broad as barn doors: in by a dozen miles. Were I his grace, I’d answer: Good; and to pay back the courtesy, I’ve gi’en to my Lord Barrian here Mornagay, Storby, or Anguring itself. Nay, in sadness, ’twere fair comparison: he that sits in Alzulma can say who shall pass and who pass not by the Ruyar road from Rumala to Zayana; and his saying hath currency not in weak words, but in power and deed.’
They read to the end: ‘And so, wishing God the Father glorious bee your conduct, given by vertue of al powres and liabilities enabling me thereunto both for mine owne Selfe and vicarially as Lord Protectoure for the Quens Highnes, HORIUS PARRY. In Laimac, thys VII daie of Novembre anno Z.C. 777.’ And then the superscription: ‘Unto hys Grace and Excellent Lordshipp Barganax, cawld Duke of Zayana, regent under Me Meszriae Australis. So obey and perform it. H.P.’
The Chancellor, when he had read it, stood yet for a minute looking down on it, his brow a little clouded, the proud lineaments of his face a little colder drawn than of custom, with a tightening now and again about the lips especially and the wings of his nostrils. The Admiral smiled: a mirthless smile: then blew out his cheeks. ‘This is bull tread panther, in a manner. Are we too late?’
‘His grace,’ answered Barrian, ‘hath in this bay borne himself beyond example – not nobly: when was he less than noble? – but beyond example calm. And not for lack of egging on, neither; for I and his most friends think it better that men envy him than that he should stand at reward of their pity. But was in a most happy and merry vein when this news found him; and, the first rage over and past, sent thus to you, and to you, my lord Chancellor, to call upon you both in person now to mediate his peace with the Vicar; who if he give not back from this last proud mock, the whole realm must shortly squelter with bloody wars; for this thing his grace will not swallow but thrust it down the Vicar’s throat again.’
The Admiral said, ‘Pray him for all sakes use yet a little this noble patience. Tell him I’ll come to him.’
‘He bade me offer you this: a meeting-place halfway, in Peraz.’
‘Five days from tomorrow,’ replied the Admiral, ‘that’s on Wednesday, expect me in Peraz, there to confer with his grace upon best means to use.’
‘Can I assure him,’ asked Barrian, ‘of your friendship? You will easily suppose, my lords, upon what an edge is all now poised in Zayana, and how much lieth on what I must report. “Tell them,” he bade me (last words at parting), “tell them I’ll play fair: but tell them, by the Gods in heaven, I’ll not be played with.”’
Jeronimy’s eye waited on the Chancellor. The Chancellor said, ‘The thing is flatly against the Concordat of Ilkis. I stand upon the law, upon that Concordat. Tell the Duke so, my lord, from me.’
The Admiral said, ‘And the like from me, Lord Barrian.’
‘Your excellences are to be thanked, then. But, being thus agreed, were’t not fittest act? A little slacking may all our purposes let. Sudden, and we may end it.’
The Chancellor smiled. ‘We offer him first the law,’ he said; ‘and not till that fail use open violence.’
‘Ay. I have fallen down, ere this,’ said the Admiral, ‘in these civil broils; and that was always upon unripe heady action.’ In the dog-like open honesty of his regard there came a twinkle as it rested on Barrian. ‘And say to him, too, if he with his high-horsed frenzies o’erset the pot before we be met in Peraz, then am I free of my bond, to do as shall seem me fit.’
Barrian, a little damped, looked from one to the other, then gripped them by the hand in turn. ‘I will begone back this very hour. Sleep in Ulba, thence by the Salimat: I can be in Zayana by Sunday evening. I pray you, my lord Admiral, fail not tryst.’
He being gone, ‘When mean you to set forth for Peraz?’ asked the Lord Beroald.
‘Why, tomorrow, and leisurely by land, not to hazard delays in this rageous wind. Will not you come too? For ’twill need seamanship, in a manner, to handle him safely, under full sail as he is and with such young hare-brained counsellors as this, to blow him on the rocks.’
The Chancellor drew up his lips and smiled. ‘If, with my own flesh and blood, my word could weigh as much as for my years it should,’ said he, ‘I’d instead through to Zayana. For there will she bewitch him with her beauty and dainty seductive talk till he is as wrought up as if to storm heaven, let pass Laimak, with the whirlwind inside him and flinging fiend of hell.’
XVII
THE RIDE TO KUTARMISH
PERAZ, AND FAIR SUNSHINING • A BLOODY ENCOUNTER • THE ROSE-LEAF GALLERY IN ZAYANA • MEDOR AND VANDERMAST • HER LADYSHIP SITS • FIRE-SHADOWS FROM AN UNSEEN MOUTH • MEMISON MIDNIGHTS • ‘WHEN SUCH A MUTUAL PAIR’ • PAPHIAN STILLNESS • OUR LADY OF SAKES • BIS DAT QUAE TARDE • THE DUKE, ANVIL NO MORE • THE VICAR WITHOUT AN ALLY.
DULY upon the set day was that meeting held in Peraz, of the Duke, the Admiral, and the Chancellor. There all was accorded as among sworn brethren; and so next day, farewell and they parted, the Duke riding home by easy stages, the long way, by Memison; Medor with him and a dozen of his gentlemen. In a gay security he rode, all doubts removed now, seeing they had sided in his behalf, Jeronimy and Beroald both, in face of this last highblown overweening of the Vicar, in giving, thus wrongfully and within the Duke’s dominions, of land and licence to Count Mandricard.
The second day, about three of the afternoon, coming by the highway round the slack of a hill where the road drops to the ford a little beside the out-fields and muir-ground of Alzulma, they saw where men on horseback came up from the river, and a big man in red in the midst of them. Barganax drew rein. They were not near enough to see faces. ‘Were this Mandricard,’ he said, ‘come to take delivery, that were a jest.’
‘Let us ride round,’ said Medor, ‘by the upper road. Your grace will not wish at this time to bandy words with them.’
‘They are more than we,’ the Duke replied. ‘Whoever they be, I desire no speech of them, but by God, I will not turn out of the road for them.’
‘This upper road is better going,’ said Medor.
‘You should a thought on that a minute sooner. If we turn now, and if here be Mandricard indeed, they will say we were afeared to meet with them.’
As they rode down, Medor said, ‘I pray you yet remember but my lord Chancellor’s words at parting, that your grace should wait well that you take not the law into your own hand: that, that provided, all should in a few weeks be carried to a conclusion conducible unto your most contentment and honour.’
The Duke laughed. ‘Very well: ’tis commanded, no biting of thumbs. Untie your swords, but ’pon pain of outlawry, no man speak till I speak. We will let them go by and they will.’
So now they began to ride down to the ford; which when those others beheld, as though having seen it was the Duke and being willing to avoid a meeting, they turned out of the road and bare away northwards at a walking-pace towards Alzulma. But Barganax, knowing now the man in red for Mandricard,
must needs, against all protestations, send a gentleman to ride after them and pray the Count turn back that they might have speech together apart from their folk. They waited now, watching the messenger overtake the other party, doff hat to Mandricard; then their talking, pointing, Mandricard as if refusing, the other pressing, Mandricard at length consenting, seeming to give command, turning his horse’s head, and now riding with Barganax’s man and a man of his own back towards the road. ‘This is to tempt the fates,’ said Medor. The Duke said, as merry as a magpie, ‘’Tis the most fortunate good hap: a heaven-sent chance to show him I know he is here within my borders, nosing about Alzulma: that I know he hath no right to be here: that I am so good and sober a prince as will, even being dared with such an insolency as this, proceed all by law and in nought by violence. Last, to show him I count him not worth a pease, neither him nor his master.’
‘Stand ready, gentlemen,’ said Medor, as the Duke rode away. ‘When his heart is set thus upon a merry pin, no staying him. But stand ready, see what they will do.’
The Duke when they were met bade him good morrow. ‘I had not heard your lordship was doing us this honour to be our guest in the south here.’
Mandricard answered and said, ‘This meeting, my lord Duke, may save us both some pains. His highness, I am informed, hath acquainted you of his intentions as touching me. I have here,’ and he drew out a parchment, ‘licence to have and hold this manor of Alzulma by grand sergeanty. See it, and you like: “letters of legitimation made to the said Mandricard”: ’tis sure and no question. Brief, I am here to overlook the place, and ’tis for you to give order the keys be now made over to me.’
‘We are indeed well met,’ said the Duke; ‘and I can save your pains. The thing you hold in your hand, my lord, you may tear up: it is not worth the parchment ’tis writ upon. The manor is mine, fiefed in the tail, and I’m sorry I have no mind to give it you.’
‘That will help never a dell,’ replied he. ‘The Vicar gave it me, and bade me take it up too.’ He spat on the ground and glowered in a dull insolency at Barganax.
‘I am nowise bounden,’ said Barganax coldly, ‘to reason with his highness’ servants on things that concern but me and him, well agreed as we are together, and our agreement resteth upon law. Yet, to end the matter, know that, in refusing of Alzulma to your lordship, I stand upon the law, and as read by my lord High Chancellor.’
Mandricard gave him a sour look and sat there spitting and spawling. ‘Well, fare you well,’ said the Duke. ‘And since your lordship is not a particular friend of mine and hath besides no business here, save which is alleged by us not loisible by the treaty, I will desire you to begone north again as soon as may be.’
‘May be I shall find a mean to stay i’ the south here.’
‘You stay then at your peril. Bethink you that you are now in Meszria: trust not here in the shadow of Laimak.’
‘I know my liripoop without coming here to learn it,’ said Mandricard as the Duke began to move off.
Barganax turned in his saddle and drew rein. ‘And learn,’ he said, ‘to do after another fashion than to be thus malapertly cocking and billing with me that am your better.’
Mandricard gave him a buggish word. Barganax’s sword leapt from the scabbard, his face dark as blood. ‘Fief in the tail?’ said Mandricard as he drew. ‘That’s bungerly law, damn me else: to the bastard of Zayana!’
‘Dismount and to it,’ said the Duke. ‘You are renowned to me as profoundly seen in all arts of sword-play, else would I scorn to measure swords with such a buzzardly beast.’
They dismounted and went to it, stoccata, mandritta, imbroccata. The Duke’s foot, sliding upon a stone, let Mandricard through his guard: a flesh-wound in the muscles of his sword-arm above the elbow. They stopped to bind it and stay the bleeding. His gentlemen prayed him give over now, but, as if the hurt did but exasperate his wildness and fierceness, the Duke stood forth again, his sword in his left hand.
‘Have, here it is then,’ said Mandricard, feeling his enemy’s mettle in his sword as the blades engaged, controlled one another, ground together: ‘it were alms you were dead. I’ll spitchcock you.’ At the third venue Barganax with his unforeseen sudden deadly montanto ended the passage, sending his sword through Mandricard’s throat-bole.
Upon a Thursday of mid-December, five weeks after these things, Count Medor, with letters in his hand, waited in the long gallery under the west tower of Acrozayana, expecting in a hot impatience audience with the Duke. The southern sealand Meszrian air, that even at Yule-time has not laid by all its summer burden, came and went through deep-mullioned sashed windows, twelve upon either hand, the length of that gallery. Rosalura, in a window-seat midway down the western side, reading her book, laid it again in her lap at whiles to look out upon the prospect: bare tree-tops of the gardens below, and beyond these Zayana lake, its face altering always between glassy expanse and patches where the wind flawed it, and beyond it the woods and ridges folded about Memison. All was white in that gallery, walls and floor and ceiling and marble frieze. Under the western windows the sun began to make patterns on the floor; through the eastern windows all was of a cold grey quietness, of the storeyed pillars of the inner court, stone balconies, and long roof-line level against the sky. ‘And yet best of all in summer,’ she said, touching hands with Medor as he paused beside her seat: ‘when we have rose-leaves scattered in drifts over the floor, and cool airs to stir them even in sultriest weather.’
To and fro from door to door, Doctor Vandermast walked under the windows, passing at every third footpace from sun to shadow and so to sun again. ‘Four o’clock?’ said Medor; ‘and it is now but two?’
‘It was upon strictest command.’
‘If you knew but the urgency! Will you not go through the ante-room, knock at the door? For indeed, the fury of his grace when he shall know we let it wait may jeopard us worse than should we, as upon necessity, brave him in pure loyalty to disobey him.’
‘Is it matter of life and death? Or if not, shall two hours make it so? Or if, can two hours, so taken by anticipation and well plied, unmake it?’
Medor snapped his fingers.
‘My Lady Fiorinda,’ said the learned doctor, ‘is but yesterday come to court. ’Tis his grace’s pleasure this whole morning and till four of the afternoon to have her to himself several, painting of her likeness. Your lordship well knows that, upon such orders given, it is lawful neither for us nor no man else to prescribe or measure them in his behalf.’
‘Well,’ said Medor, taking impatiently a turn or two, ‘it is greatness in him: under such red and louring skies, while he waits on action, to be able to lay all by, recreate himself with swimming, tennis, painting; not sit melancholy watching for levin-bolts that, fall they or fall not, ’tis no longer in his dispensation.
‘Well?’ after a minute. ‘Are you not impatient for my news? It is at least news, when he shall hear it, to rouse and raise him from out this lethal security.’
‘Impatience,’ replied Vandermast, ‘is a toy of great men, but in men of mean estate a distemper. For my particular, considering how now my age draweth to its latter term, I have long eschewed impatience. And for news of so much import, not to my safe ear even could I with conscience receive or you with conscience tell it, till it be told to the Duke.’
Medor looked at him. ‘Signior Vandermast, wholesomely have you lessoned me. Were all his mouth-friends of like temper – fie on turntippets that turn with the world and will keep their office still! Yes, you are wise: haste is our mischief. Had he but ridden somewhat slowlier home from Peraz, ’pon the morrow of that good meeting a month ago, when all was fair weather—’
Vandermast smiled, standing in the window and surveying thence, with hands clasped behind his back, chin raised, eyes half closed, the sunny vault of the sky, the lake spreading to shimmering distances. ‘Yet was this Mandricard,’ said he, ‘a bob which should in time have been a beetle, had the Duke not set heel on him. And yet,
when destiny calleth on the event; tread down one such creeping instrument as this was, what is it but to suffer, by that very deed, another to go by that shall ascend up in due time to implement the purpose? These advertisements you have now in your mouth to speak to his grace, are they not an exemplification to approve it? No, Medor, it is a demonstrable conclusion that in haste is not our mischief, but in the commixtion rather and the opposition of divers attempts and policies, working all according to that law whereby unaquoeque res, quantum in se est, in suo esse perseverare conatur: everything which is, in as much as it hath being, striveth still to continue in its own proper being and so persist. “That excellent correspondence” (saith the philosopher) “which is between God’s revealed will and His secret will, is not legible to the natural man.” I concede, had you ridden leisurely from Peraz, Mandricard belike had been gone when you came below Alzulma. But had you, contrariwise, galloped, a league or so ere your coming down, then had you been past and away ere he came thither. Had the Vicar been honest – Why, I can unwind you hypothetical probabilities and conjectures till your brain spin round, but to what purpose? For always the event is thus and not (as might have been) thus.’
Medor laughed. Then, serious again, ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘howe’er you wind it, mischief is that bloody fact, when by forbearance we should a stood in the right with all men. Might you but know the tangle now—’
‘To pass away the time,’ said the doctor, drawing chairs to a table between windows, ‘I’ll to chess with you. And, to inspire a fine peril in the gambit, we’ll drink old wine.’ Medor set out the ivory men, while Doctor Vandermast from an old Athenian amphora poured out into goblets of cut crystal. He filled them but to the half, the better to let him that should drink of it savour the fragrancy of that wine, clinging to the goblets’ sides. The first cup the doctor brought to the Countess, but she gently refused it. ‘This wine,’ said he, sitting now to the chessboard and pledging Medor, ‘may, as I have sometimes conceited, be somewhat in kind with that which is caroused away upon high marriage nights among the Gods, when the bride is laid and the epithalamion sung, and the blessed wedding-guests, going upon the golden floor, eat and drink and renew their hearts and minds with wine not all unlike to this.’