Mythophidia

by Storm Constantine

  ‘What is your name, girl?’

  She looked up at me then. Her face was utterly white and her eyes seemed overly large within it. She had the most astounding eyes. I was reminded of black poppies. She squinted at me only slightly before she spoke. ‘I am Papavera,’ she said. ‘I am a princess.’

  ‘A princess of where?’ demanded Tartalan, sidling up beside me. His voice was hardly friendly.

  The girl screwed up her face. ‘I cannot remember,’ she said. ‘I am lost.’

  Tartalan glanced at me with a sneer, which I divined I was supposed to return. ‘Poor child,’ I said, pulling a sympathetic frown.

  ‘If your memory has gone, it is astounding you can still remember your status,’ Tartalan said in a sarcastic tone.

  The girl shrugged. ‘It is the truth. I am royal.’

  ‘Why have you come here?’ the Chamberlain snapped.

  Again, a shrug. ‘The lights in the high towers drew me.’

  Tartalan sighed and leaned towards me. ‘Well, what are we to do?’ he whispered. ‘I am loath to accept her claim simply because, having recently become familiar with all royal ladies of nearby kingdoms, I have not come across this girl before.’

  ‘I am from a far place,’ the girl murmured. She must have had extraordinarily acute hearing.

  Tartalan visible jumped and then fussily collected himself. ‘Tch! I say we send her to the local nunnery in the morning. They can care for her there, until the time some person comes to claim her as kin.’

  I was about to remonstrate with him when my son, with unprecedented conviction, spoke before me. ‘No, my Lord Chamberlain. Any person can see this poor girl is of noble birth. Look at her skin, listen to her voice! Are these the attributes of a drab? No doubt she has become estranged from travelling companions. Perhaps suffered some accident, which has addled her mind.’

  I was astonished by his interest, even though I should have perhaps anticipated it.

  He turned to me. ‘Mother, I recommend we have our guest conveyed to the visitors’ suites, where she may be attended in proper surroundings. Perhaps you would lend a couple of your women for the task?’

  I raised my hands. ‘Well... if you wish, my son.’

  Spots of colour bloomed along his cheekbones. He dropped his eyes. ‘I do. It is only polite.’

  Of course.

  It will come as little surprise that Marquithi, beloved innocent, found himself the victim of an irresistible attraction to the so-called Princess Papavera. She, like a dark velvet bloom with an intoxicating scent, pervaded the palace with her alluring presence. She had a slow, halting gait, as if she had recently awoken from a daze. Her skin glowed pellucidly along the darker passages of the upper suites, where she roamed continually, one white hand held out from her side, touching the dusty drapes, the dimmed brass candelabra, the goblin carvings on the walls. Marquithi also took to haunting these upper apartments, dancing attendance on eager feet to the fey princess. I myself interviewed her several times during the following two days, subjecting her to a gentle yet relentless inquisition. She slumped blinking in a chair as I spoke, responding slowly but without displeasure. She could remember nothing about her origins; the only memories being those of waking on drenched ground into the fury of the storm, with the slim yet consistent conviction that she was a princess. Her name, she confessed, she only remembered at the time it was asked of her. Papavera came into her head, so she naturally assumed this must be the correct epithet. She was a lovely misty creature, languid and graceful in all her movements. Her voice was soft as a dove’s and her face ever reposed in a timorous smile. To my pleasure, she also appeared quite stupid.

  Anguin proved annoyingly obtuse when I went to congratulate him on his success. All my questions concerning the origin of Papavera were met with grinning silence. ‘I have no proof that the lady you describe is actually attributable to my influence,’ he said eventually. ‘It might be coincidence.’

  ‘Then perhaps we shall end up with two winsome beauties in the palace!’ I said. ‘And my dear Marquithi will have a choice! Really, Anguin, I can’t understand why you don’t want to view the girl yourself. I am not averse to bringing her here. She is vague and largely witless.’

  Anguin shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not necessary. If the Prince is enamoured of her, it hardly matters who or what she is, does it?’

  I shrugged. Perhaps he was right, but I felt uneasy.

  The creatures of the court were naturally most inquisitive about the Princess, and I had to fend them off from plaguing her with their boisterous company, claiming she was feeling ill and weak, and needed some time in which to recompose herself. Their pique at this response was further augmented by a reckless declaration Marquithi made at dinner one evening. We had finished our repast and were drinking port while supervising a few floggings of recalcitrant serfs between the tables. Marquithi looked flushed and excited. The last groaning carcase had barely been removed from the hall, when he suddenly stood up and commanded silence.

  ‘Friends, lords and ladies of the court, I have great news!’ he said, beaming. I noticed he was rather unsteady on his feet. ‘I have found the woman I wish to marry!’

  The Councillors all rose to their feet like a flock of aged birds and hooted in unison: ‘Who?’

  Marquithi’s face was positively glowing. ‘The Princess Papavera, of course!’

  Well, I was hardly surprised, although a little concerned he had not voiced his conviction to me first.

  A low roar of grumbling voices greeted this announcement, as the Councillors predictably objected to Marquithi’s choice.

  ‘It’s infatuation!’

  ‘Folly!’

  ‘Totally inappropriate!’

  ‘Grossly improper!’

  No-one knew who Papavera was, or even what she was. She could be an actress, a mad-woman, a bastard daughter. She had no pedigree, and no dowry. She might be diseased, barren, or host to a hereditary peculiarity. I myself remained silent while the storm of voices raged above my head. In fact, I poured myself some more port and sat back to enjoy the proceedings. Still, I foresaw difficult days of persuasion ahead.

  Tartalan caught my eye and shook his head, sighing. At that moment, we were in total accord.

  As soon as Marquithi and I had retired for the evening, the Councillors scurried to Tartalan to persevere in their complaints. However, having anticipated this reaction, I had already sent the most intelligent of my servants - a dashingly attractive northern girl named Vienquil - down to the archives. Having supervision over a team of six others, she was instructed to scour the ancient documents for anything I could employ as artillery in my battle with the Council. ‘Bring me anything, however bizarre, that I might utilise in this instance,’ I had told her. ‘And, on no account contemplate returning from the catacombs until you have found something.’

  Despite the efficiency of my swift-fingered operatives, and the familiarity they had recently acquired with the archives, it still took them nearly two days to uncover something of use. This, my servant Vienquil brought to my apartment the next afternoon.

  The poor creature looked exhausted; her clothes, her skin, even her lustrous, black hair fouled with reeking dust and cobwebs. In her hands, she held the friable remains of an ancient parchment, which she had soaked in oil in order to prevent its utter dissolution. ‘The search was hard, your highness,’ she said. ‘And I’m afraid this was all we could find.’ She did not sound at all confident I would be able to use it.

  I took the parchment from her and carefully laid it out on a table. Together, we scanned the faded lines of text. ‘Hmm, I am having trouble convincing myself the Council will accept this,’ I said.

  Vienquil shrugged. ‘We found nothing else down there remotely connected with your dilemma, your highness.’

  I sighed, and patted her arm. ‘Well, a law is a law, however ancient or peculiar. Thank you. You have done well under extenuating circumstances. Take this coin.’

&n
bsp; I carried the parchment to Anguin right away.

  It took him some time to read the document and I was forced to wait impatiently as he did so. He grinned to himself as he perused the lines and then laughed openly when he had finished reading.

  ‘I agree the content is amusing,’ I said, ‘but would value your opinion as to how I might successfully invoke this law.’

  Anguin narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Didn’t I promise you a princess?’ he said. ‘Simply follow the instructions in this document.’

  ‘It is preposterous!’ I cried, and gestured at the parchment. ‘No-one could be affected by that. Flesh bruised by a handful of dried peas beneath a score of mattresses? If I attempt this procedure, I will be laughed out of Gordania!’

  ‘You must trust me, your highness.’

  ‘Trust you?’ I paused to consider. ‘Well... obviously you will have to medicate the girl in some way.’

  ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary!’ he said.

  I blinked at him in disbelief, on the verge of losing my temper. ‘I suspect you are being rather too flippant, Anguin! If this plan fails, which I am sure it is doomed to do, I will appear foolish, if not deranged, and Marquithi will lose his opportunity to marry.’

  ‘Have I failed you before?’ Anguin asked. ‘Have a little faith in me, your highness.’ He handed me the parchment. ‘Prepare the bed as instructed.’

  Tartalan shook his head gloomily when I showed him the parchment. ‘A desperate measure,’ he said, ‘destined only for failure.’

  I patted his arm. ‘I think we shall both be surprised.’ It was strange how the Chamberlain and I had become allies, albeit reluctantly. He had no love of Brude either and felt, as I did, that only by Marquithi becoming king could the comfortable stability of the kingdom be ensured.

  ‘I wonder what circumstances inspired this paper,’ he said. ‘Are there no historical records giving explanation?’

  I shook my head. ‘Regrettably, no.’

  He frowned. ‘But it is so bizarre! Can a royal integument really be so sensitive?’

  ‘We shall have to hope so.’

  ‘The Council will contest this action.’

  ‘Of course they will... until my experiment proves successful.’

  Tartalan sighed heavily. ‘I wish I had your confidence.’

  I smiled at him in encouragement, even though I still harboured the greatest of qualms myself. ‘Don’t fret, Lord Tartalan. Convene the Council and have the scullions search the store-rooms for the hardest dried peas they can find.’

  The bed in question was an enormous construction, whose canopy brushed the ceiling of our highest chamber. Onto this framework, I ordered a score of mattresses to be piled. The stuffing for these was varied; some were to be of horsehair, some of feathers, some of straw. The topmost mattress had to be filled with lavender and dried basil, in order to ensure the slumber of the person who lay within the bed. In the centre of the base mattress, with due ceremony and before witnesses, I placed a handful of small, dried peas. Then, I stood back to supervise the placement of the subsequent mattresses. If the ancient text was accurate, after sleeping upon this bed for a single night, the royal flesh of Papavera would be bruised black and blue by the peas, because the skin of a real princess was so delicate, it was sensitive to the slightest pressures. It is hard to believe that such absurd trials must once have been conducted on a regular basis. I pondered the fate of those unfortunate princesses whose skins had proved unsatisfactorily resistant. The Council were naturally sceptical about the test, and demanded to inspect the bed themselves, thereby indicating they suspected deceit on my part. I happily allowed them their examination, after which they had to admit there was no sign of trickery at work.

  ‘Do you agree,’ I inquired, ‘that if Papavera’s sweet skin is indeed bruised after a night’s repose upon this bed, you will accept her claims and allow Marquithi to marry her? After all, the parchment was taken from your own archives. It is genuine.’

  ‘Madam,’ said the oldest of the Councillors, eyeing the mountain of mattresses, ‘if the girl’s skin is marked by the peas to the slightest degree, I will be forced to re-evaluate my whole philosophy on life and creation. Assenting to her marriage to the Prince will be a minor concern, in comparison.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled then.’

  At sundown, the girl Papavera was escorted down from the guest’s suite by a retinue of ladies, and taken to a room on the main floor in which the bed had been built. It was a cold, dark and unfriendly chamber whose windows faced an overgrown, neglected courtyard that was forever devoid of sunlight. I noticed that the upper walls were lividly stained by aged patches of mould. In these less than savoury surroundings, Papavera was subjected to a minute examination by the wives of the Councillors, who confirmed her skin was unmarked by blemishes of any kind. As the women poked and prodded at her body, the mysterious princess stood swaying, as if in a daze. Her expression reminded me of those found upon the countenances of marbled saints in the ruined cathedrals dotted around the kingdom; imbecilic yet uplifted. She had made no objection whatsoever to the outrageous test of the peas, and after the inspection, climbed the ladder propped up against the bed, as if she was ascending an angels’ stair to paradise.

  The Councillors’ wives had arranged to keep a vigil over the girl as she slept, patently to prevent one of my staff slipping in halfway through the night in order to inflict bruises upon the girl.

  The night passed without incident, although one or two of the invigilating ladies claimed Papavera sighed very deeply occasionally. In the morning, they all converged upon the bedroom in a bustling throng, myself among them. When Papavera descended the ladder, I was alarmed to see there were dark circles beneath her eyes, which were scarcely open. On the removal of her white night-gown, as she stood quivering and naked upon the hard, balding carpet, it was easy to see her soft skin was marked with the most appalling contusions all around her lower back and belly, even along the tops of her thighs. The Councillor’s wives were aghast at the injuries, as indeed I was myself. I hastened to cover the poor girl with a gown, keeping my arm around her shoulder. ‘I feel this is conclusive evidence,’ I said.

  ‘It is unwholesome!’ declared one lady.

  ‘An abomination!’ whinnied another.

  ‘It is as the law decrees,’ I reminded them, and led the girl from their presence.

  When examined by the physicks, Papavera repeated the same words, ‘There were stones in my bed. They made me sleep on stones.’ She was restless with discomfort in a strange, disquieting manner, rather like an animal who, suffering from some internal impairment, can find no position in which to assuage the hurt.

  Marquithi was at once furious that his beloved had been damaged and ecstatic that she appeared to have fulfilled the requirements of the law. He held her hand as they sat together in my rooms after the physicks had left, and while he crooned devotion into her ear, she ignored him and blinked dazedly at the floor. My approval of the girl increased immeasurably.

  Papavera and Marquithi were married in the autumn, an event preceding their coronation by only five days. By this time, having become inured to the idea, the Council grudgingly allowed themselves to celebrate both occasions in the proper manner. All the guests, from every neighbouring kingdom, complimented Marquithi on his choice of bride. Papavera floated throughout the proceedings like the phantom of an opiate dream, as if unaware of her surroundings, smiling at Marquithi occasionally. Being such a modest and winsome creature, she could not fail to glide her way into the hearts of all the court. Following the coronation, she assumed her role in an appropriate manner. She worked with a deft hand upon tapestries with the other ladies, took protracted and aimless walks in the palace grounds, and attended executions without complaint. When we had foreign guests, she danced enchantingly every night until dawn. She smiled continually in the presence of others, nodded often, but spoke little herself. This made her a much sought after companion, and many ladies of the court
considered themselves to be her confidante. She was trustworthy because she never repeated anything she was told. In the palace, this was a refreshing novelty.

  Prudently, I had urged one of the catamites, Eluski, to continue visiting Marquithi, in order to discover how the marriage was progressing in his eyes. The knowledge I gleaned was intriguing. Typically, my son did not consider Papavera’s silence and lack of female curiosity as unusual, although he was concerned about the delicacy of her skin. Once, he had pulled her towards him playfully, without violence of any sort, and her arm had bloomed purple to the shape of his demanding fingers. Yet as a lover she, in her silence, became a succubus. Marquithi was astounded by the intensity of her interest in the marriage duties, and confessed it was the only time she made much noise. However, driven to disclose further confidences by the vigilant Eluski, my son admitted to a certain distaste that his wife’s body was so cold within. Sometimes - and he thought this might be connected with her female cycles - it felt as if his member was grabbed by cold, wet meat. Eluski faithfully reported all this to me. I began to wonder exactly how, and from where, Anguin had procured the girl. More to the point, what was she? Very soon, these questions became more urgent.

  There was some fuss one afternoon, when Papavera was found lurching around the palace gardens, her garments in some disarray, her voice a moaning and relentless lament. Servants carrying her back into the building claimed she appeared extremely unwell, and that thick hanks of her hair had fallen out into their hands. Alarmed, I went to inspect her in her chambers, and the sight that greeted was far from appealing. Papavera lay virtually motionless upon the bed and her appearance reminded me horribly of some dreadful ghoul unearthed from a desecrated grave. Her normally translucent skin had turned a dull grey-white. Her gums and eyelids were unnaturally red, and her tongue, which reflexively licked her cracked white lips, was a strange bluish colour. The odour she gave off was sweet yet corrupt. I fled to Anguin’s rooms immediately, so unnerved I actually grabbed his arms and shook him wildly.