Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc (12 page)

Casmir had pondered the augury at length, especially when Suldrun died after yielding a single child to the royal household: the unpredictable and less than tractable Princess Madouc.

The Star Regulus arrived at Lyonesse Town. King Casmir and the royal family, disembarking, stepped into a white double-sprung carriage drawn by four unicorns with gilded horns. Father Umphred thought to jump nimbly into the carriage, but was deterred by King Casmir’s wordless glare. Smiling a bland smile, Umphred hopped back to the ground.

The carriage rolled up the Sfer Arct to the portals of Haidion, where the palace staff waited in ranks of formal welcome. King Casmir gave them perfunctory nods and, entering the palace, repaired to his chambers and immediately immersed himself in the business of his kingdom.

Two days later Casmir was approached by Doutain, his chief falconer. Doutain tendered a small capsule. “My lord, a pigeon in lading has returned to the west cote.”

King Casmir, instantly interested, said: “Reward the little creature well, with corn and millet!”

Doutain replied: “It has already been done, your Majesty, and done well!”

“Good work, Doutain,” murmured King Casmir, his attention already fixed upon the message. He unfolded the wisp of paper and read:

Your Highness:

To my sorrow I have been posted to South Ufjland, to service of a most dreary and objectionable, sort. I can no lonqer maintain communication, certainly not in the immediate, future..

The message was signed with a code symbol. “Hmf,” said Casmir, and tossed the message into the fire. Later in the day Doutain appeared once again. “A pigeon has come down to the east cote, my lord.”

“Thank you, Doutain.” The message, signed with a different symbol, read:

Your Highness:

For reasons beyond understanding I have been despatched to South Ulfland, where my duties are unlikely to accord either with my disposition or my inclination. This must, therefore, far the nonce, be my last communication.

“Bah!” said King Casmir, and cast the message into the flames. He threw himself down into his chair, and tugged at his beard. The two messages: coincidence? Unlikely, though not impossible. Might Valdez have betrayed the two? But Valdez had been denied knowledge of their names.

Still, it was interesting that Valdez had retired at this particular juncture. If he could be induced to return to Lyonesse, the truth might well be ascertained.

Casmir grunted. Valdez was far too sly a fox to risk such a visit; though the sheer fact of his visit would almost certainly prove his faith.

QUEEN SOLLACE HAD LONG BEEN CONVERTED to Christianity and Father Umphred saw to it that her fervor remained fresh. Of late she had become beguiled by the concept of sanctity; twenty times a day she murmured to herself: “Holy Saint Sollace of Lyonesse!” And: “How fine it sounds! The Cathedral of the Blessed Saint Sollace!”

Father Umphred, whose ambitions had never precluded the bishop’s mitre, nor would he have scorned an arch-bishopric over all the Lyonesse Diocese, encouraged Sollace in her hopes for beatitude. “Dear queen, indeed! Of the seven holy acts, a noble house of prayer where none before existed affords our Lord God the most exalted refinement of bliss, and his joy consecrates those responsible! Ah, what glory gleams across the future! What singing in the choirs of heaven as they contemplate the cathedral soon to grace Lyonesse Town!”

“I will so dedicate myself in every phase of my being!” declared Sollace. “Might we truly name this cathedral with my name?”

“That decision must be affirmed by higher authority, but my influence carries weight! When the bells ring loud across the land and paternosters enrich the air, and King Casmir himself kneels before the altar to receive my benediction, who would deny the style ‘Sanctissima’ to your name?”

“‘Sollace Sanctissima!’ Yes! That is good! On this very day I will again bring our business to the attention of the king!”

“What a victory when Casmir accepts the Gospel and comes to Jesus! The whole kingdom must then follow his lead!”

Sollace pursed her lips. “We shall see, but let us try one victory at a time. If I am truly sanctified, the world will rejoice at the news, and his Majesty will be impressed!”

“Precisely so! One step must follow on another!”

During the evening, while Casmir stood with his back to the fire, Sollace entered the chamber. Father Umphred came behind but modestly slipped aside to stand in the shadows.

Queen Sollace, aglow with hope, swept across the chamber and after exchanging civilities with the king, broached her concept of the noble cathedral, with towers on high and bells tolling the message of salvation far across the countryside. In her fervor she neglected to notice the narrowing of Casmir’s round blue eyes and the constriction of his mouth. She described grandeur on a scale to amaze all Christendom: an edifice so majestic and rich that Lyonesse Town must surely become a destination of pilgrimage.

King Casmir, hearing nothing to please him, at last spoke out: “What kind of wild talk is this? Has that fat priest been spewing nonsense again? I always know when you have seen him; he brings to your face something of his own look, which is that of a dying sheep!”

Queen Sollace cried out indignantly: “My lord, you mistake the transports of holy rapture for the facial expression you so unkindly describe!”

“No matter! He connives and lurks with crafty skill; I find him loitering wherever I look; indeed, I am much of a mind to send him packing.”

“Sir, reflect on this! The Cathedral of Saint Sollace would bear my name!”

“Woman, have mercy! Can you imagine the cost of such an edifice? Enough to bankrupt the kingdom, while the priest trots here and there, smirking as he thinks how he has befuddled the King and Queen of Lyonesse!”

“Not so, my lord! Father Umphred is known and respected in Rome itself! His single goal is the advancement of Christendom!”

Casmir turned to kick the fire into a more active blaze. “I have heard of these cathedrals: treasure-houses of gold and jewels wrung from the folk of the land, who then cannot pay their taxes to the king.”

Queen Sollace said wistfully: “Our land is wealthy! It could support such a fine cathedral.”

Casmir chuckled. “Tell the priest to bring me gold from Rome, some of which I will spend on a fine church.”

Sollace said with dignity: “Good night, my lord. I am retiring to my chambers.”

King Casmir bowed and turned back to the fire, and so failed to notice the departure of Father Umphred from the room.

KING CASMIR’S FIRST URGENCY was to repair the damage done to his intelligence network. One afternoon he went to a chamber in the old wing of Haidion, in the squat Tower of Owls above the armoury. This room, furnished sparsely, had much experience of harsh judgments and quick justice.

King Casmir, seating himself at the bare wooden table, poured wine from a white beechwood flagon into a white beechwood cup, and waited in stony calm.

Minutes passed. King Casmir showed no impatience.

In the corridor sounded a shuffle of feet and muttering voices. Oldebor, a functionary of no definite title
⁸
, looked through the door. “Your Majesty, will you see the prisoner?”

“Bring him in.”

Oldebor stepped forward into the room and gestured over his shoulder. Two jailers, in black leather aprons and conical leather hats, jerked on a chain and brought their prisoner stumbling into the room: a tall spare man in his early maturity, wearing a soiled shirt and ragged pantaloons. Despite his disheveled condition, the captive showed a notably good address; his posture, indeed, seemed incongruously easy, under the circumstances, and even a trifle contemptuous. In person, he was broad of shoulder, narrow at the hip, with long strong legs and the hands of an aristocrat. His hair, matted and dirty, was a thick black thatch; his eyes were clear hazel under a low forehead. Wide cheekbones converged to a narrow jaw; a high-bridged nose hooked over a bony chin. His skin, dark sallow-olive, seemed to show a curious plum-colored undertone, as if from the close flow of rich dark blood.

One of the jailers, annoyed by the captive’s composure, jerked again at the chain. “Show proper respect! You stand in the presence of the king!”

The captive nodded toward King Casmir. “Good day to you, sir.”

King Casmir responded in an even voice: “Good day to you, Torqual. How have you found your confinement?”

“Tolerable only, sir, and not for the fastidious.”

Another person came quietly into the room: a gentleman somewhat past his first youth, stocky, brisk as a robin, with good features, neat brown hair and clever brown eyes. He bowed. “Good day, my lord.”

“Good day, Shalles. Do you know Torqual?”

Shalles inspected the prisoner. “To this moment, I have had no contact with the gentleman.”

“That is to our general advantage,” said King Casmir. “You will therefore have no prejudicial emotions in his direction. Jailers, remove the chains so that Torqual may sit in comfort; then you may wait in the corridor. Oldebor, you may wait outside as well.”

Oldebor protested. “Your Majesty, this is a desperate man, with neither hopes nor qualms!”

King Casmir showed a faint chilly smile. “That is why he is here. Abide in the corridor. Shalles is well able to protect me.”

While Shalles turned the prisoner a dubious sideglance, the jailers removed the chains, then, with Oldebor, withdrew to the corridor.

King Casmir pointed to benches. “Gentlemen, be seated. May I offer you wine?”

Both Torqual and Shalles accepted cups of wine, and seated themselves.

Casmir looked back and forth between the two, then said: “You are men of different sorts; so much is clear. Shalles is the fourth son of the honourable knight Sir Pellent-Overtree, whose estate includes three farms of sixty-three acres in total. Shalles has learned the niceties of noble behavior together with a taste for good food and wine, but so far has found no means to indulge his yearnings. Torqual, of you I know little, but I would learn more. Perhaps you will tell us something of yourself.”

“With pleasure,” said Torqual. “To begin with, I am the member of a class which may well include a single individual: myself. My father is a duke of Skaghahe; my lineage is longer than the history of the Elder Isles. My tastes, like those of Sir Shalles, are nice; I prefer the best of everything. While I am a Ska, I care not a fig for the Ska mystique. I have cohabited freely and often with Underfolk women and bred a dozen hybrids; therefore they call me a renegade.

“The epithet is inaccurate and undeserved. I cannot be faithless to a cause which I never have endorsed. Indeed, I am absolutely faithful to the only cause I espouse, which is my own welfare. I take pride in this unswerving loyalty!

“I came away from Skaghane early, with several advantages: the strength, vigor and intelligence of the typical Ska, which was my birthright, and the expert use of weapons, for which I must take credit upon myself, since there are few, if any, who can excel me, especially with the sword.

“In order to maintain a gentlemanly style, and lacking sympathy for working up the Ska hierarchies, I became a brigand; I robbed and murdered with the best. However, there is little wealth to be had in the Ulflands, and so I came to Lyonesse.

“My plans were simple and innocent. As soon as I took enough gold and silver to fill a wagon, I intended to become a robber baron of the Teach tac Teach, and live out my life in relative seclusion.

“Through a freak of luck, I was trapped by your thief-takers. I now await drawing and quartering, though I will be glad to consider any other program your Majesty may see fit to propose.”

“Hm,” said King Casmir. “Your execution is scheduled for tomorrow?”

“That is my understanding.”

Casmir nodded and turned to Shalles. “What do you think of this fellow?”

Shalles considered Torqual sidelong. “Obviously, he is a blackguard of the deepest dye, with the conscience of a shark. At this moment he has nothing to lose and so feels free to exercise his insouciance.”

“What faith would you put in his word?”

Shalles dubiously cocked his head to the side. “It would depend upon how far his self-esteem rides with his faith. I am sure the word ‘honour’ means something different to him than it does to me or to you. I would trust him better on a system of rewards after stipulated service. Still, if only from caprice, Torqual might serve you well. He is clearly intelligent, energetic, forthright, and despite his present condition, I would guess him to be resourceful.”

King Casmir turned to Torqual. “You have heard Shalles’ opinions. What is your comment?”

“He is a person of discernment. I cannot argue with his remarks.”

King Casmir nodded, and poured wine into the three mugs. “The circumstances are these. King Aillas of Troicinet has extended his power into South Ulfland, where it impedes my own ambitions. I therefore wish to make South Ulfland ungovernable for the Troice. I intend that you two should serve me to this end, both singly, or, when occasion arises, in tandem. Shalles, what do you say to this?”

Shalles considered. “Your Majesty, may I be frank?”

“Naturally.”

“The task is dangerous. I am willing to serve you in this regard, at least for a limited period, if the rewards are commensurate to the danger.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Full knighthood and a prosperous estate of at least two hundred acres.”

King Casmir grunted. “You value yourself highly.”

“Sir, my life, drab and insipid though it may seem to others, is the only life given me to live.”

“Very well; so it shall be. Torqual, what of you?”

Torqual laughed. “I accept, regardless of risk or your distrust, or whatever the nature of the task, or whatever the reward.”

King Casmir said dryly: “Essentially, I want you to establish yourself in the highlands of South Ulfland and there wreak as much disorder as possible, but only upon the forces cooperating with the Troice. You are to make contact with other high-country barons and counsel disobedience, insurrection and banditry similar to your own. Do you understand my needs?”