Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc (2 page)

Sarles grinned a curious mindless grin and tucked the pearl back into his pocket. He marched across the square to the tavern, where he poured a good half-pint of wine down his throat. The first called for another, and as Sarles started on his second half-pint he was accosted by one of his cronies, a certain Juliam, who asked: “How goes the world? No fishing today?”

“I am not up to it today, owing to my sore back. Also, Junt decided that he wished to borrow Preval and I told him ‘Go to it; fish all night, if you are so frantic in your zeal!’ So off went Junt in my good old Preval.”

“Ah well, that was generous of you!”

“Why not? After all, he is my cousin and blood is thicker than water.”

“True.”

Sarles finished his wine and strolled out to the end of the jetty. He scanned the sea with care but neither to the north, the west, nor the south could he glimpse the patched yellow sail of the Preval.

He turned away and went back along the jetty. Down on the shingle other fishermen were beaching their boats. Sarles went down and made inquiries in regard to Junt. “From the kindness of my heart I let him take out my Preval, though I warned him that the wind was rising and seemed to be veering to the north.”

“He was out by Scratch Bottom an hour ago,” said one of the fishermen. “Junt will fish while honest men drink wine!”

Sarles scanned the sea. “Possibly true, but I do not see him now. The wind is swinging about and he will be in trouble if

he does not head for the harbour soon.”

“Never fear for an old sea-dog like Junt, in a stout boat such as the Lirlou,” said a fisherman who had just come up. The first fisherman gave a raucous laugh. “But he is aboard the Prevail”

“Aha. That is something else again. Sarles, you would be wise to make repairs.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered Sarles. “In due course. I can neither walk on water nor blow gold coins out of my nose.”

Sunset came and still Junt failed to return to Mynault harbour. Sarles finally reported the circumstances to Liba. “Today my back was poorly, and I could not fish overlong. From motives of generosity I allowed Junt the use of my boat. He has not yet returned and I fear that he has been blown off down the coast, or even has wrecked the Preval. I suppose this should be a lesson for me.”

Liba stared. “For you? What of Junt and his family?”

“I am concerned on both counts. That goes without saying. However, I have not told you yet of my amazing good luck.”

“Indeed? Your back is well so that finally you can work? Or you have lost your taste for wine?”

“Woman, control your tongue or you will feel the weight of my hand! I am bored with acrid jokes.”

“Well then, what is your luck?”

Sarles displayed the pearl. “What do you think of that?”

Liba looked down at the gem. “Hmm. Curious. I have never heard of a green pearl. Are you sure it is genuine?”

“Of course! Do you take me for a fool? It is worth a goodly sum.”

Liba turned away. “It gives me the chills.”

“Is not that just like a woman? Where is my supper? What! Gruel? Why cannot you cook a tasty pot of soup, like other women?”

“I should work miracles, when the cupboard is bare? If you caught more fish and drank less wine we would eat better.”

“Bah! From now on all will be different.”

During the night Sarles was troubled by unsettling dreams. Fates peered at him through swirls of mist, then spoke gravely aside to each other. Try as he might he could understand none of the comments. A few of the faces seemed familiar, but Sarles could put no names to them.

In the morning Junt still had not returned in the Preval. By virtue of established custom, Sarles therefore became privileged to fish from the fine new Lirlou. Tamas, Junt’s son, wished also to go out aboard the Lirlou but this Sarles would not allow. “I prefer to fish by myself.”

Tamas made a hot protest. “That is not reasonable! I must protect my family’s interests!”

Sarles raised his finger high. “Not so fast! Are you forgetting that I also have interests? The Lirlou becomes my own until Junt returns me my Preval safe and sound. If you want to fish, you must make other arrangements.”

Sarles sailed the Lirlou out to the fishing grounds, rejoicing in the strength of the craft and the convenience of the gear. Today his luck was unusually good; fish fairly seized at his lines and the baskets in the hold became filled to the brim, and Sarles sailed back to Mynault congratulating himself. Tonight he would eat good soup or even a roast fowl.

Two months passed, during which Sarles profited from fine catches, while nothing seemed to go right for Tamas. One evening Tamas went to the house of Sarles, hoping to make some sort of adjustment in a situation which no one in Mynault considered totally fair, though all agreed that Sarles had acted only within his rights.

Tamas found Liba alone, sitting by the hearth spinning thread. Tamas came to the middle of the room and looked all around. “Where is Sarles?”

“At the tavern, or so I would expect, pouring his gut full of wine.” Liba spoke in a flat voice which held a metallic overtone. She glanced at Tamas over her shoulder, then returned to her spindle. “Whatever you want you will not get. He is suddenly a man of property, and struts around like a grandee.”

“Still, we must have an understanding!” declared Tamas. “He lost his rotten hulk and gained the Lirlou, at the expense of myself, my mother and my sisters. We have lost everything through no fault of our own. We ask only that Sarles deal fairly with us, and give us our share.”

Liba moved her shoulders in a stony shrug. “It is useless to talk to me. I can do nothing with him. He is a different man since he brought home his green pearl.” She raised her eyes to the mantel, where the pearl rested in a saucer.

Tamas went to look at the gem. He took it up and hefted it in his fingers, then whistled through his teeth. “This is a valuable object! It would buy another Lirlou! It would make me rich!”

Liba glanced at him in surprise. Was this the voice of Tamas, everywhere considered the very soul of rectitude? The green pearl seemed to corrupt with greed and selfishness all those who touched it! She turned back to her spinning. “Tell me nothing; what I do not know I can not prevent. I abhor the thing; it gazes at me like an evil eye.”

Tamas uttered a queer high-pitched chuckle: so odd that Liba glanced at him sidelong in surprise.

“Just so!” said Tamas. “It is a time for a righting of wrongs! If Sarles complains, let him come to me!” With the pearl in his hand, he ran from the house. Liba sighed and returned to her spinning, with a heavy lump of apprehension in her chest.

An hour passed with no sound but the sough of the wind in the chimney and an occasional sputter of the fire. Then came the lurching thud of Sarles’ steps as he staggered home from the tavern. He thrust the door wide, stood a moment in the opening, his face round as a plate under the untidy ledges of his black hair. His eyes darted here and there and halted on the saucer; he went to look and found the saucer empty. He uttered a cry of anguish. “Where is the pearl, the lovely green pearl?”

Liba spoke in her even voice. “Tamas came to talk with you. Since you were not here he took the pearl.”

Sarles gave a howl of rage. “Why did you not stop him?”

“It is none of my affair. You must settle the matter with Tamas.”

Sarles moaned in fury. “You could have stayed him; you gave him the pearl!” He lurched at her with clubbed fists; she raised the spindle and thrust it into his left eye.

Sarles clapped his hand to the bloody socket, while Liba stood back, awed by the magnitude of her deed.

Sarles looked at her with his right eye, and stepped slowly forward. Liba, groping behind her, found a broom of tied withes which she lifted and held ready. Sarles came forward one step at a time. Never taking his eye from Liba, he bent and picked up a short-handled axe. Liba screamed and thrust the broom into Sarles’ face, then ran for the door. Sarles seized her hair and, pulling her back, did gruesome work with the axe.

Neighbors had been attracted by the screams. Men seized Sarles and took him to the square. The town elders were summoned from their beds and came blinking out to do justice by the light of lanterns.

The crime was manifest; the murderer was known, and there was nothing to be gained by delay. Sentence was passed; Sarles was marched to the hostler’s barn and hanged from the hay derrick, while the village population stared in wonder to see their neighbor kick and jerk by lantern light.

OALDES, TWENTY MILES NORTH OF MYNAULT, had long served the South Ulfish kings as their seat, though it lacked the grace and historical presence of Ys, and showed to poor advantage when compared to Avallon and Lyonesse Town. To Tamas, however, Oaldes with its market square and busy harbour seemed the very definition of urbanity.

He stabled his horse and made a breakfast of fish stew at a dockside tavern, all the while wondering where best to sell his wonderful pearl, that he might realize a maximum gain.

Tamas made a guarded inquiry of the landlord: “I put you this question: if someone wished to sell a pearl of value, where would he find the best price?”

“Pearls, eh? You will find small clamor for pearls at Oaldes. Here we spend our miserable few coins on bread and codfish. An onion in the stew is all the pearl most of us will ever see. Still, show me your wares.”

Somewhat reluctantly Tamas allowed the landlord a glimpse of the green pearl.

“A prodigy!” declared the landlord. “Or is it a cunning puddle of green glass?”

“It is a pearl,” said Tamas shortly.

“Perhaps so. I have seen a pink pearl from Hadramaut, and a white pearl from India, both adorning the ears of sea-captains. Let me look once more on your green jewel… . Ah! It glows with a virulent light! There, yonder, is the booth of a Sephard goldsmith; perhaps he will offer you a price.”

Tamas took the pearl to the goldsmith’s booth and laid it upon the counter. “How much gold and how much silver will you pay out for this fine gem?”

The goldsmith pushed a long nose close to the pearl and rolled it with a bronze pick. He looked up. “What is your price?”

Tamas, ordinarily equable, found himself infuriated by the goldsmith’s bland voice. He responded roughly: “I want the full value, and I will not be cheated!”

The goldsmith shrugged narrow shoulders. “The worth of an article is what someone will pay. I have no market for such a fine trinket. I will give a single gold piece, no more.”

Tamas snatched the pearl and strode angrily away. And so it went all day. Tamas offered the pearl to everyone who he thought might pay a good price, but met no success.

Late in the afternoon, tired, hungry and seething with repressed anger, he returned to the Red Lobster Inn, where he ate a pork pasty and drank a mug of beer. At a nearby table four men gambled at dice. Tamas went to watch the play and when one of the men departed, the others invited him to join their game. “You seem a prosperous lad; here’s your chance to enrich yourself even further at our expense!”

Tamas hesitated, since he knew little of dice or gaming. He thrust his hands into his pockets and touched the green pearl, which sent a pulse of reckless confidence coursing along his nerves.

“Certainly!” Tamas cried out. “Why not?” He slid into the vacant seat. “You must explain your game to me, since I lack experience at such sport.”

The other men at the table laughed jovially. “All the better for you!” said one. “Beginner’s luck is the rule!”

Another said: “The first thing to remember is that if you win your count, you must not forget to collect your wager. Secondly, and even more important from our point of view, if you lose, you must pay! Is that clear?”

“Absolutely!” said Tamas.

“Then, just as a gentlemanly courtesy, show us the colour of your money.”

Tamas brought the green pearl from his pocket. “Here is a gem worth twenty gold pieces; this is my surety! I have no smaller moneys.”

The other players looked at the pearl in perplexity. One of them said: “It may be worth exactly as you claim, but how do you expect to gamble on that basis?”

“Very simply. If I win, I win and nothing more need be said. If I lose, I lose until I am in debt to the amount of twenty gold pieces, whereupon I give up my pearl and depart in poverty.”

“All very well,” said another of the gamblers. “Still, twenty gold pieces is a goodly sum. Suppose I were to win a single gold piece and thereupon had enough of the game; what then?”

“Is it not absolutely clear?” demanded Tamas peevishly. “You then give me nineteen gold pieces, take the pearl and depart with your gains.”

“But I lack the nineteen gold pieces!”

The third gambler cried out: “Come, let us play the game! No doubt matters will sort themselves out!”

“Not yet!” cried the cautious gambler. He turned to Tamas. “The pearl is useless in this game; have you no smaller coins?”

A red-haired red-bearded man wearing the varnished hat and striped trousers of a seaman came forward. He picked up the green pearl and scrutinized it with care. “A rare gem, of perfect luster and remarkable colour! Where did you find this marvel?”

Tamas had no intention of telling everything he knew. “I am a fisherman from Mynault, and we bring ashore all manner of marine treasure, especially after a storm.”

“It is a fine jewel,” said the cautious gambler. “Still, in this game you must play with coins.”

“Come then!” cried the others. “Put out your stakes; let the game begin!”

Tamas grudgingly laid down ten coppers, which he had been reserving for the night’s supper and lodging.

The game proceeded and Tamas’s luck was good. First copper, then silver coins rose before him in stacks of gratifying height; he began to play for ever higher stakes, deriving assurance from the green pearl which rested among his winnings.

One of the gamblers abandoned the game in disgust. “Never have I seen such turns of the dice! I cannot defeat both Tamas and the goddess Fortunate!”

The red-bearded seaman, who named himself Flary, decided to join the game. “It is probably a lost cause, but I too will challenge this wild fisherman from Mynault.”