The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography (40 page)

I lined everyone up outside the door of the inn, then I told them they were all to race up the street to the orange orchard. Then I said “Go!” and we started running—they with their crutches and pegs, and I with my
Golden Wonder.

The race began. It was splendid fun, and I won the race by a long way. In fact, I was so fleet that, when the race was done, many of my rivals in the race refused to believe my leg was a false one. I quickly silenced those objections, though, for I removed my boot and waved my stump around, bringing cheers from the delighted onlookers.

It was a successful event to be sure—in fact, it was so successful I decided to repeat the event every week, for a larger purse. These races became very popular among the people of Ithron, and folk would place wagers upon the winner. However, all those who wagered against me were sure to lose their winnings, for I always won the race.

Now, because of the races, I spent much more time in Ithron than I had done before. On any day, most of my hours were spent in the palace, working on my designs, but I also used to travel the town, talking with people and hearing the news and so forth. I had many friends in the city—important merchants, and poets, and philosophers, and other learned people.

One afternoon, I went to a soup house looking for some conversation, for this particular soup house was popular with certain of my intelligent friends. Unfortunately, none of them were there that day, only an old woman called
Peacock. (This was a joke name people had given her because she always dressed in brown from head to toe.) She had worked in the palace as a servant since she was a girl and knew all the gossip.

Well, I bought myself some soup, and, since I had no one else to sit with, I sat with old Peacock, and we talked about this and that, until she suddenly said to me: “I think it is very shameful about the queen. Do you not agree?”

I said, “What is shameful?”

She said, “That she surrounds herself by so many military men.”

I said, “It is because the queen loves to hear tales of the war.”

She said, “Is that so? Then why does she never keep any of our famous military women around her, such as
Besset Wise-Eyes, or
Myressa the Thrower? Do they have no tales to tell?”

I said, “No, I am certain they must have some fine tales.”

She said, “There you are, then: the queen cares nothing for tales. The true reason she has those men around her is that she has lustful designs on them, for they are all very young and handsome, and they flatter her with their sweet words. But that is not the whole story, oh my, no.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

She said, “Every night, our good queen brings dozens of these handsome men to her room, and she takes them all to herself, one after the other.”

I said, “I can scarcely believe this to be true!”

She said, “Well, I assure you it is true, for I heard it directly from a very reliable source.”

I said, “Then your source is not so reliable as you think, for I can assure you our queen does not do such things, despite her humble background.”

Then she laughed and poked me in the side, saying, “Hah! I know why you are denying it! It is because you are one of those men the queen uses. You are handsome enough, that much is certain. Tell me now, I am right? I will wager I am.”

I said, “And I will wager you are wrong. I would not participate in such things even if the queen invited me. Besides, I have two young servant girls of my own. They are much prettier than the queen, as well as being supremely talented in their nightly manners.”

She whispered, “Well, that may be, but I have heard that what the queen lacks in talent, she makes up for in variety. Oh yes, you would surely be astonished to hear of the scandalous acts that occur in the queen’s chamber at night. It is the shame of all the kingdom.”

Well, I had finished my soup by then, so I told Peacock once more that she was wrong in what she said, and then I left. Her words troubled me, though, and I thought the matter over, and prayed upon it too. And when no clear answer came to me by these methods, I cast dice to settle the matter. I cast two dice, and they came up a seven, which is the number for sin. Then I cast them again, and they came up a seven again. Then I cast them for a third time, and they came up a four, which is principally the number for food, but is also the number for a wilderness, such as one where
Queen Sarla would have spent her time when she was a hunter.

Then I knew, in my heart, that what the old gossip had said was true. After all, why should a young queen surround herself by such men as those commanders were if it was not so she could indulge her lustful passions with each and every one of them?

I said to myself, “This is the shame of all the kingdom, and no good will come of it!” Then I thought, “Ah, but it is not the queen herself who is to blame, for she is but a foolish young girl. No, the core of this evil comes from those worthless commanders and their false praise. In believing such praise, the queen thinks herself to be perfect, and nobody may scold perfection.” Then I said, “I pray to God that her eyes may be open to her folly, so she may be made to see her imperfections.” And I added, “I also pray to God that God listens to my prayer.”

This double prayer brought me God’s attention, and about two weeks afterwards He gave to me the perfect opportunity to do for myself the things I had asked.

I was in the throne room discreetly drawing plans—for, as you will remember, the queen had said I should be around the throne room constantly. This, then, was where I did my work, at a table in one corner. The queen had a number of her favourite young commanders about her, and they were very arrogant and boastful, swaggering around with their swords. Even though I called myself a stonemage, and they called themselves warriors, what they knew about warfare did not make up one fingernail of what I know about it.

In any case, the queen was having these young bucks compete, to see who could speak the best compliment about her. And there was no doubt in my mind that the prize in this contest was an evening of intimate favours from the queen.

One of them said, “Your eyes are diamonds, and they are set in the brooch of my soul.”

Then another said, “Your lips are as red as burning coals, and, like those coals, they set aflame all they touch.”

And another said, “The daggers of war are fearsome, but the daggers of your beauty are more terrible still, for I cannot fend them off, and they strike me in my heart.”

All this went on for an hour or more, and was very boring to listen to, until one of these fellows, who thought himself very witty, said, “Let us give Yreth a turn. We shall see how his compliments compare to ours.”

I put my sketches down and said, “I do not wish to play your game.”

Then the queen said, “Why is that, then? Do you have nothing good to say about me?”

I replied, “Queen, if I were to bestow a compliment upon you, you may be sure it would be a hundred times better than anything these champions of yours have to offer. That is because my compliments are truthful, and come from the heart, unlike these casual lies you are used to hearing.”

In saying this, I meant to show her how foolish her game was, but instead, my words had just the opposite effect, for they made her determined to hear what kind of excellent compliment I would give her. At first, I declined to give a compliment, but she kept on and on at me about it, until at last I said, “Very well, I shall give you the praise you ask for. It will be in the form of a poem, and I will present it to you one week from now.”

She was delighted at this and said she would look forward to hearing my poem. She said, moreover, that she would invite many others to the event, for she wished them all to hear praise from the lips of a master.

I was glad I had given myself a full week before I presented the poem, for it took me all that time to write it. As I had promised, I made my words beautifully honest, for there are no words more flattering than honest ones. It was hard, though, for I knew I must blend compliments with loving criticism, gentle correction, and moral guidance. Her commanders might describe her to be a better person than she was, but I must outdo them and truly make her so.

It was a beautiful poem, and I put so much passion into it that I would often weep as I put pen to paper.

When the day arrived, I went to the throne room. A great evening feast had been set out on highboards, and all manner of people were talking and eating and walking about. There must have been at least three hundred people there, not only champions and commanders this time, but also many nobles too, and priests, and important merchants.

When I entered the hall, a great cheer went up, and people shouted, “Behold! The great poet is here!” Then the queen asked me if I was ready with my poem. I said that I was, and the whole place fell quiet as they listened to me read it to her.

I had titled the poem “A Very True Praise Indeed” and I remember the words to this day. They went as follows:

Now, flattery’s an ugly thing,

when taken to excess

For words that strive to move the heart

oft smack of hollowness.

But plain and simple, honest words,

undecorated by

The artful poet’s flow’ry verse,

his sweetly worded lie,

Bestow, without such gushing praise,

a greater compliment,

And, coming from a truthful heart,

are the more permanent.

And so, I ask you, hear me now,

as, in this noble cause,

I itemize, with candour, both

your virtues and your flaws.

To start: your head, the organ most

deserving reverence,

The seat, in man, of Reason, and,

in woman, of Good Sense,

Seems adequately gifted with

the faculties of thought,

And certainly you would be wise,

if you had just been taught.

Your lusty ways spring merely from

a wilful female pride—

And what young girl is not this way,

before she is a bride?

In time you’ll learn to serve a caring

husband as you should.

You’ll learn that tending hearth and home

is, for a woman, good.

Your ways could bear improvement: you

are arrogant and vain;

You often giggle, fuss, and nag,

and whimper, and complain.

Your behaviour in public lacks

propriety and grace,

Yet your visage remains cheerful—and

this brings me to your face.

Your cheeks are adequately fair,

and lack both scars and warts.

Your nose, while large, is sensitive

to odours of all sorts.

The set of teeth behind your smile

will stand you in good stead,

Remaining white and straight until

long after you are dead.

Your eyes are two in number, which

is as it ought to be.

Your hair is fixed upon your head—

a fact that pleases me.

Your neck is tough and sturdy, while

your arms are sleek and long.

Continued exercise will keep

them muscular and strong.

Your thighs greet every groping hand—

at least that is the talk.

Your legs are straight, and I would say

they aid you when you walk.

In short, I find that all your parts—

your ears, your feet, your hands—

Meet or exceed the standards that

a gentleman demands.

So, having meditated for

considerable time

Upon your pros and cons, which I

have stated here in rhyme,

I come to the conclusion, after

thinking matters through,

That I will give, without a qualm,

my best regards to you.

Then I bowed to her and said, “My
very
best regards to you, my queen—for being my queen, you deserve nothing less, whatever your faults.”

The queen, of course, had become accustomed to hearing false praise, and the impact of my truthful words moved her deeply, for her face was flushed like a shy maiden. She stared at me a few seconds, then at the great assembly who sat in tense expectation of her comments. But she had no comments. She was so moved by the simple beauty of my poem that she merely rose and left the room without a word. Neither need she have said a word, for the poem was a spiritual message which said more than any common words could express, and, when such messages are presented, no further word is necessary.

After she was gone, some of those young bucks were angry at me, thinking the queen was upset. They shouted insults at me, telling me how my poem lacked in sensitivity, and was, furthermore, deficient in praise. But the truth of the matter was that these men saw how much better my poem was than any of theirs, and they were envious of my skill.

The throne room is not a place for fights, so I ignored their rude invectives and left the place, with my throwing-razor in my hand to discourage attacks upon me.

I could quite easily have killed them all, if I had wanted to, but there is little pleasure in snuffing out such young lives, and I knew it was their youthful folly that made them so brash.

In any case, that is how I raised myself higher in the queen’s estimation than any other man living. I imagined my actions had won me her permanent favour and lifelong admiration.

But the world is not so simple a place as that, my friend, and I soon found out that those who occupy such high and exalted ranks as mine are in constant danger from the ambition of those below them. I will tell of this next.