by Jack Vance
“If so, what might be such a ‘startling truth’?”
“I suspect that she bore another child.”
Casmir blinked. “That cannot be so.”
“Well then: who was the father?”
“A nameless vagabond. In anger I did away with him.”
“He might have had much to tell you. Who else could recite precise facts?”
“There was the serving woman, and her parents, who nurtured the baby.” Casmir frowned as he thought back across the past. “The woman was a stubborn sow; she would tell me nothing.”
“She might be tricked, or inveigled. The parents might also know facts not yet revealed.”
Casmir grunted. “This seems to me a dry source. The parents were old; they might be dead.”
“Perhaps so. Still, if you like, I can send you a man who is a ferret for smelling out secrets.”
“That will suit me well.”
“Let me instruct you. His name is Visbhume. He is a wizard of very limited skill and certain curious habits, owing perhaps to yellow bloom in the cracks of the brain. You must overlook his peculiarities, and give precise orders, since at times he is flighty. Visbhume lacks all qualms; if you want your grandmother strangled, Visbhume will oblige, with care and courtesy, or, if you prefer, he will strangle his own grandmother.”
Casmir gave a dubious grunt. “Can he be trusted for steadfastness?”
“Indeed! Once started he is obsessive; he never stops, as if he is pushed by an incessant rhythm inside his head. He cannot be deterred by fear, or hunger or lust; he lacks interest in ordinary sexual procedures, and I am not even curious as to his personal habits.”
Casmir gave another grunt. “I care nothing for such matters, so long as he does his work.”
“He is single-minded. Still, supervise him closely, as his is a strange personality.”
IV
ONCE EACH WEEK KING CASMIR SAT TO DELIVER royal justice in the cold gray juridical chambers beside the old Great Hall. His chair was placed on a low dais, at the back of a massive table, with a man-at-arms, halberd at the ready, posted to either side.
At these occasions King Casmir wore always a black velvet cap encircled by a light silver crown, together with a flowing cape of black silk. This costume, so he believed, and correctly so, augmented the mood of somber and implacable justice which already hung heavy in the room.
During testimony King Casmir sat motionless, staring with cold blue eyes at the witness. He pronounced his decisions tersely, in a flat voice, without regard for rank, status or connection, and for the most part fairly, without extreme or harsh penalty, that he might enhance his reputation across the land as a wise and equable ruler.
At the end of the day’s assizes, an underchamberlain approached the table: “My lord, a certain Visbhume awaits audience; he states that he is here by your command.”
“Bring him here.” Casmir dismissed the court officials and ordered the guards to take up their stations outside the door.
Visbhume, entering the dour and solemn chamber, found himself alone with the king. He advanced on long bent-kneed strides, to halt close by the table, where he inspected King Casmir with placid bird-like curiosity and a total absence of awe.
King Casmir drew back from Visbhume’s appraisal, which seemed over-familiar and even brash. He frowned and at once, Visbhume put on an ingratiating smile.
King Casmir pointed to a chair. “Sit.” As Tamurello had indicated, Visbhume made no immediately favorable impression. He stood tall, with narrow shoulders, a gaunt chest and large hips, and hunched forward, as if in eagerness to get on with the duties at hand. His head and nose were both narrow and long; black hair seemed painted upon his scalp and made a stark contrast with his pasty skin. Arsenical shadows outlined his eyes; his mouth hung in loose-lipped folds over a sharp chin.
Visbhume seated himself. King Casmir asked: “You are Visbhume, sent here by Tamurello?”
“Sir, I am he.”
King Casmir folded his hands and fixed Visbhume with his most gelid stare. “Tell me something of yourself.”
“Gladly! I am a person of many talents, some unusual or even unique, though to the casual eye I seem a person of ordinary gentility. My skills transcend my appearance; I am astute and subtle; I study the arcane sciences; I have an exact memory. I am clever at dissolving mysteries.”
“That is an impressive catalogue of attributes,” said King Casmir. “Were you then born to nobility?”
“Sir, I have no knowledge of my birth, though certain indications lead me to suspect that I am the by-blow of a ducal amour. My earliest recollections are a farm to the far north of Dahaut, hard by the Wysrod March. As a nameless foundling I was forced into a life of stultifying toil. In due course I fled the farm and became first servant, then apprentice, to Hippolito the Magician, at Maule. I learned axioms and principles of the Grand Art; I was well on the way to great affairs!
“Alas, all things change. Ten years ago, on Glamus Eve, Hippolito flew away from Maule on a shingle and never returned. After a respectful interval I took command of the premises, and perhaps I was too bold, but that is my way; I march to music unheard by ordinary ears! Urgent trumpets, clashing-”
King Casmir made an impatient movement. “I am interested less in your inner sounds than in concrete details of your abilities.”
“Very well, sir. My ambitions aroused the malice of a jealous cabal, and I was forced to flee for my life. I hitched Hippolito’s iron-legged goat to a cart, and rode at a gallop away from Maule. In due course, I allied myself with Tamurello, and we have taught each other our special lores.
“At this moment I find myself at loose ends, and when Tamurello mentioned your troubles and prayed that I relieve your distress, I gave my assent. Explain, then, your difficulties, that I may subject them to my best analysis.”
“The case is simple,” said King Casmir. “Five years ago the then Princess Suldrun gave birth to a daughter: the present Princess Madouc. Certain circumstances in regard to the birth remain a matter for conjecture. For instance, might twins have been born? By the time these matters had come to my attention both Suldrun and the father were dead.”
“And you were vouchsafed the single baby?”
“Correct. The child originally was taken by one Ehirme, a serving woman, and given into the care of her parents, from whom we recovered it. I wish to learn all the facts relevant to the case, which I neglected at the time.”
“Ah hah! And quite rightly so! Who was her father?”
“This fact was never clarified. I see no other point of attack to the case than the serving woman, who at the time occupied a small farmstead south down Lirlong Way. The facts are now five years old; still their traces may persist.”
“So I am confident! The full truth will surely be forthcoming.”
V
VISBHUME CAME ONCE MORE TO HAIDON and there reported his findings. In his lively enthusiasm, he came forward to stand in almost intimate proximity to King Casmir, and there thrust his head forward. “Ehirme the serving woman, with her entire family, has removed to Troicinet!”
King Casmir leaned pointedly back from the waft of Visbhume’s breath, and pointed to a chair. “Be seated… . Troicinet, you say. Where did you learn this?”
Visbhume with many a nice flourish seated himself. “I had the news from Ehirme’s sister, whose spouse fishes out of Took’s Hole. Further-” here Visbhume tilted his head archly sidewise “-can you guess?”
“No. Say on.”
“Graithe and Wynes are the father and mother of Ehirme. They too have taken themselves part and parcel to Troicinet.
The sister says that they all prosper and live as gentry, and herein I detect more than a trace of envy, which may colour the testimony.”
“Indeed.” Here was scope for rumination. Might King Aillas be taking an interest in his private affairs? “How long have they lived in Troicinet?”
“Several years. The woman is indefinite and I truly
believe has no sense of time.”
“Well, no matter. It seems that now you must cross the Lir to Troicinet.”
Visbhume called out plaintively: “Ah, woe and dismay! But I will go, though I detest the uncertain motion of a boat! Nor is it easy for me to overlook the wet depths below, which were never meant for man.”
“So it must be. Aillas still performs his spoliation in South Ulfland, and works opposition to my plans. Go then to Troicinet; learn the full scope of this business, since it bears upon the succession to my throne.”
Visbhume leaned forward, twitching in curiosity. “How can that be? Prince Cassander is your heir!”
“Quite so,” said King Casmir. “For the moment you need concern yourself only with the problems I have outlined. What are the exact details surrounding the birth of Suldun’s child? Might there have been twins? If so, where is the other child? Are you clear on this?”
“Yes, of course!” Visbhume stated. “I am instantly off to Troicinet, despite my dread of every wave of the cruel black sea! Now I say, let them rear their highest! Never will they stay my passage! Casmir, I bid you farewell!”
Visbhume turned and marched on long prancing steps from the chamber. Casmir gave his head a sour shake and turned to other business.
An hour later the chamberlain announced a messenger newly arrived at Lyonesse Town. “He says he has come at haste; his message is reserved for your ears alone.”
“His name?”
“He states that it would mean nothing, either to you or to me.”
“Bring him here.”
Into the chamber came a thin young man with a hideously scarred face. His garments were dusty and travel-worn; his station in life would not appear to be high, and he spoke with a thick peasant’s accent.
“Your Majesty, I have been sent to you by Torqual, who says that you know him well.”
“True. Speak on.”
“He is in need of gold crowns, that he may do your bidding. He states that he sent this message by Shalles, and he would learn whether you despatched gold in the custody of Shalles, or did not do so.”
King Casmir rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I gave Shalles no gold for Torqual. He asked for none… . Why does Torqual need gold?”
“He has not confided his business to me.”
“And you are his associate?”
“I am. The new king has forbidden that men should fight, nor may they take their just revenge. But see what Sir Elphin of Floon Castle has done to me? I care nothing for Aillas and less for his law; once I do my work on Elphin of Floon, Aillas can kill me as dead as he likes.”
“So what is this to Torqual?”
“We are outlaws; we roam the far fells like a wolf-pack. Recently we have found a den, where none can pursue us, and now we need gold to furnish this den and buy a store of victual, which is easier to buy than to steal.”
“How much gold do you come for?”
“A hundred gold crowns.”
“What? Do you plan to feed on ortolans and the honey of jasmine flowers? I will supply you forty crowns; you must eat barley porridge and drink ewe’s milk.”
“I can only take what you give me.”
King Casmir, rising, went to the door. “Dominic!” The man-at-arms guarding the door looked about. “Your Majesty?”
“I have a dangerous mission for a stalwart man.”
“Sir, I am the man you seek.”
“Prepare yourself, then; you must ride the road north with a bag of gold, and bring me news of its delivery. This gentleman, I do not know his name, will guide your way.”
“It shall be done, sir.”
Chapter 9
I
CASTLE CLARRIE STOOD in one of the most remote areas of South Ulfland, twenty miles from the North Ulfland border and close under the Cloudcutters, three desolate peaks of the Teach tac Teach.
The master of Castle Clarrie and its lands was Lord Loftus, one of the barons least malleable to the rule of the new king. He based his intransigence upon the facts of recent history: namely, the raids of Ska slave-takers. These episodes had become less numerous of recent years; nevertheless parties of Ska, intent on one errand or another, still passed along the High Road, only a few miles to the east.
Further, Lord Loftus’ neighbors included some, like Mott of Motterby Keep and Elphin of Floon, who were no less intractable than himself, and many were members of a hostile clan.
Castle Clarrie’s traditional enemy had for centuries been the Gosse family of Fian Gosse, a castle in a glen twenty miles south of Clarrie. Unlike Lord Loftus, the young Lord Bodwy had decided to support King Aillas in all his programs, hoping to find a cessation to the bloody tangle which had killed his father, uncles and grandfather and innumerable kin long before their time.
At the Doun Darric conclave, Bodwy had approached Lord Loftus of Clarrie, and expressed the hope that trust and amity might grow between their two houses, and he pledged all his efforts to nurture a reconciliation, stating that the interests of no one were served by continued hostility.
Lord Loftus had made a rather stiff response, to the effect that he would take no new initiatives against the Gosse.
Therefore, a month later, Lord Bodwy listened with surprise to the tale of his herdsman Sturdivant: “They wore Clarrie green, with the Clarrie epaulettes; there were four, though I could recognize none by sight. Still, they were absolutely insolent and most cruel in their treatment of your good bull Black Butz, and dragged him away toward Clarrie at the run, with a chain to the ring in his nose.”
Lord Bodwy at once rode to Castle Clarrie with Sturdevant, where not for a century had one of the Gosse family come in peace. Lord Loftus received him with courtesy, and Lord Bodwy looked about the great hall of Castle Clarrie with curiosity, and gave admiration to a fine hanging on the wall.
“I wish this were my only motive for coming,” said Lord Bodwy. “In truth, I am anxious for my bull Black Butz. Sturdevant, tell your story.”
Sturdevant said: “Sir, to make a long story short, yesterday Black Butz was taken from his pasture by four men in Clarrie green.”
Lord Loftus instantly became haughty. “What? Now, in spite of all, you accuse me of stealing your cattle?”
“By no means!” declared Lord Bodwy. “I give you far more respect than that. But you must agree that the circumstances are most puzzling. Sturdevant clearly saw the Clarrie green on men he could not recognize. The tracks lead into your lands, but fail at the River Swirling.”
“You are at liberty to search my premises, high and low,” declared Sir Loftus in the frostiest of voices. “I will question my herdsmen at once.”
“Sir Loftus, I am far less anxious to find Black Butz than to discover the motives for this peculiar act, and its perpetrators.” Despite many admirable qualities, Sir Loftus lacked easy adjustment to novel or less-than-obvious ideas. Sir Bodwy’s bull had been stolen; Sir Bodwy had come at once to him. The inference was direct: Sir Bodwy thought him a cattle-thief, despite hypocritical pronouncements to the contrary. Sir Loftus was further confounded when Black Butz was discovered in a shed at the back of his barn, slaughtered and drawn.
Transfixed with amazement, Sir Loftus at last found his tongue. He summoned his bailiff and ordered the payment of five silver florins to Sir Bodwy, though he still denied all personal responsibility for the deed.
Bodwy refused to accept the money. “You are clearly not guilty of this act; I could not bring myself to take your money. Instead I will send over a cart for the carcass and tomorrow it shall sing and sizzle on the spit.” On generous impulse he added: “Perhaps you, with others of your household, might care to visit Fian Gosse and join us at the feast. This stange occurrence might thereby have an effect opposite to that which was intended.”
“Sir, what do you mean by that?”
“Do you recall the self-styled Sir Shalles of Dahaut, who so clearly was an agent of Lyonesse?”
“I remember Shalles. The connection with King Casmir
is not all so clear.”
“It is, of course, a speculation. I also speculate that Shalles was not the only agent at work here.”
Lord Loftus gave his head a shake of bafflement. “I will make a careful inquiry. Thank you for your invitation, but under the circumstances, while suspicion still hangs over my head, I fear that I must decline.”
“Sir Loftus, I would wager all I own that you are absolutely free of guilt in this episode! I reiterate my invitation: let poor Black Butz, who died an ignoble death, at least perform a useful post mortem service for both our houses.”
Sir Loftus’ obstinacy was notable; he considered his word, once spoken, to be fixed and irrevocable, thus he might never be accused of fickleness. “Pray excuse me, Sir Bodwy, but I will be uncomfortable until this mystery is fully clarified.”
Lord Bodwy returned to Fian Gosse. Five days passed; then a crofter lad rushed into the presence of Lord Bodwy with ominous news. Fourteen of Lord Loftus’ finest cattle had been stolen by night, and herded south. Crofters had identified the thieves as herdsmen from Fian Gosse, on the basis of their furtive manner, and because no other folk would be prone to such a deed.
Worse news was yet to come. Slevan Wilding, Loftus’ nephew, had followed the tracks into Gosse lands. At a place called Iron Tor, three men-at-arms in Fian Gosse livery loosed a flight of three arrows. Pierced three times, through heart, neck and eye, Slevan Wilding had fallen dead in his tracks. His comrades gave chase to the ambush party, but they were already fled.
Lord Loftus, learning of the ambush and examining the arrows, raised his clenched fists to the sky and sent riders over the moors and into remote glens to summon the fighting men of Clan Wilding to Castle Clarrie. King’s law or none, he vowed to avenge the death of Slevan Wilding and punish those who had stolen his cattle.
Lord Bodwy instantly sent messengers riding at speed for Doun Darric, then made Fian Gosse ready to withstand both assault and siege.
The riders came into Doun Darric on dying horses, arriving at midday. By good fortune a battalion of two hundred horsemen had been ready to ride toward the North Ulfland border, on general maneuvers; Aillas ordered them instead to Fian Gosse at top speed.
