by E R Eddison
The lady laughed. “Last might my father kept me by him; and to-night, my lord, wouldst thou not have been fitly served for thy shameless ditty? Is that a sweet serenade for ladies’ ears? Sing it again, to thy liberty, and show thyself an ass.”
“Thou art very bold to provoke me, madam, with not even a star to be thy witness if I quite thee for’t. These flamboys are old roisterers, grown gray in scenes of riot. They shall not blab.”
“Nay, if thou speakest in wine I’m gone, my lord;” and as he took a step towards her, “and I return not, here or otherwise, but fling thee off for ever,” she said. “I will not be entreated like a serving-maid. I have borne too long with thy forced soldier fashions.”
Corimius caught his arms about her, lifting her against his broad chest so that her toes scarce kept footing on the ground. “O Sriva,” he said thickly, bending his face to hers, “dost think to light so great a fire, and after walk through it and not be scorched thereat?”
Her arms were close pinioned at her sides in that strong embrace. She seemed to swoon, as a lily swooning in the flaming noon-day. Corinius bent down his face and kissed her fiercely, saying, “By all the sweets that ever darkness tasted, thou art mime to-night.”
“To-morrow,” she said, as if stifled.
But Corinius said, “My dearest happiness, to-night.”
“My dear lord,” said the Lady Sriva softly, “sith thou hast made such a conquest of my love, be not a harsh and forward conqueror. I swear to thee by all the dreadful powers that clip the earth about, there’s matter in it I should to my father this night, nay more, now on the instant. ’Twas this only made me avoid thee but now: this, and no light conceit to vex thee.”
“He can attend our pleasure,” said Corinius. “’Tis an old man, and oft sitteth late at his book.”
“How? and thou leftest him carousing?” said she. “There’s that I must impart to him ere the wine quite o’erflow his wits. Even this delay, how sweet soe’er to us, is dangerous.”
But Corinius said, “I will not let thee go.”
“Well,” said she, “be a beast, then. But know I’ll cry on a rescue shall make all Carcë run to find us, and my brothers, ay, and Laxus, if he be a man, shall deal thee bitter payment for thy violence toward me. But if thou wilt be thy noble self, and respect my love with friendship, let me go. And if thou come secretly to my chamber door, an hour past midnight; I think thou’lt find no bolt to it.”
“Ha, thou swearest it?” he said.
She answered, “Else may steep destruction swallow me quick.”
“Am hour past midnight. And until then ’tis a year in my desires,” said he.
“There spoke my noble lover,” said Sriva, giving him her mouth once more. And swiftly she fared through the shadowy archway and across the court to where in the north gallery her father Corsus had his chamber.
The Lord Corinius went back to his seat, and there reclined for a space in slothful ease, humming to an old tune:
My Mistris is a shittle-cock.
Compos’d of Cork and feather;
Each Battledore sets on her dock.
And bumps her on the leather.
But cast her off which way you Will.
She will requoile to another still—
Fa, la, la, la, la, la.
He stretched his arms and yawned. “Well, Laxus, my chubfaced meacock, this medicine hath eased powerfully my discontent. ’Tis but fair, sith I must miss my crown, that I should have thy mistress. And to say true, seeing how base, little, and ordinary a kingdom is this of Pixyland, and what a delectable sweet wagtail this Sriva, whom besides I have these two years past ne’er looked on but my mouth watered: why, I may hold me part paid for the nonce; until I weary of her.
Love is all my life.
For it keeps me doing:
Yet my love and wooing
Is not for a Wife—
“Am hour past midnight, ha? What wine’s best for lovers? I’ll go drink a stoup, and so to dice with some of these lads to pass away the time till then.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE LADY SRIVA’S EMBASSAGE
How the Duke Corsus thought it proper to commit an errand of state unto his daughter: and how she prospered therein.
Sriva fared swiftly to her father’s closet, and finding her lady mother sewing in her chair, nodding towards sleep, two candles at her left and right, she said, “My lady mother, there’s a queen’s crown waits the plucking. ’Twill drop into the foreign woman’s lap if thou and my father bestir you not. Where is he? Still i’ the banquet house? Thou or I must fetch him on the instant.”
“Fie!” cried Zenambria. “How thou’st startled me! Fall somewhat into a slower speech, my girl. With such wild sudden talk I know not what thou meanest nor what’s the matter.”
But Sriva answered, “Matter of state. Thou goest not? Good, then I fetch him. Thou shalt hear all anon, mother;” and so turned towards the door. Nor might all her mother’s crying out upon the scandal of their so returning to the banquet long past the hour of the women’s withdrawal turn her from this. So that the Lady Zenambria, seeing her so wilful, thought it less evil to go herself; and so went, and in awhile returned with Corsus.
Corsus sat in his great chair over against his lady wife, while his daughter told her tale.
“Twice and thrice,” said she, “they passed me by, as near as I stand to thee, O my father, she leaning most familiarly on the arm of her curled philosopher. ’Twas plain they had never a thought that any was by to overhear them. She said so and so;” and therewith Sriva told all that was spoke by the Lady Prezmyra as to an expedition to Demomland, and as to her purposed speaking with the King, and as to her design that Corund should be his general for that sailing, and letters sealed on the morrow for his straight recall from Orpish.
The Duke listened unmoved, breathing heavily, leaning heavily forward, his elbow on his knees, one great fat hand twisting and pushing back the sparse gray growth of his moustachios. His eyes shifted with sullen glance about the chamber, and his blabber cheeks, scarlet from the feast, flushed to a deeper hue.
Zenambria said, “Alas, and did not I tell thee long ago, my lord, that Corund did ill to wed with a young wife? And thence cometh mow that shame that was but to be looked for. It is pity indeed of so goodly a man, mow past his prime age, she should so play at fast and loose with his honour, and he at the far end of the world. Indeed and indeed, I hope he will revenge it on her at his coming home. For sure I am, Corund is too high-minded to buy advancement at so shameful a price.”
“Thy talk, wife,” said Corsus, “showeth long hair and a short wit. In brief, thou art a fool.”
He was silent for a space, them raised his gaze to Sriva, where she rested, her back to the massive table, half standing, half sitting, a dainty jewel-besparkied hand planted on the table’s edge at her either side, her arms like delicate white pillars supporting that fair frame. Somewhat his dull eye brightened, resting on her. “Come hither,” he said, “on my knee: so.”
When she was seated, “’Tis a brave gown,” said he, “thou wearest to-night, my pretty pug. Red, for a sanguine humour.” His great arm gave her a back, and his hand, huge as a platter, lay like a buckler beneath her breast. “Thou smell’st passing sweet.”
“’Tis malabathrum in the leaf,” answered she.
“I’m glad it likes thee, my lord,” said Zenambria. “My woman still protesteth that such, being boiled with wine, yieldeth a perfume that passeth all other.”
Corsus still looked on Sriva. After a while he asked, “What madest thou on the terrace i’ the dark, ha?”
She looked down, saying, “It was Laxus prayed me meet him there.”
“Hum!” said Corsus. “’Tis strange then he should await thee this hour gone by in the paved alley of the privy court.”
“He did mistake me,” said Sriva. “And well is he served, for such neglect.”
“So. And thou turnest politician to-night, my little puss-cat?�
� said Corsus. “And thou smellest an expedition to Demonland? ’Tis like enow. But methinks the King will send Corinius.”
“Corinius?” said Sriva. “It is not thought so. ’Tis Corund must have it, if thou push not the matter to a decision with the King to-night, O my father, ere my lady fox be private with him tomorrow.”
“Bah!” said Corsus. “Thou art but a girl, and knowest nought. She hath not the full blood nor the resolution to carry it thus. No, ’tis not Corund stands i’ the light, it is Corinius. It is therefore the King withheld from him Pixyland, which was his due, and tossed the bauble to Laxus.”
“Why, ’tis a monstrous thing,” said Zenambria, “if Corinius shall have Demonland, which surely much surpasseth this crown of Pixyland. Shall this novice have all the meat, and thou, because thou art old, have nought but the bones and the parings?”
“Hold thy tongue, mistress,” said Corsus, looking upon her as one looketh on a sour mixture. “Why hadst not the wit to angle for him for thy daughter?”
“Truly, husband, I’m sorry for it,” said Zenambria.
The Lady Sriva laughed, placing her arm about her father’s bullock-neck and playing with his whiskers. “Content thee,” she said, “my lady mother. I have my choice, and that is very certain, of these and of all other in Carcë. And now I bethink me on the Lord Corinius, why, there’s a proper man indeed: weareth a shaven lip too, which, as experienced opinion shall tell thee, far exceedeth your nasty moustachios.”
“Well,” said Corsus, kissing her, “howe’er it shape, I’ll to the King to-night to move my matter with him. Meanwhile, madam,” he said to Zenambria, “I’ll have thee take thy chamber straight. Bolt well the door, and for more safety I will lock it myself o’ the outer side. There’s much mirth toward to-night, and I’d not have these staggering drunken swads offend thee, as full well might befall, whiles I am on mine errand of state.”
Zenambria bade him good-night, and would have taken her daughter with her, but Corsus said nay to this, saying, “I’ll see her safe bestowed.”
When they were alone, and the Lady Zenambria locked away in her chamber, Corsus took forth from an oaken cupboard a great silver flagon and two chased goblets. These he brimmed with a sparkling yellow wine from the flagon and made Sriva drink with him not once only but twice, emptying each time her goblet. Them he drew up his chair and sinking heavily into it folded his arms upon the table and buried his head upon them.
Sriva paced back and forth, impatient at her father’s strange posture and silence. Surely the wine lighted riot in her veins; surely in that silent room came back to her Corimius’s kisses hot upon her mouth, the strength of his arms like bands of bronze holding her embraced. Midnight tolled. Her bones seemed to melt within her as she bethought of her promise, due in an hour.
“Father,” said she at last, “midnight hath stricken. Wilt thou not go ere it be too late?”
The Duke raised his face and looked at her. He answered “No.” “No,” he said again, “where’s the profit? I wax old, my daughter, and must wither. The world is to the young. To Corinius; to Laxus; to thee. But most of all to Corund, who if a be old yet hath his mess of sons, and mightiest of all his wife, to be his ladder to climb thrones withal.”
“But thou saidst but mow—” said Sriva.
“Ay, when thy mammy was by. She cometh to her second childhood before her time, so as to a child I speak to her. Corund did ill to wed with a young wife, ha? Phrut! Is not this the very bulwark and rampire of his fortune? Didst ever see a fellow so spurted up in a moment? My secretary when I managed the old wars against the Ghouls, and now climbed clean over me, that am yet mime year his elder. Called king, forsooth, and like to be ta’en soon (under the King) for Dominus fac totum throughout all the land if a play this woman as a should. Will not the King, for such payment as she intends, give Demomland upon Impland and all the world beside? Hell’s dignity, that would I, and ’twere offered me.”
He stood up, reaching unsteadily for the wimejug. Furtively he watched his daughter, shifting his gaze ever as her eye met his.
“Corund,” said he, pouring out some wine, “would split his sides for laughter to hear thy mother’s prim-mouthed brabble: he that hath enjoined upon his wife, there’s ne’er a doubt on’t, this very errand, and if he visit it on her at his coming home ’twill but be with hotter love and gratitude for that she wins him in our despite. Trust me, ’tis not every lady of quality shall find favour with a King.”
The casement stood open, and while they stood without speech sounds of a lute trembled upward from the court below, and a man’s voice, soft and deep, singing this song:
Homes to the bull.
Hooves to the steede.
To little hayres
Light feete for speed.
And unto lions she giveth tethe
A-gaping dangerouslye.
Fishes to swim.
And birds to flye.
And men to judge
And reeson why.
She teacheth.
Yet for womankind
None of these thinges hath she.
For women beautie
She hath made
Their onely shielde
Their onely blade.
O’er sword and fire they triumph stille.
Soe they but beautious be.
The Lady Sriva knew it was Laxus singing to her chamber window. Her blood beat wildly, the spirit of enterprise winging her imagination not toward him, nor yet Corinius, but into paths strangely and perilously inviting, undreamed of until now. The Duke her father came towards her, thrusting the chairs from his way, and saying, “Corund and his mess of sons! Corund and his young Queen! If he conjure with the white rose, why not thou and I with the red? It hath as fair a look, the devil damn me else, and savoureth as excellent sweet perfume.”
She stared at him big-eyed, with blushing cheeks. He took her hands in his.
“Shall this outland woman,” he said, “and her sallow-cheeked gallant still ruffle it over us? Long beards, whether they be white or black, are too huge a blemish in our eye, methinks. The thing seemeth not supportable, that this precise madam with her foreign fashions—Dost fear to stand i’ the field against her?”
Sriva put her forehead on his shoulder and said, scarce to be heard, “And it come to that, I’ll show thee.”
“It must be now,” said Corsus. “Prezmyra, thou hast told me, seeketh audience betimes i’ the morning. Women are best at night-time, too.”
“If Laxus should hear thee!” she said.
He answered, “Tush, he need never blame thee, even if he knew on’t, and we can manage that. Thy silly mother prated but now of honour. ’Tis but a school-name; and if’twere other, tell me whence springeth the fount of honour if not from the King of Kings? If he receive thee, then art thou honoured, and all they that have to do with thee. I am yet to learn dishonour lieth on that man or woman whom the King doth honour.”
She laughed, turning from him toward the window, her hands still held in his. “Fob, thou hast given me a strong potion! and I think that swayeth me thore than thy many arguments, O my father, which to say truth I cannot well remember because I did not much believe.”
Duke Corsus took her by the shoulders. His face overlooked her by a little, for she was not tall of build. “By the Gods,” he said, “’tis a stronger sweet scent of the red rose to make a great man drunk withal than of the white, though that be a bigger flower.” And he said, “Why not, for a game, for a madcap jest? A mantle and hood, a mask if thou wilt, and my ring to prove thee mine ambassador. I’ll attend thee through the court-yard to the foot o’ the stairs.”
She said nothing, smiling at him as she turned for him to put the great velvet mantle about her shoulders.
“Ha,” said he, “’tis well seen a daughter is worth ten Sons.”
In the meanwhile Gonce the King sate in his private chamber writing at a parchment spread before him on the table of polished marmolite. A silver lamp burned
at his left elbow. The window stood open to the night. The King had laid aside his crown, that sparkled darkly in the shadow below the lamp. He put down his pen and read again what he had writ, in manner following:
Fram Me, Gorice the Twelft, Greate Kyng of Wychlande and of Ympelande and of Daemonlande and of al kyngdomes the sonne dothe spread hys bemes over, unto Corsus My servaunte: Thys is to signifye to the that thoue shalt with all convenient spede repaire with a suffycyaunt strengthe of menne and schyppes to Daemonlande, bycause that untowarde and traytorly cattell that doe there inhabyt are to fele by the the sharpnes of My correctioun. I wyll the as holdynge the place of My generalle ther, that thow enter forcybly ynto the sayd cuntrie and doe with al dilygence spoyl ravysche and depopulate that lande, enslavying oppressyng and puttyng to the dethe as thow shalt thynke moost servychable al them that shal fall ynto thy powre, and in pertyculer pullyng downe and ruinating all thayr stronge houlds or castels, as Galinge, Dreppabie, Crothryng, Owleswyke, and othere. Thys enterpryse in head is one of the gretest that ever was since yt is to trampe downe Daemonlande and once and for al to cutt thayr coames whose crestes may daunger us, and thow art toe onderstande that withowt extraordinair expenens of thy former merrits I wolde not commyt to the so greate a chairge, and especially in such a tyme. And since al gret enterpryses oughte to bee sodeynly and resolutely prosequuted, therefore thys oughte to bee done and executed at furthest in harveste nexte. Therefore yt is My commaundemente that thow Corsus take order for the instant furnesshynge of shippes, seamen, souldiers, horsemen, officiers, and pertyculer personnes, wepons, municions, and al other necessaries whych is thought to be needfull for the armie and boast whych shalbe levied for the sayd entrepryse, for whyche this letter shalbe thy suffycyaunt warrant under My hande. Given under My signeth of Ouroboros in My pallaice of Carcie thys xxix daie of may, beynge the vii daie of My yeare II.
The King took wax and a taper from the great gold inkstand, and sealed the warrant with the ruby head of the worm Ouroboros, saying, “The ruby, most comfortable to the heart, brain, vigour, and memory of man. So, ’tis confirmed.”
