The Count of Mountjoy leaned back in his chair, placed the tips of his long white fingers together and looked with a mixture of paternal fondness and judicial wisdom at his ruler. “Your Grace,” he said, “is surely not under the impression that personal affection or desire is a factor in the marriages of those into whose hands have been placed the destiny of a people. Matters of policy come before mere romance. The marriage of a ruler is a unique example of a sacrament which has, shall I say, a political instigation. I will not belittle its religious significance for a moment. Indeed, were such a marriage purely a civil ceremony, nothing more than the mere stamping of a licence and the signing of a register, it would have no great standing among the people. But its greatest purpose is temporal rather than spiritual, and I might add that the two of them are not necessarily at odds with each other.”
“When one such as yourself is wedded,” he continued, “the primary purpose is the strengthening of the line of succession. And this must be done not only with an eye to the physical health of the mate selected, but with an eye, too, to forming such a political alliance as will add to the security of the nation.”
“You sound,” said Gloriana, icily, “as if you were going to breed horses.”
“Your Grace will forgive the blundering words of an old servant who seeks merely to serve her, and his country,” the Count of Mountjoy said, lowering his head humbly.
“Bobo,” replied Gloriana, still not quite mollified, “when you make gestures like that you need an audience bigger than one. But go ahead and I will try to look at the matter impartially. I suppose what you are leading up to is that you’ve been thinking it all out very carefully, and you’ve decided who I shall marry.”
“It is my duty to think of such matters as this,” said the Count. “I have not been solitary in my thinking, but have consulted others who also serve as Your Grace’s ministers.”
“You mean Mr. Benter,” said Gloriana.
“He, and also Dr. Kokintz.”
“Dr. Kokintz? He doesn’t know about anything but birds and bombs.”
“Those, I will admit, are his specialties. But he is a man of keen observation. And all agree that the alliance which I am about to propose would be the best possible to ensure and strengthen the succession to the ducal chair of Grand Fenwick.”
“I hope,” said Gloriana warily, “that you are not going to suggest that I marry the American minister because I won’t do it. I’ve been reading about the Americans in a women’s magazine and they’re all cruel to their wives.”
“Cruel to their wives?” echoed the Count.
“Precisely. They treat them as equals. They refuse to make any decisions without consulting them. They load them up with worries they should keep to themselves. And when there isn’t enough money, they send them out to work instead of earning more by their own efforts. Some of them even make their wives work so they can go to college. They are not men at all. They are men-women. And their wives are women-men. If I am to marry, I want a husband who will be a man and let me be a woman. I’ll be able to handle him better that way.”
“We believe—Mr. Benter, Dr. Kokintz, and I—that the person selected will fill your specification completely,” Mountjoy said, somewhat smugly.
“And who is this person?”
“Tully Bascomb.”
“Tully Bascomb?” repeated Gloriana, and felt a hot blush begin to creep over her face.
“Yes. There are a number of reasons of great importance why Your Grace should seriously consider him as a husband, ignoring certain boorish characteristics of his nature which must offend those of aristocratic rearing.”
“Tully Bascomb has no boorish characteristics of which I am aware,” snapped Gloriana, quite angrily.
“It pleases me that you should say so,” said the Count, a little surprised at her tone of voice, “for that removes the one reservation to the match which I myself had. As to the reasons why he should become your consort, the first must already be apparent to you. That is his descent from Sir Roger Fenwick, the founder of our nation. I am prepared to admit that I was somewhat hasty in making the charge that Bascomb had designs upon the ducal seat of Grand Fenwick. None the less, the possibility remains that if he has no such designs now, these may appear at a later date. A young man who, contrary to instruction, wins a war against the United States is not to be trusted where ambition is concerned. United to Your Grace in matrimony, such ambitions would be automatically gratified.
“The second reason for proposing this match is that Bascomb is very popular with the people of Grand Fenwick. He could, were an election held at the present time, secure an overwhelming majority of votes. You will recall that some time ago he confessed to Your Grace that he was a politically confused man, in favour neither of democracy, Communism, or anarchy. If he were, at some later date, to stand for election, he would be returned to power heading some kind of political party which, not having been thought of before, would undoubtedly lead the nation to ruin. As co-ruler of Grand Fenwick, he would be removed from the sphere of politics and rendered harmless.”
“I’m not at all sure that Tully Bascomb will ever be rendered harmless,” Gloriana said. “But continue, have you other reasons?”
“I have, but I have already been rebuked by Your Grace with a reference to the breeding of horses, and do not feel at leave to proceed.”
“Oh,” said Gloriana. “Oh.” And that was all she said for a while, for she had a great deal to think about.
Now that it was a matter of state that she should marry Tully, she found the prospect less pleasing than when it had been quite an impossible and unformulated dream on her part. She tried to think of being constantly in his company, and first she was thrilled by the prospect and then she was frightened. Perhaps he would take objection to some of her habits or mannerisms. Perhaps he would find her dull to talk to; a poor life companion for a man who had ranged the world at will. Perhaps he would criticize her because she could not cook a meal and he could make shoes and storm cities and fell trees and fashion arrows. Perhaps there was some girl in America, or Switzerland, or France, or one of the other countries he had visited with whom he was in love—or maybe even married to already.
Thinking of these things, Gloriana felt very lonely and scared and she looked at Count Mountjoy through eyes which were suddenly those of a very small girl and said, “Bobo. Do I really have to marry him?”
The Count slowly nodded his head.
“But, Bobo. He may not want to marry me. He may not love me. He may be married to someone already. How am I to get him to ask?”
“It is not in his place to ask,” Mountjoy replied, gravely. “As ruler of Grand Fenwick, the proposal must come from you.”
“From me? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t.”
“You must. It is for your people and your country,” the Count replied. He rose solemnly, bowed and left Gloriana with a dish of pomegranates for which she now had no appetite at all.
CHAPTER XXI
The Duchess Gloriana got on her bicycle and sailed down the mountainside from the castle along the road which led to the Forest of Grand Fenwick and the cottage of Tully Bascomb. She had always enjoyed the excitement of speeding down the mountain road to the valley before, but now she wished she wasn’t going so fast. She wished she could hold the bicycle down to the pace of a snail, and she tried to do so. But the brakes weren’t very good and the road was steep and however hard she tried, the bicycle still picked up speed. Then she thought maybe she would hit a stone or a rut and be thrown and have to go to bed for a few weeks. But there were no stones and no ruts and the bicycle continued inexorably on its way.
There were a lot of things worrying the Duchess, but foremost among them was how to propose. She had tried a hundred combinations of phrases since her interview with the Count of Mountjoy a week ago, ranging from, “We command you as a loyal subject to marry us,” to a humble, “Will you please marry me?” But they all made her sound like a
hussy. So she had given up trying. Then she was worried about how she should wear her hair so as to make the proper impression. Should she let it fall loose around her shoulders as she normally did, or should she put it in a roll at the back of her neck, or should she pile it high on the top of her head? There were a great variety of hair styles in the magazines, but none designed specifically for such an occasion as this. She wondered whether men had the same troubles, worrying about how they should comb their hair before calling on their girlfriends to propose to them.
Another thing was her face. Normally she didn’t wear make-up. But she supposed that she really ought to on this particular day. She had put some on, and there was too much. Then she had tried to take it off and it looked worse. She’d got the face rouge and lipstick off, but the eye shadow wouldn’t come off. Instead it spread around her eyelids and made her look as though she had not slept for nights. Which was not far from the truth.
Clothes were another worry—a cotton print, a tweed suit, or an afternoon frock? Again there was no source of advice, so she had settled on a tweed skirt and turtleneck sweater. It was hot, but at least it went with the bicycle. But she was deeply aware as the road slipped by and the cottage drew nearer that she was as hopelessly unready for the occasion as she had been when the Count of Mountjoy first confronted her with the necessity for marrying Tully Bascomb. And when she finally got to the cottage, she was so nervous she could hardly get off the bicycle and knock at the door. Her heart beat so wildly before the door was opened that it was quite difficult for her to breathe. But some of her panic went when the door was opened not by Tully, but by Pierce Bascomb, his father.
“Come in, Your Grace,” he said, in his deep gentle voice. “We have hardly had a glimpse of you since the Tiny Twenty conference. Have they been keeping you very busy at the castle?”
“A little,” said Gloriana.
“Well, don’t let them put too much on you,” Pierce advised. “Rulers must learn to let others do the ruling. That is the only way they can get out among their subjects, which is one of the most important aspects of government. Sit down while I pour you a glass of Pinot.”
He brought a bottle and two wine glasses and poured a little wine into each glass. There was an awkward silence. Gloriana contemplated the stem of her wine glass and Pierce looked at her with the same straight inquiring look which his son had inherited.
“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, at length, “and if that is the reason you came here, why not tell me about it and get it over with?”
“Well,” said Gloriana, “I was expecting to see Tully.”
“Tully? He’s in the forest, but will be back in about twenty minutes.”
“I have something to say to him.”
“Would you like me to leave when he comes?”
“I don’t think so. It really concerns you too, I suppose.”
“Oh.”
There was another silence.
“Mr. Bascomb,” said Gloriana suddenly. “How did my father propose to my mother?”
“Well,” said Pierce, surprised, “I wasn’t there, but that doesn’t make much difference because plenty of other people were. It was at the annual archery contest, and your mother, who came, as you know, from the southern end of the duchy, was a competitor. She did so well that in the mixed finals she was matched against your father. Your father knew your mother by sight, as everybody is known in Grand Fenwick, though they had not been formally introduced until the day of the contest. Your father was to shoot first for the grand prize, and his arrow pierced the butt in the dead centre of the bull’s eye. Your mother’s arrow, however, was so well aimed that it split his, and according to the rules of the contest, she was awarded the prize of the silver bow. When it was presented to her, he came down from his chair, picked her up and holding her aloft before all the people, cried out, ‘Gloriana has won one prize, but I claim two. I vow before you all that I shall marry her.’ That was the way it was.”
“But I couldn’t possibly lift Tully,” Gloriana said, half to herself. If Pierce heard, he made no comment, but there was the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes.
“Mr. Bascomb, please don’t think me rude, but how did you propose to Mrs. Bascomb?”
“To tell you the truth,” Pierce replied with a smile, “I never did. She proposed to me.”
“How did she do it?” Gloriana asked, eagerly.
“I’m not quite sure of the details. I was busy writing my first book at the time. I loved her, of course, but I didn’t realize that I loved her. I had got to a chapter on robins and was having some difficulty because I was not sure of the incubation period of the eggs. I have always found with writing that when I get to a difficult part, it is better to just walk away for a while and the difficulty will resolve itself. I decided to call on Elizabeth’s father, and went over to his house. We talked about a few trifling things and then he said, ‘By the way, Pierce, I have been asked by my daughter whether I would consent to become your father-in-law. I welcome the proposal myself provided it coincides with your desires.’ I did not quite grasp what he was saying and the poor man had to repeat the phrase two or three times before I caught his meaning. Then, of course, I was delighted—so delighted indeed that I kissed him, as I recall it, and shook his daughter’s hand.”
He laughed so heartily that he had to wipe his eyes and while he was still laughing Tully came in. He hesitated, stooping in the doorway which he filled with his bulk, on seeing Gloriana.
“Come in, son,” said Pierce. “Gloriana has called to see you.”
“Oh,” said Tully. He entered and went over to the fireplace, where he stood with an arm upon the mantelpiece.
Gloriana had a feeling of panic. She did not know what to say, how to begin, what conversational route to follow to lead up to the important object of her visit. She wanted to fly from the room, and was almost on the verge of doing so, when Tully said gently, “If there is any way I can be of service, Your Grace, I am yours to command.”
“I have an important matter to discuss with you,” Gloriana whispered, feeling completely wretched. “It’s a matter of State. But it’s something personal, too. It’s more personal really than it is a matter of State.”
“Whatever it may be,” said Tully, “I will do all in my power to help.”
“It’s not really a matter of helping. It’s a matter of cooperating—of working with me.”
“Working with you?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly that.” She looked appealingly at the older Bascomb.
“You say it,” she pleaded. “You say it, like they said it for you.”
Pierce looked from her to his son. “Gloriana wants me to become her father-in-law—that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Gloriana whispered.
“Her what?” asked Tully.
“Her father-in-law.”
“Father-in-law! But you’re my father.”
“Precisely, and you are my only son.”
Tully looked for a second from one to the other and then walked over to Gloriana and, taking her two hands, raised her to her feet.
“My father accepts proudly,” he said, “his son humbly.”
CHAPTER XXII
The wedding was the greatest social event of the year. It was international in scope, for not only the representatives of the Tiny Twenty, but also those of the Big Three were there to attend the ceremony. The President of the United States, breaking all precedents, announced that he would attend in person, and hardly had the news been given out than the Premier of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics stated that nothing would prevent him also from seeing the pair united.
This announcement was received with rejoicing in all the Western nations, for it was interpreted as a promise of greater tolerance towards religious worship in Russia. The Prime Minister of Great Britain informed a cheering House of Commons on the following day that Her Majesty the Queen had expressed her intention also of being present at the cere
mony, and taking their cue from this, the Tiny Twenty one by one decided to send, not merely ambassadors, but the heads of their nations to Grand Fenwick for the marriage of the Duchess Gloriana to her chosen consort, Tully Bascomb.
Indeed, so many people of such exalted position all accepted invitations to the wedding that Tully was gravely concerned about holding it in the castle, deep in whose bowels still lay the malignant and terrible Q-bomb.
“If anything were to happen to the bomb,” Tully said, “hardly a country in the world would be left with a leader.”
“That is the strongest guarantee there is that nothing will happen to the bomb,” Gloriana said, serenely.
There were many difficulties of a diplomatic nature attached to the limiting of the wedding guests. As a security measure, it was ruled that only the heads of the different countries, without any attendants, would be allowed into the duchy. But the President of the United States, it was discovered, was accompanied wherever he went by Secret Service men, and these could on no account be left at the border. An agreement was reached whereby the Presidential guard was permitted to accompany the President, but were dressed in chain mail to make them less outstanding among the forces of Grand Fenwick who filled the church. Apart from the fact that they carried pistols in their scabbards instead of the traditional broadsword, they were not too noticeable.
The Premier of the Soviet Union was also accustomed to being accompanied by a bodyguard, and these too were compelled to don mail. The Queen of Great Britain arrived with her bodyguard already in chain mail—scoring something of a triumph from the point of view both of diplomacy and etiquette.
The wedding was to take place in a small chapel which gave off the great hall of the castle. There was room in the chapel only for the principals at the ceremony. The rest had to remain in the great hall, where they could catch a glimpse of what was going on, for the chapel was at the top of a flight of six stone steps. The ceremony was held in the evening, timed to start just as the sun commenced to slip behind the rim of mountains which formed the western wall of Grand Fenwick. Gloriana and Tully were both dressed in the garments of the fourteenth century, in keeping with the traditions of the duchy. The Duchess wore a mitre-shaped hat, from which a gossamer veil of finest lace draped loosely over her back to fall upon the ground as a train. Her outer gown was of azure, being in the form of a cloak pinned across her breast by a massy chain of gold. Below, her kirtle, which came to her ankles, was of ivory satin into which had been worked the Fenwick double-eagle crest in silver thread. Tully, towering over her, wore the loose bonnet drooped to one side, the embroidered jacket and cloak with fanciful jagged edges, the trunk hose and pointed shoes of the days of Chaucer.
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