The Princess and the Captain

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  15

  Bound for the Orniant

  At dawn Orpheus double-locked the door of his house, put his bunch of keys at the bottom of his canvas bag, and threw the bag over his shoulder. It contained warm clothes, a rainproof cape, handkerchiefs, several treatises on navigation, a logbook, a naval chart and a compass. That was all he’d be needing now. Old Zeph, sensing that something unusual was going on, paced around his master, keeping an eye on every move he made, as if he had guessed that this was not their usual morning walk.

  Within the last few days events had come thick and fast. As soon as he had understood the message brought by Uzmir, the Coronador had emerged from his state of despondency. Leaving the Citadel with those councillors who were still faithful to him, he had gone into the city to tell the Galnicians in person that he was taking over the government of the country again. He had rescinded the Archont’s edicts one by one, putting an end to national mourning, reopening the frontiers and reinstating the right to hold services of worship to Tranquillity and Harmony, before sending official criers out to all the provinces to announce that the Princess was not dead. Moreover, there would be a reward for anyone who gave information leading to the arrest of the Archont. Philomena’s letter had hit the right target: the Archont stood accused of plotting against the Princess’s life, with the aim of usurping power for himself.

  These revelations caused a great stir among the common people: so it was all that man’s fault! He was blamed for everything now: the rain, their sorrow, fear, hunger, cold and despair. In no time at all the Archont was the national villain of Galnicia. Hunts were organised in the hope of finding him, caricatures were circulated, people even wrote mocking songs to exorcise the terror he had so cleverly orchestrated.

  And another piece of news spread very fast: the Coronador was calling for volunteers to go on an expedition to Cispazia, the distant land where Malva was held prisoner. Orpheus had wasted no time in preparing. The chance he had hoped for so much was here at last!

  So he set out with gusto on the road to the Citadel that morning, striding along and forgetting about his dog, who was trying to follow him through the city streets with his tongue hanging out. There was a nip in the air, the sky was azure blue, and something new and electric in the atmosphere made his heart beat fast.

  The doors of the Hall of Delicacies were still shut when he arrived, mingling with the first applicants. Several dozen men were already waiting for an audience with the Coronador, standing in the morning mists and stamping their feet to keep warm. Guards stood outside the doors on sentry duty, armed with musketoons.

  Orpheus elbowed his way through the crowd, taking a good look at everyone present as he passed. He couldn’t help seeing a rival in each of them, for obviously the Coronador would choose only the very best for this mission. One man in particular attracted all eyes: a huge figure with shoulders as wide as a doorway and enormous hands. He towered above the rest, and there was something disturbing about his angular face. Passing close to him, Orpheus felt ridiculous. For years he had avoided running and carrying heavy weights because of his supposed illness, and now he regretted not having more muscle to show. Yet again, his father’s lies looked like damaging his chances of going on the expedition! How often recently had he felt like going to the cemetery and kicking Hannibal’s brand-new tomb-stone!

  ‘Whose is this dirty mutt?’ an angry voice suddenly shouted.

  Startled out of his thoughts, Orpheus suddenly realised that he had lost Zeph. He went towards the place where a group had gathered, and saw the St Bernard lying full length on someone’s kit-bag with a roast chicken in his mouth. Red with embarrassment, Orpheus approached the man who had uttered the angry cry.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said.

  ‘He’s a very old dog … he –’

  ‘He stole my chicken!’ shouted the man.

  Orpheus recognised him at once. He was the nervous, active little man he had met so often at the Maritime Institute. His shock of red hair was even more striking than usual this morning; anyone would have thought he was an elf escaped from the moors of Dunbraven.

  ‘I’ll gut that animal!’ he was shouting. ‘I’ll wring his neck, I’ll make mincemeat of him!’

  Orpheus bent down and tried to recover the chicken, but Zeph had his teeth so firmly clamped on it that all he could save was a drumstick.

  ‘Too late!’ snapped the elf furiously. ‘By Holy Tranquillity, that wretched dog should be spit-roasted himself!’

  ‘I’ll pay for the chicken,’ Orpheus ventured.

  ‘You can keep your galniks!’ said the man indignantly, thrusting out his chest. ‘How many hours do you think I spent cooking that wonderful fowl? It was going to be a present for the Coronador! Chicken marinated with spices and wild onions! I alone know the secret recipe! Such a chicken is priceless in these times of famine!’

  The man cast a mournful glance at his mangled masterpiece. Suddenly his voice broke. ‘And now,’ he wailed, ‘how am I to show the Coronador that I’m the best cook in all Galnicia, indispensable to the success of the expedition? There’s nothing like good food to keep up the sailors’ morale!’

  Orpheus swallowed with difficulty. Voices were raised around them, either shocked or amused by this little hitch.

  ‘If you’re such a good cook,’ remarked one fellow, ‘why not invent a dog-slobber sauce?’

  That brought laughter, but the little redhead didn’t join in. He gave Orpheus a nasty look, muttering, ‘I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before. I’ll remember, you can be sure of that! If the Coronador doesn’t engage me I’ll be rev—’

  He was interrupted by the opening of the doors, and the booming voice of a guard announcing that the audience was about to begin.

  Orpheus felt his heart leap as he and the others entered the Hall of Delicacies. Much to his relief Zeph didn’t try following him, but stayed outside on his own, guarding his chicken.

  The procedure was swift and rigorous: the Coronador talked to each applicant, then the doctor from the Maritime Institute examined all who seemed likely candidates. Finally the luckiest of them disappeared into the next room to swear an oath. Down in the harbour, two frigates were waiting for the fortunate elect who would make up their crews.

  When his turn came, Orpheus stepped forward and knelt on one knee.

  ‘Your name?’ asked the Coronador.

  ‘Orpheus McBott, Your Alteza.’

  ‘McBott?’ repeated the Coronador thoughtfully. ‘Are you by any chance Hannibal’s son?’

  There was a lump in Orpheus’s throat. ‘Yes, Your Alteza.’

  ‘Good!’ said the Coronador, pleased. ‘No doubt you’re a fine sailor! How is your father?’

  ‘He’s dead, Your Alteza.’

  The Coronador seemed genuinely sorry to hear it. He offered Orpheus his condolences, and then signed to the doctor.

  ‘Am I being taken on?’ asked Orpheus in amazement.

  ‘Your name speaks for you!’ said the Coronador. ‘You’ll be quartermaster. The McBotts have always served Galnicia with unselfish courage!’

  This remark hurt Orpheus so much that he almost protested and told the truth about his father. He wanted to be engaged on his own merits, not just because of his name! But how could he prove his worth? Books and fine speeches wouldn’t carry any weight. If the Coronador learned that he had never set foot on a ship, he might change his mind.

  So with a heavy heart Orpheus rose, thanked the Coronador humbly, and turned to the doctor, while the next applicant knelt before the throne.

  ‘Any problems with your eyesight?’ enquired the doctor, writing Orpheus’s name down in a large book.

  Orpheus shook his head, and the doctor ticked a box with his pen.

  ‘Hearing?’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Is your blood a good healthy red? Does it flow freely?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never cut myself.’

  ‘Not even
when you’re shaving? Well, you’re a skilful man!’ said the doctor, laughing, as he ticked another box. ‘What about the rest of your anatomy? Head, heart, liver, lungs?’

  Orpheus thought of the illness from which he had believed he suffered for so long. He turned pale, but said, ‘I tend to get colds and sneezing fits, that’s all.’

  ‘Any seasickness?’ asked the doctor.

  This time Orpheus felt himself reddening. How could he answer that question without admitting his lack of seafaring experience? But the doctor, seeing his embarrassment, began laughing again.

  ‘Don’t worry, the best sailors sometimes have sensitive stomachs. It’s no bar to going to sea!’ He pointed to the entrance to the next room before adding, ‘Galnicia counts on you to bring the Princess home. Good luck.’

  Orpheus went into the antechamber of the Hall of Delicacies. It was a dimly lit room with a low ceiling, and a single window facing north. A thick carpet on the floor absorbed all sounds, and everyone who entered instinctively walked on tiptoe as if to avoid waking a sleeper. The Altar of the Divinities stood in the middle of the antechamber: a wooden pedestal on which the statues of the goddesses Tranquillity and Harmony were placed. The air was cold and damp. Orpheus could tell that the room had been closed for many long months in accordance with the Archont’s various edicts.

  The Venerable Monje, an old man with a body as dry and twisted as the branch of an olive tree, laid his gnarled hand on Orpheus’s shoulder. ‘Approach the Altar,’ he told him.

  Orpheus obeyed. From their wooden pedestal, Tranquillity and Harmony seemed to look down kindly on him.

  The Venerable Monje picked up a goblet carved from stone and handed it to Orpheus.

  ‘Drink a little of this,’ he said.

  The goblet contained pure mountain water, cool with a slight peaty flavour. Orpheus drank a small mouthful with pleasure.

  ‘Now repeat your oath after me,’ said the Monje.’ “I swear on my honour to serve my country and the Divinities. I swear to suffer and face a thousand trials steadfastly.”’

  His throat tight with emotion, Orpheus repeated the oath. His ancestors before him had sworn these solemn words in this very place, from generation to generation. Until his father had broken the oath he took …

  ‘Tranquillity and Harmony hear your oath,’ the Monje went on. ‘Now drink it all!’

  He gave Orpheus the goblet again. When he raised it to his lips this time he sensed that the water was not the same: no longer pure and peaty, it had become very bitter. All the same, he swallowed it in a single draught, with a tingling that went right through his body. The Venerable Monje concluded the ceremony with these words:

  ‘May this water, now bitter to the taste, defile your mouth for ever if the day comes when you break the word you have just given. Now go.’

  Greatly impressed, Orpheus left the antechamber.

  * * *

  Two days later, carrying his kit-bag and accompanied by Zeph, Orpheus crossed the gangplank leading to the deck of the Errabunda, the ship to which he had been appointed as quartermaster. He felt both happy and scared. Suppose my father was still lying to me? he thought. Suppose I really do die after two days at sea? Feeling dizzy, he had to grab the rail to keep himself from falling into the waters of the harbour.

  ‘Want any help, Don McBott?’ a piping voice suddenly enquired.

  Leaning over the rail, Orpheus saw Hob encamped at the foot of the gangplank, looking at him with amusement. He wore new trousers, he still had his military hobnailed boots on, and a merry sparkle danced in his eyes.

  ‘Carry your bag for fifty galniks?’

  ‘Only fifty? Your kind heart will be the ruin of you, Hob!’ replied Orpheus. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The lad crossed his arms. ‘I wanted to see the heroes leave! Let me help you and I’ll give you some very interesting information.’

  Orpheus hesitated. This urchin was perfectly capable of bamboozling him, but he liked the boy’s nerve. He put his bag down in the middle of the gangplank, and with two agile leaps Hob was beside him. Zeph began growling as he sniffed the newcomer’s feet.

  ‘Is that your dog?’ asked Hob. ‘Is he going too?’

  ‘Zeph’s had plenty of sea-going experience,’ said Orpheus. ‘He’s crossed the Maltic Ocean, the Sea of Ypree, and he’s even sailed to the Ochre Sea and the coasts of the Orniant.’

  Hob looked impressed, and hunkered down in front of the St Bernard. ‘So you’re the one who will rescue our Princess?’ he murmured, ruffling the fur on the dog’s chest. ‘I can see Galnicia’s in good paws!’

  ‘I didn’t have the heart to leave him behind,’ said Orpheus defensively. ‘He’s old. By the time I’d gone to Cispazia and back he could be dead. He might as well come with me.’

  Hob rose and picked up the bag. ‘It’s very heavy,’ he pointed out. ‘I think I’ll need help.’

  The boy whistled. On the quayside, Orpheus saw another boy emerge from behind a pile of barrels where he had been hiding.

  ‘By … by all that’s holy!’ Orpheus stammered.

  The second boy was as like Hob as two peas in a pod! The same clear eyes, the same quick movements, the same dirty face, the same tousled hair.

  ‘We’ll offer you a bargain!’ said the second boy. ‘Fifty galniks between my brother and me.’

  Twins, thought Orpheus, with a certain sense of relief. For several seconds, he had thought he was hallucinating. He smiled. ‘It’s a deal. Bring the bag up here. But get a move on. We’ll be setting sail soon.’

  In a twinkling of an eye, the twins had carried the kit-bag up the gangplank. They raced across the deck of the Errabunda.

  ‘Hey, wait! What about that interesting information?’ Orpheus shouted after them.

  But the two boys had already disappeared down the first open hatch. Orpheus sighed. His dizziness was slowly passing. All around him the sailors were busy, climbing ladders, working pulleys, winding up the sheets. The quay was teeming with porters and curious onlookers. To the sound of much shouting, the holds of the Errabunda were being loaded up with barrels of water, Rioro wine and crates of pickled herrings, as well as fifty live chickens, twenty goats, ten sheep and four bullocks. Orpheus caught sight of a flamboyant redhead on the poop: the ship’s cook supervising the stores being taken aboard.

  ‘Well, Zeph,’ murmured Orpheus, ‘I think we already have an enemy on board. You’d better make sure you don’t show your face in his galley!’

  Orpheus also noticed the presence of the giant with the sombre face whom he had seen on recruiting day at the Citadel. With unusual dexterity, he was carrying crates over the gangplank of the Errabunda’s sister ship. The holds of the Mary-Belle were given over to arms and armour: stocks of gunpowder, carabins and musketoons, arbapults and a great many arrows. All these weapons were being taken in the expectation of battles against the armies of Temir-Gai, the formidable Emperor of Cispazia.

  According to the calculations of the official map-makers, the expedition could reach its destination in less than two months, for favourable winds blew when ships sailed that way. Coming back, they would probably have to take new sea routes and sail to the limits of the Known World. The venture had its risks, so the Coronador had insisted that a surgeon be taken on board the Mary-Belle and a Holy Diafron on board the Errabunda.

  Orpheus looked up at the topgallant mast. The shrouds were quivering in the wind, and the green and yellow of the Galnician flag was already fluttering against the pure sky. Hadn’t he always dreamed of this moment? Come along, he thought, time to move.

  Followed by Zeph, he went over the deck looking for the twins. It was some time since they had disappeared. Suppose the young rascals had made off with his things? They had a crafty look! Worried, he went down the ladders leading between decks. Several of the sailors were waiting beneath the low ceiling for the moment of departure. Orpheus questioned them, but none of them had seen the twins.

  How stupid of me, thought Orp
heus crossly. Those two urchins have robbed me, that’s what! They’ll sell my clothes, my books, my compass – and they’re sure to get more than fifty galniks!

  As he was fulminating to himself, he suddenly saw his kit-bag lying in a corner with all the others. He opened it. Everything was still there. Disturbed, he looked for the brothers among the sailors again, but without success. When he climbed back on deck, he had to admit that they were no longer on board.

  ‘That’s funny,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not like Hob to go off without being paid.’

  But there was no time to search for an explanation now. Orpheus shrugged and went to look for the Captain and report for duty now that anchor was being raised.

  A few moments later the Errabunda and the Mary-Belle were leaving harbour to the cheers of the crowd. Feeling nervous, but with his mind full of all the knowledge of navigation he had stored up in it, Orpheus supervised the hoisting of the sails without making any mistakes. The mizzen topgallant went up, then the fore topgallant, then the fore topsail. At last, standing on the fo’c’s’le, he watched the Citadel and the shores of Galnicia move away, while Zeph, sprawled on deck, was taking his first siesta of the voyage.

  A great peal of bells rang out from the Campanile on the highest point of the Upper Town, saluting the sailors as they left. Orpheus even saw the white walls of the McBott house in a ray of sunlight. As he watched it dwindle in the distance he swore to himself that if he survived this expedition, he would restore the glory to the name that he had inherited and that his father had besmirched.

  PART TWO

  Wandering

  16

  The Baths of Purity

  When the gong sounded for the fifth time, all the girls had to be ready and waiting. Malva and Lei had soon found out what ready and waiting meant. Dressed in their red sarimonos, hands crossed on their breasts, their feet bare, they joined the long line of women captives in the harem cloisters. Then they all made for the Baths of Purity in silence. None of them must speak or smile or sigh. Only the soft sound of their bare feet on the white sand of the cloisters was to be heard.