The Princess and the Captain

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  A hole had been dug in the graveyard, not far from the two graves where Hannibal and Merixel McBott lay at rest. In spite of her deep distress, Malva had wanted to arrange everything herself. She had ordered a gravestone from a craftsman in the city – not a stone, but a slab of mesua wood, the hard timber found in the Orniant – and she had had an inscription carved on it:

  Orpheus McBott. Twenty-five years old. Captain of the ship Fabula which crossed the seas south of the Known World for the first time. Loyal to his country, a friend to all, the first love of one.

  49

  A Gift from Far Away

  A month passed. Then another. And then another.

  Summer was beginning.

  In the languid afternoons, Malva would go to sit on a stone bench in the graveyard. She spent hours there with a bunch of wild flowers in her hands. Sometimes she fell asleep.

  The memory of Orpheus haunted her: his eyes, his hands, his voice. Her heart was laid waste, a desert, a wilderness.

  Yet she was only just seventeen. Her legs carried her about almost despite herself. So she went on living day by day, or at least appeared to go on living. She talked, she listened, she received ambassadors, soldiers and simple washerwomen; the Hall of Delicacies remained open until late in the evening. And when the Princess could bear it no longer, she took refuge in the arms of Babilas. The giant whispered words in his strange Dunbraven language. Malva understood what he was saying, and it comforted her a little in her grief.

  One day Malva found a delegation waiting for her in the Hall when she got back from the graveyard. Amidst the gilding and silk hangings stood several men with lined faces and slanting eyes. They wore dusty clothing and big leather boots.

  In the middle of the group Malva saw a tall, strong man, and a woman with cheeks as smooth and shining as apples. When she saw Malva come in, the woman flung her arms wide and began crying.

  It was Philomena!

  Uzmir the Supreme Khansha stood beside her, and they were accompanied by several Baighur horsemen.

  Malva thought her heart would explode with joy. She flung herself into Philomena’s arms, crying her name aloud. Their embraces, tears of joy, trills of laughter and exchanges of words all went on for a long time, before the astonished eyes of the servants, who had never seen anything so out of keeping with protocol in the Hall of Delicacies.

  ‘Malva! Malva!’ repeated Philomena, hugging her. ‘I feared for you so much! I thought you were dead. I looked for you everywhere, everywhere! All over the Orniant!’

  ‘I feared for you too,’ said Malva, gulping. ‘Oh, if only you knew!’

  After a while Uzmir came over and embraced Malva as well. ‘I always told Philomena that you were still alive somewhere,’ he said in his guttural voice.

  ‘You speak Galnician!’ said Malva in surprise.

  ‘Philomena taught me your language,’ smiled the Khansha. ‘The first time I came here I didn’t know a word of it. That was long ago, very long ago. How is the Coronador?’

  Malva sighed, and explained that he was losing his memory, and soon his legs would not carry him any more.

  ‘I heard that the Coronada was dead,’ murmured Philomena. ‘Your friends told us the whole story.’

  ‘Hob and Lei? You’ve seen them?’

  Uzmir and Philomena nodded their heads at the same time.

  ‘They spent a long time looking for us in the great steppes,’ Philomena explained. ‘They gave us your letter, and when I knew where you were I asked Uzmir to saddle the horses. Your friends have gone on their way to Balmun now.’

  So much good news all at once, so many things to say, such strong emotions … Malva turned her amber eyes on her former chambermaid.

  ‘I want to know all about it!’ she demanded. ‘Everything!’

  ‘Very well,’ replied Philomena, laughing, ‘but first I want to show you something. Come with me.’

  She led Malva outside. A dozen Baighur horses were tied up behind the West Wing, grazing on the lush grass of the orchards. Three carts stood in the shade of the plum trees.

  A boy of about five or six was sitting on one of the horses. He was handling the reins of his horse, watched closely by a fat woman who was giving him advice in the language of the steppes. Malva observed him for a moment in silence. Under his cap of oryak skin embroidered with gold thread, his face was paler than those of the other Baighurs, but his slanting eyes certainly resembled Uzmir’s.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Hainur,’ said Philomena. ‘My son.’

  ‘And my son too,’ added Uzmir proudly, going towards Hainur. On seeing his father, the boy pulled at his reins and dismounted. Uzmir took his hand and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. The child happily clapped his hands, ran to one of the carts, searched in a chest and took out something wrapped in fabric. He looked at his mother, asked her a question in Baighur, and then turned to Malva, smiling. He gave her the package.

  ‘Here is a present for the Princess of Galnicia,’ he said in Galnician.

  Malva had tears in her eyes. Hainur’s beauty, his movements and voice, all he represented, touched her to the heart. She bent down to take the package, trembling.

  ‘Open it,’ Philomena encouraged her.

  Malva undid the wrappings. Inside she found a long-stemmed pipe made of precious metal.

  ‘A chibuk?’ she said in surprise. ‘Why, I thought the chibuk was only for married women!’

  Philomena cast her a mischievous glance. ‘Lei and Hob told us that you were in love, Princess. They mentioned a certain Captain Orpheus … even if you aren’t married, that deserves a chibuk, I think!’

  Malva smiled, but there was a sudden lump in her throat. Her heart sank, her smile disappeared, and before Philomena’s distressed eyes she burst into sobs.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mama?’ asked Hainur anxiously. ‘Doesn’t your friend like our present?’

  Malva had knelt down in the grass. She was weeping and weeping and weeping, holding the chibuk clutched in her hands. Of course, Lei and Hob didn’t know what had happened. They had left several days before the tragedy! Malva raised her head and put her hand out to the little boy.

  ‘I like this … this chibuk very much,’ she reassured him, between two sobs. ‘But I’m … I’m crying because … my lover isn’t here any more.’

  ‘Has he gone hunting oryak?’

  Malva smiled through her tears. ‘You could say so, yes … but we don’t have any oryak here in Galnicia. So he’s gone far away … very far away. I don’t think he will ever come back.’

  Hainur had moved close to Malva, and was looking at her gravely, as only small children can when they understand why grown-ups are unhappy.

  ‘I know what you ought to do,’ he said in his childish voice. ‘You ought to keep the chibuk and wait until you have another lover. Then you may light it.’

  Malva bit her lip and wiped her eyes. ‘Do you think there will be other lovers for me in the Known World?’

  Hainur knelt down in front of her. He leaned forward and kissed Malva’s wet cheeks soundly.

  ‘I love you already,’ he said.

  Malva was feeling better now. She looked at Philomena, whose face was full of consternation.

  ‘You have a wonderful son,’ Malva told her. ‘He has a real gift for comforting people.’ She stood up and took the chibuk under her arm. ‘There,’ she sighed, ‘enough sadness! You are here, and I want to give you a fitting welcome. Come with me!’

  She went into the Citadel, followed by her guests, and went first to the kitchen, where she gave orders for a banquet to be prepared.

  The cooks immediately set to work. Pans were scoured, strainers, graters, casseroles and spits went into action. It was so many years since there had been such festivities in the Citadel!

  Malva called on the maids next, asking them to polish the silver, get out the china, beat the carpets and light the Hall. She summoned gardeners and musicians and arranged for lanterns in the trees, fountain
s and serenades. Little Hainur ran up and down the staircases and along the corridors laughing.

  Then they all separated to rest before the dinner.

  Malva withdrew to her room with her precious chibuk. She placed it in her alcove, near the bed that she had shared with Orpheus for so short a time. The gift moved her deeply. It represented both her lost love and the promise of other loves and other joys to come. It was the perfect link between the past and the future.

  That evening, seated around the huge ajouca wood table and under the sparkling chandeliers, the guests talked until very late. They included Babilas in his new ambassadorial robes, Uzmir, Philomena, Hainur and the rest of the Baighur delegation, the Coronador, slightly inclined to fall asleep over his plate, Berthilde, who had made the effort to come up to the Citadel for the occasion, the Holy Diafron, several scientists from the Maritime Institute, foreign travellers, elegant Donias in low-cut silken gowns, sailors who laughed loudly and told stories of storms and tempests, and a dozen street urchins recruited by Malva to keep Hainur company. Of course there were many absent from the table whom the Princess would have wished to see there: Orpheus, Peppe, Finopico, Lei, Hob … even the Coronada. Malva wished she could have shown her mother all this.

  But she had made up her mind that grief and regret would not reign in the city that evening.

  Squid stuffed with grasshoppers slipped down the guests’ throats, with many a good draught of Rioro, and fig ragouût tickled their palates. So did paghul cakes. As for Philomena, she devoured herrings in the Galnician style; it was years since she had tasted them!

  When everyone’s appetite was satisfied, Malva rose to her feet – swaying slightly because of the Rioro – and for the first time told her story in public: her flight, the treachery of the Archont and Vincenzo, the wise woman of Sperta, the Amoyed attack, Uzmir’s intervention, their journey east until she was abducted, Temir-Gai’s harem, the ordeal in the Baths of Purity, the Cages of Torments, the unexpected arrival of Orpheus, the twins and Babilas, and then their impossible return voyage to Galnicia.

  The guests listened to her tale with bated breath. Their eyes opened wide as she spoke of the Archipelago, Catabea and her Patrols, and the hazards lying in wait for the Fabula on the islands they came to. They wiped away tears when she told them how Peppe had sacrificed himself so that his companions would escape the Immuration.

  Finally Malva raised her glass, and everyone drank to the memory of those who had paid with their lives for that venture beyond the frontiers of the Known World.

  Then Philomena and Uzmir took up the tale. They described the expedition to Temir-Gai’s harem that they had mounted trying to rescue the Princess. They spoke of the fire, the terrible battle that followed it, and then the Emperor’s declaration of war against all the free peoples of the steppes. The war had gone on for over six years before the Amoyeds and the Cispazians, their numbers severely depleted, gave up their wish for vengeance.

  ‘Hainur was born just as peace was declared,’ said Philomena, hugging her son. ‘He stands for peace itself.’

  ‘Bodgmain Hainur tellin ar tuilder!’ said Babilas. And as no one understood the language of Dunbraven, he grimaced and translated for himself, rather in Lei’s style: ‘I drink to Hainur! He the son of love and peace!’

  The company applauded, and bottles were quickly emptied. It was very late when they all parted to go to their beds. Before she did so, Philomena put a hand on Malva’s arm.

  ‘You said nothing about Elgolia,’ she whispered. ‘Have you given up your dreams?’

  Malva’s head was spinning. She felt happy and tired. She looked her friend straight in the eye.

  ‘You were right,’ she told her. ‘Elgolia doesn’t exist. Or not the way I thought it did. But I haven’t given up anything. I intend to make Galnicia a kind of Elgolia to my own liking. What do you think?’

  ‘Knowing you,’ said Philomena with a wide smile, ‘I think you’re perfectly capable of doing it, Princess!’

  Epilogue

  Every morning Malva dressed like a peasant girl: a plain dress, a cotton scarf over her hair and rope-soled shoes, and then she slipped out of her bedroom. She looked discreetly in at the kitchens and put a few delicacies into her pockets: marzipan cakes, swallow and aniseed pies, or liquorice shortbread. Once out of the Citadel she set off along the avenue of sycamores, passed through the gates in the wall, and made her way along the alleys of the Lower Town.

  The place would be teeming with activity like an anthill from the early hours of the day. Pedlars pushed their handcarts along the newly paved roads, bricklayers and carpenters climbed scaffolding, groups of children made their way to the schools that had just reopened, blacksmiths worked at their forges, water-carriers swayed along between the stalls, bakers set out batches of rolls, old people put chairs in their doorways, and they all greeted each other, calling out, haranguing and chattering.

  Malva particularly liked to watch the washerwomen perched on the flat roofs of adjoining houses where they spread out sheets and shirts, arguing with each other the whole time about one thing or another. Both young and old had opinions of their own on everything. Their gossip told her a great deal about the people of Galnicia and their present state of mind.

  ‘They say the Coronador has lost his marbles!’

  ‘That’s right – my cousin says she saw him standing in front of an olive tree for hours, talking to himself.’

  ‘Oh well, your cousin would say anything to make herself look interesting!’

  ‘You want to know what my cousin would say about you?’

  ‘Never mind, the old fellow has nothing to worry about. Even if the Princess isn’t married, she’s well up to governing the country.’

  ‘You’re right there! We can all be grateful to her. But for her, we’d still be living on the road like beggars.’

  ‘Poor thing, though. They say she wept her eyes out over the body of Captain Orpheus.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. So brave and handsome he was! You don’t find a man like that around every street corner.’

  ‘Meaning your husband isn’t like that?’

  ‘You want to know what my husband would say about you?’

  ‘All the same, I’m sorry for our Princess. So young, and so unhappy in love!’

  ‘It was all the Archont’s fault. That man …’

  ‘I remember the days when the country was in mourning … just seeing him go down the street with his soldiers gave me nightmares.’

  ‘It’s a pity he died instantly when the Princess fired on him. A toad like that deserves to suffer!’

  ‘Well, he ended like the dog he was – thrown into a mass grave, no Holy Diafron, no Ritual.’

  ‘Oh, do stop saying such things, it turns my stomach.’

  ‘Here, speaking of stomachs, who’s going to the fish auction in a little while? They say there’s been a miraculous catch.’

  And the washerwomen continued in this vein, laughing and chuckling, paying no attention to the young peasant girl listening to them in the street below. They spread their white sheets out in the sun, and their plump pink arms dipped from one laundry basket to another in a complex, fascinating dance. It was the same every morning. When she had heard enough, Malva would heave a sigh and walk on.

  She went down to the River Gdavir to watch the paddle boats coming up from the harbour with their cargoes of fish or barrels of Rioro. They went upstream towards the northern provinces. A treaty had recently been signed between Galnicia and its neighbours. Babilas, appointed ambassador by Malva, had undertaken to negotiate with Dunbraven, and had worked diplomatic miracles. The country had certainly lost a good deal of territory, but the main thing was the restoration of peace. The people in the provinces had food again, famine no longer threatened them, and they were beginning to live as prosperously as they had once before.

  As she crossed the bridge, Malva always glanced at the paghul crops that now grew all along the river banks. She thought wistfull
y of Hob and Lei. She hadn’t had news of them for months.

  At last she began the climb to the Upper Town. The shutters of the shops were open, there was hustle and bustle on the terraces outside the taverns. Noble Dons shared tables with tattooed sailors, Donias in silk skirts sat beside old fortunetellers from Tildesia. Small children played around the fountains, and sometimes foreign visitors arrived with exotic pet animals on leashes: allicaitors, Aremican carcayotes or kangustis from Frigia. Malva wondered if a tourist might arrive some day mounted on a nuba-nuba or a celestial-charioteer … or even an enlil, the creature domesticated and ridden by the Amoyeds! A shudder ran down her spine. She had seen so many strange things during her journey to the outer confines of the Known World!

  Arriving at the Campanile, Malva went to the door of the McBott house. She knocked three times and waited. Berthilde walked with difficulty now. It took her a little while to come and open the door.

  ‘Ah, it’s you, Princess!’ she smiled.

  Malva hurried inside, took off her scarf and shook her hair free. Then she let Berthilde lead her to the sitting room.

  ‘I’ve brought you some rhubarb macaroons today,’ she said, sitting on the sofa.

  Berthilde gave her lemonade, and they spent several hours together talking quietly. Their favourite subject was Orpheus. Malva questioned the old woman constantly. She wanted to know everything about him as a child and a young man, about Merixel and Hannibal, and Galnicia in the old days.

  Berthilde told her stories, repeated herself, scratched her head as she sought for memories. What fascinated Malva most was the story of the last meeting between Orpheus and his father. She trembled every time Berthilde told her the details of their conversation, but she never tired of living through the scene.

  ‘But I wonder what good it does for me to tell you all this,’ sighed Berthilde. ‘These are memories. You’re so young – it troubles me to see you always looking back at the past. What are you going to do with these details?’