Madouc

CHAPTER TWO

Madouc's assumptions were incorrect. The event in the service yard had strongly affected Lady Desdea, but not instantly was she prompted to alter her philosophical bent, nor, by extension, her methods for teaching Madouc. As Lady Desdea hurried along the dim corridors of Castle Haidion, she felt only a great be wilderment. She asked herself: "How have I erred? What was my fault, that I have so incited His Majesty? Above all, why should he signal his disfavor in such an extraordinary manner? Is there some symbolism here which evades me? Surely he has recognized the diligent and selfless work I have done with the princess! It is truly most odd!"

Lady Desdea came into the Great Hall, and a new suspicion entered her mind. She stopped short. "Does the matter conceivably go deeper? Am I perhaps the victim of intrigue? What other explanation is possible. Or-to think the unthinkable- does His Majesty find me personally repugnant? True enough, my semblance is one of stateliness and refinement, rather than a simpering teasing coquetry, as might be practiced by some paltry little frippet, all paste and perfume and amorous contortion. But surely any gentleman of discernment must notice my inner beauty, which derives from maturity and nobility of spirit!"

For a fact, Lady Desdea's semblance, as she herself suspected, was not instantly compelling. She was large of bone, long of shank, flat of chest and elsewhere somewhat gaunt, with a long equine face and pad of straw-colored ringlets hanging down the sides of her face. Despite all else, Lady Desdea was expert in every phase of propriety, and understood the most delicate nuances of court etiquette. ("When a lady receives the duty of a gentleman, she neither stands staring like a heron which has just swallowed a fish, nor yet will she wreathe her face in a fatuous simper. Rather, she murmurs a pleasantry and shows a smile of perceptible but not immoderate warmth. Her posture is erect; she neither sidles nor hops; she wriggles neither shoulders nor hips. Her elbows remain in contact with her body. As she inclines her head, her hands may go behind her back, should she deem the gesture graceful. At no time should she look vacantly elsewhere, call or signal to friends, spit upon the floor, nor embarrass the gentleman with impertinent comments.")

In all Lady Desdea's experience, nothing had occurred to parallel the event in the service yard. As she marched along the corridor her perplexity remained as carking as ever. She arrived at the private chambers of Queen Sollace, and was admitted into the queen's parlour, to find Sollace reclining among green velvet cushions on a large sofa. Behind stood her maid Ermelgart, grooming Sollace's great masses of fine pale hair. Ermelgart had already combed out the heavy strands, using a nutritive dust of ground almonds, calomel and powdered calcine of peacock bone. She brushed the hair until it shone like pale yellow silk; then rolled it into a pair of bundles, which would at last be secured under nets studded with sapphire cabochons.

To the annoyance of Lady Desdea, there were three other persons in the chamber. At the window the Ladies Bortrude and Parthenope worked at embroidery; at Sollace's elbow, perched modestly on a stool, sat Father Umphred, his buttocks overflowing the seat. Today he wore a cassock of brown fustian, the hood thrown back. His tonsure revealed a pale flat scalp fringed with mouse-brown hair; below were soft white cheeks, a snub nose, protuberant dark eyes, a small pink mouth. Father Umphred's post was spiritual adviser to the queen; today in one plump hand he held a sheaf of drawings depicting aspects of the new basilica, now in construction near the north end of the harbour.

Lady Desdea came forward and started to speak, only to be cut short by a flutter of Queen Sollace's fingers. "One moment, Ottile! As you see, I am occupied with important matters."

Lady Desdea stood back, chewing her lip, while Father Umphred displayed the drawings, one after the other, eliciting small cries of enthusiasm from Sollace. She voiced only a single reproach: "If only we could build an edifice of truly magnificent proportions, to put all others, the world over, to shame!"

Father Umphred smilingly shook his head. "My dear queen, be reassured! The Basilica of Sanctissima Sollace, Beloved of the Angels, will lack for naught in the holy afflatus which it wafts on high!"

"Oh truly, will it be so?"

"Beyond all doubt! Devotion is never measured in terms of gross magnitude! Were it so, a brute beast of the wild would exert more notice in the halls of Heaven than some tiny babe being blessed with the sacrament of baptism!"

"As always, you place all our little problems in proper perspective!"

Lady Desdea could no longer contain herself. She crossed the chamber and bent to murmur into Queen Sollace's ear: "I must have private words with Your Majesty, at once."

Sollace, absorbed in the drawings, made an absent-minded gesture. "Patience, if you please! These are discussions of serious moment!" She touched her finger to a place on the drawing. "Despite all, if we could add an atrium here, with the toil rooms to either side, rather than across the transept, then the space would serve for a pair of lesser apses, each with its shrine."

"My dear queen, we could follow this plan were we to shorten the nave by the requisite amount."

Queen Sollace made a petulant sound. "But I do not care to do this! In fact, I would wish to add another five yards to its length, and also augment the curve here, at the back of the apse! We would gain scope for a truly splendid reredos!"

"The concept is undeniably excellent," declared Father Umphred. "Still, it must be remembered that the foundations are already laid and in place. They control the present dimensions."

"Cannot they be extended by just a bit?"

Father Umphred gave his head a sad shake. "We are limited, sadly enough, by a paucity of funds! Were there an unstinting amplitude, anything might be possible."

"Always, always the same dreary tale!" gloomed Queen Sollace. "Are these masons and laborers and stonecutters so greedy for gold that they will not work for the glory of the church?"

"It has always been thus, dear lady! Nevertheless I pray each day that His Majesty, in the fullness of his generosity, will grant us our sufficiency."

Queen Sollace made a glum sound. "The splendour of the basilica is not His Majesty's highest priority."

Father Umphred spoke in thoughtful tones. "The king should remember an important fact. Once the basilica is whole, the financial tide reverses. Folk will come from near and far to worship and sing songs of praise and bestow gifts, of gold and silver! By this means they hope to gain the gratitude of a joyful Heaven."

"Such gifts will bring joy to me as well, if we may thereby adorn our church with proper richness."

"To this end we must provide goodly relics," said Father Umphred wisely. "Nothing loosens the purse strings like a fine relic! The king should know this! Pilgrims will enhance the general prosperity, and, by inevitable flux, the royal exchequer as well! All considered, relics are very good things."

"Oh yes, we must have relics!" cried Queen Sollace. "Where will they be obtained?"

Father Umphred shrugged. "It is not so easy, since many of the best have been pre-empted. However, if one is assiduous, relics may still be had: by gift, by purchase, by capture from the infidels or sometimes by discovery in unexpected places. Certainly it is not too early to start our search."

"We must discuss this matter in full detail," said Queen Sollace, and then, somewhat sharply: "Ottile, you are in a state of obvious discomfiture! What is the matter?"

"I am confused and baffled," said Lady Desdea. "That is quite true."

"Tell us, then, what has occurred, and we will puzzle it out together."

"I can only impart this matter to you in private."

Queen Sollace made a pettish face. "Just so, if you truly feel that such precautions are necessary." She turned to the Ladies Bortude and Parthenope. "It seems that for once we must indulge Lady Desdea in her whim. You may attend me later. Ermelgart, I will ring the bell when I am ready for you."

Lady Bortrude and Lady Parthenope, each with nose haughtily high, departed the parlour, along with the maid Ermelgart. Father Umphred paused, but was not urged to remain and so also departed.

Without further delay Lady Desdea told of the events which had caused her so much distress. "It was time for the Princess Madouc's diction exercises, which are most necessary; she slurs and lilts like a hoyden of the docks. As I walked across the service yard on my way to the lesson, I was struck on the neck by a piece of rotten fruit, hurled from above with both accuracy and force. I am sorry to say that I instantly suspected the princess, who is sometimes prone to mischief. However, when I looked up, I found His Majesty watching me with a most curious expression. If I were an imaginative woman and the person were other than His Majesty, who of course has the best of reasons for all his deeds, I would describe the expression as a leer of triumph, or, perhaps more accurately, vindictive glee!"

"Amazing!" said Queen Sollace. "How can it be? I am as astonished as you; His Majesty is not one to perform silly pranks."

"Naturally not! Still-" Lady Desdea looked over her shoulder in annoyance, as into the parlour came Lady Marmone, her face suffused with anger.

Lady Desdea spoke crisply: "Narcissa, if you please, I am consulting with Her Majesty upon a most serious affair. If you will be kind enough to-"

Lady Marmone, as stern and doughty as Lady Desdea herself, made a furious gesture. "Your business can wait! What I have to say must be said at this very instant! Not five minutes ago, as I crossed the kitchen yard, I was hit on the forehead by an overripe quince, thrown down from the arcade above."

Queen Sollace gave a throaty cry. "Yet again?"

" ‘Yet' or ‘again', whatever you like! It happened as I have described it! Outrage gave me vigor; I ran at speed up the stairs hoping to waylay the perpetrator, and who should come trotting from the corridor, smiling and gay, but the Princess Madouc!"

"Madouc?" "Madouc?" cried out Queen Sollace and Lady Desdea together, as if in one voice.

"Who else? She confronted me without a qualm and even asked me to move aside so that she might continue on her way.

Nevertheless, I detained her and asked: ‘Why did you hurl a quince at me?' She said, quite soberly: ‘With nothing more suitable at hand, I used quince; this was on the strong advice of His Majesty the King.' I cried out: ‘Am I to understand that His Majesty advised you to such a deed? Why should he do so?' And she responded: ‘Perhaps he feels that you and Lady Desdea are inexcusably tiresome and tedious in your instruction.'"

"Astonishing!" said Lady Desdea. "I am dumbfounded!"

Lady Marmone went on: "I told her: ‘Out of respect for your rank, I may not properly chastise you as you deserve, but I will immediately report this outrage to Her Majesty the Queen!' The princess responded with an airy shrug and continued on her way. Is it not remarkable?"

"Remarkable but not unique!" said Lady Desdea. "I suffered in the same degree, but it was King Casmir himself who hurled the fruit."

Lady Marmone stood silent for a moment, then said: "In that case, I am confused indeed!"

Queen Sollace heaved herself erect. "I must get to the bottom of this! Come! Before the hour is out we shall know what is what and which is which."

The queen and her two ladies, with Father Umphred coming unobtrusively behind, found King Casmir in conference with the High Seneschal Sir Mungo and the royal secretary Pacuin.

Casmir looked around with a frown, then rose heavily to his feet. "My dear Sollace, what is so urgent as to bring you here during my consultations?"

"I must have a word with you in private," said Sollace. "Be good enough to dismiss your counsellors, if only for a few moments."

Casmir, noting Lady Desdea and her set countenance, divined the purpose of the visit. At his signal, Sir Mungo and Pacuin left the room. Casmir jerked his finger at Father Umphred. "You may also go."

Father Umphred, smiling his kindly smile, departed the chamber.

"Now then," said King Casmir, "what is the matter?"

In a tumble of words Queen Sollace explained the situation. King Casmir listened with stolid patience.

Sollace terminated her remarks. "You now will understand my concern. Essentially, we are puzzled as to why you threw fruit at Lady Desdea and then encouraged Madouc to work the same mischief upon Lady Marmone."

Casmir spoke to Lady Desdea. "Bring Madouc here at once." Lady Desdea left the chamber and a few moments later returned with Madouc, who entered the room somewhat reluctantly.

King Casmir spoke in even tones. "I ordered you to throw no more fruit."

"Indeed you did, Sire, in the direction of Lady Desdea, and you also advised against the use of substances more offensive, in connection with Lady Desdea. I followed your advice exactly."

"But you threw a quince at Lady Marmone. Was that my advice?"

"I took it to be so, since you failed to include her in your instructions."

"Ah hah! Did you want me to name each individual of the castle and in each case name the stuffs with which he or she was not to be pelted?"

Madouc shrugged. "As you see, Sire, when there is doubt, mistakes occur."

"And you felt this doubt?"

"Exactly, Sire! It seemed only fair that each of the ladies should be treated alike, and enjoy the same advantages."

King Casmir smiled and nodded. "These advantages are subtle. Can you bring them into sharper focus?"

Madouc frowned down at her fingers. "The explanation might be lengthy, even tedious, so that I would be committing the same fault I deplore in the Ladies Desdea and Marmone."

"Please make the effort. If you bore us, we will excuse you this once."

Madouc chose her words with care. "These ladies are surely genteel but each day their conduct is much like that of the day before. They know neither zest nor surprise nor any wonderful new events. I thought it might be well if they were provided a mysterious adventure, which would excite their minds and reduce the tedium of their conversation."

"Your motives, then, were totally kind and sympathetic?"

Madouc turned him a dubious glance. "I suspected, of course, that at first they might not be grateful and perhaps even a bit gruff, but in the end they would be delighted for my help, since they would realize that the world is sometimes unexpected and strange, and they would start to look around them with gay anticipation."

Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone made sounds of incredulity. Casmir smiled a small hard smile. "So you feel that you have done the two ladies a favor?"

"I have done my best," said Madouc bravely. "They will remember this day to the end of their lives! Can they say the same of yesterday?"

Casmir turned to Sollace. "The princess has made a persuasive case that both Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone will profit from her acts, even though they come in the form of sheer mischief. However, the altruism of the princess must be returned in kind, and I suggest that you make this day memorable for her as well, with the aid of a willow whisk or a light ferrule. In the end, everyone will profit. Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone will find that their lives have been enriched, and Madouc will learn that she must obey the spirit as well as the letter of the royal command."

Madouc spoke in a voice which trembled slightly: "Sire, all is quite clear! Her Majesty need not exert herself to make a point which is already well taken."

King Casmir had already turned away, and spoke over his shoulder: "Events of this sort often take on a momentum of their own, as in the present case. Her Majesty may well work up a perspiration but will suffer no real inconvenience. You have my leave to go."

Queen Sollace, with the Ladies Desdea and Marmone, departed the room. Madouc lagged behind. Sollace turned and beckoned. "Come along-smartly now; nothing is to be gained by sulking."

Madouc sighed. "Ah well, I have nothing better to do."

The group returned to Sollace's parlour. Somewhere along the way Father Umphred emerged from the shadows and fell in be hind.

Sollace settled herself comfortably on the sofa and summoned Ermelgart. "Bring me three withes from a besom; let them be both stout and supple. Now then, Madouc! Attend me, if you will! Do you understand that your mischief has caused distress to us all?"

"The quinces were quite small," said Madouc.

"No matter! The deed does not become a royal princess: most especially a princess of Lyonesse."

Ermelgart returned with three willow withes, which she handed to Queen Sollace. Madouc watched with wide blue eyes and mouth drooping in woe.

Sollace tested the action of the withes upon a cushion, then turned to Madouc. "Have you aught to say? Words of contrition or humility?"

Madouc, fascinated by the motion of the withes, failed to respond, and Queen Sollace, usually lethargic, became vexed. "You feel no remorse? Now I know why you are said to be impudent! Well then, Miss Sly-Puss, we shall see. You may approach."

Madouc licked her lips. "I do not think it sensible, if I am to be beaten for my pains."

Sollace stared in wonder. "I can hardly credit my ears. Father Umphred, kindly escort the princess to me."

The priest in all affability put his hand on Madouc's shoulder and urged her across the room. Sollace swept Madouc across her great lap, raised high the skirt of Madouc's frock, and plied the withes upon the narrow little haunches. Madouc lay limp as a rag, making no sound.

The lack of response annoyed Sollace; she struck again and again, and finally pulled down Madouc's smallclothes in order to belabor the naked buttocks, while Father Umphred looked on, smiling approval and nodding in time to the strokes.

Madouc made no sound. Sollace at last becoming bored, threw down the withes, and pushed Madouc from her lap to her feet. Tight-faced, her mouth set in a thin white line, Madouc pulled up her undergarments, settled her skirt and started to walk from the room.

Sollace called out sharply: "I did not give you leave to go." Madouc halted and looked back over her shoulder. "Do you intend to beat me again?"

"Not at this moment. My arm is tired and sore."

"Then you are done with me." Madouc left the parlour, with Sollace blinking slack-jawed after her.

II

Queen Sollace had been adversely affected by Madouc's conduct and also by her demeanour, which seemed deficient in the respect that Sollace conceived to be her due. She had long heard rumours in regard to Madouc's willfulness, but the firsthand experience came as something of a shock. If Madouc were to become a truly gracious maiden and an ornament to the court, then, clearly, remedial measures were instantly necessary.

Queen Sollace discussed the problem with Father Umphred, who proposed that the little princess be allowed religious instruction. Lady Marmone scoffed at the idea. "That is most impractical and would waste everyone's time."

Queen Sollace, herself devout, was somewhat nettled. She demanded: "Then what action do you yourself advocate?"

"I have, for a fact, given the matter thought. The instruction must continue as before, with perhaps more emphasis upon the niceties of deportment. Further, it might be well if she were provided a retinue of noble maidens, so that gracious conduct may be learned by force of example. She is almost to the age when you will be providing such a retinue in any case; I say, the sooner the better!"

Sollace gave a grudging nod. "It is perhaps a year or two early for such an arrangement, but the circumstances are special. Madouc is as brash and insolent as a little creature of the wild, and surely needs a restraining influence."

A week later Madouc was summoned to the morning parlour, on the second level of the East Tower. Here she was introduced to six noble damsels, who, so she was told, would serve as her maids-in-waiting. Madouc, aware that protest was futile, stood back appraising her new companions and not liking what she saw. The six maidens were all dressed in fine garments and carried themselves with an exaggerated delicacy of poise. The six, after small formal curtseys, subjected Madouc to an inspection of their own, and showed no more enthusiasm than Madouc. They had been instructed in their duties, which most of them expected to be irksome. In general, they were to provide the princess companionship, run small errands at her behest, regale her with tidbits of gossip, and share the tedium of her lessons. At Madouc's pleasure, the damsels would frolic together and play at quoits, jump-rope, catch-ball, blinko, mains, shuttlecock and battledore, and other such games; together they would sit at needlework, mix potpourris, compound sachets, weave flower garlands and learn the steps of those dances currently in vogue. All would take instructions in reading and writing; more importantly, they would be schooled in decorum, court convention, and the unalterable rules of precedence.

The six maidens were:

Devonet of Castle Folize.

Felice, daughter of Sir Mungo, the High Seneschal.

Ydraint of Damar Greathouse.

Artwen of Kassie Keep.

Chlodys of the Fanistry.

Elissia of Yorn.

The six were a diverse group, all older than Madouc, save Felice, who was about her own age. Chlodys was large, blonde and somewhat ungainly; Elissia was small, dark and neat. Artwen was assertive; Felice was subdued, somewhat absent minded, unobtrusively pretty, if frail. Ydraint was both radiant with health and definitely pretty; Devonet was beautiful. Chlodys and Ydraint were noticeably pubescent; Devonet and Artwen were somewhat less so; Felice and Elissia, like Madouc, were still at the threshold of change.

In fond theory the six maidens would accompany their adored princess everywhere, chattering merry nonsense, each vying to fulfill her little duties, overjoyed to hear her praise, penitent at her kindly censure. In effect, the six would form a miniature court of virtuous and joyful damsels, over whom Princess Madouc would reign serene, like a precious jewel in a golden setting.

In practice, the situation was different. From the first, Madouc was suspicious of the new arrangement, deeming it a nuisance which could only limit her freedom. The six maidens, in their turn, showed little zeal in the performance of their duties. Madouc was considered queer and eccentric, with no penchant whatever for style and naive to the point of vapidity.

The conditions of Madouc ‘s birth, as understood by the court, brought her no great prestige, which the maidens also were quick to perceive. After a few days of cautious formality, the maids formed a clique from which Madouc was pointedly excluded. Madouc thereafter was treated to only a flippant pretense at courtesy; her inclinations were greeted with vacant stares; her remarks were lost in the chatter, or if heard were ignored.

Madouc was at first puzzled, then amused, then piqued, finally she decided that she cared not a whit, one way or the other and, as far as practical, followed her own pursuits.

Madouc's~detachment brought even greater disapproval from the maidens, who found her to be more peculiar than ever. The guiding spirit of the cabal was Devonet: a maiden dainty and graceful, fresh as a flower, already skilled in the arts of charm. Glossy golden curls hung to her shoulders; her eyes were golden - hazel pools of innocence. Devonet was also competent at mach inations and intrigues; at her signal-a twitch of the finger, a tilt of the head-the maidens would wander away from Madouc and gather in a huddle across the room, from which they would peer back at her over their shoulders, then whisper and giggle. On other occasions, they made a game of peeping around corners at Madouc, to jerk back when she looked up.

Madouc sighed, shrugged and ignored the mischief. One morning, while taking breakfast with her maid-in-attendance, Madouc discovered a dead mouse in her bowl of porridge. She wrinkled her nose and drew back in distaste. Glancing around the table, she noted the covert attention of the six maidens; clearly they were aware of what she would find. Chlodys clapped a hand over her mouth to restrain a giggle; Devonet's gaze was limpid and bland.

Madouc pushed the bowl aside, pursed her lips, but made no comment.

Two days later Madouc-by a series of mysterious acts and feigned stealth-so aroused the curiosity of Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint that they followed her surreptitiously in order to spy out the reason for her strange conduct. Clearly, it could only be scandalous, and the potentialities were delicious indeed. So tempted, they followed Madouc to the top of the Tall Tower, and watched as Madouc climbed a ladder up to a range of abandoned dovecotes. When at last she descended the ladder and hurried off down the stairs, Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint emerged from their hiding places, climbed the ladder, pushed through a trap door and cautiously explored the dovecotes. To their disappointment, there was nothing to be found but dust, dirt, a few feathers and a bad smell, but no evidence of depravity. Glumly they returned to the trapdoor, only to discover that the ladder had been removed, with the stone floor a daunting twelve feet below.

At noon the absence of Devonet, Chlodys and Ydraint was noticed, to the general perplexity. Artwen, Elissia and Felice were questioned, but could supply no information. Lady Desdea put a sharp question to Madouc, who likewise professed puzzlement. "They are very lazy; perhaps they still lie asleep in their beds."

"Not likely!" said Lady Desdea crisply. "I find the situation most peculiar!"

"So do I," said Madouc. "I suspect that they are up to no good."

The day passed, and the night. Early the next morning, when all was still, a kitchen maid, crossing the service-yard, heard a thin wailing sound coming from a source she could not at once identify. She stopped to listen, and finally fixed upon the dove cotes at the top of the Tall Tower. She reported her findings to Dame Boudetta, the housekeeper, and the mystery was at last resolved. The three girls, dirty, frightened, cold and aggrieved, were rescued from their high prison. In hysterical voices they denounced Madouc and blamed her for all their discomfort. ("She wanted us to go hungry and starve!" "It was cold, and the wind blew, and we heard the ghost!" "We were frightened! She did it all on purpose!")

Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone listened with stony faces, but were at a loss to adjudicate the situation. The issues were confused; further, if the case were brought to the attention of the queen, Madouc might well bring accusations of her own, in regard to dead mice in the porridge, for instance.

In the end, Chlodys, Ydraint and Devonet were brusquely advised that climbing around abandoned dovecotes was behavior unsuitable for highborn young ladies.

Up to this time, the affair of the rotten quinces, along with King Casmir's embarrassment and Madouc's subsequent travail, had been sternly suppressed. Now, through some clandestine source, the news reached the ears of the six maids-in-waiting, to their delight. Over needlework, Devonet spoke softly: "What a sight, what a sight, when Madouc was beaten!"

"Kicking and squalling, bare bottom high!" said Chlodys quietly, as if awed by the thought.

"Was it truly so?" marvelled Artwen.

Devonet nodded primly. "Indeed! Did you not hear the dismal howling?"

"Everyone heard it," said Ydraint. "Still, no one knew where it came from."

"Everyone knows now," said Chlodys. "It was Madouc, roaring like a sick cow!"

Elissia spoke with sly mirth: "Princess Madouc, you are so quiet! Are you discontented with our conversation?"

"Not altogether. I am amused by your jokes. Sometime you shall repeat them for me."

"How so?" asked Devonet, puzzled and alert.

"Can you not imagine? Someday I will marry a great king and sit on a golden throne. At that time I may well command the six of you to my court, that you may produce some of this ‘dismal howling' which seems to be so amusing."

The maidens fell uneasily silent. Devonet was the first to recover her composure. She gave a tinkle of laughter. "It is not certain, nor even likely, that you shall marry a king-since you have no pedigree! Chlodys, has Princess Madouc a pedigree?"

"No pedigree whatever, poor thing."

Madouc asked innocently: "What is a pedigree?"

Devonet laughed again. "It is something you do not have! Perhaps we should not tell you this, but truth is truth! You have no father! Elissia, what is a girl who lacks a father?"

"She is a bastard."

"Exactly true! Sad to say, the Princess Madouc is a bastard, and no one will ever want to marry her!"

Chlodys gave an exaggerated shudder. "I am glad that I am not a bastard."

"But you are wrong," said Madouc in a voice of sweet reason. "I do have a father. He is dead, or so it is said, along with my mother."

Devonet spoke with disdain: "Perhaps he is dead, perhaps not. They threw him into a hole, and there he is today. He was a vagabond, and no one even troubled to ask his name."

"In any event," said Chlodys, "you lack a pedigree, and so you shall never marry. It is hard news, but it is best that you learn the facts now, so that you may become inured to them."

"Just so," said Ydraint. "We tell you this because it is our duty to do so."

Madouc controlled the quaver in her voice. "It is your duty to tell only the truth."

"Ah, but we have done so!" declared Devonet.

"I do not believe it!" said Madouc. "My father was a noble knight, since I am his daughter! How could it be otherwise?"

Devonet looked Madouc up and down, then said: "Very easily."

III

Madouc had no sure understanding as to what might be a ‘pedigree'. She had heard the word used once or twice before, but its exact significance had never been made clear. A few days past she had gone to the stables to groom her pony Tyfer; nearby a pair of gentlemen were discussing a horse and its ‘fine pedigree'. The horse, a black stallion, had been notably well-hung; but this would not seem to be the determining factor, and certainly not so far as Madouc was concerned. Devonet and the other maidens could not reasonably expect her to flaunt an article of this sort.

It was all very puzzling. Perhaps the gentlemen had been alluding to the quality of the horse's tail. As before, and for much the same reason, Madouc rejected the theory. She decided to speculate no further but to make inquiries at the first opportu nity.

Madouc was on tolerably good terms with Prince Cassander, only son to King Casmir and Queen Sollace, and heir-apparent to the crown of Lyonesse. Cassander over the years had become something of a gay blade. His physique was robust. Under tight blond curls his face was round, with small stiff features and round blue eyes. From his father Cassander had inherited, or had learned, a whole set of curt gestures and habits of command; from Sollace had come his fine pale pink skin, small hands and feet, and a temperament easier and more flexible than that of King Casmir.

Madouc discovered Cassander sitting alone in the orangery, writing with concentration upon a parchment with a quill pen. Madouc stood watching a moment. Did Cassander spend his energies upon poetry? Song? An amorous ode? Cassander, looking up, caught sight of Madouc. He put his pen aside and dropped the parchment into a box.

Madouc slowly approached. Cassander seemed in a jovial mood, and gave Madouc a heavily facetious greeting: "Hail and thrice hail, to the avenging Fury of the castle, clothed in darts and spasms of purple lightning! Who will be next to know the sting of your awful wrath? Or-I should say-the impact of your over-ripe quinces?"

Madouc smiled wanly and settled herself upon the bench be side Cassander. "His Majesty has issued exact orders; I may no longer do what needs to be done." Madouc sighed. "I have decided to obey."

"That is a wise decision."

Madouc went on, in a wistful voice. "One would think that, as a royal princess, I might be entitled to throw quince in what ever direction and as often as I chose."

"So one might think, but the act is not considered decorous, and above all, decorum is the duty of a royal princess!"

"What of my mother, the Princess Suldrun-was she decorous?"

Cassander, raising his eyebrows, slanted a quizzical glance down upon Madouc. "What an odd question! How should I answer? In all honesty, I would be forced to say something like: ‘not altogether'."

"Because she lived alone in a garden? Or because I was born to her when she was not married?"

"Neither form of conduct is considered truly decorous."

Madouc pursed her lips. "I want to know more about her, but no one will speak. Why is there so much mystery?"

Cassander laughed ruefully. "There is a mystery because no one knows what went on."

"Tell me what you know of my father."

Cassander said ponderously: "I can tell you next to nothing because that is all I know. Apparently he was a handsome young vagabond who chanced to find Suidrun alone in the garden and imposed himself upon her lonely condition."

"Maybe she was glad to see him."

Cassander spoke with unconvincing primness: "She acted without decorum, and only that may be said for Suldrun. But his was insolent conduct! He made a fleeting mockery of our royal dignity, and well deserved his fate."

Madouc reflected. "It is very odd. Did Suldrun complain of my father's conduct?"

Cassander frowned. "By no means! The poor little wight seems to have loved him. But tush! I know little of the affair, except that it was the priest Umphred who found the two together and brought the news to His Majesty."

"My poor father was punished terribly," said Madouc. "I cannot understand the reason."

Again Cassander spoke virtuously: "The reason is clear! It was necessary to teach the churl a stern lesson, and to discourage all others of like mind."

With a sudden quiver in her voice Madouc asked: "Is he then still alive?"

"That I doubt."

"Where is the hole into which he was cast?"

Cassander jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "In the rocks behind the Peinhador. The oubliette is a hundred feet deep with a dark little cell at the bottom. It is where incorrigible criminals and enemies of the state are punished."

Madouc looked up the hill to where the gray roof of the Peinhador could be glimpsed behind Zoltra Bright-Star's Wall. "My father would be neither of those."

Cassander shrugged. "Such was the royal justice, and doubtless correct."

"Still, my mother was a royal princess! She would not have loved just anyone who happened to look over the fence."

Cassander shrugged, to indicate the puzzle took him beyond his depth. "So it would seem; I grant you that. Still-who knows? Royal princess or not, Suldrun was a girl, and girls are female, and females are as wayward as dandelion fluff in the wind! Such is my experience."

"Perhaps my father was highborn," Madouc mused. "No one troubled to ask."

"Unlikely," said Cassander. "He was a foolish young rogue who received his just deserts. You are not convinced? This is the law of nature! Each person is born into his proper place, which he must keep, unless his king grants him advancement for valor in war. No other system is proper, right, or natural."

"What then of me?" asked Madouc in a troubled voice. "Where is my ‘pedigree'?"

Cassander gave a bark of laughter. "Who knows? You have been granted the status of a royal princess; that should suffice."

Madouc was still dissatisfied. "Was my father put into the hole along with his ‘pedigree'?"

Cassander chuckled. "If he had one to begin with."

"But what is it? Something like a tail?"

Cassander could not restrain his mirth and Madouc indig antly rose to her feet and walked away.

IV

The royal family of Lyonesse often rode out from Haidion into the countryside: to join a hunt, or to indulge the king's taste for falconry or simply to enjoy a pastoral excursion. King Casmir usually rode his black charger Sheuvan, while Sollace sat a gentle white paifrey, or, as often as not, the cushioned seat of the well-sprung royal carriage. Prince Cassander rode his fine prancing roan Gildrup; the Princess Madouc ranged happily here and there on her dappled pony Tyfer.

Madouc noted that many highborn ladies doted on their steeds and frequently visited the stables to pet and nourish their darlings with apples and sweetmeats. Madouc began to do likewise, bringing carrots and turnips for Tyfer's delectation, meanwhile evading the surveillance of both Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone, and also escaping her six maids-in-waiting.

The stableboy assigned to the care of Tyfer was Pymfyd: a tow-headed lad of twelve or thirteen, strong and willing, with an honest countenance and an obliging disposition. Madouc convinced him that he had also been appointed to serve as her personal attendant and escort when the need arose. Without demur Pymfyd acceded to the arrangement, which seemed to signalize an advancement in status.

Early one afternoon, with the overcast hanging low and the scent of rain in the air, Madouc donned a gray hooded cloak and slipped away to the stables. She summoned Pymfyd from his work with the manure fork. "Come, Pymfyd, at once! I have an errand which will require an hour or so of my time, and I will need your attendance."

Pymfyd asked cautiously: "What sort of errand, Your High ness?"

"In due course you will learn all that is necessary. Come then! The day is short; the hours tumble past, while you doodle and dither."

Pymfyd gave a sour grunt. "Will you be wanting Tyfer?"

"Not today." Madouc turned away. "Come."

With something of a flourish Pymfyd plunged his manure fork into the dungheap and followed Madouc on laggard steps.

Madouc marched up the path that led around the back of the castle, with Pymfyd trudging behind.

He called out: "Where are we going?"

"It will soon be made clear to you."

"As you say, Your Highness," grumbled Pymfyd.

The path veered to the left, toward the Sfer Arct; here Madouc swung away to the right, to scramble up the hillside along a trail leading up the stony slope toward the gray bulk of the Peinhador.

Pymfyd voiced a querulous protest, which Madouc ignored. She continued up the slope, with the north wall of the Peinhador looming above. Pymfyd, panting and apprehensive, lunged forward in sudden alarm and caught up with Madouc. "Princess, where are you taking us? Below those walls criminals crouch in their dungeons!"

"Pymfyd, are you a criminal?"

"By no manner or means!"

"Then you need fear nothing!"

"Not so! The innocent are often dealt the most vicious blows."

"Allow me to do the worrying, Pymfyd, and in any case we shall hope for the best."

"Your Highness, I suggest-"

Madouc brought to bear the full force of her blue gaze. "Not another word, if you please."

Pymfyd threw his arms in the air. "As you will."

Madouc turned away with dignity and continued up the slope beside the black masonry walls of the Peinhador. Pymfyd came sullenly behind.

At the corner of the structure Madouc halted and surveyed the grounds at the back of the Peinhador. At the far end, at a distance of fifty yards, stood a massive gibbet and several other machines of grim purpose, as well as three iron posts for the burning of miscreants, a firepit and griddle used for a similar purpose. Closer at hand, only a few yards distant, at the back of a barren area Madouc discovered what she had come to find: a circular stone wall three feet high surrounding an opening five feet in diameter.

Step by slow step, and despite Pymfyd's inarticulate mutter of protest, Madouc crossed the stony barrens to the circular wall and peered down into the black depths below. She listened, but heard nothing. She pitched her voice so that it might be heard in the black depths and called: "Father! Can you hear me?" She listened: no sound returned. "Father, are you there? It is Madouc, your daughter!"

Pymfyd, scandalized by Madouc's acts, came up behind her. "What are you doing? This is not proper conduct, either for you or for me!"

Madouc paid him no heed. Leaning over the opening she called again: "Can you hear me? It has been a very long time! Are you still alive? Please speak to me! It is your daughter Madouc!"

From the darkness below came only profound silence.

Pymfyd's imagination was not of a far-ranging nature; nevertheless he conceived that the stillness was not ordinary, but rather that where listeners quietly held their breath. He tugged at Madouc's arm and spoke in a husky whisper: "Princess, there is a strong smell of ghosts to this place! Listen with a keen ear, you can hear them chittering down deep in the darkness."

Madouc cocked her head and listened. "Bah! I hear no ghosts."

"You are not listening with proper ears! Come away now, before they rob us of our senses!"

"Do not talk nonsense, Pymfyd! King Casmir dropped my father down this hole, and I must learn if he still lives."

Pymfyd peered down the shaft. "Nothing down there lives. In any case, it is royal business, beyond our scope!"

"Not so! Is it not my father who was immured?"

"No matter; he is no less dead."

Madouc nodded sadly. "So I fear. But I suspect that he left some memorial as to his name and pedigree. If nothing else, this is what I wish to know."

Pymfyd gave his head a decisive shake. "It is not possible; now let us go."

Madouc paid no heed. "Look, Pymfyd! On yonder gibbet hangs a rope. With this rope we will lower you down the shaft to the bottom. The light will be poor, but you must look about to see what has transpired and what records remain."

Pymfyd stared, mouth gaping in wonder. He stuttered: "Have I heard rightly? You intend that I should descend into the hole? The idea lacks merit."

"Come, Pymfyd, be quick! Surely you value my good opinion! Run to the gibbet and fetch the rope."

A step grated on the stony ground; the two jerked around to find a ponderous silhouette looming against the gray overcast. Pymfyd sucked in his breath; Madouc's jaw sagged.

The dark shape stepped forward; Madouc recognized Zerling the Chief Executioner. He halted, to stand heavy legs apart, arms behind his back.

Madouc previously had seen Zerling only from a distance, and the sight had always brought her a morbid little shiver. Now he stood looking down at her, and Madouc stared back in awe; Zerling's semblance was not the more lightsome for proximity. He was massive and muscular, so that he seemed almost squat. His face was heavy, with skin of a curious brownish-red color, and fringed all around with a tangle of black hair and black beard. He wore pantaloons of sour black leather and a black canvas doublet; a round leather cap was pulled low over his ears. He looked back and forth between Madouc and Pymfyd. "Why do you come here, where we do our grim deeds? It is no place for your games."

Madouc responded in a clear treble voice: "I am not here for games."

"Ha!" said Zerling. "Whatever the case, Princess, I suggest that you leave at once."

"Not yet! I came here for a purpose."

"And what might that be?"

"I want to know what happened to my father."

Zerling's features compressed into a frown of perplexity. "Who was he? I have no recollection."

"Surely you remember. He loved my mother, the Princess Suldrun. For punishment, the king ordered him dropped into this very hole. If he still lives, I want to know, so that I might beg His Majesty for mercy."

From the depths of Zerling ‘s chest came a mournful chuckle. "Call down the hole as you like, by day or by night! You will hear never a whisper, or even a sigh."

"He is dead?"

"He went below long ago," said Zerling. "Down in the dark folk do not hold hard to life. It is cold and damp, and there is nothing to do but regret one's crimes."

Madouc looked at the oubliette, mouth drooping wistfully. "What was he like? Do you remember?"

Zerling glanced over his shoulder. "It is not my place to notice, nor to ask, nor to remember. I lop heads and heave at the windlass; still, when I go home of nights I am a different man and cannot so much as kill a chicken for the pot."

"All very well, but what of my father?"

Zerling glanced once more over his shoulder. "This perhaps should not be said, and your father committed an atrocious act-"

Madouc spoke plaintively: "I cannot think it so, since I would not be here otherwise."

Zerling blinked. "These questions are beyond my competence; I confine my energies to drawing entrails and working the gibbet. Royal justice, by its very nature, is at all times correct. I must say that in this case I wondered at its severity, when a mere cropping of ears and nose, with perhaps a taste or two of the snake, would seem to have sufficed."

"So it seems to me," said Madouc. "Did you speak with my father?"

"I remember no conversation."

"What of his name?"

"No one troubled to ask. Put the subject out of your mind: that is my best advice."

"But! want to learn my pedigree. Everyone has one but me."

"You will find no pedigree in yonder hole! So now: be off with you, before I hang up young Pymfyd by his toes, just to maintain order!"

Pymfyd cried out: "Come along, Your Highness! No more can be done!"

"But we have done nothing!"

Pymfyd, already out of earshot, failed to respond.

V

One bright morning Madouc came briskly along Haidion's main gallery and into the entry hall. Looking through the open portal and across the front terrace, she noticed Prince Cassander leaning against the balustrade, contemplating the town below and eating purple plums from a silver dish. Madouc looked quickly over her shoulder, then ran across the terrace and joined him.

Cassander glanced at her sidelong, first carelessly, then a second time, with eyebrows raised in surprise. "By Astarte's nine nymphs!" swore Cassander. "Here is a definite marvel!"

"What is so marvellous?" asked Madouc. "That I deign to join you?"

"Of course not! I refer to your costume!"

Madouc looked indifferently down at herself. Today she wore a demure white frock with green and blue flowers embroidered along the hem, with a white ribbon constraining her copper-gold curls. "It is well enough, or so I suppose."

Cassander spoke in fulsome tones. "I see before me, not a wild-eyed scalawag escaping a dogfight, but a royal princess of delicacy and grace! Indeed, you are almost pretty."

Madouc gave a wry laugh. "It is not my fault. They dressed me willy-filly, so that I might be fit for the cotillion."

"And that is so inglorious?"

"Not altogether, since I will not be there."

"Aha! You run grave risks! Lady Desdea will be rigid with vexation!"

"She must learn to be more reasonable. If she likes dancing, well and good; it is all the same to me. She may jig, jerk, kick high in the air and jump in a circle, so long as I may do other wise. That is reasonable conduct!"

"But it is not the way things go! Everyone must learn to act properly; no one is exempt, not even I."

"Why, then, are you not at the cotillion, sweating and hopping with the others?"

"I have had my share of it-never fear! It is now your turn."

"I will have none of it, and this is what Lady Desdea must get through her head."

Cassander chuckled. "Such mutiny might easily earn you another beating."

Madouc gave her head a scornful toss. "No matter! I shall utter not a sound, and they will quickly tire of their sport."

Cassander uttered a bark of laughter. "Wrong, in every respect! I discussed this same topic only last week with Tanchet the under-torturer. He states that voluble types who instantly screech and blubber and make horrid noises-these are the ones who fare the best, since the torturer is quickly satisfied that his job has been well and truly done. Take my advice! A few shrill screams and a convulsion or two might save your skin a whole medley of tingles!"

"This bears thinking about," said Madouc.

"Or-from a different perspective-you might try to be mild and meek, and avoid the beatings altogether."

Madouc gave her head a dubious shake. "My mother, the Princess Suldrun, was mild and meek, but failed to escape an awful penalty-which the poor creature never deserved. That is my opinion."

Cassander spoke in measured tones: "Suldrun disobeyed the king's command, and had only herself to blame."

"Nevertheless, it seems very harsh treatment to visit upon one's own dear daughter."

Cassander was not comfortable with the topic. "Royal justice is not for us to question."

Madouc gave Cassander a cool appraisal. He frowned down at her. "Why do you stare at me so?"

"Someday you will be king."

"That well may be-later, so I hope, rather than sooner. I am in no haste to rule."

"Would you treat your daughter in such a fashion?"

Cassander pursed his lips. "I would do what I thought to be correct and kingly."

"And if I were still unmarried, would you try to wed me to some fat bad-smelling prince, so as to make me miserable the rest of my life?"

Cassander gave an exclamation of annoyance. "Why ask such pointless questions? You will be of age long before I wear the crown. Your marriage will be arranged by someone other than me."

"Small chance of that," said Madouc under her breath.

"I did not hear your remark."

"No matter. Do you often visit the old garden where my mother died?"

"I have not done so for years."

"Take me there now."

"Now? When you should be at the cotillion?"

"No time could be more convenient."

Cassander looked toward the palace, and seeing no one, gave a flippant wave of the hand. "I should stand aloof from your vagaries! Still, at the moment I have nothing better to do. Come then, while Lady Desdea is yet dormant. I do not take kindly to complaints and reproaches."

Madouc said wisely: "I have learned the best response. I feign a blank stupid perplexity, so that they weary themselves with explanations, and forget all else."

"Ah Madouc, you are a crafty one! Come then, before we are apprehended."

The two set off up the cloistered way toward Zoltra Bright- Star's Wall: up past the orangery, through the wall itself by a dank passage and out upon the parade ground at the front of the Peinhador: a place known as ‘The Urquial'. To the right, the wall veered sharply to the south; in the angle, a thicket of larch and juniper concealed a decaying postern of black timber.

Cassander, already beset by second thoughts, pushed through the thicket, cursing the brambles and the drift of pollen from the larches. He thrust at the postern and grunted at the recalcitrance of the sagging timbers. Putting his shoulder to the wood, he heaved hard; with a dismal groaning of corroded iron hinges the postern swung open. Cassander gave a grim nod of triumph for his victory over the obstacle. He beckoned to Madouc. "Behold! The secret garden!"

The two stood at the head of a narrow vale, sloping down to a little crescent of beach. At one time the garden had been land scaped after the classic Arcadian style, but now grew rank and wild with trees and shrubs of many sorts: oak, olive, laurel, bay and myrtle; hydrangea, heliotrope, asphodel, vervane, purple thyme. Halfway down to the beach a clutter of marble blocks and a few standing columns indicated the site of an ancient Roman villa. The single whole structure to be seen was near at hand: a small chapel, now dank with lichen and the odor of wet stone.

Cassander pointed to the stone chapel. "That is where Suldrun took shelter from the weather. She spent many lonely nights in that small place."

He gave his head a wry shake. "And also a few nights not so lonely, which cost her dear in grief and sorrow."

Madouc blinked at the tears which had come to her eyes and turned away. Cassander said gruffly: "The events are many years gone; one should not mourn forever."

Madouc looked down the long descent of the garden. "It was my mother, whom I never knew, and it was my father, who was put in a hole to die! How can I forget so easily?"

Cassander shrugged. "I don't know. I can only assure you that your emotion is wasted. Do you wish to see more of the garden?"

"Let us follow the path and find where it leads."

"It goes here and there, and finally down to the beach. Suldrun whiled away her days paving the path with pebbles from the beach. Rains have undone the path; there is little to show for her work-or her life, for that matter."

"Except me."

"Except you! A notable accomplishment, to be sure!"

Madouc ignored the jocularity, which she found to be in rather poor taste.

Cassander said thoughtfully, "For a fact, you are not at all like her. Evidently, you resemble your father, whoever or what ever he might have been."

Madouc spoke with feeling: "Since my mother loved him, he was surely a person of high estate and noble character! Nevertheless, they call me ‘bastard' and insist that I have no pedigree."

Cassander frowned. "Who commits such discourtesy?"

"The six maidens who attend me."

Cassander was shocked. "Really! They all seem so sweet and pretty-Devonet in particular!"

"She is the worst; in fact, she is a little serpent."

Cassander's displeasure had lost its edge. "Ah well, girls can be saucy at times. The facts, sadly enough, cannot be denied. Do you care to go further?"

Madouc halted in the path. "Had Suldrun no friends to help her?"

"None who dared defy the king. The priest Umphred came occasionally; he said he wanted her for Christianity. I suspect he wanted her for something else, which was no doubt denied him. Perhaps for this reason he betrayed her to the king."

"So Priest Umphred was the traitor."

"I suppose he thought it his duty."

Madouc nodded, assimilating the information. "Why did she stay? I would have been over the wall and away inside the hour."

"Knowing you, I well believe it! Suldrun, as I remember her, was of a dreamy gentle cast."

"Still, she need not have remained here. Had she no spirit?"

Cassander considered. "I suppose that she hoped always for the king's forgiveness. If she ran away, what then? She had no taste for filth or hunger, nor the cold wind by night, nor the certainty of rape."

Madouc was uncertain as to the exact meaning of the word. "What is ‘rape'?"

Cassander explained in lofty terms. Madouc compressed her lips. "That is boorish conduct! If it were tried on me, I would not tolerate it for a moment, and I certainly would have some thing very sharp to say!"

"Suldrun also disliked the idea," said Cassander. "So ends the story, and nothing remains but memories and Princess Madouc. Have you seen enough of this old garden?"

Madouc looked all around. "It is quiet here, and eery. The world is far away. By moonlight it must be sad, and so beautiful as to break one's heart. I want never to come here again."

An under-maid informed Lady Desdea of Madouc ‘s return to the castle, in the company of Prince Cassander.

Lady Desdea was taken aback. Her intent had been to chide the little minx at some length and then ordain six punitive hours of dancing lessons. Prince Cassander's participation totally altered the case. To punish Madouc would imply criticism of Prince Cassander, and Lady Desdea was chary of such a risk. One day Cassander would become king, and kings were notoriously long of memory.

Lady Desdea turned on her heel and marched to the queen's parlour, where she found Sollace relaxing among her cushions while Father Umphred read psalms in sonorous Latin from a scroll. Sollace understood none of the sense, but she found Father Umphred's voice soothing, and meanwhile she refreshed herself with curds and honey from a bowl.

Lady Desdea stood impatiently to the side until Father Umphred completed his reading; then, in response to Sollace's inquiring nod, she told of Madouc's latest delinquency.

Sollace listened without emotion, supping all the while from her bowl.

Lady Desdea warmed to her subject. "I am bewildered! Rather than acting in accordance with my instructions, she chose to saunter here and there with Prince Cassander, heedless of the arrangements. Were her rank less exalted, one could almost think her controlled by a cacodaemon, or an esper or some other malignant entity! Such is the perversity of the child."

Queen Sollace failed to become exercised. "She is a trifle wayward; no doubt as to that."

Lady Desdea's voice rose in pitch. "I am at my wit's end! She does not even trouble to defy me; she simply pays me no heed. I might as well be talking out the window!"

"I will reprimand the child later this afternoon," said Queen Sollace. "Or perhaps tomorrow, if I decide to beat her. At the moment, I have a dozen other matters on my mind."

Father Umphred cleared his throat. "Perhaps Your Highness will allow me a suggestion."

"Of course! I value your counsel!"

Father Umphred placed the tips of his fingers together. "Lady Desdea alluded to the possibility of an alien influence. All taken with all, I think this unlikely-but not beyond the realm of imagination, and the Holy Church recognizes such afflictions. As a precaution I would suggest that the Princess Madouc be baptized into the Christian faith and thereupon be instructed in the tenets of orthodoxy. The routines of devotion, meditation and prayer will gently but surely persuade her to those virtues of obedience and humility which we so long to inculcate in her."

Queen Sollace put aside the empty bowl. "The idea has merit, but I wonder if the Princess Madouc would find such a program appealing."

Father Umphred smiled. "A child is the last to appreciate what is pure and good. If Princess Madouc finds the environment of Haidion too stimulating, we can send her to the convent at Bulmer Skeme. The Mother Superior is both thorough and rigorous when the need exists."

Queen Sollace sank back into the cushions of the couch. "I will discuss the matter with the king."

Sollace waited until King Casmir had taken his supper, and had become somewhat mellow with wine; then, as if casually, she brought Madouc's name into the conversation. "Have you heard the latest? Madouc is not behaving as I might hope."

"Ah bah," growled King Casmir. "It is no great matter. I am bored with this constant recital."

"It is a subject not to be dismissed lightly. With full and insolent purpose she defied the instructions of Lady Desdea! Father Umphred is convinced that Madouc should be baptized and trained in Christian doctrine."

"Eh? What nonsense is this?"

"It is scarcely nonsense," said Sollace. "Lady Desdea is beside herself with anxiety; she suspects that Madouc is moonstruck or possibly possessed by a familiar."

"Absurd! The girl is full of nervous energy." For a variety of reasons, Casmir had never informed Sollace of Madouc's provenance, nor the fact of her fairy blood. He said gruffly: "She is a bit odd, perhaps, but no doubt she will grow out of it."

"Father Umphred believes that Madouc is definitely in need of religious guidance and I agree."

Casmir's voice took on an edge: "You are far too amiable with that fat priest! I will send him away if he does not keep his opinions to himself!"

Sollace said stiffly: "We are concerned only for the salvation of Madouc's eternal soul!"

"She is a clever little creature; let her worry about her own soul."

"Hmf," said Sollace. "Whoever marries Madouc will be getting far more than he bargained for."

King Casmir gave a frosty chuckle. "You are correct on this account, for more reasons than one! In any event we will be off to Sarris in a week's time and everything will be changed."

"Lady Desdea will have more difficulty than ever," said Sollace with a sniff. "Madouc will run wild as a hare."

"Lady Desdea must then give chase, if she is truly in earnest."

"You minimize the difficulties," said Sollace. "As for me, I find Sarris tiresome enough, without added exasperation."

"The country air will do you a benefit," said Casmir. "We shall all enjoy Sarris."