Madouc

CHAPTER THREE

Each summer King Casmir moved with household and court to Sarris, a rambling old mansion about forty miles northeast of Lyonesse Town. The site, beside the River Glame, in a region of gently rolling parldand, was most pleasant. Sarris itself made no pretensions either to elegance or grandeur. Queen Sollace, for one, found the amenities at Sarris much inferior to those at Haidion, and described Sarris as ‘a great overgrown barn of a farmhouse'. She also decried the rustic informality which, despite her best efforts, pervaded life at Sarris and which, in her opinion, diminished the dignity of the court and, further, infected the servants with slackness.

There was little society at Sarris, other than an occasional banquet at which King Casmir entertained certain of the local gentry, most of whom Queen Sollace found tedious. She often spoke to King Casmir of her boredom: "In essence, I do not enjoy living like a peasant, with animals braying through the windows of my bedchamber and every cock of the fowl-run crying out alarums each morning before dawn."

King Casmir turned a deaf ear to the complaints. Sarris was sufficiently convenient for the conduct of state business; for sport he played his falcons and hunted his parldands, or at times, when the chase was hot, he ranged far beyond, sometimes into the fringes of Forest Tantrevalles, only a few miles to the north.

The rest of the royal household also found Sarris to their taste. Prince Cassander was attended by convivial comrades; daily they amused themselves riding abroad, or boating on the river, or practicing the sport of jousting, which recently had become fashionable. During the evening they fancied sport of another kind, in association with certain merry girls of the locality, using an abandoned gamekeeper's cottage for their venue.

Princess Madouc also took pleasure in the move, which, if nothing else, delivered her from the attendance of her six maids- in-waiting. Her pony Tyfer was ready at hand; every day she rode happily out on the meadows, with Pymfyd for her groom. Not all circumstances were halcyon; she was expected to comport herself in a style befitting her place. Madouc, however, paid little heed to the circumscriptions imposed by Lady Desdea, and followed her own inclinations.

Lady Desdea at last took Madouc aside for an earnest discus sion. "My dear, it is time and past time that reality enters your life! You must accept the fact that you are the Princess Madouc of Lyonesse, not some vulgar little ruffian girl, with neither rank nor responsibility!"

"Very well, Lady Desdea; I will remember this. Can I go now?"

"Not yet; in fact, I am barely started. I am trying to point out that each of your acts redounds to the credit, or discredit, not only of yourself and the royal family, but of the entire kingdom! It is awesome to think about! Are you quite clear on this?"

"Yes, Lady Desdea. And yet-"

"And yet-what?"

"No one seems to notice my conduct but you. So it makes little difference after all, and the kingdom is not in danger."

"It makes a great deal of difference!" snapped Lady Desdea. "Bad habits are easy to learn and hard to forget! You must learn the gracious good habits that will make you admired and respected!"

Madouc gave a doubtful assent. "I do not think anyone will ever admire my needlework or respect my dancing."

"Nevertheless, these are skills and graces which you must learn, and learn well! Time is advancing; the days go by; the months become years while you are not even noticing. Before long there will be talk of betrothals, and then you and your conduct will be the subject of the most minute scrutiny and the most careful analysis."

Madouc gave a disdainful grimace. "If anyone scrutinizes me, they will need no analysis to discover what I think of them."

"My dear, that is not the proper attitude."

"No matter; I want nothing to do with such things. They must look elsewhere for their betrothals."

Lady Desdea chuckled grimly. "Do not be too positive too soon, since surely you will change your mind. In any case, I expect you to start practicing genteel conduct."

"It would be a waste of time."

"Indeed? Consider this case. A noble prince comes to Lyonesse, hoping to meet a princess modest and pure, of charm and delicacy. He asks: ‘And where is Princess Madouc, who, so I expect, is beautiful, kind and good?' For answer they point out the window and say: ‘There she goes now!' He looks out the window and sees you running past, helter-skelter, hair like red rope, with all the charm and grace of a banshee from hell! What then?"

"If the prince is wise, he will order up his horse and leave at once." Madouc jumped to her feet. "Are you finished? If so, I will be happy to leave."

"Go."

Lady Desdea sat still and stiff for ten minutes. Then, abruptly, she rose to her feet and marched to the queen's boudoir. She found Sollace sitting with her hands in a slurry of powdered chalk and milk of milkweed, by which she hoped to mitigate the effects of the country water.

Queen Sollace looked up from the basin of slurry. "So then, Ottile! What a face you show me! Is it despair, or grief, or simple intestinal cramp?"

"You misread my mood, Your Highness! I have just spoken with Princess Madouc and now I must make a discouraging report."

Sollace sighed. "Again? I am becoming apathetic when her name is mentioned! She is in your hands. Teach her the proprieties and a few graces, together with dancing and needlework; that is enough. In a few years we will marry her off. Until then, we must bear with her oddities."

"If she were only ‘odd', as you put it, I could deal with her. Instead she has become a full-fledged tomboy, and is intractable to boot. She swims the river where I can not venture; she climbs the trees and hides from my call in the foliage. Her favorite resort is the stables; always she stinks of horse. I know not how to control her."

Sollace pulled her hand from the slurry and decided that the treatment had worked its best effect. Her maid started to wipe away the paste, prompting an outcry from Sollace: "Take care, Nelda! You are flaying me alive with your strenuous work! Do you think I am made of leather?"

"I am sorry, Your Highness. I will be more careful. Your hands are now truly beautiful!"

Queen Sollace gave a grudging nod. "That is why I endure such hardships. What were you saying, Ottile?"

"What shall be done with Princess Madouc?"

Sollace looked up blankly, eyes large and bovine. "I am not quite clear on her fault."

"She is undisciplined, free as a lark and not always tidy. There are smuts on her face and straws in her hair, if that flying red tousle deserves the word. She is careless, impudent, willful and wild."

Queen Sollace sighed once again and selected a grape from the bowl at her elbow. "Convey my displeasure to the princess and explain that I will be satisfied only with her proper deportment."

"I have already done so ten times. I might as well be talking to the wind."

"Hmf. She is no doubt as bored as I. This rusticity is maddening. Where are the little maids who attend her so nicely at Haidion? They are so dainty and sweet and nice; Madouc would surely profit from their example."

"So one might imagine, in the ordinary case."

Queen Sollace chose another grape. "Send off for two or three of these maidens. Indicate that they are to guide Madouc in a gentle and discreet fashion. Time rushes on, and already we must look to the future!"

"Just so, Your Highness!"

"Who is that little blond maiden, so winsome and full of pretty wiles? She is like myself at her age."

"That would be Devonet, daughter to Duke Malnoyard Odo of Castle Folize."

"Let us have her here at Sarris, and another as well. Who shall it be?"

"Either Ydraint or Chlodys; I think Chlodys, who is some what more durable. I will make arrangements at once. Still, you must expect no miracles."

A week later Devonet and Chlodys arrived at Sarris and were instructed by Lady Desdea. She spoke dryly: "The country air has affected Princess Madouc strangely, as if it were a vital tonic, perhaps to her excessive invigoration. She has become careless of decorum, and is also somewhat flighty. We hope that she will profit by the example you set for her, and possibly your carefully phrased advice."

Devonet and Chlodys went to join Madouc. After long search they found her perched high in a cherry tree, plucking and eating plump red cherries.

Madouc saw the two without pleasure. "I thought that you had gone to your homes for the summer. Are they tired of you so soon?"

"Not at all," said Devonet with dignity. "We are here by royal invitation."

Chlodys said: "Her Highness feels that you need proper companionship."

"Ha," said Madouc. "No one asked me what I wanted."

"We are supposed to set you a good example," said Devonet. "As a start, I will point out that a lady of refinement would not wish to be found so high in a tree."

"Then I am a lady of refinement well and truly," said Madouc, "since I did not wish to be found."

Chlodys looked speculatively up into the branches. "Are the cherries ripe?"

"Quite ripe."

"Are they good?"

"Very good indeed."

"Since they are handy, you might pick a few for us."

Madouc selected two cherries and dropped them into Chlodys' hands. "Here are some the birds have pecked."

Chlodys looked at the cherries with a wrinkled nose. "Are there none better?"

"Certainly. If you climb the tree you can pick them."

Devonet tossed her head. "I don't care to soil my clothes."

"As you like."

Devonet and Chlodys moved to the side, where they settled themselves carefully in the grass and spoke in low voices. Occasionally they glanced up toward Madouc and giggled as if at some ludicrous consideration.

Madouc presently climbed down through the branches and jumped to the ground. "How long will you stay at Sarris?"

"We are here at the queen's pleasure," said Devonet. She looked Madouc up and down, and laughed incredulously. "You are wearing a boy's breeches!"

Madouc said coldly: "If you found me in the tree without, you might have more cause for criticism."

Devonet gave a scornful sniff. "Now that you are on the ground, you should instantly go change. A pretty frock would be ever so much nicer."

"Not if I should decide to go out with Tyfer for an hour or two."

Devonet blinked. "Oh? Where would you go?"

"Most anywhere. Perhaps along the riverbank."

Chiodys asked with delicate emphasis: "Who is ‘Tyfer'?"

Madouc gave her a wondering blue-eyed stare. "What odd things must go on in your mind! Tyfer is my horse. What else could he be?"

Chiodys giggled. "I was a bit confused."

Without comment, Madouc turned away.

Devonet called out: "Where are you going?"

"To the stables."

Devonet screwed up her pretty face. "I don't want to go to the stables. Let us do something else."

Chiodys suggested: "We can sit in the garden and play ‘Tit tiewit' or ‘Cockalorum'!"

"That sounds like fine sport!" said Madouc. "You two start the game. I will join you presently."

Chlodys said doubtfully: "It's no fun with just two!"

"Besides," said Devonet, "Lady Desdea wants us to attend you."

"It's so that you may learn proper manners," said Chiodys.

"That, in fact, is the way of it," said Devonet. "Without pedigree you can't be expected to come by such things naturally as we do."

"I have a fine pedigree somewhere," said Madouc bravely. "I am certain of it, and one day I will make a search-perhaps sooner than later."

Devonet gave a choked gurgle of laughter. "Do you go now to search the stables?"

Madouc turned her back and walked away. Devonet and Chlodys looked after her with vexation. Chlodys called: "Wait for us! We will come with you, but you must behave properly!"

Later in the day Devonet and Chlodys reported to Lady Desdea. Both were thoroughly annoyed with Madouc, who had acceded to none of their wishes. "She kept us there forever while she groomed her Tyfer horse and braided its mane!"

But worse was to come. Madouc finished with Tyfer and led him away, but failed to return. The two girls went to find her. As they picked their way fastidiously around the stable, an exit gate swung open without warning, thrusting them from the stone coping into the drainage sump, so that both stumbled and fell. At this point Madouc appeared in the opening and asked why they were playing in the manure. "This is not what I consider ladylike behavior," Madouc told them haughtily. "Have you no regard for decency?"

Lady Desdea could only deplore the misfortune. "You should be more careful. Still, Madouc need not lavish so much time on that horse. Tomorrow I shall see to it! We shall sit to our needlework, with honeycakes and sangaree for us all to enjoy."

At twilight the three girls supped on cold fowl and onion pudding in a pleasant little room overlooking the park. Prince Cassander came to sit with them. At his order, the steward brought a flask of pale sweet wine. Cassander sat back in his chair, sipping from the goblet and talking largely of his theories and exploits. On the morrow he and his comrades intended to ride north to Flauhamet, a town on Old Street, where a great fair was in progress. "There will be jousting,"* said Cassander. "Perhaps I will take up a gage or two, if the competition is fair; we do not wish to compete against yokels and ploughboys; that goes without saying."

Even at her relatively early age, Devonet was always ready to test her skills. "You must be very brave, to take such risks!"

Cassander made an expansive gesture. "It is a complicated skill, comprised of practice, horsemanship and natural ability. I flatter myself that I run a good course. You three should come to Flauhamet, at least to see the fair. Then, should we joust, we will wear your ribbons! What do you think of that?"

"It sounds splendid," said Chlodys. "But Lady Desdea has other plans for tomorrow."

"In the morning we will sit at our needlework in the conservatory, while Master Jocelyn sings to the lute." Devonet darted a glance toward Madouc. "In the afternoon the queen holds court and we will all attend her, as is proper."

"Ah well, you must do what Lady Desdea thinks best," said Cassander. "Perhaps there will be another occasion before summer is over."

"I do hope so!" said Devonet. "It would be most exciting to watch you vanquish your opponents, one after the other!"

"It is not so easy as that," said Cassander. "And there may be only bumpkins on plough horses to ride against. Still, we shall see."

II

In the morning, early, with the sun still red in the east, Madouc rose from her bed, dressed, took a hasty breakfast of porridge and figs in the kitchen, then ran around to the stables. Here she searched out Pymfyd and commanded him to saddle Tyfer, and his own horse as well.

Pymfyd blinked, yawned and scratched his head. "It is neither entertaining nor sensible to ride out so early."

"Do not attempt to think, Pymfyd! I have already made the decisions. Merely saddle the horses, and without delay."

"I see no need for haste," growled Pymfyd. "The day is young and the day is long."

"Is it not clear? I want to avoid Devonet and Chlodys! You have heard my orders; please be quick."

"Very good, Your Highness." Pymfyd languidly saddled the horses, and led them from the stable. "Where do you intend to ride?"

"Here, there, up the lane, perhaps as far as Old Street."

"Old Street? That is a goodly distance: four miles, or is it five?"

"No matter; the day is fine and the horses are eager for their run."

"But we will not be back for our dinner! Must I go hungry on this account?"

"Come along, Pymfyd! Today your stomach is not important."

"Perhaps not to you of the royalty, who nibble at will upon saffron cakes and tripes in honey! I am a vulgar lout with a gut to match, and now you must wait till I find bread and cheese for my dinner."

"Be quick!"

Pymfyd ran off and returned a few moments later carrying a cloth sack which he tied to the back of his saddle.

Madouc asked: "Are you ready at last? Then let us be off."

III

The two rode up Sarris Way across the royal parkland: past meadows sparkling with daisies, lupines, wild mustard, flaming red poppies, past copses of ash and birch; through the shade of massive oaks where they overhung the lane. They departed the royal domain through a stone portal and almost immediately encountered a crossroads, where Sarris Way became Fanship Lane.

Madouc and Pymfyd rode north up Fanship Lane, not without grumbling from Pymfyd, who could not understand Madouc's interest in Old Street. "There is nothing to see but the road, which runs to the right and also to the left."

"Just so," said Madouc. "Let us proceed."

The countryside presently became marked by evidence of cultivation: fields planted to oats and barley, marked off by old stone fences, an occasional farmhouse. After a mile or two, the lane ascended a long easy slope by slants and traverses, finally, at the top of the rise, intersecting with Old Street.

Madouc and Pymfyd pulled up their horses. Looking back across the panorama to the south, they could trace the entire length of Fanship Lane to the crossroads, and beyond, across the king's park to the poplars beside the River Glame, though Sarris itself was concealed behind trees.

As Pymfyd had asserted, Old Street continued in both directions, over the downs and out of sight. Fanship Lane, crossing Old Street, proceeded onward toward the somber loom of Forest Tantrevalles, at this point little more than a mile to the north.

At the moment Old Street was empty of traffic: a fact that seemed to excite Pymfyd's suspicions. Craning his neck, he stared first in one direction then the other. Madouc watched in puzzlement, and finally asked: "Why are you searching so carefully, when there is nothing to be seen?"

"That is what I want to see."

"I don't quite understand."

"Naturally not," said Pymfyd loftily. "You are too young to know the woes of the world, which are many. There is also much wickedness, if one cares to look, or even if one takes care not to look."

Madouc inspected the road: first to the east, then to the west. "At the moment I see nothing either woeful or wicked."

"That is because the road is empty. Wickedness often springs into view from nowhere, which makes it so fearful."

"Pymfyd, I believe that you are obsessed by fear."

"It may well be, since fear rules the world. The hare fears the fox, who fears the hound, who fears the kennelmaster, who fears the lord, who fears the king whose fears I would not have the impudence to think upon."

"Poor Pymfyd! Your world is built of fear and dread! As for me, I have no time for such emotions."

Pymfyd spoke in an even voice. "You are a royal princess and I may not call you a witless little fool, even should the thought cross my mind."

Madouc turned him a sad blue-eyed glance. "So that, after all, is your concept of me."

"I will say only this: persons who fear nothing are soon dead."

"I have a fear or two," said Madouc. "Needlework, Master Jocelyn's dancing lessons, one or two other things which need not be mentioned."

"I have many fears," said Pymfyd proudly. "Mad dogs, lepers and leper bells, hellhorses, harpies, and witches; lightning- riders and the creatures who live at the bottom of wells; also: hop-legs, irchments and ghosts who wait by the lych gate."

"Is that all?" asked Madouc.

"By no means! I fear dropsy, milkeye and the pox. Now that I think of it, I very much fear the king's displeasure! We must turn back before someone sees us so far from Sarris and carries tales!"

"Not so fast!" said Madouc. "When it is time to return I will give the signal." She studied the signpost. "Flauhamet is only four miles distant."

Pymfyd cried out in quick alarm: "Four miles or four hundred - it makes no difference!"

"Prince Cassander mentioned the Flauhamet fair, and said it was very gay."

"One fair is much like another," declared Pymfyd. "The favored resort of rogues, cheats and cut-purses!"

Madouc paid no heed. "There are to be jugglers, buffoons, songsters, stilt-dancers, mimes and mountebanks."

"These folk are by and large disreputable," growled Pymfyd. "That is common knowledge."

"There is also a tournament of jousting. Prince Cassander may take a turn in the lists, if the competition suits him."

"Hmf. That I doubt."

"Oh? How so?"

Pymfyd looked off across the landscape. "It is not fitting that I discuss Prince Cassander."

"Speak! Your words will go no farther."

"I doubt if he will risk the lists with so many folk to watch should he take a tumble."

Madouc grinned. "For a fact, he is vain. In any event, I don't care to watch the jousting. I would rather wander among the booths."

Pymfyd's honest face took on a set of mulish obstinacy. "We cannot ride into town so free and easy, to rub elbows with the bumpkins! Can you imagine Her Majesty's disapproval? You would be chided and I would be beaten. We must turn back, since the day advances."

"It is still early! Devonet and Chiodys are only just settling to their needlework."

Pymfyd gave a cry of consternation. He pointed westward along Old Street. "Folk are approaching; they are gentry and you will be recognized! We must be gone before they arrive."

Madouc heaved a sigh. Pymfyd's logic could not be refuted. Reining Tyfer about, she started back along Fanship Lane, only to stop short.

"What now?" demanded Pymfyd.

"A party is coming up Fanship Lane. That is Cassander on the bay horse, and it is no doubt King Casmir himself on the great black charger."

Pymfyd gave a groan of despair. "We are trapped!"

"Not so! We will cross Old Street and take cover up Fanship Lane until the way is clear."

"A sound idea, for once!" muttered Pymfyd. "Hurry! There is no time to waste; we can hide behind yonder trees!"

Touching up their horses, the two trotted across Old Street and north along the continuation of Fanship Lane, which quickly became little more than a track across the meadow. They approached a copse of poplar trees, where they hoped to take concealment.

Madouc called over her shoulder: "I smell smoke!"

Pymfyd called back: "There will be a crofter's hut nearby. You smell the smoke from his hearth."

"I see no hut."

"That is not our great concern. Quick now, into the shade!" The two took themselves under the poplars, where they discovered the source of the smoke: a fire over which a pair of vagabonds roasted a rabbit. One was short and big-bellied, with a round flat face surrounded by an untidy fringe of black beard and black hair. The second was tall and thin as a stick, lank of arm and leg, with a face long and vacuous, like the face of a cod. Both wore ragged garments and tattered buskins. The tall vagabond wore a high piked cap of black felt; his fat comrade wore a low-crowned hat with a very wide brim. To the side were a pair of sacks in which they evidently carried their belongings. At the sight of Madouc and Pymfyd, the two rose to their feet, and stood appraising the situation.

Madouc gave the two a cold inspection in return, and concluded that never had she encountered a more unsavory pair of rogues.

The short fat vagabond spoke: "And what are you two doing here, so fresh and airy?"

"That is none of your concern," said Madouc. "Pymfyd, let us proceed; we disturb these persons at their meal."

"Not at all," said the short vagabond. He spoke to his tall comrade without taking his eyes from Madouc and Pymfyd. "Ossip, have a look down the lane; see who else is near."

"All clear; no one in sight," reported Ossip.

"Those are fine horses," said the burly rogue. "The saddles and fitments are also of fine quality."

"Sammikin, notice! The red-haired brat wears a golden clasp."

"Is it not a farce, Ossip? That some wear gold, while others go without?"

"It is the injustice of life! Were I to wield power, everyone should share alike!"

"That is a noble concept indeed!"

Ossip peered at Tyfer's bridle. "See here! Even the horse wears gold!" He spoke with unctuous fervor: "Here is rich ness!"

Sammikin snapped his fingers. "I cannot help but rejoice! The sun shines bright and our luck has turned at last!"

"Still, we must exert ourselves in a certain way that we know of, in order to safeguard our reputations."

"Wise words, Ossip!" The two moved forward. Pymfyd called sharply to Madouc: "Ride off at speed!" He wheeled his own horse, but Ossip reached out a gangling arm and seized his bridle. Pymfyd kicked out vigorously and caught Ossip in the face, causing him to blink and clap his hand to his eye. "Ah, you little viper; you have shown your teeth! Alas, my poor face! What pain!"

Sammikin had made a dancing little run toward Madouc, but she had kicked Tyfer into motion, to ride a few yards up the lane, where she halted in an agony of indecision.

Sammikin turned back to where Ossip still hung to the bridle of Pymfyd's horse, despite Pymfyd's kicks and curses. Sammikin, coming up behind, seized Pymfyd around the waist and flung him rudely to the ground. Pymfyd bellowed in outrage. Rolling to the side, he seized up a broken tree branch and, jumping to his feet, he stood at bay. "Dogs!" He brandished the limb with hysterical bravado. "Vermin! Come at me if you dare!" He looked over his shoulder to where Madouc sat rigid on Tyfer. "Ride away, you little fool, and be quick! Fetch help!"

Sammikin and Ossip without haste took up their staffs and closed in on Pymfyd, who defended himself with might and main, until Sammikin's staff broke his branch into splinters. Sammikin feinted; Ossip raised his staff on high and struck Pymfyd across the side of the head, so that Pymfyd's eyes looked in opposite directions. He fell to the ground. Sammikin struck him again and again, while Ossip tied Pymfyd's horse to a tree. He started at a run toward Madouc. She finally roused herself from stupefaction, wheeled Tyfer, and set off up the lane at a gallop.

Pymfyd's head lolled to the side, with blood trickling from his mouth. Sammikin stood back with a grunt of approval. "This one will carry no tales! Now for the other."

Madouc, crouching low in the saddle, galloped up the lane, stone fences to either side. She looked over her shoulder; Ossip and Sammikin were trotting up the lane in pursuit. Madouc gave a low wild cry and kicked Tyfer to his best speed. She would ride up the lane until she found a gap in one of the fences, then dash away across the downs and back to Old Street.

Behind came the vagabonds, Ossip pacing with long stately strides, Sammikin pumping his arms and scuttling like a fat rat. As before, they seemed in no great haste.

Madouc looked right and left. A ditch flowing with water ran beside the lane on one side with the stone fence beyond; to the other, the fence had given way to a hawthorn hedge. Ahead the lane curved to the side and passed through a gap in the fence. Without a pause Madouc galloped Tyfer through the gap. She stopped short in consternation, to find that she had entered a sheepfold of no great extent. She looked here and there and all around, but discovered no exit.

Up the lane came Ossip and Sammikin, puffing and blowing from their exertion. Ossip called out in a fluting voice: "Nicely, nicely now! Stand your horse; be calm and ready! Do not make us dodge about!"

‘Quiet' is the word!" called Sammikin. "It will soon be over, and you will find it very quiet, so I am told."

"That is my understanding!" agreed Ossip. "Stand still and do not cry; I cannot abide a wailing child!"

Madouc looked desperately around the paddock, seeking a break or a low place over which Tyfer might jump, but in vain. She slid to the ground, and hugged Tyfer's neck. "Goodbye, my dear good friend! I must leave you to save my life!" She ran to the fence, scrambled up and over and was gone from the fold.

Ossip and Sammikin called out in anger: "Stop! Come back! It is all in fun! We mean no harm!"

Madouc turned a frightened glance over her shoulder and only fled the faster, with the dark shade of the Forest Tantrevalles now close at hand.

Cursing, lamenting the need for so much exercise, and calling out the most awful threats that came to their minds, Sammikin and Ossip scrambled over the fence and came in pursuit.

At the edge of the forest Madouc paused a moment to gasp and lean against the bole of a crooked old oak. Up the meadow, not fifty yards distant, came Ossip and Sammikin, both now barely able to run for fatigue. Sammikin took note of Madouc, where she stood by the tree, coppery curls in wild disarray. The two slowed almost to a halt, then advanced a sly step at a time. Sammikin called in a voice of syrup: "Ah, dear child, how clever you are to wait for us! Beware the forest, where the bogies live!"

Ossip added: "They will eat you alive and spit up your bones! You are safer with us!"

"Come, dear little chick!" called Sammikin. "We will play a jolly game together!"

Madouc turned and plunged into the forest. Sammikin and Ossip raised cries of wrathful disappointment. "Come back, you raddle-topped little itling!" "Now we are angry; you must be punished, and severely!" "Ah, vixen, but you will squeak and gasp and shudder! Our mercy? None! You had none for us!"

Madouc grimaced. Uneasy little spasms tugged at her stomach. What a terrible place the world could be! They had killed poor Pymfyd, so good and so brave! And Tyfer! Never would she ride Tyfer again! And if they caught her, they would wring her neck on the spot-unless they thought to use her for some unthinkable amusement.

Madouc stopped to listen. She held her breath. The thud and crush of heavy feet on the dead leaves came frighteningly close at hand. Madouc darted off at an angle, around a thicket of blackthorn and another of bay, hoping to befuddle her pursuers.

The forest became dense; foliage blocked away the sky, save only where a fallen tree, or an outcrop of rock, or some inexplicable circumstances, created a glade. A rotting log blocked Madouc's way; she clambered over, ducked around a blackberry bush, jumped a little rill where it trickled through watercress. She paused to look back and to catch her breath. Nothing fearful could be seen; undoubtedly she had evaded the two robbers. She held her breath to listen.

Thud-crunch, thud-crunch, thud-crunch: the sounds were faint and cautious but seemed to be growing louder, and, in fact, by chance, Ossip and Sammikin had glimpsed the flicker of Madouc's white smock down one of the forest aisles, and were still on her trail.

Madouc gave a little cry of frustration. She turned and once more fled through the forest, picking out the most devious ways and the darkest shadows. She slid through a thicket of alders, waded a slow stream, crossed a glade and made a detour around a great fallen oak. Where the roots thrust into the air she found a dark little nook, concealed by a bank of foxglove. Madouc crouched down under the roots.

Several minutes passed. Madouc waited, hardly daring to breathe. She heard footsteps; Ossip and Sammikin went blundering past. Madouc closed her eyes, fearing that they would feel the brush of her vision and stop short.

Ossip and Sammikin paused only an instant, to look angrily around the glade. Sammikin, hearing a sound in the distance, pointed his finger and gave a guttural cry; the two ran off into the depths of the forest. The thud of their footsteps diminished and was lost in the hush.

Madouc remained huddled in the cranny. She discovered that she was warm and comfortable; her eyelids drooped; despite her best intentions, she drowsed.

Time passed-how long? Five minutes? Half an hour? Madouc awoke, and now she felt cramped. Cautiously she began to extricate herself from the cranny. She stopped short. What was that sound, so thin and tinkling? Music? Madouc listened intently. The sounds seemed to come from a source not too far away, but hidden from her view by the foxglove foliage.

Madouc crouched indecisively, half in, half out of her covert. The music seemed artless and easy, even somewhat frivolous, with queer little trills and quavers. Such a music, thought Madouc, could not conceivably derive from threat or malice. She lifted her head and peered through the foxglove. It would be an embarrassment to be discovered hiding in such an undignified condition. She plucked up her courage and rose to her feet, ordering her hair and brushing dead leaves from her garments, all the while looking around the glade.

Twenty feet distant, on a smooth stone, sat a pinch-faced little creature, not much larger than herself, with sound seagreen eyes, nut-brown skin and hair. He wore a suit of fine brown stuff striped blue and red; a jaunty little blue cap with a panache of blackbird's feathers, and long pointed shoes. In one hand he held a wooden sound-box from which protruded two dozen small metal tongues; as he stroked the tongues music tinkled from the box.

The creature, taking note of Madouc, desisted from his play ing. He asked in a piping voice: "Why do you sleep when the day is so new? Time for sleep during owl's-wake."

Madouc replied in her best voice: "I slept because I fell asleep."

"I understand, at least better than I did before. Why do you stare at me? From marvelling admiration, as I would suppose?"

Madouc made a tactful response. "Partly from admiration, and partly because I seldom talk with fairies."

The creature spoke with petulance. "I am a wefkin, not a fairy. The differences are obvious."

"Not to me. At least, not altogether."

"Wefkins are calm and stately by nature; we are solitary philosophers, as it were. Further, we are a gallant folk, proud and handsome, which conduces to fate-ridden amours both with mortals and with other halflings. We are truly magnificent beings."

"That much is clear," said Madouc. "What of the fairies?" The wefkin made a gesture of deprecation. "An unstable folk, prone both to vagary and to thinking four thoughts at once. They are social creatures and require the company of their ilk; otherwise they languish. They chatter and titter; they preen and primp; they engage in grand passions which occupy them all of twenty minutes; extravagant excess is their watchword! Wefkins are paladins of valor; the fairies do deeds of wanton perversity. Has not your mother explained these distinctions to you?"

"My mother has explained nothing. She has long been dead."

‘Dead'? What's this again?"

"She is dead as Dinan's cat, and I can't help but think it inconsiderate of her."

The wefkin blinked his green eyes and played a pensive trill on his melody box. "This is grim news, and I am doubly surprised, since I spoke with her only a fortnight past, when she showed all her usual verve-of which, may I say, you have not been denied your full and fair share."

Madouc shook her head in perplexity. "You must mistake me for someone else."

The wefkin peered closely at her. "Are you not Madouc, the beautiful and talented child now accepted, if somewhat gracelessly, as ‘royal Princess of Lyonesse' by King Bumblehead?"

"I am she," said Madouc modestly. "But my mother was the Princess Suldrun."

"Not so! That is a canard! Your true mother is the fairy Twisk, of Thripsey Shee."

Madouc stared at the wefkin in open-mouthed wonder. "How do you know this?"

"it is common knowledge among the halflings. Believe or disbelieve, as you wish."

"I do not question your words," said Madouc hastily. "But the news comes as an astonishment. How did it happen so?"

The wefkin sat upright on the stone. Rubbing his chin with long green fingers, he appraised Madouc sidelong. "Yes! I will recite the facts of the case, but only if you request the favor- since I would not care to startle you without your express permission." The wefkin fixed his great green eyes upon Madouc's face. "Is it your wish that I do you this favor?"

"Yes, please!"

"Just so! The Princess Suldrun gave birth to a boy-child. The father was Aillas of Troicinet. The baby is now known as Prince Dhrun."

"Prince Dhrun! Now I am truly astonished! How can it be? He is far older than I!"

"Patience! You shall learn all. Now then. For safety the baby was taken to a place in the forest. Twisk chanced to pass by and exchanged you for the little blond boy-baby, and that is the way of it. You are a changeling. Dhrun lived at Thripsey Shee a year and a day by mortal time, but by fairy time, many years elapsed: seven, eight, or it might be nine; no one knows since no one keeps a reckoning."

‘

Madouc stood in bemused silence. Then she asked: "Am I then of fairy blood?"

"You have lived long years in human places, eating human bread and drinking human wine. Fairy stuff is delicate; who knows how much has been replaced with human dross? That is the way of it; still, all taken with all, it is not so bad a condition. Would you have it differently?"

Madouc reflected. "I would not want to change from the way I am-whatever that is. But in any case, I am grateful to you for the information."

"Save your thanks, my dear! It is just a little favor-barely enough to be reckoned."

"In that case, tell me who might be my father."

The wefkin chuckled. "You phrase the question with a nicety! Your father might be this one or he might be that one, or he might be someone far away and gone. You must ask Twisk, your mother. Would you like to meet her?"

"Very much indeed."

"I have a moment or two to spare. If you so request, I will teach you to call your mother."

"Please do!"

"Then you so request?"

"Of course!"

"I accede to your request with pleasure, and there will be no great increment to our little account. Step over here, if you will."

Madouc sidled from behind the bank of foxglove and approached the wefkin, who exuded a resinous odor, as if from crushed herbs and pine needles, mingled with bosk, pollen and musk.

"Observe!" said the wefkin in a grand voice. "I pluck a blade of saw grass; I cut a little slit here and another here; then I do thus, then so. Now I blow a gentle breath-very easy, very soft, and the virtue of the grass produces a call. Listen!"

He blew, and the grass whistle emitted a soft tone. "Now then: you must make just such a whistle with your own fingers."

Madouc started to make the whistle, then, troubled by a thought which had been working at the back of her mind, paused. She asked: "What do you mean when you speak of ‘our little account'?"

The wefkin made a flickering flourish of long-fingered hands. "Nothing of large significance: in the main, just a way of speaking."

Madouc dubiously continued her work. She paused again. "It is well known that fairies never give without taking. Is the same true of wefkins?"

"Bah! In large transactions, this might be the case. Wefkins are not an avaricious folk."

Madouc thought to detect evasiveness. "Tell me, then, how I must pay for your advice?"

The wefkin pulled at the flaps of his cap and tittered as if in embarrassment. "I will accept nothing of consequence. Neither silver nor gold, nor yet precious stuffs. I am happy to oblige someone so quick and pretty. If only for the joys of gratitude you may kiss the end of my nose, and that will settle our account. Is it agreed?"

Madouc looked askance at the wefkin and his long pointed nose, while the wefkin made foolish and inconsequential little gestures. Madouc said: "I will take the matter under advisement. I seldom kiss strangers; on their noses or elsewhere."

The wefkin scowled and jerked his knees up under his chin. After a moment he resumed his bland demeanour. "You are unlike your mother in this regard. Well, no matter. I only thought to-but again, no matter. Have you made your grass flute? Well done. Blow softly, with kind expression-ah! That is good. Stop now, and listen to my instruction. To summon your mother you must blow into the flute and sing in this wise:

‘Lirra lissa larra lass Madouc has made a flute of grass.

Softly blowing, wild and free She calls to Twisk at Thripsey Shee.

Lirra lissa larra leer A daughter calls her mother dear!

Tread the wind and vault the mere;

Span the sky and meet me here.

So sing I, Madouc.'

Madouc, after a diffident rehearsal, took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then blew a soft note on the grass flute and spoke the cantrap.

Nothing seemed to occur. Madouc looked here and there, then spoke to the wefkin. "Did I pronounce the charm correctly?"

A soft voice responded from behind the foxglove foliage: "You spoke the charm in good rendition." Twisk the fairy damsel came forward: a supple creature with a casual fluff of pale blue hair bound with a rope of sapphires.

Madouc called out in awe and rapture: "Are you truly my mother?"

"First things first," said Twisk. "How did you agree to pay Zocco for his services?"

"He wanted me to kiss his nose. I told him that I would take advice on the matter."

"Quite right!" declared Zocco the wefkin. "In due course I will vouchsafe the correct advice, and that will be the end of it. We need discuss the subject no further."

"Since I am her mother, I will provide the advice, and spare you the effort," said Twisk.

"No effort for me! I am deft and alert in my thinking!"

Twisk paid no heed. "Madouc, this is my advice: pick up yonder clod of dirt, and tender it to that popeyed little imp, speaking these words: ‘Zocco, with this token I both imburse and reimburse you, in full fee and total account, now and then, anon and forever, in this world and all others, and in every other conceivable respect, for each and every service you have performed for me or in my behalf, real or imaginary, to the limits of time, in all directions.'"

"Sheer rigmarole and tommyrot!" scoffed Zocco. "Madouc, pay no heed to this foolish blue-haired wiffet; you and I have our own arrangements, as you know."

Twisk came slowly forward, and Madouc was able to see her clearly: a lovely creature with skin the color of cream, features of surpassing delicacy. Her eyes, like those of Madouc, were wonderful dreaming sky-blue pools, in which a susceptible man might easily lose his wits. Twisk spoke to Madouc: "I will remark, as a matter of casual interest, that Zocco is notorious for his lewd conduct. If you kissed his nose you would be compelled into his service, and soon would be kissing him elsewhere, at his orders, and who knows what else?"

"This is unthinkable!" declared Madouc aghast. "Zocco seemed so affable and courteous!"

"That is the usual trick."

Madouc turned to Zocco. "I have now taken advisement." She picked up the clod of dirt. "Instead of kissing your nose, I tender you this token of my gratitude." She spoke the disclaimer which Twisk had contrived for her use, despite Zocco's squeaks and groans of protest.

With a pettish motion Zocco cast the clod of dirt aside. "Such tokens are useless! I cannot eat them; they are flavorless! I cannot wear them; they lack style, and they provide no amusement whatever!"

Twisk said: "Silence, Zocco; your complaints are crass."

"In addition to the token," said Madouc with dignity, "and despite your horrifying plans, I extend you my thanks, in that you have united me with my mother, and no doubt Twisk feels the same gratitude."

"What!" said Twisk. "I had long put your existence out of my mind. Why, may I ask, did you call me?"

Madouc's jaw dropped. "I wanted to know my mother! I thought all the time she was dead."

Twisk gave an indulgent laugh. "The error is absurd. I am surcharged with vivacity, of all kinds!"

"So I see! I regret the mistake, but I was given false information."

"Just so. You must learn to be more skeptical. But now you know the truth and I will be returning to Thripsey Shee!"

"Not yet!" cried Madouc. "I am your beloved daughter, and you have only just met me! Also, I need your help!"

Twisk sighed. "Is it not always the way? What then do you want of me?"

"I am lost in the forest! Two murderers killed Pymfyd and stole my horse Tyfer. They chased me and caused me a great fright; they wanted to kill me as well; also they called me a ‘scrawny red-headed whelp'!"

Twisk stared in shock and disapproval. "You meekly stood by and allowed these insults?"

"By no means! I ran away as fast as possible and hid."

"You should have brought them a waft of hornets! Or shortened their legs so that their feet adjoined their buttocks! Or transformed them into hedgehogs!"

Madouc gave an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know how to do these things."

Twisk sighed once more. "I have neglected your education; I cannot deny it. Well, no time like the present, and we shall make a start at this instant." She took Madouc's hands in her own. "What do you feel?"

"A quiver came over me-a sensation most strange!" wisk nodded and stood back. "Now then: hold your thumb and finger thus. Whisper ‘Fwip' and jerk your chin toward what ever nuisance you wish to abate. You may practice on Zocco."

Madouc pressed thumb and finger together. "Like this?"

"Just so."

"And: ‘Fwip'?"

"Correct."

"And jerk my chin-like this?"

Zocco uttered a screech and jumped four feet from the ground, twirling his feet rapidly in mid-air. "Hai hai kiyah!" called Zocco. "Put me down!"

"You have worked the spell correctly," said Twisk. "See how he twirls his feet, as if dancing? The spell is known as the ‘Tinkle-toe Imp-spring'."

Madouc allowed thumb and finger to separate and Zocco returned to the ground, sea-green eyes bulging from his head. "Hold hard on that mischief, and at once!"

Madouc spoke contritely. "Excuse me, Zocco! I think that I jerked my chin a bit too hard."

"That was my own thought," said Twisk. "Try again, using less force."

On this occasion Zocco jumped less than three feet into the air, and his outcries were considerably less shrill.

"Well done!" said Twisk. "You have a natural bent for such work!"

"It has come too late," gloomed Madouc. "Poor Pymfyd lies dead in the ditch, and all through my insistence upon the Flauhamet fair!"

Twisk made an airy gesture. "Did you strike Pymfyd dead?"

"No, Mother."

"Then you need feel no remorse."

Madouc's distress was not fully relieved. "All very well, but Ossip and Sammikin who struck the blows feel no remorse either! They beat poor Pymfyd till the blood gushed; then they chased me and stole Tyfer. I have met you and I am overjoyed for this reason, but at the same time I grieve for Pymfyd and Tyfer."

Zocco chuckled. "Just like a female, singing both bass and falsetto with the same breath!"

Twisk turned Zocco a glance of mild inquiry. "Zocco, did you speak?"

Zocco licked his lips. "An idle thought, no more."

"Since you lack occupation, perhaps you will look into the vexations which Madouc has described."

Zocco said peevishly: "I see no reason to oblige either you or your unappealing brat of a daughter."

"The choice is yours," said Twisk graciously. She spoke to to Madouc: "Wefkins are unimaginative. Zocco, for instance, envisions a future of blissful ease, with never a pang of discomfort.

Right or wrong?"

"He is wrong indeed."

Zocco jumped to his feet. "I find that I have a few moments to spare. It will do no harm to take a cursory look around the landscape, and perhaps make an adjustment or two."

Twisk nodded. "Please report your findings on the instant!" Zocco was gone. Twisk examined Madouc from head to toe. "This is an interesting occasion. As I mentioned, I had almost forgotten your existence."

Madouc spoke stiffly: "It was not very nice of you to give me away, your own darling little child, and take another in my place."

"Yes and no," said Twisk. "You were not as darling as you might like to think; indeed, you were something of a rippet. Dhrun was golden-haired and sweet-natured; he gurgled and laughed, while you screamed and kicked. It was a relief to be rid of you."

Madouc held her tongue; reproaches, clearly, would serve no useful purpose. She spoke with dignity: "I hope that I have given you reason to change your opinion."

"You might have turned out worse. I seem to have gifted you with a certain queer intelligence, and perhaps an inkling of my own extravagant beauty, though your hair is a frowst."

"That is because I have been running through the woods in terror and hiding under a rotten log. If you like, you may give me a magic comb, which will order my hair at a touch."

"A good idea," said Twisk. "You will find it under your pillow when you return to Sarris."

Madouc's mouth dropped. "Am I to return to Sarris?"

"Where else?" asked Twisk, somewhat tartly.

"We could live together in a pretty little castle of our own, perhaps beside the sea."

"That would not be practical. You are quite suitably housed at Sarris. But remember: no one must learn of our meeting - King Casmir, in particular!"

"Why so? Though I had no intention of telling him."

"It is a complicated story. He knows that you are a changeling, but, try as he might, he has never been able to identify Suldrun's true child. Were he to know-and he would force the truth from you-he would send out assassins, and Dhrun would soon be dead."

Madouc grimaced. "Why should he do such a terrible deed?"

"Because of a prediction in regard to Suldrun's first-born son, which causes him anxiety. Only the priest Umphred knows the secret and he hugs it close, at least for the moment. Now then, Madouc, while this has been an interesting occasion-"

"Not yet! There is still much to talk about! Will we meet again soon?"

Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. "I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans."

"I am not sure whether I live in a flux or not," said Madouc. "I know only that Devonet and Chiodys call me ‘bastard' and insist that I lack all pedigree."

"In a formal sense, they are correct, if somewhat rude."

Madouc spoke wistfully: "I suspected as much. Still, I would like to know the name of my father and all the particulars of his personality and condition."

Twisk laughed. "You pose a conundrum I cannot even begin to solve."

Madouc spoke in shock: "You cannot remember his name?"

"No.

"Nor his rank? Nor his race? Nor his appearance?"

"The episode occurred long ago. I cannot recall every trifling incident of my life."

"Still, since he was my father, he was surely a gentleman of rank, with a very long and fine pedigree."

"I remember no such individual."

"It seems, then, that I cannot even claim to be a bastard of high degree!"

Twisk had become bored with the subject. "Make whatever claim you like; no one can disprove you, not even I! In any case, bastard or not, you are still reckoned to be Princess Madouc of Lyonesse! This is an enviable estate!"

From the corner of her eye Madouc glimpsed a flicker of green and blue. "Zocco has returned."

Zocco reported his findings. "Neither corpse nor cadaver made itself known, and I adjudged the issue to be moot. Proceeding eastward along Old Street, I discovered two rogues on horseback. Fat Sammikin sat high on a tall bay like the hump on a camel. Ossip Longshanks bestrode a dappled pony, with his feet dragging the ground."

"Alas, poor Tyfer!" mourned Madouc.

Twisk asked: "And how did you resolve the case?"

"The horses are tethered in the paddock. The rogues are running across Lanklyn Down pursued by bears."

"Sammikin perhaps should have been transformed into a toad and Ossip into a salamander," said Twisk. "I would also have verified Pymfyd's death more carefully, if only that I might observe the prodigy of a walking corpse."

Madouc suggested: "Perhaps he is not dead?"

"That, of course, is possible," said Twisk.

Zocco grumbled: "If he wanted to be thought dead, he should have remained in place."

"Quite so," said Twisk. "Now you may go your way. In the future try no more sly tricks upon my innocent young daughter."

Zocco grumbled: "She is young, but I doubt if she is all so innocent. Still, I will now bid you farewell." Zocco seemed to fall backward off the stone and was gone.

"Zocco is not a bad sort, as wefkins go," said Twisk. "Now then, time presses. It has been a pleasure to meet you after so many years, but-"

"Wait!" cried Madouc. "I still know nothing of my father, nor my pedigree!"

"I will give the matter thought. In the meantime-"

"Not yet, Mother dear! I need your help in a few other small ways!"

"If I must, I must," said Twisk. "What are your needs?"

"Pymfyd may be in bad case, sore and ill. Give me something to make him well."

"That is simple enough." Twisk plucked a laurel leaf, spat delicately into its center. She folded the leaf into a wad, touched it to her forehead, nose and chin, and gave it to Madouc. "Rub this upon Pymfyd's wounds, for his quick good health. Is there anything else? If not-"

"There is something else! Should I use the Tinkle-toe upon Lady Desdea? She might jump so high as to cause an embarrassment, or even to injure herself!"

"You have a kind heart," said Twisk. "As for the Tinkle-toe, you must learn to gauge both the finesse of your gesture and the thrust of your chin. With practice, you will control the vigor of her jump to exactly a proper altitude. What else?"

Madouc considered. "I would like a wand to do transformations, a cap of invisibility, swift slippers to walk the air, a purse of boundless wealth, a talisman to compel the love of all, a mirror-"

"Stop!" cried Twisk. "Your needs are excessive!"

"It does no harm to ask," said Madouc. "When will I see you again?"

"If necessary, come to Thripsey Shee."

"How will I find this place?"

"Fare along Old Street to Little Saffield. Turn north up Timble Way, pass first through Tawn Timble, then Glymwode, which is hard by the forest. Take directions to Wamble Path, which leads into Thripsey Meadow. Arrive at noon, but never at night, for a variety of reasons. Stand at the edge of the meadow and softly speak my name three times, and I will come. If nuisances are committed upon you, cry out: ‘Trouble me not, by fairy law!'"

Madouc made a hopeful suggestion: "It might be more convenient if I called you with the grass flute."

"More convenient for you perhaps; not necessarily for me." Twisk stepped forward and kissed Madouc's forehead. She stood back smiling. "I have been remiss, but that is my nature, and you must expect nothing better from me."

Twisk was gone. Madouc, her forehead tingling, stood alone in the glade. She looked at the place where Twisk had stood, then turned away and also departed.

IV

Madouc returned through the forest the way she had come. In the sheepfold she found Tyfer and Pymfyd's bay tethered to a post. She mounted Tyfer and rode down the lane toward Old Street, leading the bay. As she rode, she searched carefully to either side of the way, but Pymfyd was nowhere to be seen, neither alive nor dead. The circumstances caused Madouc both anxiety and puzzlement. If Pymfyd were alive, why had he lain so limp and still in the ditch? If Pymfyd were dead, why should he walk away?

Madouc, with wary glances to right and left, crossed Old Street into Fanship Way. She continued south, and presently arrived at Sarris. In a mournful mood she took the horses around to the stables, and at last the mystery in regard to Pymfyd's disappearance was clarified. Sitting disconsolately beside the dungheap was Pymfyd himself.

At the sight of Madouc, Pymfyd jumped to his feet. "At last you trouble to show yourself!" he cried out. "Why have you dallied so long?"

Madouc responded with dignity: "I was delayed by events beyond my control."

"All very well!" growled Pymfyd. "Meanwhile I have been sitting here on tenterhooks! If King Casmir had come before your return, I would now be crouching deep in a dungeon."

"Your worries seem far less for me than for yourself," said Madouc with a sniff.

"Not so! I made several guesses as to your probable fate, and was not cheered. Exactly what happened to you?"

Madouc saw no need to report the full scope of her adventures. "The robbers chased me deep into the forest. After I eluded them I circled back to Old Street and rode home. That, in general, is what happened." She dismounted from Tyfer, and examined Pymfyd from head to toe. "You seem in adequately good health. I feared that you were dead, from the effect of so many cruel blows."

"Hah!" said Pymfyd scornfully. "I am not so easily daunted! My head is thick."

"On the whole, and taking all with all, your conduct cannot be faulted," said Madouc. "You fought your best."

"True! Still, I am not a fool! When I saw how events were going I feigned death."

"Have you bruises? Do you hurt?"

"I cannot deny a few aches and as many pains. My head throbs like a great bell!"

"Approach me, Pymfyd! I will try to allay your suffering."

Pymfyd asked suspiciously: "What do you plan to do?"

"You need ask no questions."

"I tend to be cautious in the matter of cures. I want neither cathartics nor clysters."

Madouc paid no heed to the remark. "Come here and show me where you hurt."

Pymfyd approached and gingerly indicated his bruises. Madouc applied the poultice she had received from Twisk, and Pymfyd's pain instantly disappeared.

"That was well done," said Pymfyd grudgingly. "Where did you learn such a trick?"

"It is a natural art," said Madouc. "I also wish to commend your bravery. You fought hard and well, and deserve recognition." She looked here and there, but discovered no implement suitable to her needs save the manure fork. "Pymfyd, kneel before me!"

Once again Pymfyd stared in perplexity. "Now what?"

"Do as I say! It is my royal command!"

Pymfyd gave a fatalistic shrug. "I suppose I must humor you, though I see no reason for such humility."

"Cease grumbling, as well!"

"Then be quick with whatever game you are playing! Already I feel a fool."

Madouc took up the manure fork and raised it on high. Pymfyd dodged and threw his arm over his head. "What are you up to?"

"Patience, Pymfyd! This tool symbolizes a sword of fine steel!" Madouc touched the fork to Pymfyd's head. "For notable valor on the field of combat, I dub you Sir Pom-Pom, and by this title shall you be known henceforth. Arise, Sir Pom-Pom! In my eyes, at least, you have proved your mettle!"

Pymfyd rose to his feet, grinning and scowling at the same time. "The stablemen will not care a fig one way or the other."

"No matter! In my opinion you are now ‘Sir Pom-Pom'."

The newly knighted Sir Pom-Pom shrugged. "It is at least a start."