Tales From Cornwall: A History Of The Hubelaires

The Thirty and One

[Marvel 1938-11]

Cecil, Overlord of Walling in the Dark Forest, mused by the fire. The Blind Singer of Songs had sung the sagas of ancient times, had waited long for praise and then, disquiet, had left the banquet hall guided by his dog. The Juggler had merrily tossed his golden balls into the air till they seemed a glistening cascade, but still the Overlord had mused, unseeing. The wise Homonculus had crouched at his feet uttering words of wisdom and telling tales of Gobi and the buried city of Ankor. But nothing could rouse the Overlord from his meditations.

At last he stood up and struck the silver bell with a hammer of gold. Serving men answered the call.

“Send me the Lady Angelica and Lord Gustro,” he commanded and then once again sat down with chin in hand, waiting.

At last the two came in answer to his summons. The Lady was his only daughter, as fair and as wise a Lady as there was in all Walling. Lord Gustro some day would be her husband and help her rule in the Dark Forest. Meantime he perfected himself in the use of the broadsword, lute, the hunting with the falcon and the study of books. He was six foot tall, twenty years old and had in him the makings of a man.

The three sat around the fire, two waiting to hear the one talk, the one waiting till he knew just how to say what had to be said. At last Cecil began to talk.

“You no doubt know what is on my mind. For years I have tried to have happiness and peace and prosperity to the simple folk in our land of Walling. We were well situated in a valley surrounded by lofty, impassable forests. Only one mountain pass connected us with the great, cruel and almost unknown world around us. Into that world we sent in springtime, summer and fall our caravans of mules laden with grain, olives, wine and uncut stones. From that world we brought salt, weapons, bales of woolen and silken goods for our needs. No one tried to molest us, for we had nothing much that they coveted. Perhaps safety made us grow soft, sleepy and unprepared for danger.

“But it has come. We might have known there were things in that outer world we knew not of and therefore could not even dream of. But this spring our first caravan, winding over the mountains found, at the boundaries of the Dark Forest a Castle blocking their way. Their mules were not birds and could not fly over; they were not moles and could not burrow under. And the lads with the mules were not warriors and could not break their way through. So they came back, unmolested, his true, but with their goods unsold and unbartered.

“Now I do not think that Castle was built by magic. I have personally looked at it and it seems nothing but stone and mortar. And it is not held by an army of fighting men, for all we can hear of is that one man holds it. But what a man! Half again as tall as our finest lad, and skilled in the use of weapons. I tried him out. One at a time I sent to him John of the flying ax and Herman who had no equal with the double-edged sword and Rubin who could split a willow wand at two hundred paces with his steel-tipped arrow. These three men lie, worm food, in the ravine below the castle. And meantime our country is strangulated as far as trade is concerned. We have cattle in the meadow and wood in the forest and grain in the bin but we have no salt, no clothes to cover us from the cold, no finery for our women or weapons for our men. And we never will have as long as this castle and this man blocks our caravan's.”

“We can capture the Castle and kill the giant!” cried Lord Gustro, with the impetuosity of youth.

“How?” asked the Overlord. “Did I not tell yon that the path is narrow? You know that. On one side the mountains tower lofty as the flight of the bird and smooth as a woman’s skin. On the other side is the Valley of the Daemons and no one has ever fallen into it and come back alive. And the only path just wide enough for one man or one man-led mule, and that path, now leads through the castle. If we could send an army twould be different. But only one man at a time, and there is no one man equal to successful combat with this giant.”

The Lady Angelica smiled as she whispered, “We may conquer him through chicanery. For example, I have seen this hall filled with fighting men and fair ladies almost put into an endless sleep by gazing at the golden balls flying through the air and back into the clever hands of the Juggler. And the Blind Singer of Songs can make anyone forget all except the music of his tales. And our Homonculus is very wise.”

The Overlord shook his head. “Not thus will the question be answered. This madman wants one thing, and that one thing means everything in the lastward, as far as our land and people are concerned. Perhaps you have guessed. I will give you the demand ere you ask the question. Our Lady’s hand in marriage, and thus when I die he becomes the Overlord of Walling.”

Lady Angelica looked at Lord Gustro. He looked at the Overlord’s daughter. At last he said:

“Better to eat our grain and eat our olives and drink our wine. Better that our men wear bearskins and our women cover themselves with the skins of deers. It would be best for them to wear shoes of wood than pantufles of unicorn skin brought from Araby. It were a sweeter fate for them to perfume their bodies with crushed violets and may-flowers from our forest than to smell sweet with perfumes from the trees of the unknown Island of the East. This price is too heavy. Let us live as our fathers and fathers’ fathers lived, even climb trees like the monkey folk, than trust to such an Overlord. Besides I love the Lady Angelica.”

The Lady smiled her thanks. "I still am thinking of the use of intelligence overcoming brawn. Have we no wisdom left in Walling, besides the fair, faint dreams of a weak woman?”

“I will send for the Homonculus,” her father answered. “He may know the answer to that question.”

The little man came in. A man not born of women, but grown for seven years in a glass bottle, during all of which time he read books held before him by wise men, and was nourished with drops of wine and tiny balls of Asphodel paste. He listened to the problem gravely, though at times he seemed asleep. At last he said one word,

“Synthesis.”

Cecil reached over and, picking him up, placed him on one knee.

“Have pity on us, Wise Man. We are but simple folk and know but simple words. What is the meaning of this sage word?”

“I know not,” was the peculiar answer. “This but a word that came to me out of the past. It has a sweet sound and me thinks may have a meaning. Let me think. I recall now! It was when I was in the glass bottle that a wise man came and held before my eyes an illuminated parchment and on it was written in words of gold this word and its meaning.

“Synthesis. All things are one and one thing is all.”

“Which makes it all the harder for me,” sighed the Overlord of Walling.

The Lady Angelica left her seat and came over to her father. She sank upon the bearskin at his feet and took the little hand of the dwarf in hers.

“Tell me, my dear Homonculus, what wise man twas who thus gave you the message on the illuminated parchment?”

“It was a very wise man and a very old man who lives by himself in a cave by the babbling brook, and yearly the simple folk take him bread and meat and wine, but for years no one has seen him. And perhaps he lives and perhaps he is dead, for all I know is that the food disappears, but perhaps the birds think that it is for them now that he lies sightless and thoughtless on his stone bed these many years.”

“This is something we will find out for ourselves. Lord Gustro, order horses and the four of us will go to this man’s cave. Three horses for us, my Lord, and an ambling pad for our little friend so naught of harm will befall him.”

The four came to the cave and the four entered it. A light burned at the far end and there was the wise man, very old and with naught but his eyes telling of the intelligence that never ages. On the table before him in a tangled confusion were glass and earthenware and crucibles and one each of astrolabe, alembic and hourglass through which silver sands ran, and this was fixed with cunning machinery so that every day it tilted around and once more let the sand tell the passing of the twenty-and-four hours. There were books covered with mildewed leather and locked with iron padlocks and spider webs. Hung from the wet ceiling was a representation of the sun with the planets revolving eternally around that fair orb, but the pitted moon alternated with light and shadows.

And the wise man read from a book written in letters made by those long dead, and now and then he ate a crust of bread or sipped wine from a ram’s horn, but never did he stop reading and when they touched him on the shoulder to attract his attention he shook them off murmuring, “By the Seven Sacred Caterpillars! let me finish this page, for what a pity were I to die without knowing what this man wrote some thousand years ago in Ankor.”

But at last he finished the page and sat blinking at them with his wise eyes sunk deep into a mummy face while his body shook with the decrepitude of age. And Cecil asked him,

“What is the meaning of the word ‘synthesis?’”

“This a dream of mine which only now I find the waking meaning of.”

“Tell the dream,” the Overlord commanded.

“This but a dream. Suppose there were thirty wise men learned in all wisdom obtained from the reading of ancient books on alchemy and magic and histories and philosophy. These men knew of animals and jewels such as margarites and chrysoberyls and of all plants such as Dittany which cures wounds and Mandragora which compelleth sleep (though why men should want to sleep when there is so much to read and profit by the reading I do not know). But these men-are old and some day will die. So I would take these thirty old men and one young man and have them drink a wine that I have distilled these many years and by synthesis there would only be one body — that of the young man — but in that man’s brain would be all the subtle and ancient wisdom of the thirty savants, and thus we would do century after century so no wisdom would be lost to the world.”

The Lady Angelica leaned over his shoulder. “And have you made this wine?” she asked.

“Yes, and now I am working on its opposite, for why place thirty bodies into one unless you know the art of once again separating this one body into the original thirty. But that is hard. For any fool can pour the wine from thirty bottles into a single jar, but who is wise enough to separate them and restore them to their original bottles?”

“Have you tried this wine of synthetic magic?” asked the Overlord.

“Partly. I took a crow and a canary-bird and had them drink of it and now in yonder wicker cage a yellow crow sits and nightly fills my cave with song as though it came from the lutes and citherns of fairie-land.”

“Now that is my thought,” cried the Lady Angelica. “We wall take the best and bravest fighters of our land and the sweetest singer of songs and the best juggler of golden balls and thirty of them, and I myself will drink of this synthetic wine and thus the thirty will pass into my body and I will go and visit the Giant and in his hall I will drink of the other wine and there will be thirty to fight against the one and they will overcome him and slay him and then I will drink again of the vital wine and in my body I will carry the thirty conquerers back to Walling and then again drink and in my body carry the thirty heroes of this battle back to the dark forest, there to be liberated by your wonder wine. Have you enough of it, of both kinds?”

The old man looked puzzled.

“I have a flagon of the synthetic wine. Of the other to change the synthesized back into their original bodies only enough for one experiment and mayhaps a few drops more.”

“Try those drops on that yellow bird,” commanded Cecil.

The old man poured from a bottle of pure gold, graven with a worm that eternally renewed his youth by swallowing his tail, a few drops of a colorless liquid and offered it to the yellow bird in the wicker cage. This bird drank greedily and of a sudden there were two birds, a black crow and a yellow canary and ere the canary could pipe a song the crow pounced on it and killed it.

“It works,” croaked the old man. “It works.”

“Can you make more of the second elixir?” asked Lord Gustro.

“What I do once I can do twice,” proudly said the ancient.

“Then start and make more, and while you are doing it we will take the golden bottle and the flagon and see what can be done to save the simple folk of our dark forests, though this is an adventure that I think little of for this fraught with danger for a woman I love.” Thus spake the Overlord.

And with the elixirs in a safe place they rode away from the cave of the old man. But Lord Gustro took the Over-Lord aside and said,

“I ask a favor. Allow me to be one of these thirty men.”

Cecil shook his head. ‘‘No. And once again and forever NO! In the doing of this I stand to lose the apple of my eye, and if she comes not back to me I shall die of grief, and then you and you alone will be left to care for my simple folk. If a man has but two arrows and shoots one in the air, then he were wise to keep the other in his quiver against the day of need.”

The Lady Angelica laughed as she suspected the reason of their whispering.

“I will come back,” she said laughingly, “for the old man was very wise, and did you not see how the yellow bird divided into two and the crow killed the canary?”

But the Homonculus held in Lord Cecil’s arms started to cry.

“What wouldst thou?” asked the kindly Overlord.

“I would be back in my bottle again," sobbed the little one. And he sobbed till he went to sleep soothed by the rocking canter of the war horse.

Two evenings later a concourse of brave men met in the banquet hall. There were great silent men skilled in the use of mace, byrnies and baldricks, who could slay with sword, spear and double-bitted battle-ax. The Juggler was there, and a singer of songs and a reader of books, very young but very wise. And a man was there with sparkling eyes who could by their glance put men to death-sleep and waken them with the snap of thumb and finger. And to these were added the Overlord and Lord Gustro and the trembling Homonculus and on her throne sat the Lady Angelica very beautiful and very happy because of the great adventure she had a part to play in. And in her hand was a golden goblet and in the hand of the thirty men crystal glasses, and the thirty and one drinking vessels were filled with the wine of synthesis, for half of the flagon was poured out, but the flagon, half filled and the golden drug viand the Lady Angelica hid beneath her shimmering robe. Outside a ladies’ horse, decked with diamond-studded harness, neighed uneasy in the moonlight.

Lord Cecil explained the adventure, and all the thirty men sat very still and solemn; for never had they heard the like before, for they none feared a simple death but this dissolution was a thing that made even the bravest wonder what the end would be. But when the time came and the command given they one and all drained their vessels and even as the Lady drank her wine they drank to the last drop.

Then there was a silence broken only by the shrill cry of a hoot owl, complaining to the moon, concerning the doings of the night folk in the dark forest. The little Homonculus hid his face in the shoulder of the Overlord but Cecil and Lord Gustro looked straight ahead of them over the banquet table to see what was to be seen.

The thirty men seemed to shiver and then grew smaller in a mist that covered them and finally only empty places were left at the banquet table, and empty glasses. And only the two men and the Lady Angelica and the shivering Homonculus were left. And the Lady laughed.

“It worked,” she cried. “I look the same but I feel different, for in me are the potential bodies of the thirty brave men who will overcome the Giant and bring peace to the land. And now I will give you the kiss of hail and farewell and will adventure forth on my waiting horse.” And kissing her Father on the mouth and her lover on the cheek and the little one on the top of his curly-haired head she ran bravely out of the room and through the stillness they could hear her horse’s hoofs, silver-shod, pounding on the stones of the courtyard.

“I am afraid,” shivered the little one. “I have all wisdom but I am afraid as to this adventure and its ending.”

Lord Cecil comforted him. “You are afraid because you are so very wise. Lord Gustro and I would like to fear, but we are too foolish to do so. Can I do anything to comfort you, little friend of mine?”

“I wish I were back in my bottle,” sobbed the Homonculus, “but that cannot be because the bottle was broken when I was taken from it, for the mouth of it was very narrow, and a bottle once broken cannot be made whole again.” So all that night Lord Cecil rocked him to sleep singing to him lullabies while Lord Gustro sat wakeful before the fire biting his finger nails, and wondering what the ending would be.

Late that night the Lady Angelica arrived at the gate of the Giant Castle and blew her wreathed horn. The Giant dropped the iron-studded gate and curiously peered at the lady on the horse.

“I am the Lady Angelica,” said the Lady,” and I have come to be your bride if only you will give free passage to our caravans so we can commerce with the great world outside, and when my father dies you will he Overlord of our land, and perchance I will come to love you, for you are a fine figure of a man and I have heard much of you.”

The giant towered over the head of her horse and he placed his hand around her waist and plucked her from the horse and carried her to his banquet hall and sat her down at one end of the table. And laughing in a somewhat silly manner he walked around the room and lit pine torches and tall candles till at last the whole room was lighted. And he poured a large glass of wine for the Lady and a much larger glass for himself and he sat at the other end of the table and laughed again as he cried.

“It all was as I dreamed. But who would have thought that the noble Lord Cecil and the brave Lord Gustro would have been so craven! Let’s drink to our wedding, and then to the bridal chamber.”

And he drank his drink in one swallow. But the Lady Angelica took from under her gown a golden flask and raising it she cried,

“I drink to you and your future, whatever it is,” And she drained the golden flask and sat very still. A mist filled the room and swirled widdershams in thirty pillars around the long oak table, and when it cleared there were thirty men between the Giant and the Lady.

The Juggler took his golden balls, and the man with the dazzling eyes looked hard on the Giant and the student took from his robe a book and read the wise sayings of dead Gods backwards, while the singer of songs plucked his harp strings and sang of the brave deeds of brave men long dead. But the fighting men rushed forward and on all sides started the battle. The Giant jumped back, picked a mace from the wall and fought as never man fought before. He had two things in mind, to kill and to reach the smiling lady and strangle her with bare hands for the thing she had done to him. But ever between him and the Lady was a wall of men who with steel and song and dazzling eyes formed a living wall that could be bent and crushed but never broken.

For centuries after in the halls of Walling the blind singers of songs told of that fight- while the simple folk sat silent while they listened to the tale. And no doubt as the tale past from one singer-aged to the next singer young it became ornamented and embroidered and fabricated into something somewhat different from what really happened that night. But even the bare truth telling first hand as told in parts by those who battled was a great enough tale. For men fought and bled and died in that hall and finally the Giant dying broke through and almost reached the lady, but then the song man tripped him with his harp and the wise man threw his heavy tome in his face and the juggler shattered his three golden balls against the giant’s forehead, and at the lastward the glittering eyes of the sleep-maker fastened on the dying eyes of the giant and sent him sleepily on his last sleep.

And the Lady Angelica looked around the shattered hall and the thirty men who had all done their part and she said softly, “These be brave men and they have done what was necessary for the good of their country and for the honor of our land and I cannot forsake them or leave them hopeless,” and she took the rest of the wine of synthesis and she drank part, and to every man she gave a drink, even the dead men whose mouths she had to gently open and wipe the blood from gritted teeth ere she could pour the wine into their breathless mouths. And she went back to her seat and sitting there she waited.

The mist again filled the hall and covered the dead and dying and those who were not hurt badly but panted from the fury of the battle. And when the mist cleared only the Lady Angelica was left there, for all the thirty had returned to her body through the magic of the synthetic wine.

And the Lady said to herself,

“I feel old and in many ways different, and my strength has gone from me, and I am glad there is no mirror to show me my whitened hair and bloodless cheeks, for the men who have come back into me were dead men and those not dead were badly hurt and I must get back to my horse before I fall into a faint of death.”

She tried to walk out, but stumbling fell. On hands and knees she crawled to where her horse waited for her. She pulled herself up into the saddle and with her girdle she tied herself there and then told the horse to go home. But she lay across the saddle like a dead woman.

The horse brought her back. Ladies in waiting took her to her bed and washed her withered limbs and gave her warm drinks and covered her wasted body with coverlets of lambs wool and the wise physicians mixed healing drinks for her and finally she recovered sufficiently to tell her father and her lover the story of the battle of the thirty against the Giant and how he was dead and the land safe.

“And now go to the old man and get the other elixir,” she whispered,” and when it works have the dead buried with honor and the wounded gently and wisely cared for and then we will come to the end of the adventure and it will be one that the singer of songs will tell of for many winter evenings to the simple folk of Walling.”

“You stay with her, Lord Gustro,” commanded the Overlord, “and I will take the wise Homonculus in my arms and gallop to the cave and secure the elixir, and when I return we will have her drink it and once again she will be whole and young again and then I will have you two lovers marry, for I am not as young as I was and I want to live to see the throne secure and, the Gods willing, Grandchildren running around the castle.”

Lord Gustro sat down by his lady’s bed and he took her wasted hand in his warm one and he placed a kiss on her white lips with his red warm ones and he whispered, ‘ ‘ No matter what happens and no matter what the end of the adventure I will always love you, Heart-of-mine. ” And Lady Angelica smiled on him and went to sleep.

Through the dark forest Cecil, Over-Lord of Walling, galloped with the little wise man in his arms. He flung himself off his war horse and ran quickly into the cave.

“Have you finished the elixir?” he cried.

The old man looked up, as though in doubt as to what the question was. He was breathing heavily now and little drops of sweat rolled down his leathered face.

“Oh! Yes! I remember now. The elixir that would save the lady and take from her the thirty bodies of the men we placed in her by virtue of our synthetic magic. I remember now! I have been working on it. In a few more minutes it will be finished.”

And dropping forward on the oak table he died. In falling, a withered hand struck a golden flask and overturned it on the floor. Liquid amber ran over the dust of ages. A cockroach came and drank of it and suddenly died.

“I am afraid,” moaned the little Homonculus. “I wish I were back in my bottle. ’ ’

But Cecil, Overlord of Walling, did not know how to comfort him.

The Battle of the Toads

[Weird Tales 1929-10]

My first thought of the monk was, “He looks like a toad!” My second thought was, “But, mayhap, he will be of use to me in becoming the Overlord of Cornwall.”

For some years I had been obsessed with this desire, to become the ruler of this strange land. Odd longings had led me to foreign lands, and there I had seen things and performed acts, the telling of which made ordinary stay-at-homes gape with astonishment. Now, with the education that results only from such adventure-some activity, I felt that it was time for me to settle down and become a somebody among the landed gentry of the British Isles. Learning that there was no great man of outstanding merit in that part of the world known as Cornwall, I felt that opportunity knocked at my door; so I journeyed to Cornwall.

That journeying, perforce, was slow. My charger, spavined, aged, thin and blind of one eye, made difficult work of carrying me and my armor. In fact, on the third day after entering the new land that in the future I was to rule over, this nag showed his profound indifference to my ambitions by allowing me to find him dead when I awoke by his side in the dark forest. It being impossible for even a man of my great strength to make much headway on foot, carrying a complete set of harness, including lance, mace, great sword and shield, I sorrowfully placed much of my treasures in a pile under some leaves and stone, and journeyed on with a dagger in my belt and my so-heavy sword and shield pounding my back at every step.

So I came to the castle of the Abbe Rousseau. Of course, he should have been living in a monastery with other priests; in fact, a man of his name had no business in Cornwall at all, at all, as his name in every way was French. I made up my mind that when I became Overlord of the country, such irregularities should be given particular attention. Yet, at that time, I was in need of shelter and food and a warm place by the fire; so I was not inclined to state openly my views concerning foreigners. In very truth, some of the natives might rightly have called me an outlander myself; which, in a way, was true, as I could hardly speak their language, and in another way was not true, as I intended to become their Overlord (though they did not know this latter fact during the first few weeks of my stay in Cornwall).

The Abbe lived in a pile of ruins that might be called, by courtesy, a castle. Though the place was a rather hopeless mess of fallen stone, still it was a tough nut to crack, and I suppose that I should still be outside the walls had I not been able to convince the Abbe, by the use of my most excellent Latin and French, that I was a man of culture, meant him no harm, and was in sore need of the hospitality and refreshments that he could offer me.

Finally he opened a little door and let me in.

It was twilight; he had his face partly covered with a hood; the pine split that he carried was small and smoking; so, for more reasons than one, I did not see his face till I arrived with him-in front of a large fire that blazed in the great hall. Leaving me there, he wended him into the shadows, where he found and brought to me a well-gnawed joint of meat, some hard bread and a bottle of sour wine. On this banquet I regaled myself with the eagerness born of hunger, rather than with the enjoyment of an epicurean.

And after I had eaten all that there was to eat I thanked my host. Now, for the first time, I saw his face. In worn velvets he stood before the fire, warming his withered shins and ivory hands. Those hands, dead white, with large blue veins coursing over them; those hands, with long, hungry fingers and uncut nails, caused me to shiver, for the fingers moved in aimless fashion, and as though alive and independent of the man that they were grown to; which was a thought that so far I had never had of the fingers of any man whom I had ever seen.

But strangest of all, and far more soul-racking to me, was the sight of the man's face. Of course, it was the face of a man. It was easy to tell that it was a man who had admitted me and fed me and now stood before the fire, ready to talk to me; I bitterly told myself that I was a fool to think otherwise of one who had so hospitably entertained me; yet there was something about that face, so intermittently illumined by the dancing shadows from the fluttering flames — there was something about that face that chilled me and made me hurriedly clutch at the gold crucifix hung around my neck — for there was something about the face of the man that made me think of a toad.

The lips were thin, bloodless, tightly compressed, and stretched wide across a face that was remarkable for the receding forehead and shrunken cheeks. The skin was like parchment, thin parchment of a slightly green tinting — and now and then, as the Abbe stood there in silent meditation, he breathed into his closed mouth and puffed out those thin cheeks like a fish-bladder, and then he looked more like a frog than ever.

Of course, I could not say a word in regard to it. A Christian knight, who pretends to be a gentleman, does not eat the meat of a stranger and accept his hospitality and then repay him by telling him how very much like a frog he looks. At least, that was not the way that I acted in such emergencies; yet there was no harm in my thinking, and I certainly thought hard.

Then the Abbe asked me who I was and how I was hight and what I was doing, wayfaring in Cornwall; to all which questions I made answers that had a great deal of the truth in them, though I was naturally unwilling to confide in him as far as my desire to become Overlord of the land was concerned. He seemed to be well pleased with all that I had to say, and more and more he teetered on his feet, which were longer than the feet of most men, and faster and faster he puffed out his checks, breaking into my remarks with a strange puffing of wind, which, to my excited fancy, sounded rather like the croak-croak-croak of bullfrogs at the breeding season. Then, when I came to an end, he told me of himself.

“Fair sir, who say you are Cecil, son of James, son of David, son of John, and even back as far,as the son of Saint Christopher, you have some to Cornwall in good time, and the moment of your arrival in this wild land is indeed opportune. Of course, I am not a man of Cornwall, nor are these friends of mine you will see here tonight. Some of us are from France, and again there are some from Bohemia, and a few from the far lands beyond the deserts of Tartary, but we are all brothers, bound together by ties of blood and desire, and held fast by a blood-oath and a great ambition, which will be soon disclosed to you. Yet, while we all excel in brains and chicanery and knowledge, weird and deadly, yet none of us is skilled in arms and the use of weapons of offense and defense, and this is not due to any lack of bravery on our part — oh! believe me, fair sir, when I say that it is not due to any lack of bravery on our part, but, rather, to the possession of certain defects which prevent us from the brave art of war that most men delight in. So we gain our ends by other means, but tonight we must have a man who will fight for us, if there be need of fighting, and though I hope that such will not he the ease, still, there may be need of fighting — yes, there is no doubt that there will he use for a sharp sword, though it would be so nice if you could use your dagger.”

“Oh! as for that;” I replied, “I can use either one that is the most needed. Personally, I prefer the two-handed sword that I carry on my back, but, perhaps, if there is not much room, and the light is not the best, the dagger would be the weapon of choice. Now, in my previous work with giants, I always felt that the sword was the best, because there always came a time when it was necessary to carve off their heads, and, of course, that is slow work with a dagger. Yet, in little melee that I had with a one-eyed dragon in a cave mi the Canary Isle I obtained much satisfaction in blinding bun with one stroke of the dagger and the next moment the point found his heart. You would have enjoyed that little fight, Abbe, and I am sure that had you seen it, you would have full confidence in my ability to handle any emergency that might arise tonight.”

The Abbe smiled, “I like you. On my word, I like you. I am so impressed with you that I am almost tempted to ask you to become one of the Brethren. That may come later on. But to.the point of my tale. We are gathered here tonight to witness the overcoming of one of our greatest and most troublesome enemies. For centuries he has outwitted us and caused us grief. More than one brother has come to his death through the evil machinations of this fiend. But at last we have outwitted him, and tonight we are going to kill him. Naturally, when he dies his power will come to us, and, with that additional power, there is no telling to what heights of fame the Brethren will rise. We will kill him. For centuries he has boasted of his immortality, of his greatness, of his inability to be harmed; yet tonight we will kill him.

“I misspoke myself. We will not kill him. I will do it. That is what pleases me so. All of us are powerful, but I am just a little stronger than the others of the Brethren. So I am going to kill this enemy, and when I do so I will rule the men who are associated with me. I will rule them and also all men on this earth, and, perhaps, the men and women on other earths. I long to go into space, to conquer other stars than this we live on.

“So, tonight we will do this. I have this man in a glass bottle. By craft, I induced him to enter the bottle. Once there, he took a new shape — and was it not a pleasant thing that he took the shape he did! It gave me the power and the glory — world without end — no! no! NO! Oh, God! I did not intend to say that— not now! Not yet! I am not powerful enough to defy God. ” His voice sank to a whine. “Not yet, but, perhaps, in a few hours — after I have added to my power the strength of the dead fiend.

“This thing in the bottle can not be killed by poison, by steel, by fire, by water or by the preventing of his breath from reaching his lungs. There is no weapon of sufficient power to destroy him — but tonight he dies— tonight he is inside the glass bottle and I am on the outside, and he has voluntarily assumed the shape that makes it possible for me to kill him — through the glass — do you see? The glass is transparent. He has to look at me! I shall look at him, and in that glance lies his death. Soon he will shrivel, smaller; little by little he will lose his form till he lies, a few drops of slime, a twisted mass of softened bone, at the bottom of the bottle. Then I shall take the stopper out, and oh! the cunning I showed when I selected the stopper! True, it is of glass, but at the center there are ashes from the bones of saints and tears that fell from the eyes of Mary, and a drop of sweat from the brow of one of the saints, and it is thus I hold the fiend a prisoner. Well, since he is dead, the stopper is of no value; so I will remove it and place my mouth on the mouth of the bottle and suck into me the spirit of this dead fiend. No longer having a body to stay in, that spirit will be glad to inhabit me, and thus I will have the strength and power and glory of this fiend from Hell. Rather clever, what?”

“Indeed it is,” I replied with a lilt to my voice and a nausea in the pit of me. “But why do you have me in the drama, if my sword and my dagger are useless against this Evil One?”

He came over to me. He walked across the floor, and his feet made no noise on the pavement stones; he slid over to me and ingratiatingly put a hand on my hand and almost a cheek against my cheek, and, as I shivered at the cold touch of him and the clammy skin so cold and dew-wetted, he whined in my ear:

“You are to guard me, fair youth. You who are so brave and full of desire and the longing to be someone before you die, you have been sent here by Fate, in a most opportune moment, for you can guard me when I need that protection. Can not you see the situation? There I am, with my mouth over the mouth of the bottle, all ready to breathe in the spirit that will make me the greatest of all men, living or dead. Suppose just before I breathe, one of the Brethren (and I particularly suspect the man from Gobi) slips a dagger through my heart and takes my place as the breather-in of this power of greatness. Think how horrible this would be — what a sad ending to all my thoughts of greatness! And I have planned it all and plotted it all and brought it all to pass, and: why should I, at the lastward, be denied the right to become Emperor of the Powerful Ones, simply because a Chinese dagger is plunged through my heart? I know you will protect me. Oh! promise that you will be at my back and see that none of the Brethren acts in a manner that is wrong. Will you promise me? And in return I will see that you are paid. What do you wish most? Gold? Power? The love of beautiful women? Let me look into your eyes. Oh, lovely! You are a true brother of mine, for I see that you desire a warm room and safety and a library, with many books therein, and old manuscripts and curious vellums. I will give you all of these. I know you know me for a brother now. We are akin. Ha! What say you if I rewarded by giving you a copy of Elephantis? Some think Nero destroyed them all, but I know where one copy is. Will you guard me if I give you all this?”’

“I certainly will,” I replied, and I was almost enthusiastic.

Of course, there were a few additional things that I wanted, but I thought it unwise to mention these ambitions at this time. I really was not very well acquainted with the Abbe, and, after all, it is not best to be two precipitous in your confidences.

The Abbe seemed pleased. He insisted! on shaking hands. He even kissed me, on both cheeks, after the French fashion.

I want to say at this place, that though I have performed many brave acts of derring-do in my short life, such as subduing, single-handed, the Yellow Ant of Fargone, eight feet tall and very deadly in its poison, and facing, undaunted, the Mystic Mere Woman of the Western Sea; still, the bravest moment of my life was when I withstood the frog kiss of the Abbe and did not scream; for I wanted to — oh! how I longed to howl out my fear to the listening owls and scorpions — but, of course, such conduct would be unseemly in the future Overlord of Cornwall. So I smiled, and vowed him my vows and told him to be sure not to forget the copy of Elephantis, and would he please refresh me with some more wine before the evening’s performance began.

It was later on, an eternity of waiting as far as I was concerned, but perhaps only an hour or so in actual minutes, and then we foregathered in a lower room of the castle. A light shone in that room, though where it came from was only one more thing for me to worry over. Near one wall was a low stool, and in front of it a low table, and on that table something, tall and round, covered by a square of velvet tapestry.

The Abbe sat on the stool.

I stood behind him, and my right hand thoughtfully fingered the handle of my favorite dagger, the one carved out of ivory into the semblance of a woman — and the naked blade of her had kissed more than one brave man and foul monster to death.

Then from cracks in the walls — yes! perhaps cracks in the floor, or so it seemed to my fancy — the brethren came into being and gathered in a semicircle around the table, and their faces all seemed frog-like and of a peculiar resemblance to the Abbe— and there they stood, and I said to my knees, “Thou art of the offspring of the loins of Christopher;” and I whispered to my jaws, “In silence, remember the bravery of thy grandsire David.” But in spite of these admonitions my knees and my jaws castanetted, to my sore dismay.

From the Abbe came a croak. And in a low chorus came answering croaks from the men who stood before us. I looked into their faces, and in the shifting, shimmering streak of light I saw the same frog-like features that I had been so amazed at seeing in the face of the Abbe.

Before I could properly conceal my astonishment, the Abbe took a chalice from a hole in the wall, and, after doing that which seemed rather indecorous, took it in both hands and gave each of the Brethren a drink from it. What that drink really was I, at that time, could only imagine, but later on, after deep study of Satanism, I frequently shuddered at my narrow escape that night. Fortunately, I was not asked to join with them in the draining of the cup.

Seating himself on the stool back of the table, he bade me take the covering from off the thing that was both tall and round. I did so, and, even as he had told me, there was a large glass bottle with a toad squatting at the bottom. The glass of the vessel was of a wonderful clearness. There was no difficulty in seeing the toad, every part of him, but especially his face and eyes. He faced the Abbe — and the eyes of these two loathsome things, one a demon-frog, and the other a man-frog, — glowed ghoulishly at each other.

Meanwhile, the other Brethren, those from Bohemia, and even as far as Gobi, stood silently, and whether they even breathed or not was hard to say, for all I knew was that none of them should come to the back of the Abbe, and also I knew that what I was seeing was a most interesting sight.

The two animals looked at each other. Between them, separated by a glass wall, divided by thousands of years of different thinking, conflicting ambitions, crossed personalities, waged a conflict of the souls, such as rarely has been fought on this earth or any other so far as I know though, of course, I do not know all that there is to know about the other planets, or this one either, for that matter.

They glared at each other, each striving for supremacy, each trying to destroy the other. I could not see the eyes of the Abbe, but clearly I saw that the eyes of the imprisoned toad were the eyes of confidence, and supreme confidence.

Did the Abbe see in that what I saw?

He must have! For he tried to escape. Three times he endeavored to arise and flee, and each time he was pulled down to the stool and his face and eyes drawn closer to the face peering at him so derisively through the clear glass wall. Then, with a low moan, the poor man slumped silently forward, and even before our eyes he melted, first into a jelly, and then into a pool of evil, odoriferous slime, running here and there over the floor, but mainly absorbed and held together by the clothing of what had once been called the Abbe Rousseau.

And as he died, the frog grew larger and in some ways changed to a more human shape. He swung slowly around in the bottle, and, in the course of the circle that his eyes made he looked long at each of the Brethren, and after that look, they stood still and moved not, though in the face of each came a gleam of despair.

Now the thing in the bottle looked at me. Well, let him look all he wanted to! I was holding fast to the cross in my bosom and I knew the power of the cork to hold him inside his crystal prison. If I found that there was something to his glare, I could shut my eyes. Of course, I knew that I could shut my eyes whenever I wanted to, if the influence was too baleful.

But those eyes did not try to do me harm. Rather –

The thing stood on his hind legs, and with his hand he made a sign

Shocked beyond measure, I recalled that appeal for help, taught me by other Brethren in the desert of Araby. What could such a creature mean by doing thus? Or was it an accident? A coincidence?

Or had this toad also once been in the Holy Presence in Araby?

Of course, I knew what he wanted.

And, answering his sign, I pulled out the cork.

He came out.

I had expected that, but I was surprized to find that after he had passed through the neck of the bottle he was no longer a toad but rather like a man. Even his face did not look like the face of the Abbe, but had a pleasant countenance that in some way warmed my heart and removed at least a part of my apprehension.

He paid no attention to me, but passed slowly in front of the frog-faced men, and as he passed they moaned in anguish and fell on their knees and faces before him and tried to kiss his feet-

But it was this act of adoration that made me look at his feet, and then I saw that they were hoofed and hairy, like those of a goat.

Finally, he passed all the men, and, turning, made a sign, and at that sign they also turned to slime, and their ending was in all respects like the ending of the Abbe, naught being left on the floor save the clothing that they wore and the toad-juice, oozing out of it.

Then the strange man came to where I was standing, braced gainst the wall to keep me from falling, and he said merrily:

“Well, Cecil, my good fellow and rare sib, how goes the evening?”

“Pleasant enough,” I replied; “first with one divertissement and then another. In fact, it has been a most profitable time for me.”

“Lad,” he said kindly, gripping me by the shoulder, and in that grip was the warmth of human comradeship, “you showed rare discernment in releasing me from that bottle. Of course, I could have broken it, but there was something about your face that pleasured me and I wanted to test you. You also had been in Araby, in the East, and when I asked for help, you gave it. These toad-men have worried me for years. I have tried to destroy them, for they hurt my cause, but never till tonight, and then only by guessing better than they did, could I gather them together in one room. I warrant the Abbe was surprized. He had experimented and killed many a real toad and, of course, he thought that if I was in the guise of a toad, he could kill me; but, of course, I was not a toad, but just in the appearance of one for the time being. Well, that is over with and I can go back to better and happier occupations. But — you really did let me out, and, perhaps, the magic of that cork was stronger than I thought, so I will give you three requests, my dear sib — ask for anything you desire.”

My heart was in my mouth, but, none-the-less, I spoke up bravely:

“Give me power to conquer all giants, robbers, knaves, salamanders, ogres, serpents, dragons and all evil things, male and female, on, beneath, and above the earth, wherever and whenever I come into conflict with them.”

“That is a lot of power, but I will grant it.”

“Then I want a nice castle, with all the furnishings, and, above all, a good library. Long ago there was a book by a woman, called Elephantis. I should like to have that book in the library.”

The man laughed.

“I heard the Abbe tell you about that book. Do you know that I was well acquainted with that girl? In fact, I put some of the idea about that book into her head. Well, I will fix up this castle in the way you want it. And, now, what next? Do you desire no temporal power?”

“Certainly,” I said, in almost a grandiose manner: “ I want to rule in Cornwall.”

“That is easy, a mere bagatelle. I think they call such a person the Overlord. Well, I must be going. I wish you a long life and a merry one.”

He vanished amid the hooting of owls. All around me stirred new life in stone and plaster, and the reassembling of things that were dust a thousand years. Slowly I walked through the long halls, and here and there a menial bowed low in humble obeisance. On and on I walked, and, finally, into the great hall, and there men-at-arms waited my command, and little pages ran to ask my desires.

Still slowly, and as though in a dream, I mounted the winding stairway and climbed up to the top of the tower. It was a beautiful night, starlighted and with a full moon. There I stood beside a sturdy warrior, standing watch over the safety of the castle.

Far down the winding road came the sound of trumpets and the pleasant music of horses’ feet on the hard clay and the sounding clash of sword, falling against armor at each step of the charger. There came the noise of many men and here and there a peal of woman’s laughter.

“What means this cavalcade advancing toward my domain?” I gruffly asked the aged warrior, who smiled in the moonlight as he replied:

“These be the great men of Cornwall, with their ladies and knights and all of their men-at-arms, who wend their way through the night to bid you welcome to Cornwall, and humbly acknowledge you as their Overlord.”

“That is as it should be,” I made reply. “Go and command that all be prepared against their arrival. And when they come, bid the nobles come to me; they will find me — in the library.”

The Tailed Man of Cornwall

[Weird Tales 1929-11]

For several days I was more than busy receiving the great men of Cornwall who thronged to my castle, driven by some mysterious urge, which no one fully comprehended but myself, to acknowledge me as their Overlord. The statements that they made to me concerning my fitness for this position were most flattering, and at the same time, as I heard their petitions to have this and that giant killed and one enemy or another of the land driven out or destroyed, I felt that there was certainly a great deal of work connected with the responsibility. Still, I told them, one and all, that, just as soon as I could, I would attend to all these minor adventures, because if I was going to be Overlord of a country, I wanted that land to be peaceful, quiet and safe. They were delighted with my promises, and departed, thoroughly convinced of my power to do all that would be asked of me. Of course, there was not much doubt in my mind as to my ability to perform any great act of chivalry that fell to my lot. I am sure that I was clever enough to conquer anything, even without help, but, of course, it was far more pleasant to know that I had the assistance of the Demon whom I had rescued from the glass bottle on the occasion of the Battle of the Toads.

Finally, but one of the great lords remained. He was a rather pleasing personality but of a dour humor, for during all the days that he had eaten my meat he had never smiled. He remained behind, and I suspected rightly that the reason for his doing so was a desire to talk over some matters with me which could not be discussed in the presence of the other knights. I heard, indirectly, that he had some ambitions to become Over-lord of Cornwall himself; naturally, those ambitions were blighted by my very astonishing assumption of authority. I thought for a while that he might have a desire to slip a dagger into me, but found, in a short time, that I was completely misjudging the poor fellow. He was not worrying about his loss of power, but of something far more precious to him, the loss of his fair lady love.

The unhappy young man told me the sad tale the first evening we were alone. I had purposely taken him into my new library, as I found that he was fond of the finer things in life, and it was my belief that in the quiet peace of that room, in front of the fire, he would feel more confidential and less embarrassed in the telling of his story than he would otherwise. This was a correct supposition. In no time at all he unburdened himself and told me of his great sorrow.

“I am a man of Cornwall,” he said. “My family have always lived in Cornwall. Perhaps I would have been wiser had I always remained here, but, like many young knights, I had to go adventuring. Fate took me to Ireland, and Boy Cupid introduced me to Queen Broda. When we met, doves flew over us and a sparrow lighted on her golden chariot. It was love at first sight, but the sad hap was that she did not know I was from Cornwall. She ruled mightily over a large part of the island, and there her word was law. She loved me, and the fact that I was poor made mighty little difference in the sweetness of her kisses. We were ready to marry, but when she found out that I was from Cornwall, she simply told me that she could never marry me. Then I came home and since then it has made little difference to me whether I was ever Overlord or whether I was even dead or alive. For, to live happy, I must have Broda for wife, and for her to be happy she must have me for her lover, and, yet, she says that it can never be, simply because I am a Cornishman.”

“This a sad tale,” I agreed, “and I suppose you want my help?”

“That is why I lingered.”

“Did she give any reason for her cruel refusal of your love?"

“That in very truth she did. She says that I am from Cornwall and that all Cornishmen have tales of braggadocio and other tails, the very mention of which fills her with fear.”

“You mean that she believed you to be a tailed man?”

“Yes. That is her belief.

“Of course, she must have had some reason for such an idea.”

“Certainly.”

“Naturally, we can not blame her for not marrying you, thinking as she did. It seems to me that under the circumstances the lady showed rare judgment and a very fine discrimination. But why did you not show her that she was wrong?”

“I tried to in every way I could. I told her that I was as tailless as the Irish, but she simply cried and said that she could not trust me, and how would she feel after she was married to me and could not undo it, to find out that I had lied to her? I told her that I was a true man and spoke the truth, but she retorted that thus had all men spoken to women since the days of Knight Æneas and Lady Dido, and that none of them were to be trusted, especially one with a tail.”

I sadly shook my head as I remarked, “Oh! These women! These women!”

“Have you ever been in love!” he asked dolefully.

“Not yet.”

“Then you don’t know half about them. But will you help me?”

“I certainly will do all I can. In fact, I think I will be sending for this mighty Queen and will be after explaining a few things to her. I can tell her positively that you have no tail?”

“That is something that you will have to decide for yourself,” was all the satisfaction that Lord Fitz-Hugh would give me.

I shrugged my shoulders, as I cautioned him.

“I think you ought to be candid with me. I am Overlord now of what I hope will some day be a great realm. One of the foundations of that country will be honesty and fair dealings with our neighbors. Thus we may hope to escape devastating wars. Suppose, on my word of honor as a true King, I tell this lady that you have no tail, and on the strength of my say-so she marries you, and then suppose that she finds that I told her wrong. Think how she would feel! How would I feel if she cut off your head and tail and came to Cornwall to revenge herself on me? I have to know certainly about this. It is realty very important.”

“You will simply have to make up your mind — form your own opinion.”

He was so stubborn that I saw there was nothing to be done about it; so I bade him go back to his castle, and said that when the time came I would send for him. In fact, I did more. Finding that he lived but a day’s journey from my castle, I adventured thither with him the next day and spent a very pleasant time with him. He was living in the castle where he was born and where his family had lived for many generations. I met his mother, a very pleasant lady, who was quite witty, yet, at the same time, remarkably learned and greatly distressed over the unhappiness of her son. Then I left them, promising them that I would do what I could, as soon as I could, and then I was sure everything would turn out in a most happy manner to the great satisfaction of Lord Fitz-Hugh.

It was a fortunate happening that I returned when I did. While the Lords and Knights of Cornwall were perfectly willing for me to be their Overlord, the men of Wales had some different ideas. In fact, they had a candidate of their own. They told me, through their ambassadors, that unless I left the country at once, they would secure the help of the Irish, especially of Queen Broda, who hated Cornwall more than she hated Hell, and they would come over my land and replace all the dead Cornwall men with first-class Welshmen:

I consulted with several of the grayhaired nobles in the vicinity. It seemed that if the Welshmen came by themselves, it would be an even fight, but if the Irish merged forces with either side, it would be hard to overcome them. They said that they would stand by me to the end, but that there was no doubt but that they were afraid of this Irish Queen. I remembered that the Demon had promised that I was to he Overlord of Cornwall, but there was nothing said in our agreement as to how long I was to hold that position and retain the honor. I had a hard time enjoying the library that evening. Even the manuscript of Elephantis failed to thrill me, and I told myself that this matter of politics was a most unsatisfactory one and that just as soon as I could I was going to retire to a nice quiet place, like Avalon-by-the-sea.

The next day was stormy. So was the next day. And on the third day came frightened runners, who told that the Irish were marching through the land, and before I could decide how to act, a great army encamped around my castle, and there I was, with Queen Broda on one side of the castle wall and me on the other side, a most peculiar position for a real Overlord to be placed in.

There was nothing to do except to see what she wanted, so I readily gave whiling assent to her request for an interview. She told me, over the drawbridge, through the mouth of a most interesting old herald, that if I doubted her word, I could be accompanied by several hundred of my men-at-arms, but that she preferred privacy and therefore asked that I meet her at sundown that night on the grassy green in front of the castle. I told the herald that I would be there, and that I would come alone, as the Queen requested.

I spent the afternoon in moody silence in the library, trying to decide what the lady wanted and what would satisfy her, but I finally gave it up as something that was hopeless, as there seemed to be no telling what she wanted, and, as far as I knew, no man had ever yet satisfied a woman; at least, he had never lived to boast of it. So I spent the rest of the time reading of the temptations of Saint Anthony, and a most weary time he had of it, what with the desert, dust and the lovely women he did not yield to — at least, he boasted that he did not yield. Later in the afternoon I dressed in my best and at the appointed going-downward of the sun, I walked slowly out through the gate to the grassy place in front of the castle.

Queen Broda sat silent in her golden chariot. She was rather easy to look at. I certainly could not blame young Fitz-Hugh for his infatuation. In fact, I even considered the possibility of explaining to her that I was from France and that things might come to a worse pass than uniting our forces and giving the Welsh a sound thrashing, followed at an appropriate moment by a marriage that would unite the two kingdoms of Ireland and Cornwall. But there was a determined glint in her eye and a pert way of holding her head that made me feel that it would be best for me if I could induce her to take Fitz-Hugh on faith — perhaps I could do more with some other woman than I could with her — may hap Fitz-Hugh could handle her better and easier.

She did not wait for me to even introduce myself, but began, “Are you going to give me what I want?”

“Well, that depends. So far, I have not the least idea of what you are after. Now, if you want me to help you fight the Welsh, I think that we can come to an understanding-”

“Don’t be silly! I just want one thing and that is the head of your Lord Fitz-Hugh.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly.

“Why, Queen Broda! I am astonished. I thought that you and the young man were friendly. It would be too bad to deprive him of his head, and he young and wonderfully debonair. What can the poor fellow have done to have you treat him thus?”

“He courted me and then when I promised to marry him told me that he was of Cornwall.”

“Well, what of it? He had to be from somewhere, did he not?”

“Now, listen to me, Cecil, son of James, son of John, you who hold your place as Overlord by some chicanery that has caused endless talk in this part of the world. In my country we have elephants, cametennus, metacollinarum, white and red lions, men with eyes before and behind. We have satyrs and pigmies and forty-ell giants, but we have no tailed men, and we are certainly not going to have any, certainly not as the husband of Queen Broda; so I came over for the head of this man who insulted me.”

“Ireland,” I replied, “must be a most interesting country. Have you ever heard of what we have here in Cornwall? Have travelers told you of our Cyclopses, fauns and centaurs, of our wild oxen, hyenas, and lamias; of our white merles, crickets, and men with eyes before and behind? Just as soon as I can I intend to destroy all these evil monsters, and I am really surprised, Queen Broda; in fact, I can not understand at all, at all, why it is that you have allowed your fair land to be overrun by such trash as you tell me of. Allow me to offer my services after I have cleaned Cornwall of its monstrosities. Did you know that I had magical powers? How surprised were Gog and Magog when I conquered them, and Agit and Agimandi were absolutely dumbfounded when I bound them in chains and cast them into the Mare Nostrum. I have eaten of the plant Assidos, which protects the eater from evil spirits, and I wear on my body the stone Nudiosi, which prevents the sight from growing feeble and makes it possible for the wearer to see a great distance. For example, at this very moment I can see how this matter is all going to end.”

I could see that she was impressed, for she replied, “Just from looking at you, Sir Cecil, one would not believe you had all these powers, and yet there must be something about you, because in no time at all you have established yourself here.”

“Well, it is hard to tell about a man, just by looking at him. But tell me one thing: what put this idea into your head about Lord Fitz-Hugh’s having a tail?”

“He is a man of Cornwall, and all of that land are thus tailed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certainly. You are not going to doubt my word, are you? The next thing you will be calling me a liar. It happened this way. A very learned man, Polydore Vergil, hath written the whole tale in his book. He tells how Saint Thomas a Becket came to Strood, one of your villages, which is situated on the Medway, the river that washes Rochester. The men of Cornwall living in that place, wishing to put a mark of contumely on the good Saint, did not scruple to cut the tail off the horse he was riding on, and, for this profane and inhospitable act, they covered themselves with eternal reproach, and since then all the men of Cornwall have been born with tails on them, and no man like that shall ever sit by my side and rule Ireland, and the only way I can ease my pride is to take his head back with me” — here the poor lady began to cry—“and he should have thought of that and how it would make me feel, before he made me love him so. And how would it be for me to be the mother of a poor little Princess with a tail on her like an ape or a monkey?”

“That would not do at all,” I replied in my most soothing way, and when I try to soothe the ladies, I usually succeed. I remember very well how I completely changed the desire of a lady in Araby once, for she was first minded to kill me, but, by my power and a certain talisman that I carried, I compelled her to other ideas. So, I soothingly said:

“That would not do at all. But how would it be, if by my power I removed this tail? Suppose I made Lord Fitz-Hugh like other men? How then? Would you still demand his head?”

“Don’t be silly,” she replied archly. “Of course, I would rather marry him than kill him, but I never thought that anything like that could be done — you mean without a scar? And if there was a little baby, she would be all right? Just like any other little baby?”

“If I promise you that everything will be all right, everything will be all right. All you have to do is to trust me. Of course, it would take some powerful magic. I will at once begin my sorcery by the use of rabdomancy; later on I may have to use the blood of a newborn child, but I should rather not do that unless it is necessary. Suppose we have Lord Fitz-Hugh come over here? You will promise him safe conduct, I know. Then the three of us could go down into my special cavern, far in the bowels of the earth, under my castle, and there I could do what is necessary to this man of Cornwall and make him closer to your heart’s desire.”

“You promise me that it won’t hurt him much?”

“Not as much as cutting off his head. Of course, he may moan a little, but he is quite a brave man, and I am sure that he can stand it. Suppose you send most of your army back and come into the castle as my guest. I can take care of about fifty of your men. Then we will send at once for this tailed man and start to work. I suppose you are anxious to go back to Ireland? But I want you to promise me one thing: If I do this feat of magic for you and restore your lover to you, built as all other men, no fear of hereditary taint, you will tell those men of Wales to leave Cornwall alone or settle with me. Will you promise?”

She promised; so I left her with the understanding that she and fifty of her men would become my guests on the morrow and the rest of the wild Irish were to go back to their island. And I walked back to the castle.

Queen Broda sat silent in her golden chariot, but there was a look of happiness and hope on her lovely face.

The next day Lord Fitz-Hugh came. He was just as dismal as ever.

“I have to remove either your head or your tail,” I told him, “or this wild Irish lassie of yours is going to let the Welshmen cut our throats and wash Cornwall in blood. So, off comes your tail.”

“No one can take my tail off,” he answered, surly and sad.

“And why not?”

“You know why,” was all he could say.

Certainly in that mood he was no fit playmate for a girl like Queen Broda. I saw that I would have to be rather clever or they never would marry, tail or no tail, and there they were, madly in love and grieving themselves sick over the matter.

That night the three of us met in a cell, far down under the castle. It was a very unpleasant place, hut it was the best I could do in a hurry. I had sent down some rattling chains and a brazier of charcoal and some incense, which made a terrible smell, and I had a hound dog tied in one comer and seven rats in a wire cage hanging from the wall; so it all looked horrible enough, and even my blood chilled when the hound howled, which he did every time that he looked up at the rats. I had a stool for the lady to sit on, but Fitz-Hugh and I stood up. I began with the Lord’s Prayer in Latin said backward, a trick I had learned in ray boyhood. And then I threw a dead mouse on the burning charcoal and closed my eyes and just muttered, and then with a howl that startled them all, even the dog, I jumped on poor Fitz-Hugh and wrestled with him, and when I separated from him, I had his tail in my hand, and, after showing it to the Queen, I shakingly put it on the charcoal and it gave off a mighty offensive smell as it burned.

There was no doubt left in the mind of Queen Broda. The man of Cornwall had had a tail; by my magic I had taken the tail from him; and now he had the tail no more and she could marry him. She did not waste any time, but took the poor lad in her arms and kissed him till I tired of the counting, and he kissed her and I saw that I was not wanted; so I suggested that we return to the library and I would leave them there to talk matters over and arrange for their future.

In the library they were most, grateful. The Queen told me that I need never worry about those men of Wales, for she was going to attend to them personally, just as soon as the honeymoon was over. Gladly Fitz-Hugh told me he was going to send me a gold chain and some books he had that I wanted. So everything was lovely, and that very night they were married by my priest.

The next morning they left me. I went down the road a piece with them. Of course, Lord Fitz-Hugh was riding with Queen Broda in her golden chariot, and she was silent, but her eyes and dimpled cheeks did a lot of talking. He stepped out of the chariot and came over to my horse when he said good-bye to me. He looked at me earnestly.

“Cecil, son of James, son of John, son of even Saint Christopher,” he said, “how did you know I did not have a tail?”

I laughed. “That was not hard to find out, Fitz-Hugh. When I had the opportunity, I asked your mother.’’

We looked over at the young bride.

Queen Broda sat silently in her golden chariot. She was smiling.

No Other Man

[Weird Tales 1929-12]

“Why come to me with your worries?” I asked the old people, rather petulantly. “Any man could find your daughter for you, and there are many good men in your own land.”

I was irritated.

Ever since the time I slew the dragon of Thorp’s Woods, the people of Cornwall thought that all they had to do in time of trouble was to come to me. For a while I tried to be considerate; I really thought at one time that perhaps it was part of my duties as Overlord of the land to kill serpents, destroy giants, and in every way make the country a pleasant and kindly place to live in. To live up to these high ideals gave me little leisure to devote to my special studies, and, often, I was no sooner back from one adventure and comfortably clad in my velvets, with my nose between the pages of a book, than a fresh demand made it necessary to put on my armor again and sally out to rout a few more robbers or cut the head off another slithering snake. It was hard to be so disturbed from the reading of a good book, and in wintertime the harness and armor were so cold that only after some hours of wearing did my goose-flesh subside and enable me to ride my charger with any comfort.

Now, for some weeks, everything in Cornwall had been quiet. If there were any dragons remaining, they thought it best to hide in secret rock caves, while all the robbers had fled to Wales and Brittany, and the giants were all rotting in their gore. As far as my sway extended, all was quiet, and I felt that I had well earned a rest. It was cold, the roads were deep in mire, the sky overcast; my good steed was comfortable, knee-deep in straw and munching the best grain my peasants could raise; I had large logs in the fireplace, now cushions to sit on, a woolen shawl for my knees and another for my shoulders, old wine in the glass, a joint of meat on the table and a book in my hand; why should I worry about wrongs done in Wales or lands of the Scot or Irish?

Then, after but a few days of comfort, these old folks came. They brought with them a long parehment, bearing the scrawl and seal of the King of Wales. That did not mean much to me, for they were changing their kings every month, but it had so impressed my men that they had brought the old folks to the door of my library, and when I refused to see them and ordered them fed and put out of the castle, they raised such a lamentable cry that, from sheer necessity, I gave way to their moans and ordered them in to tell their story.

They were wet and cold; so I gave them a place by the fire. And they seemed hungry so I ordered meat and; wine brought them, and I told them, for the sake of good Saint Jerome, to fill up and dry up first and then I would listen to what they came to say to me. Thus I gained an extra half hour of time to read my book, and when I saw this much time slip down the narrow channel of the sand-glass, and found that in this space of time I had translated over four lines of Latin, I was much cheered and almost tempted to be civil to the old folks.

The story they told was a familiar one. Their daughter had been taken from them they believed that she was; being held a prisoner in one of the mountain caves a dozen miles from their hut. What manner of man or beast had done this foul deed they knew not; there were strange tales about the things that lived in that mountain. They had been to see the king of their land, and he had asked in vain, among all his knights, for one to rescue the maiden; they had all refused to undertake the adventure then he had thought of writing to me concerning the wrong done these old folks and asking me to right it. As they became more excited, they raised their hands and swore that never was there such a lovely girl as their daughter, nor so pure a one, and why had the saints permitted this terror to come to her?

Naturally, I was sorry for them. Yet it seemed to me that I was being imposed upon and that the knights of Wales ought to attend to their own giants and dragons; so, when they finally came to the end of their tale, I gruffly said:

“Why come to me with your worries? Any man could find your daughter for you, and there are many good men in your own land.”

At that they cried out that I was wrong, and the woman said over and over again, “No other man.No other man. NO OTHER MAN!” which was all silly nonsense, being foolish and far from the truth.

However, it all ended in my telling them to go to bed and rest and that on the morrow I would return with them and see what could be done concerning the safety of their daughter, though I doubted if she were yet alive; so, sending them off to a good night’s rest, I ordered fresh logs put on the fire and some spiced beer warmed for my comfort, and started in to read the adventures of a good knight Hercules, who was either a better fighter or a better liar than I ever could hope to become. And, finally, I also sought the warmth of a featherbed, and, disturbed in mind, waited for what the morrow would bring.

The next day, in a drizzle of rain, we started for some town in Wales, the proper sounding of whose name I never did learn. The old dame and her man rode slowly ahead on two sorry nags, while behind them I rode my favorite stallion.

The woolens and leathers I wore under my armor had been well warmed and greased before I started, but the day was chill and in no time at all I became depressed over the cold of the harness on my back. So I tried to pass the time reciting Latin verbs, which made the old folks shiver and cross themselves for that they thought my mutterings to be imprecations and incantations against the power of the Evil One and now and; then my stallion reared in the air and neighed, perhaps for his warm stall and his hearty meals of grain, and perhaps for other things, but I gruffly commanded him to come down to earth on all fours.

So on we drove for the space of five days. At night we slept where we could and by day we rode and suffered from the chill of the cold rain. I had some gold with me and so could pay for the best, but even the best was sorry worst, and ever and again I sighed for my velvets and my fire, good beer and Latin manuscripts. Yet an end finally came, and we arrived at the house of the old man and his wife. It was raining as we came there, and the sky was dark and lowering; yet through the gloom I could see the dark mountains far in the distance, covered with mighty trees and holding in their mysterious fastnesses this supposedly lovely daughter and the unknown monster that had torn her from her parental home.

When the news of our arrival was spread through the little town, the neighbors came, no doubt, to see the Giant-killer, and whether they were disappointed in my looks, I wot not; at least, they did not say so. However, since I had come all this long five-day journey to accomplish another wondrous feat of chivalry, I was glad to have these simple folk to talk to, for I wanted to know all that there was to be known about the land and the special monsters it harbored, and just how this young maiden had been taken, and what manner of fiend it was that had done the deed (for I found that such preliminary investigation was of the greatest value in winning a victory). Also I was glad to have some of the simple folk to carefully dry my armor and rub it with lard and oil, and also to rub over my cold muscles a special holy oil which came to me in a gold vial from the Holy Land, being part of the lard boiled from a great saint during his martyrdom, which laid was very comforting to me, both in a physical and a religious manner.

All of the men had a different tale to tell about the monster. None had actually seen it, but all agreed that it was a serpent, twenty yards long, a shape like a great unicorn, a headless man, a bull with the head of a man, a real dragon like unto those of Gobi, or a three-legged giant. All agreed that it was mighty a horrid thing, that could easily kill a man, simply by blowing a flame of fire in his face. The usual weapons were powerless; steel could not cut, lance could not pierce, mace would not crash. The more they talked, the more peculiar I felt and the more clearly I saw why the knights of Wales were too busy to attend to this matter. It was really an awkward situation.

Yet they were all mightily cheered over my being there and said repeatedly that it any human man could kill this monster, the Giant-killer of Cornwall could, and I told them I was sure I could find the maiden and rid the land of this foul animal, be it man, beast or demon. And at that, a very old Jew bent before me and humbly thanked me and said that he would give me fifty gold crowns if I did so, as he was betrothed to this maiden, having purchased her from her father, and that the wedding would have been consummated by now had the fiend of the mountains not taken her.

I looked at the old man, his withered face and shrunken frame and scanty white hair, and the more I saw of him the less I liked him, and thought to myself that perhaps the girl was better off in the mountain than in his house. In fact, I suddenly grew sick of the whole adventure and demanded that I be taken to my room and left to sleep till the morrow. And so they did to me, and a restless time I had, missing sorely my featherbed, as I tossed on a couch of com shucks.

The next morning the entire people of the town gathered to see me put on my armor, and after that was done and a quart of beer drunk moodily (for it was poor stuff), I sadly mounted my horse and rode toward the mountain, the priest going ahead, singing a prayer, and the old man and woman on either side my horse, and the old Jew running on behind, urging me to be careful, and that he would surely give me my fifty crowns.

The old woman kept repeating, “No other man would do it. No other man!”

“Would be such a fool,” I added in a whisper. “No other man. Why, a thousand men I had read of would have been glad to do such a deed only, I, who had cleared my own country of such monsters, was a fool to do such dirty work for the men of Wales.”

And the old man and the priest and the Jew took up her chant, “No other — man would do it — no other man.” Yet, finally, we came to the edge of the wood and a mile from the side of the mountain, and they paused and said they would go no further with me but would go back and wait in prayer for my safe return.

The trees were so close together that I could not ride my charger so I got off and tied him to a tree, and then I looked into the wood. It was dark and feyish, yet through the trees came glittering, glimmering gems of sunshine, and far away I heard a thrush sing and a squirrel chatter in the tree, and I knew then that I was in the Enchanted Forest, for here was springtime and pleasant weather. It being warm, I took a view of the situation and saw that I could not fight well with all the steel on me so, back to my horse, and there I made myself comfortable, and when I next wended woodward I had on my woolens, and my great sword hung on my back, my shield on one arm, a dagger in my belt, and a lovely woods flower in my right hand.

Thus, on to the rocks, and nearing them I heard the sound of singing, and the song was about love and roses and ladies tresses, and I marvelled at this, and knew that it was magic, and further on I wandered, and finally came to the singer, and at that I was greatly frightened. For I knew that now I was in the midst of a great mystery and a mighty magic. For this evil beast who had stolen the poor girl from her parents had, in preparation for my arrival, changed, by his cunning, his so ugly body into that of a lovely damsel, and was waiting there to deceive me, and, when I was unaware, to kill me with his poisons and his powers.

I knew that it was useless to cut such a being with sword or pierce him with dagger. His body was so much air. In such a conflict, weapons of ordinary use were worthless. So I carefully put off my sword and my shield and my dagger, and, holding the woods flower in my outstretched hand, I closed in to the conflict.

“Though thou art a mighty magician,” I cried, “I command you to give to me the poor little girl you stole from her parents on Ash Wednesday. Give her to me and I will not harm you, but if you persist in your evil desires, I will match my magic with yours and overcome you.”

“Who are you?” demanded the creature, “and why are you here?”

I could tell from the way he talked that he was impressed by my threat.

“I am the Overlord of Cornwall, Cecil, the son of James, the son of David, the son of John, and back even to Saint Christopher, who loved before he became a saint. For years I have ruled in Cornwall. You may be interested in knowing that I am the one who killed the dragon of Thorp’s Woods. I destroyed seven slithering, shimmering snakes in Ireland. Alone and unaided I destroyed seven floors who threatened the reputation of one of our ladies. On twenty-three gallows in my land hang, bound in chains, and coated with tar, twenty-three bandits whom I caught and caused to be punished for their crimes.

I paused to watch the effect of all this. There was no doubt that the miscreant was impressed. So I continued:

“So it was that when this poor girl, who, by the way, was to marry a very rich man, was stolen from her parents, these simple folk appealed to the King of Wales, and he pled with his knights to rescue her, but they all refused, being too busy. So he sent a special letter to me, and for five days I rode over the worst roads possible to effect this great deed. I think that you had better submit quietly and let me restore the girl to her parents and to her future husband, because, if you refuse, I will have to fight and overcome you, no matter what shape you may assume.”

At that the monster started to cry, “She will never go back and marry that miserable old man. It would be better for her to die.”

I realized at once that this was simply a part of the deception that the horrific monster was trying to impose on me with so I grew stern.

“She must go back!” I said harshly, and twirling the woods flower in my hand to distract his attention, I advanced on him, for it was my purpose to suddenly spring forward, take him by the throat, and squeeze him to death before he had a chance to change his form from that of a lovely woman to his usual one of a dragon or six-legged scorpion.

The monster looked at me. The eyes he had assumed were blue, the face fair and smooth as a rose petal, but his mouth was a lovely red bow. The body he had taken for a disguise was fair, and, under the silken robe, swayed with the seductive curves of a Grecian Aphrodite. Suddenly he started to cry.

“No other man,” he sobbed, “would make me go back and marry ” that old Jew. No other man — “

But by then I had jumped forward and crushed him in my arms.

Some days later I came out of the dark forest. My poor charger had eaten all the grass within his reach, had broken loose, but, true to his master, had remained near the armor. I slowly put the heavy pieces back on, being minded to thus return to the town. Then I mounted and drew the damsel up in front of me and thus we slowly rode back to the town.

To my surprize I was met there by a great concourse of armed men. It seems that the King of Wales and his knights, hearing that I had gone into the mountains on such a grim adventure, had gathered to my rescue, and, had I not appeared that day, would have searched for my bones to give them Christian burial. My sudden arrival made such a search unnecessary; so there was nothing to do but make merry over my return from this so great adventure, and allow the feasting and merrymaking to take the place of solemn masses for the peace of my soul.

At the banquet table I commanded that the damsel sit next to me and said that there were very necessary reasons why this should be done. Then came the feasting and the talking, the Welsh being very brave at both of such indoor sports. The King of Wales told how proud they were to have the Overlord of Cornwall take part in such a glorious adventure the; father of the girl told of his joy and thanksgiving for her safe return; the aged Jew handed me a silk bag with the fifty gold crowns in it as the reward he had offered, and then he begged the monarch that the wedding go on while all the world was there and that he would give fine presents to every one of the guests. But I rose in my place and said:

“I can not let this Jew die!”

“What do you mean?” asked the king.

“To explain,” I replied, “will be a pleasure to me, though I can not do so without telling of my overcoming of this great Welsh monster in the mountain cave. If, in the telling, I seem at times to be boastful, you will pardon my pride for, really, the deed; was a great deed and well done. I do not want to tell all the details, but it will be necessary for me to do so in order to show why it is impossible for the Jew to marry her. Because he is a good Jew and I do not want him to die.

“When I came to the woods I heard a horrific hissing and knew by the sound that the monster was trying to frighten me. So, leaving my horse, I advanced carefully, and as the wood grew darker I saw the flashing of lightning and these flashes came from the eyes of the dragon. Finally, I came near enough to see the creature, and you may judge of my surprize when I tell you that it was a worm, many feet long, but, instead of feet like a millipede, it had arms and hands, and each hand grasped a weapon, sharp as a dagger and poisoned with deadly dragon’s doom. There were three heads, and I might remark here that a three-headed monster is not new to me, I having killed several of them in Gorkiland, but in this case only one had a face on it; the other two being smooth of features, save a mouth that dripped blood and spittle. It had no sign of fear and rushed on me, and for over an hour I had need of all my skill defending myself from its weapons. I used, as is my wont in such cases, my two-handed sword and finally succeeded in cutting off one of the heads. It howled mournfully and ran into its cave.

“I rushed after it and was not surprized to find a large cavern well-lighted with the baleful light from the monster’s eyes. Also the headless stump bled a white blood that shone on the floor of the cave.

“The fighting now was hard, because I was constantly stumbling over the bones of maidens he had previously ravished and devoured. At last I snipped off another head, and now the monster retreated into a still smaller cave. Chained to the wall of this cavern was the little girl who had been stolen from her parents and who would have been destroyed, body and soul, at the next full moon, had I not come when I was called for.

“The dragon now assumed the shape of an old magician and, breathing harshly, asked me to leave him at peace, offering to share the beauty of the maiden with me if I did so. Of course, I scorned such a dastardly offer and, calling on him to defend himself, I rushed on him with my dagger. Seeing that he was doomed, by the power of his magic he metamorphosed himself into a bubble of air and vanished down the maiden’s throat.

“I have brought her back. The monster is still within her, waiting for a chance to come forth and destroy all of you good people of Wales. If this poor maiden married the Jew, the monster would sally forth on the bridal night and tear him to pieces. If she remains here, the whole village is in danger. Only is the world safe so long as he realizes that I am close at hand to strangle him to death at his first appearance.”

The audience shivered and seemed stunned by my tale.

Finally the king asked, “What are your plans? And why should you undergo such a risk to save the life at a Jew or of the simple folks of this village?”

“I propose to take the unfortunate girl with me to Cornwall. I shall watch her closely on the trip. If the monster comes from out her, I will at once kill him and return her to the parents and the Jew. If he still sulks in her midgut by the time I reach Cornwall, I shall give her rare medicines I know of and thus, gradually, the monster will die within her. I am a lone man, without wife or children, and it is better for me to take this great risk, even if I die for it, than to have all these good people die in one night of slaughter. Besides, I know a lot about devils and their manner of action, and thus it is best for me to keep the maiden near me till this fiend is thoroughly destroyed.”

“Oh, kind sir,” cried the mother, “how can we thank you? You are too good to us. No other man would have done all the wondrous things just for strangers; I will feel so safe with my daughter in your care.”

And the Jew came up to me on his knees and humbly handed me a gold chain and thanked me for saving his life from a horrible tearing at the hands of this monster.

Now it was late in the afternoon, yet, as the day was warm, I insisted that I depart for Cornwall; so up I got me on my charger, and I put the maiden up in front of me, and in back was a bundle of presents of jewels and fine silken stuffs from the king and his knights, and I wore all my armor, save my helmet, which I had tied to my saddle and wore instead a little velvet cap.

So we said a kindly farewell to all those people.

The king rode down the road with me.

“Art sure, dear sibling,” he asked, as he prepared to leave me, “art sure the damsel hath the devil in her?”

“Certainly,” I replied, very seriously.

“Then she be a true woman,” he answered, “for all women I have ever met are thus inhabited.”

With this he winked at me, and, turning, trotted his horse back to the town where his company waited on him.

Ruth and I fared on through the summer afternoon. More and more as the sun lowered in the kindly sky, she leaned heavily against me, and now and then she sighed, as she looked up at me with those blue eyes and asked: “Dost see aught of the monster peering from my mouth?”

“Nay,” I replied, holding her closer so that she need not be frightened.

“Yet I fear me that it cometh out. Drive it back, my heart!”

And so I did with kisses.

How stubborn that devil was! How hard to drive back!…So, the maiden was satisfied.

Finally, she gasped.

“No other man,” she whispered, “would have done it as you did.”

“No other man,” I echoed.

And once again I drove the devil back from her mouth.

The Bride Well

[Weird Tales 1930-10]

As Paul Spencer pointed out in our last issue, David H. Keller was a staunch admirer of the works of James Branch Cabell, and while there is a touch of Cabell in all of the Tales From Cornwall, it comes out most clearly in the Cecil, Overlord sequences, of which this is the fourth.

It was not till we came well within the boundaries of my beloved Cornwall that I realized the fact that my appearing before my subjects with a Welsh lady might not be either understood or acceptable to those sturdy knights who had been so faithful to me during the early days of my reign. It was all well enough to rescue the lovely Ruth and even spend long minutes driving the Devil back into her body with long, lingering kisses, but to boldly bring the same lady back to my domains might cause political disturbances of the direst nature. At the same time there was Ruth, on the horse, in front of me; and from certain clinging habits she had spontaneously developed, I had every reason to believe that she intended to remain within the curve of my left arm, waist-bound, for the rest of her life.

"I am Overlord of Cornwall,” I at last made bold to say, "and much of my support comes from nobles with marriageable daughters. So long as I am a bachelor, these nobles will remain my friends, but if they saw you, and found out you were from Wales, then at once there would arise jealous dissensions. So, we stop at the first chapman’s and buy masculine apparel for you, and you will go to my castle as a page.”

"Shall I be your page?” Ruth asked.

"Oh! I presume so. At least I will have no other, and you can run my errands for me, and bind on my armor when I go giant-hunting.”

"That will be nice. I think that I will look well in boy’s clothes. I used to wear them when I was much younger. Will you give me a boy’s name?”

We talked it all over and decided to call her Percy. Later on in the day we met a Jew who was selling clothing to those who would buy, and with him I made a shrewd trade; so, when Ruth came out from behind the bushes she looked like a young lad, not yet shaven. The Jew took her clothes, and some silver, and left us.

Now after that I made Ruth ride behind me, and if there was any holding on to do, she could do it. All that day and one more day we rode, and that night we arrived once more at my castle. Giving orders that my faithful charger be well fed and bedded, and that the treasures I brought with me be safely secured behind lock and bar, I trudged rather wearily to my rooms to remove the iron and leather harness that seemed to be so necessary for a ruler to wear when out on the lonely roads of my country. I bethought me of King Arthur who made the land so safe that a gold bracelet hung on a thorn-bush for three years without being disturbed while it waited for its rightful owner. That was the kind of country I wanted Cornwall to be, some day.

Percy came after me into the privacy of my rooms, and ere I was aware she started to take off my armor, and cleverly found sweet oil to rub me with and my silks and soft leathers; so, before I realized it, I was in comfort before the fire, and she holding out to me a horn of spiced ale, which it seems she had ordered for my comfort on her way up the stone stairs.

After that, came some pleasant days in the library. Of course, Ruth could not read, but she had a clever understanding of the pictures, and her willingness to acknowledge that I knew more than she did was decidedly refreshing to my masculine pride. In my astonishing adventures in the Apurimac Valley, the Blessed Islands, Cabel and Dahomey, I had met many women, but never one who willingly acknowledged my intellectual supremacy. So, as the simple child seemed anxious to learn, I permitted her to look through many of my books and even spent long hours in reading to her. Of course, she wore her boy’s clothes and I was very careful to call her Percy, but occasionally when we were alone I graciously gave her osculatory treatment for the Devil I had forced to enter her.

It was all very lovely and might have continued for an infinity of pleasant evenings, at least for a month or so, had it not been for an unexpected and slightly embarrassing visit from several of my mightiest nobles. There were but three of them, but so powerful were they in the affairs of Cornwall that they might as well have been thirty or three hundred. I received them in the library, first telling Percy to begone and stay begone till she knew they were safely out of the Castle. To help the page pass the time while away from me I gave into his hands a boy, where from he could learn the letters, and thus come, some day, to be able to read.

Before the fire the good knights Bevidere, Arthur the and Mallory sat warming their shins and drinking my wine, the while looking at each other and then sidewise at me as though uncertain as to who should begin the conversation or as to the effect it would have on their Overlord. At last Mallory coughed and started to tell me what was on their minds.

"You must be willing to acknowledge, Cecil, son of James, son of David, son of John and even back to the son of Saint Christopher, that your arrival to our country and you becoming Overlord has been a matter of deep mystery to all of us.”

"There is no doubt that it was most unusual,” I replied.

"We admit that we needed a strong man to rule us. There were robbers and giants and demons within the realm and many strong and jealous countries around us, anxious for our downfall. You arrived here at an opportune time, and, thanks to your ability as a giant-killer and politician, you have given Cornwall a sense of security that before your advent it strangely lacked.”

"My record speaks for itself,” I almost boasted. "Five robber gangs dispersed and from these over a hundred killed in battle or hung on dead limbs to warn all folk of the danger of acting thus in my confines. Three giants, seven deadly serpents, one dragon, and a number of salamanders and ogres have been sent to Limbo. Ireland, thanks to my magical powers, is more than friendly to us. Wales can not attack. In fact, only within the last few weks I adventured there and rid their land of a most horrific curse, following which adventure the King of Wales himself gave me many jewels and other presents of great value. Thus there is no doubt, at least in my mind, that Cornwall hath profited mightily by having me to take charge of the affairs of state.”

Bevidere swore a mighty oath!

"By the bones of the eleven thousand and one virgins of Cologne, no one can gainsay the truth of all you say, and, speaking for the three of us, and we represent the country, I am sure that we value your services as Overlord, though your bookish ways are beyond us-”

"Ah!” I interrupted, "but you have not seen all my books. Now I am sure that if you looked through my copy of Elephantis- Where is my copy? I always keep it right there. That dog of a page must have taken it. Anyway, I anticipate that you would have keen enjoyment from its inspection.”

"That may be, but we are not monks. None of us understand the art of reading.”

"You do not have to read. The book of Elephantis is simply one of pictures.”

"That would be different. But to go on where Your Worship broke into my argument. We like you, and value your ability to rule a country, but what will happen to us should you die, of the Black Plague or of the Pox? You have, as far as we know, neither kith nor kin, and, being unmarried, no children to render your dynasty secure. This is why we come here. To urge your marriage.”

I lost no time in making die answer.

"This is no new problem to me, my lords. I know that I owe it to my country to marry and have children, sturdy sons to carry the burden and beautiful daughters to make fortunate alliances. But how can I marry? I am wise but not wise enough to select a wife from among the beautiful virgins of Cornwall. I met Elenore, daughter of Sir Bevidere, and lost my heart to her, but the next day Sir Arthur rode by with his daughter Helen, and I realized that she was blond where Elenore was brunette. Then, the same week chance led me to the home of Sir Mallory, and his daughter Guinevere graced the banquet table. Tell me, my lords, with three such beauties to choose from, how can a man decide? Shall I take Helen and offend the fathers of Elenore and Guinevere? If I marry Elenore, how can I bear to keep the mystical beauties of the other two graces from haunting my nights? That is why I am still a bachelor. Am I right? Only by remaining single can I keep my beloved knights at peace and these darling girls at least with some degree of hope, for so long as I am single I am the rightful property of any woman brilliant enough to win me.”

Sir Arthur smiled:

"Very clever. That speech is on a par with your general performance since dropping into our country from nowhere. We know how you feel. You want to be fair with all of us. But at the same time you must marry. I hear that you are a worker of magic; that by your demoniacal powers you became Overlord, and later on secured the friendship of Ireland by removing the tail from the husband of Queen Broda. We are asking you to use this magic in selecting your bride. To the west of this castle, in the dark forest, centering a fairy ring is a bride well. A single man looking into that well, sees the face of his future bride. We will gather there, the Cornwall nobles and their eligible daughters. You will look into the well, compare the picture you see there with the lovely damsels, and announce your decision. It is an ancient custom, and, as we know you are honest, will provide a satisfactory answer to our dilemma. For many hundred years our Overlords have thus selected their brides. So, the next night of the full moon we will gather there, with a priest, and the selection and the marriage will all be the work of a few minutes. Are you satisfied with the plan?"

"It is perfect," I replied. "It has all of the elements of white magic of the finest sort.”

"Then,” said Arthur, "Bevidere and I will be riding on through the night. Mallory remains, I understand. He hath a wife that is a shrew and the poor lad lets no opportunity slip to remain a night away from her, especially when he hath a leman with him.” So saying he slapped Sir Mallory on the back, laughed heartily at his discomfort, and he and Sir Bevidere went out into the night.

"Tis an odd way of selecting a Queen,” I remarked.

"So it is,” agreed the grizzled old knight, "but hath no more gamble to it than any other way. Hundreds of years ago, ’tis said that the nobility gathered to see the selection of the bride, and when the Overlord looked into the well, there he saw, instead of a reflection of a woman, a real woman, named Melusina, a daughter of a French fay, called Pressina, and she, coming from the well, demanded that she become the Queen and none could gainsay her right. They married, and, her clothing off, the poor Overlord found that she was half woman and half snake. It was a great scandal, and created new styles in clothes and slippers. Many women claimed to be deformed just to be in the style.”

"Horrible! But how came she in the well?”

"No doubt placed herself there to marry the Overlord. Ha! Ha! It would be bad for that old tale to be spread over Cornwall just now. A dozen wells would not hold the lovely women who covet you.” And the old rogue poked me in my royal ribs, as he drank another horn of wine. At last I had him taken to his room, there to be cared for by his leman.

As soon as he I called for Percy. I wanted to know where my copy of Elephantis was. As I suspected, she had taken it with her when she left the library; and all the time I thought she was studying her letters. I scolded her:

"How can you ever hope to become learned when you look at such pictures instead of studying your letters?”

"I do not want to become learned,” she sulked.

"What do you want to become?” I demanded.

But she simply started to cry; so I cuffed her on the ear and bade her begone for the night. It would be one week before the night of the full moon. If I was going to have a wife, then the best place for Percy, or Ruth, or whatever his or her name was, well, anyway, the best place for her to be would be back in Wales. So, I waited till morning and had a palfrey packed with silken gowns and jewels and placed her on an- other pony in charge of two of my most trusty men-at-arms, and sent her on her way.

"Go back and marry your old Jew,” I said roughly. "And be an honest woman and the mother of children and cease your nonsense and your odd ways.”

"I don’t believe you want me any more,” she said rather seriously, and the way she looked at me and pursed her lips made me regret that I had done as I had.

"It is not that,” I said in self-defense, "but I am the Overlord of a great country and I must marry and start a dynasty; so on your way, and occasionally think kindly of me, Ruth.”

So off she went back to Wales, and I thought that I was well rid of a dangerous situation; for, now that I was to marry and settle down, there was only one way for me to live and that was as an example to my people, and a model of faithfulness and sobriety.

The next week was a busy one. I kept open house. All of the nobility called, at least for a meal. There were gruff fathers and solicitous mothers and beautiful daughters, almost without number. Any bachelor who could not pick a bride from these Cornwall beauties was indeed hard to please. Naturally, there was effort made to influence me — gifts, private interviews, little intrigues of every nature; but I was able to act so wisely that when the night of the full moon came, every one of the lovely candidates and all of their relatives were satisfied that I would act fairly and be influenced only by the most honest comparison with the image in the well and the lady whom this image most resembled.

The Priest was there. I was rather troubled when I saw that Priest, for, in spite of his sacerdotal robes, he resembled closely the man who had conquered in the Battle of the Toads, the mighty magician who had granted me my three wishes and made me Overlord of Cornwall. He saw that I suspected him and he gave me the sign of the Brethren and then I knew him to be my friend, and felt satisfied that he would so influence my choice that naught but happiness would result therefrom. Sir Bevidere was there and Arthur and fifty other loving fathers. It would be a hard choice, and I was glad that a Master Magician had a hand in the affair.

We waited rather anxiously while the full moon rose. Of course none approached the well. That right was reserved for me, and I was not to look therein till the moon was directly above it. It was a silent, serious gathering, every one hoping against hope and each of them hoping something different. They could not all be right. Only one lovely woman could become bride and Queen.

I trembled a little. That was from the chill night air. At the same time it was not an easy matter, even for a hardened adventurer, to go through the program of the night. Suppose I should be forced to select Sir Mallory’s daughter? I knew his wife, and there was no reason to think that the daughter would be different. Oh, well! If the worst came to the worst, I could go hunting gerrymanders in Ethiopia.

At last the Priest, who seemed to be acting as Master of Ceremonies, called for silence and bade me walk forward to the well. The moon was now directly over the ancient hole. Trembling, I looked in, and at once covered my dazzled eyes. Then I took a step backward.

"Did you see an image therein?” asked the Priest.

"I did.”

"Then from these lovely virgins select the one whose image you saw in the Bride Well."

"I can not! She resembleth none of these waiting ladies.” "

My people murmured when they heard me. It was a hard thing I said and one they could not understand. But I waved my hand regally as I demanded silence.

"Here is a magical happening," I cried. "There is no image in the well, but rather a real woman. Priest, bid her come forth and tell her name and station in life. Have her explain how comes she here.”

The Priest did so. In seven different languages and five distant dialects he called down the well to the one in the well to come forth. She came; slowly, almost as though floating upward she came, stepping gracefully over the stone curbing, came toward me and made a deep curtsy, and then, in clean commanding voice, she spake:

Then, stretching her hand toward me, she cried to the Priest:

"Marry us forthwith, so we can, united, bless this fair land of Cornwall and its beloved people. Why should I care about leaving Paradise when I can spend an eternity in Cornwall?”

She was regal. From the golden crown which held her glorious locks together down to the silver slippers on her little feet she was a rare mate for any Overlord. Something of this must have impressed my people. Perhaps they felt that it was a happy ending to what might have turned out to be a difficult situation. At least they cried aloud their approval of the marriage.

But through the forest came the sound of silvery horns, and the neighing of horses and the dull roll of chariots. Who should it be but Queen Broda in her golden chariot with my friend, and her husband by her side? What fortunate magic secured her arrival at this time? I looked at the Priest and he winked at me. Good! With such a partner I would go far.

"Hail, Cecil, Overlord of Cornwall! Hail and thrice hail! I heard that you were adventuring into the land of matrimony tonight, and if this lady by your side is your bride, then your adventurings will be sweet indeed. But you have many maidens here who are unwed. It came to me to select fifty of my young nobles and offer them in marriage to your lovely girls. With such marriages the friendship of Ireland and Cornwall will be truly made too strong to break.”

Then into the moonlight came fifty Irishmen in purple robes and golden armlets and gold chains around their necks and golden curls on their heads, and between them it was hard to choose. The Cornwall maidens could hardly wait till proper introductions were made. Then by the same magic that had ruled the entire evening, the couples instantly fell in love, and agreements were soon made so that after an hour of merrymaking there were fifty-one couples to be married by the Priest instead of one.

Naturally, every one went away happy. I as many as I could in my Castle, but at last came the hour when I was alone with my bride. She had slipped off her regal robes and placed upon her lovely body a silken gown that showed in every part the truth of her statement that she had come from Paradise. I determined to be stern with her. Now was the time to find out who was to rule.

"Why did you do it?” I asked.

"Why should I not? That night when Sir Mallory talked to you I hid behind the velvet curtains. What one woman can do, another can. You gave me the dresses and jewels and I made up my mind to use them. Of course, you remember the poem? You taught me that yourself and I just made a few changes in it.”

"I recognized the poetry at once,” I admitted. "I read it to you from the Exeter Book and the name of it is De Phoenice. Of course, it was clever of you and you looked more than beautiful as you rose out of the well.”

"Of course, I had to practise that. It was rather hard to climb the ladder, but I would do anything for you, Cecil dear. And it all ended just perfectly lovely. Just like one of those stories you used to read to me.”

She smiled at me so sweetly, she clung to me so graciously, she looked so adoringly into my eyes that all my reserve melted. I crushed her to me.

"Oh, Ruth, Ruth! I am so glad that it happened the way it did. No other woman would have had the courage to do it. I am glad that you are going to be my Queen. I do not believe that I shall ever be able to stop kissing you.”

We heard a little laugh. Turning, we faced the Priest.

"I just dropped in to say good-bye, and wish you all kinds of happiness. You are going far in the world. Cecil, Overlord of Cornwall, with such a woman for your wife. By the way, would you mind if I borrowed your copy of Elephantis? There is a Cardinal in Italy, a friend of mine, who has expressed the desire to see it.”

"That is all right,” I answered. "Just take it with you. Now that Ruth and I are married, I do not believe I shall care to spend as much time with Elephantis as I did.”

"You are going to find me much nicer,” cooed Ruth, as she clung closer to me.

The Key to Cornwall

[Stirring Science Stories 1941-02]

The Overlord of Cornwall sat dreaming before the fire. He had never, even in his prime, been a large man; now age slowly has shrunk him till only his eyes held the youth that once was his. On the other side of the fire stood his son, Eric.

The men there waiting for the wise physician to announce the birth of Eric’s child, who in turn would some day rule all the land. Cecil had found this country of Cornwall a land of starved, simple folk, horrific monsters and still more terrible giants. His wisdom, more than his strength at arms, had wiped out evil till Cornwall was a pleasant place to live in. In time his only son, Eric the Golden, had married Black Breda, Princess of Wales. It was an odd marriage, the man a flaxen haired giant and the woman a black haired little female with great love in her heart and the laughter of pixies in her soul.

The old man stroked the golden key which hung pendant to a thick silken cord round his neck. He looked at his son.

“I am not easy about this matter of Breda and her child,” he said. “Long years ago I came to this land from France and in various ways won victory over the Toad Men and became Overlord of the land. My friend, in that struggle of right over might and light over darkness, gave me this key. On it are graven words of a race so long dead that none can read it, but the meaning of those words is simply this,

“Thus far the prophecy on the key has been correct. In one way or another I have held the land for you and for those who come after you. We have made peace with those around us, have held our borders against those who lived by the sword. Our nobles rule wisely and our common folk are content.

“But yesterday I had a dream. Mayhap it was only a foreboding of evil caused by overanxiety concerning your lady and her travail, but it seemed to me that a few of the Toad Men still lived to do me and mine harm. I thought they were all dead, but it may be that evil never completely dies. You have heard me speak of this key before, but keep in mind the ancient words. Tell your son about them and have him tell his son. Long as we hold the key we hold Cornwall, but once it is taken Cornwall sinks back to the barbarism in which I found it.”

Cecil would have said more, but was interrupted by the old physician. He walked before the fire and stood there rubbing his withered hands, though it was springtime and the air was warm. At last he turned to Eric, and as though answering a question, said:

“Your Lady will live, Prince Eric, but she will bear you no more children.”

The golden haired giant sprang toward him, shook him rudely by shoulders and cried,

“What of the child? Is it a boy? Will he live?”

Lord Cecil leaned forward, hands gripping arms of his ivory chair. The physician laughed.

“ Tis a boy and he will live, though when you see him you will think it had been better had he died. Through him we are revenged for those of the Toad Men who died untimely that night Cecil, the pauper poet, slew us in his pride.”

The Overlord of Cornwall stood up, whispering.

“Age made me lose my cunning caution. I should have known.” Turning sharply, he cried to his son, “Hands off the man, Eric. Nothing must happen to you!”

With slow but certain step he came toward the old physician. For that ancient there was no retreat save into the blazing fire. Then they met, grappled, swayed and fell forward, the Overlord of Cornwall underneath. The physician had one arm around the body and one hand on the throat of the ruler, but Cecil appeared content to have both arms around the other’s neck. Eric tore a dagger from his belt and was bending to plunge it into the Toad Man when his wrist was caught in a grip that left him powerless. Turning he saw a stranger who simply smiled and whispered,

“Do not interfere. Your Sire is a proud man and I know that he has wisdom to use the only manner by which he can win. He would not care to be saved by either of us, if he needed saving, and I do not think he does.”

Slowly Cecil brought his face against the face of his adversary; slowly he fastened to him mouth to mouth and there he held him, sucking the breath of life from his body. The man twisted above him, tried to rise, shake off his executioner, but slowly relaxed and at last, with a few tortured jerks, died. As death came to him his body changed till at last it became that of a toad, giant in size, clad in human dress, but none the less an airless toad and very dead at that. The stranger separated the living from the dead, then knelt beside the Overlord of Cornwall.

“I should have come long before, my dear friend,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I was busy with serious duties in Gobi and only today I knew of your danger; I came on the wings of light, and hardly in time to aid you. Not in time to save the boy. Now he is as he is and no one can make him different. But his father can hold the key and after him, mayhap the boy can be made somewhat of. I am very wise and now know that there is still one of the race of Toads left to do us harm; but I am not all wise so I do not know where that one is or in what shape evil will come to harm you and your race. You have been badly hurt; the poison breathed from that spawn of Hell, methinks, will spell your doom. But all brave men pass sometime and you can be comforted by knowing that you passed bravely.”

Thus Cecil, first Overlord of Cornwall, passed and Eric the Golden became custodian of the golden key and ruled in his father’s land. Messengers carried the broken bow and the flameless torch throughout the country and by the third day many nobles came from near and far to do the dead man homage. But the simple folk sat unconsoled in their huts and wondered what now would happen to them.

It was not till after the funeral guests had departed and the stranger had returned to Gobi that Eric had time or even desire to visit his wife and son. He had asked often about them and was always assured that they were doing well. Now, with the castle empty of visitors he took a new suit of velvet and went to the river where he bathed till much of his grief and deep sorrow was washed from him. Then he dressed in his brave court suit and humming a little song walked back to the castle and to the room where his wife and child lay.

At the bed of Breda the Blackhaired, he dropped to his knees. It was a high, bed but he was a tall man and even with knees to floor he could overlook his wife. He took her hand in his, and knew, without asking, that Death had placed his cross on her forehead. She smiled.

“I am glad to see you, Eric, my first and last love; it sorrows me that I will not be a long time with you. It seems to me that I die from nothing in particular save the lack of desire to live. My Ladies tell me that now I am the Queen of the Overlord and Mother of a new Prince; but I saw the boy, just for a moment, though my ladies tried to keep me from doing so and knowing how you would feel, I have no desire to live. Speed me with your lips, and burn candles for the peace of my soul.”

Thus Eric the Golden lost two of the dear ones of his life. But he rose bravely from the side of his dead wife and whispered,

“I have a son and must live on for him, and his future greatness. Some day he will carry the golden key.”

He told the ladies in waiting to take him to the child. Fearful, they escorted him to the nursery, where the withered husk of an old nurse sat at the foot of a cradle inlaid with gold, ebony and ivory, in which Eric had been rocked years before. The father looked down on his son. The ladies faded from the room. Only the old dame stayed rubbing her cold fingers.

“The boy has a large head,” observed Eric. “He should be wise as a man.”

“His head is large and shapely,” muttered the nurse.

“There is a good jaw there. When he fastens on an opinion he will hold it. He has a strong neck and will hold his head high as lie travels through life.”

“His jaw is firm and his neck strong,” answered the nurse, though she had no need to do so.

Eric whirled around, took her by the shoulder and shook her,

“What is wrong with the lad?” he demanded. “What is wrong with him?”

She started to cry. With great strong, shaking but tender hands Eric took off the baby clothes; then, white faced and silent replaced them and silently left the room. Out in the hall the ladies stood rigid against the walls as though waiting to be struck.

He paused..

“Tend to the lad carefully and see that he is fed on goat’s milk. I go to bury his Mother; when that is done which needs be done I wall come back and provide for my son.”

On the morning of the third day he dressed in leather hunting clothes, took the child from the nursery and rode away without escort into the dark forest. The babe slept but began to cry by noon for want of food. Just then a woman walked from the greenwood and paused in front of Erie’s horse. Eric, looking down on her saw that she was young, deep bosomed, flaxen haired and in all respects comely. He said kindly,

“Who are you? Why do you stop me? What can I do for you?”

“I am Breda, woman of Olax the Dane and mother of his child. Our war vessel, the Swan, wrecked on your rocks two suns ago and I was the only one to reach the shore. I found a hut and slept; last night in a dream I saw you coming with a babe who hungered for a mother, as I hunger for a dead child.”

Wordless, Eric handed her the baby. Wordless the woman sat down on the grass, opened her kirtle and nursed the little one. Finally the baby slept. The woman cradled him in her arms and said quietly,

“The child has a lovely face.”

Eric looked at the two of them without answer.

“A strong chin and powerful neck,” she continued. “With proper care he will become a fine man.”

“Hand me the young one,” commanded the Overlord of Cornwall, “and do you seat yourself behind me on the horse. The boy is yours to care for, and I will take the two of you to my hunting lodge where there will be servants to wait on you and men-at-arms to protect you; for this baby, if he lives, will some day be Lord over all Cornwall. You are a good woman and thus you will have a home and safety; your care of the child will be rewarded, if a woman can be paid for such kindness to such a child.”

Time passed on. Eric found work to keep him busy. His father had cleaned Cornwall, but the son put a polish on the land till it was a country anyone could be proud to live in. One day a month he rode to visit his son and the rest of the time he tried to forget him which was very difficult. When the boy was three years old, he called to the Castle an old forester who had a flair for training dogs.

“From now on, Russel, you are going to train a Prince instead of wolfhounds. My son has a strong jaw. He must be taught to use it. He must learn to hang to a rope with that jaw and never let go till he so desires. Teach him to roll over and over on the grass, to arch his back, reach low branches and pull himself along. Every day rub his body with oil. I will have a wise man train him in the use of words, and after that in all wisdom. He can learn to hold a pen in his mouth and write. When he is six we will start him off on a pony with special harness and saddle. Do you know about the lad?”

“I have heard talk about him, but paid little heed to it. it seemed to me that things could not be as bad as 'twas said.”

“It is as bad as that or worse. But the boy has a fine brain, and talks very well for his age; so far he does not realize — he has seen no other children — he does not know.”

“Some day,” said the forester boldly, “he will know, and then he will not thank you for keeping him alive.”

Eric turned on him.

“Who am I to kill my oven son? We all of us have something wrong with us, with our mind or body. The boy is not to blame. Let the future tell the story! The lad has a strong jaw and a fine mind. These must carry him where he will go. It is for us to help him make the most of what he has. Do as I have told you, and remember that you have in your keeping the next Overlord of the land.”

From that time began a new life for Balder, for thus he was named, that naming having been the desire of Breda the Black, while she was carrying him. At times Eric pondered over the mockery of such a name, and thought it should be changed. Balder! Balder the Beautiful, the beloved, perfect God of the Northlands, What a name for what a child.

The boy learned to hold things in his mouth, death-gripped. He learned to ride the pony, guiding him with his teeth. Over and over he would roll on the ground. At seven he could write his name with a pen held in his mouth. Freda cared for him, Russel trained his body and a very wise, old man taught him wisdom. By the time he was twelve he knew ail the old man could teach him, and could gallop on a war horse, Eric knew the time had come to bring him back to the Castle and begin teaching him the duties of Overlord which some day he would have to assume. What body he had grew strong, and he could do what any other fine boy of his age could have done with a similar body — just that much and nothing more. Because he had to largely depend on his mind that part of him showed an unusual growth.

An artificer in leather made harness for him so he could sit in a saddle or be with his father in the banquet hall. There, except that he had to be fed, he seemed to be like any other young Prince, and, as those around him were accustomed to his care and through their great love for him never mentioned the fatal difference between him and other boys, he was mostly happy and gay and appeared to receive much, of the joy of living which is the due of youth. Thus he came to his twenty-first birthday.

“And time for you to wed, my son,” said Eric the Overlord of Cornwall. “The times are troublesome, and more and more it becomes difficult for us to keep the peace and preserve the land in its Golden Age. Marriage with a Princess of a neighboring land, Wales, Scotia or Ireland, would help, and mayhap your son would rule in peace and security. I think that it could be arranged.”

Balder smiled rather sadly as he replied:

“It would be better for you to marry again, Father, and raise a son. No doubt some princess, bookish minded, would care to marry me for what I am above my neck, but what lovely lady would want me for the part below?”

“You have a strong neck, a powerful jaw and a fine mind, my son,” said the Overlord, “and the time may come when such will take a man far in this troubled world. Your Grandfather was not much of a fighter. Just between the two of us I doubt all those legends of his conquering two-headed giants and scurvy dragons; but he had a clever mind. Had he lived he would have gloried in your knowledge of the books in his library. Suppose I look around and see if a suitable marriage cannot be made for you.”

This was easier said than done. In all the lands near Cornwall men were still settling disputes with the poleax and battle sword. All the Kings were kind and sympathetic, and when Eric looked them in the eye made no reference to the peculiar disability of Prince Balder; but for this and that and the other reason found that a marriage between him and one of their daughters could not be arranged for. Then, just when Eric decided that his undertaking was impossible, messengers came from a land far away offering the hand of a Princess in marriage, a beautiful lady who would bring a dower of great wealth. They brought presents and a picture of the waiting lady, and quietly said that she and her Father knew about Prince Balder but that nothing made any difference. Eric sent gifts in return and at the end of a year the Princess came and mid great pageantry she was wedded to Balder, Prince of Cornwall.

That afternoon The Overlord called on his son, saying:

“As I told you these are troubled times. The King of Wales has sent messengers to me. Enemies from the North have come in long ships and are harassing his shore. He asks for help, and that help I must give him at once. Since I must leave Cornwall you must rule in my place against my return, so around your neck I place this cord of twisted silk from which hangs the Golden Key. Guard it well and remember the ancient verse,

And, when the enemy is driven back, or better still, destroyed, I shall return; I am ill at ease that I have to leave you at this time when you should have nothing between, you and your bride save thoughts of love-a-daisies.”

“Go without fear, Father, and return when the time comes,” said the son, “while you are gone nothing shall happen to the Key, and my bride Marylyn will help me in all things because she seems to be a most wise and a most beautiful lady.”

Thus Eric rode away followed by his men-at-arms, his archers and his pike-men and the castle drawbridge was raised; but Freda the nurse and Russel the Forester were worried and talked long into the night about their beloved Prince and his sudden advent into manhood and its responsibilities. But Lady Marylyn went to the bedroom of her husband and closed the door and locked it while Balder lay on the bed and wondered at her beauty — but not for long.

“And I am worried that a beautiful lady such as you are would deliberately mate with such a man as I am,” he said sadly.

She laughed at him.

“I married you because I wanted to.”

“But why should you want: to?” he asked.

“Because of that key you wear around your neck. Many years ago a Prince of Darkness, aided by your grand-sire, destroyed the Toad-men who for centuries had ruled Cornwall. Only one escaped and he was my father. Soon after you were born, Cecil, Overlord of the land, killed my father, killed him most terribly and pitilessly. I am the last of my race. Through my legerdemain I arranged the marriage because, though your father can fight, above his neck he is simply a goodnatured fool. The message from Wales was simply a part of my plan, as your father will find out when it is too late. My spirit men surround the castle. Late tonight after I am rested i will place a candle in the window. Then the silken cord will be around my neck and the golden key will lie between my breasts; my men will swarm into the castle killing and over Cornwall destroying and once again we will rule in Cornwall. Too late your Father will learn of it — too late.” She laughed merrily and ended, “And that is why I married you, poor fool!”

Taking him in her lovely arms she raised him from the bridal bed and rolled him over on the floor: then she took, off her bridal dress and her silver shoes and Balder knew that she spake the truth because her toes were long and webbed, like those of a toad. Savagely she tore the silk cord from his neck and placed it around her head, then with a lighted candle on the chest at the foot of the bed, she lay down and rested and soon slept — for she had nothing to fear — nothing to fear from such a bridegroom.

Eric’s son, Cecil’s grandson, Balder, the far from Beautiful, save that of him above the neck, lay helpless on the floor. He thought of Cornwall, his land where peace had reigned for so many years, and knew that he and he alone stood between the simple, happy folk and death and disaster. Because there was nothing to say he said nothing. But he waited realizing that though he had lost the key, none of the spirit men would know that till the candle was placed in the window.

His bride, the so beautiful Marylyn, last of the Toad-folk, with the arms and hands of a Venus and feet of a batrachian, lay resting, waiting, drowsing on the bed. At last she must have slept for one fair arm dropped off the bed and rested, hand on floor. Then Balder knew that perhaps fate had delivered her into his power. Very carefully he rolled over and once again over on his body, a trick he had learned on the meadow grass. Now his face was but a few inches from the devil-lady’s wrist. He arched his neck, that strong bull-like neck and opened his mouth; then he suddenly took that wrist and fastened on it with jaws that for many years, once fastened, had never let go.

The toad woman screamed with pain.

Jerking, he pulled her off the bed.

She beat him on the face with her free hand, but he simply held her tighter, shaking her arm as a terrier would shake a rat. Her blood covered his face but lie held her tight. She pulled him over the floor trying to reach the candle and with it in her free hand, the window; but though once and again twice, she almost reached it, each time, with, a powerful, almost convulsive movement, he pulled her back to the floor. At last she fainted from loss of blood and pain. That was what he was waiting for. Opening his mouth he jerked upward and secured a new hold on her upper arm. She woke only to scream and faint again. Now, exerting all his strength, he reached her neck and clamped his jaws on it, just below her chin. Almost losing consciousness, he thought:

“All I have to do now is to hold fast.”

Tighter and tighter he held her! Closer and closer his jaws closed on that white tower of loveliness and at last he knew that he lay fastened to his dead bride. He opened his jaws, worked his mouth down the silken cord, covered now with blood, and finally came to the golden key. He closed on that with his mouth and, satisfied with the knowledge that his land was safe, he fell asleep.

The next morning, urged to do so by Breda the nurse, Russel the forester with a few men-at-arms broke open the door. There on the floor lay a giant toad, its body already puffed with putrefaction, one arm torn and broken and the neck horribly mangled. Beside the dead toad lay Balder, Prince of Cornwall, with the golden key in his mouth, his face and body red with dried blood. They woke him.

“Cornwall is safe,” he said with a smile, and went to sleep again.

Breda fastened the key around his neck with her apron string and Russel picked him up and carried him to his room. There they washed him and nursed him and in due time he was able to tell them the story of that night battle. And later on Breda told the story to Eric, Overlord of Cornwall, who had come back in haste, suspecting treachery when he found that Wales was at peace.

Eric listened patiently till the end of the tale.

“My son did very well,” he said gladly. “Considering that he had neither arms or legs to fight with, he did very well.”

“He has a strong jaw,” said Breda the nurse.