THE WORM OUROBOROS
[Illustration: GORICE XII. IN CARCË.]
THE WORM
OUROBOROS
A ROMANCE BY E. R.
EDDISON, ILLUSTRATED
BY KEITH HENDERSON
[Illustration]
JONATHAN CAPE LTD.
ELEVEN GOWER STREET
LONDON
FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1922
NEW AND CHEAPER
EDITION 1924
CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
DEDICATION
THE INDUCTION
I. THE CASTLE OF LORD JUSS
II. THE WRASTLING FOR DEMONLAND
III. THE RED FOLIOT
IV. CONJURING IN THE IRON TOWER
V. KING GORICE’S SENDING
VI. THE CLAWS OF WITCHLAND
VII. GUESTS OF THE KING IN CARCË
VIII. THE FIRST EXPEDITION TO IMPLAND
IX. SALAPANTA HILLS
X. THE MARCHLANDS OF THE MORUNA
XI. THE BURG OF ESHGRAR OGO
XII. KOSHTRA PIVRARCHA
XIII. KOSHTRA BELORN
XIV. THE LAKE OF RAVARY
XV. QUEEN PREZMYRA
XVI. THE LADY SRIVA’S EMBASSAGE
XVII. THE KING FLIES HIS HAGGARD
XVIII. THE MURTHER OF GALLANDUS BY CORSUS
XIX. THREMNIR’S HEUGH
XX. KING CORINIUS
XXI. THE PARLEY BEFORE KROTHERING
XXII. AURWATH AND SWITCHWATER
XXIII. THE WEIRD BEGUN OF ISHNAIN NEMARTRA
XXIV. A KING IN KROTHERING
XXV. LORD GRO AND THE LADY MEVRIAN
XXVI. THE BATTLE OF KROTHERING SIDE
XXVII. THE SECOND EXPEDITION TO IMPLAND
XXVIII. ZORA RACH NAM PSARRION
XXIX. THE FLEET AT MUELVA
XXX. TIDINGS OF MELIKAPHKHAZ
XXXI. THE DEMONS BEFORE CARCË
XXXII. THE LATTER END OF ALL THE LORDS OF WITCHLAND
XXXIII. QUEEN SOPHONISBA IN GALING
ARGUMENT: WITH DATES
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON THE VERSES
ILLUSTRATIONS
GORICE XII. IN CARCË
THE LORDS JUSS, GOLDRY BLUSZCO, SPITFIRE, AND BRANDOCH DAHA
IN KOSHTRA BELORN
SOLDIERS OF DEMONLAND
HIPPOGRIFF IN FLIGHT
THE LAST CONJURING IN CARCË
True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
A ferlie he spied wi his ee;
And there he saw a Lady bright
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o the velvet fyne,
At ilka tett of her horse’s mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,
And louted low down on his knee:
“Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth could never be.”
“O no, O no, Thomas,” she says,
“That name does not belang to me;
I’m but the Queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.
“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she says,
“Harp and carp alang wi me.
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be.”
“Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunton me.”
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
THOMAS THE RHYMER.
_To_ W. G. E. _and to my friends_ K. H. _and_ G. C.
L. M. _I dedicate this book_
It is neither allegory nor fable but a Story to be read for its own
sake.
The proper names I have tried to spell simply. The _e_ in Carcë
is long, like that in Phryne, the _o_ in Krothering short and the
accent on that syllable: Corund is accented on the first syllable,
Prezmyra on the second, Brandoch Daha on the first and fourth, Gorice
on the last syllable, rhyming with thrice: Corinius rhymes with
Flaminius, Galing with sailing, La Fireez with desire ease: _ch_
is always guttural, as in loch.
_9th January 1922_ E. R. E.
THE INDUCTION
There was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in Wastdale,
set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had seen
Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time. Lily and rose and larkspur
bloomed in the borders, and begonias with blossoms big as saucers, red
and white and pink and lemon-colour, in the beds before the porch.
Climbing roses, honeysuckle, clematis, and the scarlet flame-flower
scrambled up the walls. Thick woods were on every side without the
garden, with a gap north-eastward opening on the desolate lake and the
great fells beyond it: Gable rearing his crag-bound head against the
sky from behind the straight clean outline of the Screes.
Cool long shadows stole across the tennis lawn. The air was golden.
Doves murmured in the trees; two chaffinches played on the near post
of the net; a little water-wagtail scurried along the path. A French
window stood open to the garden, showing darkly a dining-room panelled
with old oak, its Jacobean table bright with flowers and silver and cut
glass and Wedgwood dishes heaped with fruit: greengages, peaches, and
green muscat grapes. Lessingham lay back in a hammock-chair watching
through the blue smoke of an after-dinner cigar the warm light on the
Gloire de Dijon roses that clustered about the bedroom window overhead.
He had her hand in his. This was their House.
“Should we finish that chapter of Njal?” she said.
She took the heavy volume with its faded green cover, and read: “He
went out on the night of the Lord’s day, when nine weeks were still
to winter; he heard a great crash, so that he thought both heaven and
earth shook. Then he looked into the west airt, and he thought he
saw thereabouts a ring of fiery hue, and within the ring a man on a
gray horse. He passed quickly by him, and rode hard. He had a flaming
firebrand in his hand, and he rode so close to him that he could see
him plainly. He was black as pitch, and he sung this song with a mighty
voice—
Here I ride swift steed,
His flank flecked with rime,
Rain from his mane drips,
Horse mighty for harm;
Flames flare at each end,
Gall glows in the midst,
So fares it with Flosi’s redes
As this flaming brand flies;
And so fares it with Flosi’s redes
As this flaming brand flies.
“Then he thought he hurled the firebrand east towards the fells before
him, and such a blaze of fire leapt up to meet it that he could not see
the fells for the blaze. It seemed as though that man rode east among
the flames and vanished there.
“After that he went to his bed, and was senseless for a long time, but
at last he came to himself. He bore in mind all that had happened, and
told his father, but he bade him tell it to Hjallti Skeggi’s son. So he
went and told Hjallti, but he said he had seen ‘the Wolf’s Ride, and
that comes ever before great tidings.’”
They were silent awhile; then Lessingham said suddenly, “Do you mind if
we sleep in the east wing to-night?”
“What, in the Lotus Room?”
“Yes.”
“I’m too much of a lazy-bones to-night, dear,” she answered.
“Do you mind if I go alone, then? I shall be back to breakfast. I like
my lady with me; still, we can go again when next moon wanes. My pet is
not frightened, is she?”
“No!” she said, laughing. But her eyes were a little big. Her fingers
played with his watch-chain. “I’d rather,” she said presently, “you
went later on and took me. All this is so odd still: the House, and
that; and I love it so. And after all, it is a long way and several
years too, sometimes, in the Lotus Room, even though it is all over
next morning. I’d rather we went together. If anything happened then,
well, we’d both be done in, and it wouldn’t matter so much, would it?”
“Both be what?” said Lessingham. “I’m afraid your language is not all
that might be wished.”
“Well, you taught me!” said she; and they laughed.
They sat there till the shadows crept over the lawn and up the trees,
and the high rocks of the mountain shoulder beyond burned red in the
evening rays. He said, “If you like to stroll a bit of way up the
fell-side, Mercury is visible to-night. We might get a glimpse of him
just after sunset.”
A little later, standing on the open hillside below the hawking bats,
they watched for the dim planet that showed at last low down in the
west between the sunset and the dark.
He said, “It is as if Mercury had a finger on me to-night, Mary. It’s
no good my trying to sleep to-night except in the Lotus Room.”
Her arm tightened in his. “Mercury?” she said. “It is another world. It
is too far.”
But he laughed and said, “Nothing is too far.”
They turned back as the shadows deepened. As they stood in the dark of
the arched gate leading from the open fell into the garden, the soft
clear notes of a spinet sounded from the house. She put up a finger.
“Hark,” she said. “Your daughter playing _Les Barricades_.”
They stood listening. “She loves playing,” he whispered. “I’m glad we
taught her to play.” Presently he whispered again, “_Les Barricades
Mystérieuses_. What inspired Couperin with that enchanted name?
And only you and I know what it really means. _Les Barricades
Mystérieuses._”
• • • • •
That night Lessingham lay alone in the Lotus Room. Its casements opened
eastward on the sleeping woods and the sleeping bare slopes of Illgill
Head. He slept soft and deep; for that was the House of Postmeridian,
and the House of Peace.
In the deep and dead time of the night, when the waning moon peered
over the mountain shoulder, he woke suddenly. The silver beams shone
through the open window on a form perched at the foot of the bed: a
little bird, black, round-headed, short-beaked, with long sharp wings,
and eyes like two stars shining. It spoke and said, “Time is.”
So Lessingham got up and muffled himself in a great cloak that lay on
a chair beside the bed. He said, “I am ready, my little martlet.” For
that was the House of Heart’s Desire.
Surely the martlet’s eyes filled all the room with starlight. It was an
old room with lotuses carved on the panels and on the bed and chairs
and roof-beams; and in the glamour the carved flowers swayed like
water-lilies in a lazy stream. He went to the window, and the little
martlet sat on his shoulder. A chariot coloured like the halo about
the moon waited by the window, poised in air, harnessed to a strange
steed. A horse it seemed, but winged like an eagle, and its fore-legs
feathered and armed with eagle’s claws instead of hooves. He entered
the chariot, and that little martlet sat on his knee.
With a whirr of wings the wild courser sprang skyward. The night about
them was like the tumult of bubbles about a diver’s ears diving in a
deep pool under a smooth steep rock in a mountain cataract. Time was
swallowed up in speed; the world reeled; and it was but as the space
between two deep breaths till that strange courser spread wide his
rainbow wings and slanted down the night over a great island that
slumbered on a slumbering sea, with lesser isles about it: a country of
rock mountains and hill pastures and many waters, all a-glimmer in the
moonshine.
They landed within a gate crowned with golden lions. Lessingham came
down from the chariot, and the little black martlet circled about his
head, showing him a yew avenue leading from the gates. As in a dream,
he followed her.
I: THE CASTLE OF LORD JUSS
OF THE RARITIES THAT WERE IN THE LOFTY PRESENCE CHAMBER FAIR AND
LOVELY TO BEHOLD, AND OF THE QUALITIES AND CONDITIONS OF THE
LORDS OF DEMONLAND: AND OF THE EMBASSY SENT UNTO THEM BY KING
GORICE XI., AND OF THE ANSWER THERETO.
The eastern stars were paling to the dawn as Lessingham followed his
conductor along the grass walk between the shadowy ranks of Irish yews,
that stood like soldiers mysterious and expectant in the darkness.
The grass was bathed in night-dew, and great white lilies sleeping in
the shadows of the yews loaded the air of that garden with fragrance.
Lessingham felt no touch of the ground beneath his feet, and when he
stretched out his hand to touch a tree his hand passed through branch
and leaves as though they were unsubstantial as a moonbeam.
The little martlet, alighting on his shoulder, laughed in his ear.
“Child of earth,” she said, “dost think we are here in dreamland?”
He answered nothing, and she said, “This is no dream. Thou, first
of the children of men, art come to Mercury, where thou and I will
journey up and down for a season to show thee the lands and oceans,
the forests, plains, and ancient mountains, cities and palaces of
this world, Mercury, and the doings of them that dwell therein. But
here thou canst not handle aught, neither make the folk ware of thee,
not though thou shout thy throat hoarse. For thou and I walk here
impalpable and invisible, as it were two dreams walking.”
They were now on the marble steps which led from the yew walk to the
terrace opposite the great gate of the castle. “No need to unbar gates
to thee and me,” said the martlet, as they passed beneath the darkness
of that ancient portal, carved with strange devices, and clean through
the massy timbers of the bolted gate thickly riveted with silver, into
the inner court. “Go we into the lofty presence chamber and there
tarry awhile. Morning is kindling the upper air, and folk will soon
be stirring in the castle, for they lie not long abed when day begins
in Demonland. For be it known to thee, O earth-born, that this land
is Demonland, and this castle the castle of Lord Juss, and this day
now dawning his birthday, when the Demons hold high festival in Juss’s
castle to do honour unto him and to his brethren, Spitfire and Goldry
Bluszco; and these and their fathers before them bear rule from time
immemorial in Demonland, and have the lordship over all the Demons.”
She spoke, and the first low beams of the sun smote javelin-like
through the eastern windows, and the freshness of morning breathed and
shimmered in that lofty chamber, chasing the blue and dusky shades of
departed night to the corners and recesses, and to the rafters of the
vaulted roof. Surely no potentate of earth, not Croesus, not the great
King, not Minos in his royal palace in Crete, not all the Pharaohs, not
Queen Semiramis, nor all the Kings of Babylon and Nineveh had ever a
throne room to compare in glory with that high presence chamber of the
lords of Demonland. Its walls and pillars were of snow-white marble,
every vein whereof was set with small gems: rubies, corals, garnets,
and pink topaz. Seven pillars on either side bore up the shadowy vault
of the roof; the roof-tree and the beams were of gold, curiously
carved, the roof itself of mother-of-pearl. A side aisle ran behind
each row of pillars, and seven paintings on the western side faced
seven spacious windows on the east. At the end of the hall upon a dais
stood three high seats, the arms of each composed of two hippogriffs
wrought in gold, with wings spread, and the legs of the seats the
legs of the hippogriffs; but the body of each high seat was a single
jewel of monstrous size: the left-hand seat a black opal, asparkle
with steel-blue fire, the next a fire-opal, as it were a burning coal,
the third seat an alexandrite, purple like wine by night but deep
sea-green by day. Ten more pillars stood in semicircle behind the high
seats, bearing up above them and the dais a canopy of gold. The benches
that ran from end to end of the lofty chamber were of cedar, inlaid
with coral and ivory, and so were the tables that stood before the
benches. The floor of the chamber was tesselated, of marble and green
tourmaline, and on every square of tourmaline was carven the image of a
fish: as the dolphin, the conger, the cat-fish, the salmon, the tunny,
the squid, and other wonders of the deep. Hangings of tapestry were
behind the high seats, worked with flowers, snake’s-head, snapdragon,
dragon-mouth, and their kind; and on the dado below the windows were
sculptures of birds and beasts and creeping things.
But a great wonder of this chamber, and a marvel to behold, was how
the capital of every one of the four-and-twenty pillars was hewn from
a single precious stone, carved by the hand of some sculptor of long
ago into the living form of a monster: here was a harpy with screaming
mouth, so wondrously cut in ochre-tinted jade it was a marvel to hear
no scream from her: here in wine-yellow topaz a flying fire-drake:
there a cockatrice made of a single ruby: there a star sapphire the
colour of moonlight, cut for a cyclops, so that the rays of the star
trembled from his single eye: salamanders, mermaids, chimaeras, wild
men o’ the woods, leviathans, all hewn from faultless gems, thrice the
bulk of a big man’s body, velvet-dark sapphires, chrysolite, beryl,
amethyst, and the yellow zircon that is like transparent gold.
To give light to the presence chamber were seven escarbuncles, great as
pumpkins, hung in order down the length of it, and nine fair moonstones
standing in order on silver pedestals between the pillars on the dais.
These jewels, drinking in the sunshine by day, gave it forth during the
hours of darkness in a radiance of pink light and a soft effulgence as
of moonbeams. And yet another marvel, the nether side of the canopy
over the high seats was encrusted with lapis lazuli, and in that
feigned dome of heaven burned the twelve signs of the zodiac, every
star a diamond that shone with its own light.
• • • • •
Folk now began to be astir in the castle, and there came a score of
serving men into the presence chamber with brooms and brushes, cloths
and leathers, to sweep and garnish it, and burnish the gold and jewels
of the chamber. Lissome they were and sprightly of gait, of fresh
complexion and fair-haired. Horns grew on their heads. When their
tasks were accomplished they departed, and the presence began to fill
with guests. A joy it was to see such a shifting maze of velvets,
furs, curious needleworks and cloth of tissue, tiffanies, laces,
ruffs, goodly chains and carcanets of gold: such glitter of jewels and
weapons: such nodding of the plumes the Demons wore in their hair,
half veiling the horns that grew upon their heads. Some were sitting
on the benches or leaning on the polished tables, some walking forth
and back upon the shining floor. Here and there were women among them,
women so fair one had said: it is surely white-armed Helen this one;
this, Arcadian Atalanta; this, Phryne that stood to Praxiteles for
Aphrodite’s picture; this, Thaïs, for whom great Alexander to pleasure
her fantasy did burn Persepolis like a candle; this, she that was rapt
by the Dark God from the flowering fields of Enna, to be Queen for ever
among the dead that be departed.
Now came a stir near the stately doorway, and Lessingham beheld a Demon
of burly frame and noble port, richly attired. His face was ruddy and
somewhat freckled, his forehead wide, his eyes calm and blue like
the sea. His beard, thick and tawny, was parted and brushed back and
upwards on either side.
“Tell me, my little martlet,” said Lessingham, “is this Lord Juss?”
“This is not Lord Juss,” answered the martlet, “nor aught so worshipful
as he. The lord thou seest is Volle, who dwelleth under Kartadza, by
the salt sea. A great sea-captain is he, and one that did service to
the cause of Demonland, and of the whole world besides, in the late
wars against the Ghouls.
“But cast thine eyes again towards the door, where one standeth amid
a knot of friends, tall and somewhat stooping, in a corselet of
silver, and a cloak of old brocaded silk coloured like tarnished gold;
something like to Volle in feature, but swarthy, and with bristling
black moustachios.”
“I see him,” said Lessingham. “This then is Lord Juss!”
“Not so,” said the martlet. “’Tis but Vizz, brother to Volle. He is
wealthiest in goods of all the Demons, save the three brethren only and
Lord Brandoch Daha.”
“And who is this?” asked Lessingham, pointing to one of light and brisk
step and humorous eye, who in that moment met Volle and engaged him in
converse apart. Handsome of face he was, albeit somewhat long-nosed and
sharp-nosed: keen and hard and filled with life and the joy of it.
“Here thou beholdest,” answered she, “Lord Zigg, the far-famed tamer of
horses. Well loved is he among the Demons, for he is merry of mood, and
a mighty man of his hands withal when he leadeth his horsemen against
the enemy.”
Volle threw up his beard and laughed a great laugh at some jest that
Zigg whispered in his ear, and Lessingham leaned forward into the hall
if haply he might catch what was said. The hum of talk drowned the
words, but leaning forward Lessingham saw where the arras curtains
behind the dais parted for a moment, and one of princely bearing
advanced past the high seats down the body of the hall. His gait
was delicate, as of some lithe beast of prey newly wakened out of
slumber, and he greeted with lazy grace the many friends who hailed his
entrance. Very tall was that lord, and slender of build, like a girl.
His tunic was of silk coloured like the wild rose, and embroidered in
gold with representations of flowers and thunderbolts. Jewels glittered
on his left hand and on the golden bracelets on his arms, and on the
fillet twined among the golden curls of his hair, set with plumes of
the king-bird of Paradise. His horns were dyed with saffron, and inlaid
with filigree work of gold. His buskins were laced with gold, and
from his belt hung a sword, narrow of blade and keen, the hilt rough
with beryls and black diamonds. Strangely light and delicate was his
frame and seeming, yet with a sense of slumbering power beneath, as
the delicate peak of a snow mountain seen afar in the low red rays of
morning. His face was beautiful to look upon, and softly coloured like
a girl’s face, and his expression one of gentle melancholy, mixed with
some disdain; but fiery glints awoke at intervals in his eyes, and the
lines of swift determination hovered round the mouth below his curled
moustachios.
“At last,” murmured Lessingham, “at last, Lord Juss!”
“Little art thou to blame,” said the martlet, “for this misprision, for
scarce could a lordlier sight have joyed thine eyes. Yet is this not
Juss, but Lord Brandoch Daha, to whom all Demonland west of Shalgreth
and Stropardon oweth allegiance: the rich vineyards of Krothering, the
broad pasture lands of Failze, and all the western islands and their
cragbound fastnesses. Think not, because he affecteth silks and jewels
like a queen, and carrieth himself light and dainty as a silver birch
tree on the mountain, that his hand is light or his courage doubtful
in war. For years was he held for the third best man-at-arms in all
Mercury, along with these, Goldry Bluszco and Gorice X. of Witchland.
And Gorice he slew, nine summers back, in single combat, when the
Witches harried in Goblinland and Brandoch Daha led five hundred and
four-score Demons to succour Gaslark, the king of that country. And now
can none surpass Lord Brandoch Daha in feats of arms, save perchance
Goldry alone.
“Yet, lo,” she said, as a sweet and wild music stole on the ear, and
the guests turned towards the dais, and the hangings parted, “at
last, the triple lordship of Demonland! Strike softly, music: smile,
Fates, on this festal day! Joy and safe days shine for this world and
Demonland! Turn thy gaze first on him who walks in majesty in the
midst, his tunic of olive-green velvet ornamented with devices of
hidden meaning in thread of gold and beads of chrysolite. Mark how the
buskins, clasping his stalwart calves, glitter with gold and amber.
Mark the dusky cloak streamed with gold and lined with blood-red silk:
a charmed cloak, made by the sylphs in forgotten days, bringing good
hap to the wearer, so he be true of heart and no dastard. Mark him that
weareth it, his sweet dark countenance, the violet fire in his eyes,
the sombre warmth of his smile, like autumn woods in late sunshine.
This is Lord Juss, lord of this age-remembering castle, than whom
none hath more worship in wide Demonland. Somewhat he knoweth of art
magical, yet useth not that art; for it sappeth the life and strength,
nor is it held worthy that a Demon should put trust in that art, but
rather in his own might and main.
“Now turn thine eyes to him that leaneth on Juss’s left arm, shorter
but mayhap sturdier than he, apparelled in black silk that shimmers
with gold as he moveth, and crowned with black eagle’s feathers
among his horns and yellow hair. His face is wild and keen like a
sea-eagle’s, and from his bristling brows the eyes dart glances
sharp as a glancing spear. A faint flame, pallid like the fire of a
Will-o’-the-Wisp, breathes ever and anon from his distended nostrils.
This is Lord Spitfire, impetuous in war.
“Last, behold on Juss’s right hand, yon lord that bulks mighty as
Hercules yet steppeth lightly as a heifer. The thews and sinews of
his great limbs ripple as he moves beneath a skin whiter than ivory;
his cloak of cloth of gold is heavy with jewels, his tunic of black
sendaline hath great hearts worked thereon in rubies and red silk
thread. Slung from his shoulders clanks a two-handed sword, the pommel
a huge star-ruby carven in the image of a heart, for the heart is his
sign and symbol. This is that sword forged by the elves, wherewith he
slew the sea-monster, as thou mayest see in the painting on the wall.
Noble is he of countenance, most like to his brother Juss, but darker
brown of hair and ruddier of hue and bigger of cheekbone. Look well on
him, for never shall thine eyes behold a greater champion than the Lord
Goldry Bluszco, captain of the hosts of Demonland.”
• • • • •
Now when the greetings were done and the strains of the lutes and
recorders sighed and lost themselves in the shadowy vault of the roof,
the cup-bearers did fill great gems made in form of cups with ancient
wine, and the Demons caroused to Lord Juss deep draughts in honour of
this day of his nativity. And now they were ready to set forth by twos
and threes into the parks and pleasaunces, some to take their pleasure
about the fair gardens and fishponds, some to hunt wild game among the
wooded hills, some to disport themselves at quoits or tennis or riding
at the ring or martial exercises; that so they might spend the livelong
day as befitteth high holiday, in pleasure and action without care, and
thereafter revel in the lofty presence chamber till night grew old with
eating and drinking and all delight.
But as they were upon going forth, a trumpet was sounded without, three
strident blasts.
“What kill-joy have we here?” said Spitfire. “The trumpet soundeth only
for travellers from the outlands. I feel it in my bones some rascal is
come to Galing, one that bringeth ill hap in his pocket and a shadow
athwart the sun on this our day of festival.”
“Speak no word of ill omen,” answered Juss. “Whosoe’er it be, we will
straight dispatch his business and so fall to pleasure indeed. Some,
run to the gate and bring him in.”
The serving man hastened and returned, saying, “Lord, it is an
Ambassador from Witchland and his train. Their ship made land at
Lookinghaven-ness at nightfall. They slept on board, and your soldiers
gave them escort to Galing at break of day. He craveth present
audience.”
“From Witchland, ha?” said Juss. “Such smokes use ever to go before the
fire.”
“Shall’s bid the fellow,” said Spitfire, “wait on our pleasure? It is
pity such should poison our gladness.”
Goldry laughed and said, “Whom hath he sent us? Laxus, think you?
to make his peace with us again for that vile part of his practised
against us off Kartadza, detestably falsifying his word he had given
us?”
Juss said to the serving man, “Thou sawest the Ambassador. Who is he?”
“Lord,” answered he, “His face was strange to me. He is little of
stature and, by your highness’ leave, the most unlike to a great
lord of Witchland that ever I saw. And, by your leave, for all the
marvellous rich and sumptuous coat a weareth, he is very like a false
jewel in a rich casing.”
“Well,” said Juss, “a sour draught sweetens not in the waiting. Call we
in the Ambassador.”
Lord Juss sat in the high seat midmost of the dais, with Goldry on his
right in the seat of black opal, and on his left Spitfire, throned
on the alexandrite. On the dais sat likewise those other lords of
Demonland, and the guests of lower degree thronged the benches and the
polished tables as the wide doors opened on their silver hinges, and
the Ambassador with pomp and ceremony paced up the shining floor of
marble and green tourmaline.
“Why, what a beastly fellow is this?” said Lord Goldry in his brother’s
ear. “His hairy hands reach down to his knees. A shuffleth in his walk
like a hobbled jackass.”
“I like not the dirty face of the Ambassador,” said Lord Zigg. “His
nose sitteth flat on the face of him as it were a dab of clay, and I
can see pat up his nostrils a summer day’s journey into his head. If’s
upper lip bespeak him not a rare spouter of rank fustian, perdition
catch me. Were it a finger’s breadth longer, a might tuck it into his
collar to keep his chin warm of a winter’s night.”
“I like not the smell of the Ambassador,” said Lord Brandoch Daha. And
he called for censers and sprinklers of lavender and rose water to
purify the chamber, and let open the crystal windows that the breezes
of heaven might enter and make all sweet.
[Illustration: THE LORDS JUSS, GOLDRY BLUSZCO, SPITFIRE, AND BRANDOCH
DAHA.]
So the Ambassador walked up the shining floor and stood before the
lords of Demonland that sat upon the high seats between the golden
hippogriffs. He was robed in a long mantle of scarlet velvet lined
with ermine, with crabs, woodlice, and centipedes worked thereon in
golden thread. His head was covered with a black velvet cap with a
peacock’s feather fastened with a brooch of silver. Supported by his
train-bearers and attendants, and leaning on his golden staff, he with
raucous accent delivered his mission:
“Juss, Goldry, and Spitfire, and ye other Demons, I come before you
as the Ambassador of Gorice XI., most glorious King of Witchland,
Lord and great Duke of Buteny and Estremerine, Commander of Shulan,
Thramnë, Mingos, and Permio, and High Warden of the Esamocian Marches,
Great Duke of Trace, King Paramount of Beshtria and Nevria and Prince
of Ar, Great Lord over the country of Ojedia, Maltraëny, and of
Baltary and Toribia, and Lord of many other countries, most glorious
and most great, whose power and glory is over all the world and whose
name shall endure for all generations. And first I bid you be bound
by that reverence for my sacred office of envoy from the King, which
is accorded by all people and potentates, save such as be utterly
barbarous, to ambassadors and envoys.”
“Speak and fear not,” answered Juss. “Thou hast mine oath. And that
hath never been forsworn, to Witch or other barbarian.”
The Ambassador shot out his lips in an O, and threatened with his head;
then grinned, laying bare his sharp and misshapen teeth, and proceeded:
“Thus saith King Gorice, great and glorious, and he chargeth me to
deliver it to you, neither adding any word nor taking away: ‘I have it
in mind that no ceremony of homage or fealty hath been performed before
me by the dwellers in my province of Demonland——’”
As the rustling of dry leaves strewn in a flagged court when a sudden
wind striketh them, there went a stir among the guests. Nor might the
Lord Spitfire contain his wrath, but springing up and clapping hand to
sword-hilt, as minded to do a hurt to the Ambassador, “Province?” he
cried. “Are not the Demons a free people? And is it to be endured that
Witchland should commission this slave to cast insults in our teeth,
and this in our own castle?”
A murmur went about the hall, and here and there folk rose from their
seats. The Ambassador drew down his head between his shoulders like a
tortoise, baring his teeth and blinking with his small eyes. But Lord
Brandoch Daha, lightly laying his hand on Spitfire’s arm, said: “The
Ambassador hath not ended his message, cousin, and thou hast frightened
him. Have patience and spoil not the comedy. We shall not lack words to
answer King Gorice: no, nor swords, if he must have them. But it shall
not be said of us of Demonland that it needeth but a boorish message to
turn us from our ancient courtesy toward ambassadors and heralds.”
So spake Lord Brandoch Daha, in lazy half-mocking tone, as one who but
idly returneth the ball of conversation; yet clearly, so that all might
hear. And therewith the murmurs died down, and Spitfire said, “I am
tame. Say thine errand freely, and imagine not that we shall hold thee
answerable for aught thou sayest, but him that sent thee.”
“Whose humble mouthpiece I only am,” said the Ambassador, somewhat
gathering courage; “and who, saving your reverence, lacketh not the
will nor the power to take revenge for any outrage done upon his
servants. Thus saith the King: ‘I therefore summon and command you,
Juss, Spitfire, and Goldry Bluszco, to make haste and come to me in
Witchland in my fortress of Carcë, and there dutifully kiss my toe, in
witness before all the world that I am your Lord and King, and rightful
overlord of all Demonland.’”
Gravely and without gesture Lord Juss harkened to the Ambassador,
leaning back in his high seat with either arm thrown athwart the arched
neck of a hippogriff. Goldry, smiling scornfully, toyed with the hilt
of his great sword. Spitfire sat strained and glowering, the sparks
crackling at his nostrils.
“Thou hast delivered all?” said Juss.
“All,” answered the Ambassador.
“Thou shalt have thine answer,” said Juss. “While we take rede thereon,
eat and drink;” and he beckoned the cup-bearer to pour out bright wine
for the Ambassador. But the Ambassador excused himself, saying that he
was not athirst, and that he had store of food and wine aboard of his
ship, which should suffice his needs and those of his following.
Then said Lord Spitfire, “No marvel though the spawn of Witchland fear
venom in the cup. They who work commonly such villany against their
enemies, as witness Recedor of Goblinland whom Corsus murthered with
a poisonous draught, shake still in the knees lest themselves be so
entertained to their destruction;” and snatching the cup he quaffed it
to the dregs, and dashed it on the marble floor before the Ambassador,
so that it was shivered into pieces.
And the lords of Demonland rose up and withdrew behind the flowery
hangings into a chamber apart, to determine of their answer to the
message sent unto them by King Gorice of Witchland.
When they were private together, Spitfire spake and said, “Is it to be
borne that the King should put such shame and mockery upon us? Could a
not at the least have made a son of Corund or of Corsus his Ambassador
to bring us his defiance, ’stead of this filthiest of his domestics, a
gibbering dwarf fit only to make them gab and game at their tippling
bouts when they be three parts senseless with boosing?”
Lord Juss smiled somewhat scornfully. “With wisdom,” he said, “and with
foresight hath Witchland made choice of his time to move against us,
knowing that thirty and three of our well-built ships are sunken in
Kartadza Sound in the battle with the Ghouls, and but fourteen remain
to us. Now that the Ghouls are slain, every soul, and utterly abolished
from this world, and so the great curse and peril of all this world
ended by the sword and great valour of Demonland alone, now seemeth the
happy moment unto these late mouth-friends to fall upon us. For have
not the Witches a strong fleet of ships, since their whole fleet fled
at the beginning of their fight with us against the Ghouls, leaving us
to bear the burden? And now are they minded for this new treason, to
set upon us traitorously and suddenly in this disadvantage. For the
King well judgeth we can carry no army to Witchland nor do aught in
his despite, but must be long months a-shipbuilding. And doubt not he
holdeth an armament ready aboard at Tenemos to sail hither if he get
the answer he knoweth we shall send him.”
“Sit we at ease then,” said Goldry, “sharpening our swords; and let
him ship his armies across the salt sea. Not a Witch shall land in
Demonland but shall leave here his blood and bones to make fat our
cornfields and our vineyards.”
“Rather,” said Spitfire, “apprehend this rascal, and put to sea to-day
with the fourteen ships left us. We can surprise Witchland in his
strong place of Carcë, sack it, and give him to the crows to peck at,
or ever he is well awake to the swiftness of our answer. That is my
counsel.”
“Nay,” said Juss, “we shall not take him sleeping. Be certain that his
ships are ready and watching in the Witchland seas, prepared against
any rash onset. It were folly to set our neck in the noose; and little
glory to Demonland to await his coming. This, then, is my rede: I will
bid Gorice to the duello, and make offer to him to let lie on the
fortune thereof the decision of this quarrel.”
“A good rede, if it might be fulfilled,” said Goldry. “But never will
he dare to stand with weapons in single combat ’gainst thee or ’gainst
any of us. Nevertheless the thing shall be brought about. Is not Gorice
a mighty wrastler, and hath he not in his palace in Carcë the skulls
and bones of ninety and nine great champions whom he hath vanquished
and slain in that exercise? Puffed up beyond measure is he in his own
conceit, and folk say it is a grief to him that none hath been found
this long while that durst wrastle with him, and wofully he pineth for
the hundredth. He shall wrastle a fall with me!”
Now this seemed good to them all. So when they had talked on it awhile
and concluded what they would do, glad of heart the lords of Demonland
turned them back to the lofty presence chamber. And there Lord Juss
spake and said: “Demons, ye have heard the words which the King of
Witchland in the overweening pride and shamelessness of his heart hath
spoken unto us by the mouth of this Ambassador. Now this is our answer
which my brother shall give, the Lord Goldry Bluszco; and we charge
thee, O Ambassador, to deliver it truly, neither adding any word nor
taking away.”
And the Lord Goldry spake: “We, the lords of Demonland, do utterly
scorn thee, Gorice XI., for the greatest of dastards, in that thou
basely fleddest and forsookest us, thy sworn confederates, in the sea
battle against the Ghouls. Our swords, which in that battle ended so
great a curse and peril to all this world, are not bent nor broken.
They shall be sheathed in the bowels of thee and thy minions, Corsus
to wit, and Corund, and their sons, and Corinius, and what other
evildoers harbour in waterish Witchland, sooner than one little
sea-pink growing on the cliffs of Demonland shall do thee obeisance.
But, that thou mayest, if so thou wilt, feel our power somewhat, I,
Lord Goldry Bluszco, make thee this offer: that thou and I do match
ourselves singly each against other to wrastle three falls at the court
of the Red Foliot, who inclineth neither to our side nor to thine in
this quarrel. And we will bind ourselves by mighty oaths to these
conditions, that if I overcome thee, the Demons shall leave you of
Witchland in peace, and ye them, and the Witches shall forswear for
ever their impudent claims on Demonland. But if thou, Gorice, win the
day, then hast thou the glory of that victory, and withal full liberty
to thrust thy claims upon us with the sword.”
So spake the Lord Goldry Bluszco, standing in great pride and splendour
beneath the starry canopy, and scowling terribly on the Ambassador
from Witchland, so that the Ambassador was abashed and his knees smote
together. And Goldry called his scribe and made him write the message
for Gorice the King in great characters on a roll of parchment, and
the lords of Demonland sealed it with their seals, and gave it to the
Ambassador.
The Ambassador took it and made haste to depart; but when he was come
to the stately doorway of the presence chamber, being near the door
and amongst his attendants, and away from the lords of Demonland, he
plucked up heart a little and turned and said: “Rashly and to thy
certain undoing, O Goldry Bluszco, hast thou bidden our Lord the King
to contend with thee in wrastling. For be thou never so mighty of limb,
yet hath he overthrown as mighty. And he wrastleth not for sport, but
will surely work thy life’s decay, and keep the dead bones of thee with
the bones of the ninety and nine champions whom he hath heretofore laid
low in that exercise.”
Therewith, because Goldry and the other lords scowled upon him
terribly, and the guests near the door fell to hooting and reviling of
the Witches, the Ambassador went forth hastily and hastily down the
shining stairs and across the court, as one who fleeth along a lane
on a dark and windy night, daring not to turn his head lest his eye
behold some fearsome thing prepared to clasp him. So speeding, he was
fain to catch up about his knees the folds of his velvet cloak richly
worked with crabs and creeping things; and huge whooping and laughter
went up among the common lag of people without, to behold his long and
nerveless tail thus bared to their unfriendly gaze. Insomuch that they
fell to shouting with one accord, “Though his mouth be foul he hath a
fair tail! Saw ye not his tail? Hurrah for Gorice who hath sent us a
monkey for his Ambassador!”
And with jibe and unmannerly yell the crowd hung lovingly upon the
Ambassador and his train all the way down from Galing castle to the
quays. So that it was like a sweet home-coming to him to come on board
his well-built ship and have her rowed amain out of Lookinghaven. So
when they had rounded Lookinghaven-ness and were free of the land, they
hoisted sail and voyaged before a favouring breeze eastward over the
teeming deep to Witchland.
II: THE WRASTLING FOR DEMONLAND
OF THE PROGNOSTICKS WHICH TROUBLED LORD GRO CONCERNING THE MEETING
BETWEEN THE KING OF WITCHLAND AND THE LORD GOLDRY BLUSZCO; AND
HOW THEY MET, AND OF THE ISSUE OF THAT WRASTLING.
“How could I have fallen asleep?” cried Lessingham. “Where is the
castle of the Demons, and how did we leave the great presence chamber
where they saw the Ambassador?” For he stood on rolling uplands that
leaned to the sea, treeless on every side as far as the eye might
reach; and on three sides shimmered the sea, kissed by the sun and
roughened by the salt glad wind that charged over the downs, charioting
clouds without number through the illimitable heights of air.
The little black martlet answered him, “My hippogriff travelleth as
well in time as in space. Days and weeks have been left behind by us,
in what seemeth to thee but the twinkling of an eye, and thou standest
in the Foliot Isles, a land happy under the mild regiment of a peaceful
prince, on the day appointed by King Gorice to wrastle with Lord Goldry
Bluszco. Terrible must be the wrastling betwixt two such champions,
and dark the issue thereof. And my heart is afraid for Goldry Bluszco,
big and strong though he be and unconquered in war; for there hath not
arisen in all the ages such a wrastler as this Gorice, and strong he
is, and hard and unwearying, and skilled in every art of attack and
defence, and subtle withal, and cruel and fell like a serpent.”
Where they stood the down was cut by a combe that descended to the sea,
and overhanging the combe was the palace of the Red Foliot, rambling
and low, with many little towers and battlements, built of stones
hewn from the wall of the combe, so that it was hard from a distance
to discern what was palace and what native rock. Behind the palace
stretched a meadow, flat and smooth, carpeted with the close wiry turf
of the downs. At either end of the meadow were booths set up, to the
north the booths of them of Witchland, and to the south the booths of
the Demons. In the midst of the meadow was a space marked out with
withies sixty paces either way for the wrastling ground.
Only the birds of the air and the sea-wind were abroad as then, save
those that walked armed before the Witches’ booths, six in company,
harnessed as for battle in byrnies of shining bronze, with greaves
and shields of bronze and helms that glanced in the sun. Five were
proper slender youths, the eldest of whom had not yet beard full grown,
black-browed and great of jaw; the sixth, huge as a neat, topped them
by half a head. Age had flecked with gray the beard that spread over
his big chest to his belt stiffened with studs of iron, but the vigour
of youth was in his glance and in his voice, and in the tread of his
foot, and in his fist so lightly handling his burly spear.
“Behold, wonder, and lament,” said the martlet, “that the innocent eye
of day should be enforced still to look upon the children of night
everlasting. Corund of Witchland and his cursed sons.”
Lessingham thought, “A most fiery politician is my little martlet:
damned fiends and angels and nothing betwixt for her. But I’ll dance to
none of their tunes, but wait for these things’ unfolding.”
So walked those back and forth as caged lions before the Witches’
booths, until Corund halted and leaning on his spear said to one of his
sons, “Go in and seek out Gro that I may speak with him.” And the son
of Corund went, and returned anon with Lord Gro, that came with furtive
step, yet goodly and fair to behold. The nose of him was hooked like a
sickle and his eyes great and fair like the eyes of an ox, inscrutable
as they. Lean and spare was his frame. Pale was his face and pale his
delicate hands, and his long black beard was tightly curled and bright
as the coat of a black retriever.
Corund said, “How is it with the King?”
Gro answered him, “He chafeth to be at it; and to pass away the time he
playeth at dice with Corinius, and the luck goeth against the King.”
“What makest thou of that?” asked Corund.
And Gro said, “The fortune of the dice jumpeth not commonly with the
fortune of war.”
Corund grunted in his beard, and laying his large hand on Lord Gro’s
shoulder, “Speak to me a little apart,” he said; and when they were
private, “Darken not counsel,” said Corund, “to me and my sons. Have I
not these four years past been as a brother unto thee, and wilt thou
still be secret toward us?”
But Gro smiled a sad smile and said, “Why should we by words of ill
omen strike yet another blow where the tree tottereth?”
Corund groaned. “Omens,” said he, “increase upon us from that time
forth when the King accepted the challenge, evilly, and flatly against
thy counsel and mine and the counsel of all the great ones in the land.
Surely the Gods have made him fey, having ordained his destruction and
our humbling before these Demons.” And he said, “Omens thicken upon us,
O Gro. First, the night raven that went widdershins round about the
palace of Carcë, that night when the King accepted this challenge, and
we were all drunken with wine after our great feasting and surfeiting
in his halls. Next, the stumbling of the King whenas he went upon the
poop of the long ship which bare us on this voyage to these islands.
Next, the squint-eyed cup-bearer that poured out unto us yesternight.
And throughout, the devilish pride and bragging humour of the King. No
more: he is fey. And the dice fall against him.”
Gro spake and said, “O Corund, I will not hide it from thee that my
heart is heavy as thy heart under shadow of ill to be. For as I lay
sleeping betwixt the strokes of night, a dream of the night stood by
my bed and beheld me with a glance so fell that I was all adrad and
quaking with fear. And it seemed to me that the dream smote the roof
above my bed, and the roof opened and disclosed the outer dark, and in
the dark travelled a bearded star, and the night was quick with fiery
signs. And blood was on the roof, and great gouts of blood on the
walls and on the cornice of my bed. And the dream screeched like the
screech-owl, and cried, _Witchland from thy hand, O King!_ And
methought the whole world was lighted in a lowe, and with a great cry I
awoke out of the dream.”
“Thou art wise,” said Corund; “and belike the dream was a true dream,
sent thee through the gate of horn, and belike it forebodeth events
great and evil for the King and for Witchland.”
Gro said, “Disclose it not to the others, for none can strive with Fate
and gain the victory, and it would but cast down their hearts. But it
is fitting we be ready against evil hap. If (which yet may the Gods
forfend) ill come of this wrastling bout, fail not every one of you ere
you act on any enterprise to take counsel of me. ‘Bare is back without
brother behind it.’ Together must we do that we do.”
“Thou hast my firm assurance on’t,” said Corund.
Now began a great company to come forth from the palace and take their
stand on either side of the wrastling ground. The Red Foliot sate in
his car of polished ebony, drawn by six black horses with flowing manes
and tails; before him went his musicians, pipers and minstrels doing
their craft, and behind him fifty spearmen, weighed down with armour
and ponderous shields that covered them from chin to toe. Their armour
was stained with madder, in such wise that they seemed bathed in blood.
Mild to look on was the Red Foliot, yet kingly. His skin was scarlet
like the head of the green woodpecker. He wore a diadem of silver, and
robes of scarlet trimmed with black fur.