Lyonesse

Chapter 26

CARFILHIOT'S CHAMBERS, at the top of Tintzin Fyral, were of modest dimension, with white plaster walls, scrubbed wooden floors and a bare sufficiency of furnishing. Carfilhiot wanted nothing more elaborate; that spare environment soothed his sometimes over-fervent nature.

Carfilhiot's routines were even. He tended to rise early, often at sun-up, then take a breakfast of fruit, sweet-cakes, raisins and perhaps a few pickled oysters. Always he breakfasted alone. At this time of day the sight and sound of other human beings offended him, and adversely affected the rest of the day.

Summer was changing to autumn; haze blurred the airy spaces over Vale Evander. Carfilhiot felt restless and uneasy, for reasons he could not define. Tintzin Fyral served many of his purposes very well; still it was a place remote: something of a backwater, and he had no command over that motility which other magicians, perhaps of higher order—Carfilhiot thought of himself as a magician—used daily as a matter of course. His fancies, escapades, novelties and caprices—perhaps they were no more than illusions. Time passed and despite his apparent activity, he had proceeded not a whit along the way to his goals. Had his enemies—or his friends—arranged to keep him isolated and ineffectual? Carfilhiot gave a petulant grunt. It could not be, but if so, such folk played dangerous games.

A year previously Tamurello had conveyed him to Faroli, that odd structure of wood and colored glass, deep within the forest. After three days of erotic play the two sat listening to the rain and watching the fire on the hearth. The time was midnight. Carfilhiot, whose mercurial mind never went quiet, said: "Truly, it is time that you taught me magical arts. Do I not deserve at least this from vou?"

Tamurello spoke with a sigh. "What a strange and unfamiliar world if everyone were treated according to his deserts!"

Carfilhiot found the remark over-flippant. "So you mock me, he said sadly. "You think me too clumsy and foolish for the sleight."

Tamurello, a massive man whose veins were charged with the dark rank blood of a bull, laughed indulgently. He had heard the plaint before, and he made the same answer he had made before. "To become a sorcerer you must undergo many trials, and work at many dismal exercises. A number of these are profoundly uncomfortable, and perhaps calculated to dissuade those of small motivation."

"That philosophy is narrow and mean," said Carfilhiot.

"If and when you become a master sorcerer, you will guard the prerogatives as jealously as any," said Tamurello.

"Well, instruct me! I am ready to learn! I am strong of will!"

Once more Tamurello laughed. "My dear friend, you are too volatile. Your will may be like iron, but your patience is something less than invincible."

Carfilhiot made an extravagant gesture. "Are there no shortcuts? Certainly I can use magical apparatus without so many tiresome exercises."

"You already have apparatus."

"Shimrod's stuff? It is useless to me."

Tamurello was becoming bored with the discussion. "Most such apparatus is specialized and specific."

"My needs are specific," said Carfilhiot. "My enemies are like wild bees, which can never be conquered. They know where I am; when I set out in pursuit, they dissolve into shadows along the moor."

"Here I may be able to assist you," said Tamurello, "though without, I admit, any great enthusiasm."

On the following day he displayed a large map of the Elder Isles. "Here, as you will notice, is Vale Evander, here Ys, here Tintzin Fyral." He produced a number of manikins carved from blackthorn roots. "Name these little homologues with names, and place them on the map, and they will scuttle to position. Watch!" He took up one of the manikins and spat in its face. "I name you Casmir. Go to Casmir's place!" He put the manikin on the map; it seemed to scamper across the map to Lyonesse Town.

Carfilhiot counted the manikins. "Only twenty?" he cried. "I could use a hundred! I am at war with every petty baron of South Ulfland!"

"Name their names," said Tamurello. "We shall see how many you need."

Grudgingly Carfilhiot named names and Tamurello put the names to the manikins and placed them on the board.

"Still there are more!" protested Carfilhiot. "Is it not understandable that I would wish to know where and when you fare from Faroli? And Melancthe? Her movements are of importance! And what of the magicians: Murgen, Faloury, Myolander and Baibalides? I am interested in their activities."

"You may not learn of the magicians," said Tamurello. "That is not appropriate. Granice, Audry? Well, why not? Melancthe?"

"Melancthe in especial!"

"Very well. Melancthe."

"Then there are Ska chieftains and the notables of Dahaut!"

"Moderation, in the name of Fafhadiste and his three-legged blue goat! The manikins will crowd each other from the map!"

In the end Carfilhiot came away with the map and fifty-nine homologues.

One late summer morning a year later, Carfilhiot went up to his workroom and there inspected the map. Casmir kept to his summer palace at Sarris. At Domreis in Troicinet a glowing white bail on the manikin's head indicated that King Granice had died; his ailing brother Ospero would now be king. At Ys Melancthe wandered the echoing halls of her seaside palace. At Oaldes, north along the coast, Quilcy, the idiot child-king of South Ulfland, played daily at sand-castles on the beach... Carfilhiot looked once more to Ys. Melancthe, haughty Melancthe! He saw her seldom; she held herself aloof.

Carfilhiot's gaze ranged the map. With a quickening of the spirit he noticed a displacement: Sir Cadwal of Kaber Keep, had ventured six miles southwest across Dunton Fells. He would seem to be proceeding toward Dravenshaw Forest.

Carfilhiot stood rapt in reflection. Sir Cadwal was one of his most arrogant enemies, despite poverty and an absence of powerful connections. Kaber Keep, a dour fortress above the dreariest sweep of the moors, lacked all cheer, save only security. With only a dozen clansmen at his command Sir Cadwal had long defied Carfilhiot. Ordinarily he hunted in the hills above his keep, where Carfilhiot could not easily attack; today he had ventured down upon the moors: reckless indeed, thought Carfilhiot, most unwise! The keep could not be left undefended, so it would seem that Sir Cadwal rode with only five or six men at his back, and two of these might be his stripling sons.

Malaise forgotten, Carfilhiot sent urgent orders down to the wardroom. Half an hour later, wearing light armor, he descended to the parade ground below his castle. Twenty mounted warriors, his elite of elites, awaited him.

Carfilhiot inspected the troop and could find no fault. They wore polished iron helmets with tall crests, chain cuirasses and jupons of violet velvet embroidered in black. Each carried a lance from which fluttered a lavender and black banneret. From each saddle hung an axe, a bow and arrows to the side; each carried sword and dagger.

Carfilhiot mounted his horse and gave the signal to ride. Two abreast, the troop galloped west, past the reeking poles of penance, beside the drowning-cages along the riverbank and their accessory derricks and down the road toward the village Bloddywen. For reasons of policy Carfilhiot never made demands upon the folk of Bloddywen, nor in any way molested them; still, at his approach children were snatched within, doors and windows were slammed shut, and Carfilhiot rode through empty streets, to his cold amusement.

Above, on the ridge, a watcher noted the cavalcade. He retreated over the brow of the hill and flourished a white flag. A moment later, from the highest portion of a fell a mile to the north a flutter of white acknowledged his signal. Half an hour later, had Carfilhiot been able to observe his magic map, he might have seen the blackthorn manikins designating his most hated adversaries departing their keeps and mountain forts to move down the moors toward the Dravenshaw.

Carfilhiot and his troop clattered through Bloddywen, then turned away from the river and rode up to the moors. Gaining the ridge, Carfilhiot halted his troop, ranged them in a line and addressed them: "Today we hunt Cadwal of Kaber Keep; he is our quarry. We will meet him by the Dravenshaw. So as not to startle his vigilance, we will approach him around the side of Dinkin Tor. Listen now! Take Sir Cadwal alive, and any of his blood who may ride with him. Sir Cadwal must repent the harms he has done me in full measure: Later we will take Kaber Keep; we will drink his wine, bed his women and make free of his bounty. But today we ride to take Sir Cadwal!"

He swung his horse up and around in a fine caracole and galloped away across the moors.

On Hackberry Tor an observer, noting Carfilhiot's movements, ducked behind a crag and there signaled with a white flag until, from two quarters, his signals were acknowledged.

Carfilhiot and his troop rode confidently into the northwest. At Dinkin Tor they halted. One of the number dismounted and climbed to the top of a rock. He called down to Carfilhiot: "Riders, perhaps five or six, at most seven! They approach the Dravenshaw!"

"Quick then," called Carfilhiot, "we'll take them at the forest's edge!"

The column rode west, keeping to the cover of Dewny Swale; at an old road they swung to the north and galloped at full speed for the Dravenshaw.

The road skirted the tumbled stones of a prehistoric fane, then turned directly down toward the Dravenshaw. Across the moor the roan horses ridden by Sir Cadwal's troop glimmered like raw copper in the sunlight. Carfilhiot signaled his men. "Quietly now! A volley of arrows, if necessary, but take Cadwal alive!"

The troop rode beside a stream fringed with willow. Clicks and snaps! A sibilant whir! Arrows across space at flat trajectory! Needle points thrust through chain-mail. There were groans of surprise, cries of pain. Six of Carfilhiot's men sagged to the ground in silence; three others took arrows in leg or shoulder. Carfilhiot's horse, with arrows in its neck and haunches, reared, screamed and fell. No one had aimed directly at Carfilhiot: an act of forbearance, alarming rather than reassuring.

Carfilhiot ran crouching to a riderless horse, mounted, kicked home his spurs and bending low to the mane, pounded away, followed by the survivors of his troop.

At a safe distance Carfilhiot called a halt and turned to assess the situation. To his dismay a mounted troop of a dozen men burst from the shadows of Dravenshaw. They rode bay horses and wore Kaber orange.

Carfilhiot hissed in frustration. At least six archers would be leaving the ambush to join the enemy troop: he was outnumbered. "Away!" cried Carfilhiot and put his horse once more to flight: up past the ruined fane, with the Kaber warriors barely a hundred yards behind. Carfilhiot's horses were stronger than the Kaber bays, but Carfilhiot had ridden harder and his heavy horses had not been bred for stamina.

Carfilhiot turned off the road into Dewny Swale, only to find another company of mounted men charging upon him from up-slope with leveled lances. They were ten or a dozen, in the blue and dark blue of Nulness Castle. Carfilhiot yelled orders and veered away to the south. Five of Carfilhiot's men took lances in the chest, neck or head and lay in the road. Three tried to defend themselves with sword and axe; they were quickly cut down. Four managed to win to the brow of the swale along with Carfilhiot, and there paused to rest their winded horses.

But only for a moment. The Nulness company, with relatively fresh horses, already had almost gained the high ground. The Kaber troop would be circling west along the old road to intercept him before he could gain Vale Evander.

A copse of dark fir trees rose ahead, where perhaps he could take temporary cover. He spurred the flagging horse into motion. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed bright red. He screamed: "Down! Away!" Over and down into a gulch he plunged, while archers in the crimson of Castle Turgis jumped up from the gorse and shot two volleys. Two of Carfilhiot's four were struck; once again chain-mail was penetrated. The horse of the third was struck in the belly; it reared over backward and fell on its rider who was crushed but managed to stagger, wild and disoriented, to his feet. Six arrows killed him. The single remaining warrior rode pell-mell down into the swale, where the Kaber warriors cut off first his legs, then his arms, then rolled him into the ditch to ponder the sad estate to which his life had come. Carfilhiot rode alone through the forest of firs, to come out on a wasteland of stone. A sheepherder's trail led through the rocks. Ahead towered the crags known as the Eleven Sisters.

Carfilhiot looked over his shoulder, then spurred his horse to its ultimate effort, through the Eleven Sisters and down the slope beyond into a dim gully choked with alders, where he drew his horse under a ledge and out of sight from above. His pursuers searched the rocks, calling and hallooing in frustration that Carfilhiot had escaped their trap. Time and time again they looked into the gully, but Carfilhiot, only fifteen feet below, was not seen. Around and around in Carfilhiot's head went an obsessive question: how had the trap been established without his knowledge? The map had shown only Sir Cadwal riding abroad; yet surely Sir Cleone of Nulness Castle, Sir Dexter of Turgis had gone out with their troops! The simple strategy of the signal system never occurred to him.

Carfilhiot waited an hour until his horse ceased to tremble and heave; then cautiously he remounted and rode down the gully, keeping to such shelter as was offered by alders and willows, and presently he emerged into Vale Evander, a mile above Ys.

The time still was early afternoon. Carfilhiot rode on into Ys. On terraces to either side of the river the factors lived quietly in their white palaces, shaded under pencil cypress, yew, olive, flat-topped pines. Carfilhiot rode up the beach of white sand to Melancthe's palace. A yard-boy came to meet him. Carfilhiot slid off the horse with a groan of relief. He climbed three marble steps, crossed the terrace and entered a dim foyer, where a chamberlain silently helped him from his helmet, his jupon and his chain cuirass. A maid-servant appeared: a strange silver-skinned creature, perhaps half-falloy.* She brought Carfilhiot a white linen shirt and a cup of warm white wine. "Sir, Lady Melancthe will see you in due course. Meanwhile, please command me for your needs."

*Falloy: A slender halfling akin to fairies, but larger, less antic and lacking deft control of magic; creatures ever more rare in the Elder Isles.

"Thank you: I need nothing." Carfilhiot went out on the terrace and lowered himself into a cushioned chair and sat looking out over the sea. The air was mild, the sky cloudless. Swells slid up the sand to become a low surf, which created a somnolent rhythmic sound. Carfilhiot's eyes became heavy; he dozed.

He awoke to find that the sun had moved down the sky. Melancthe, wearing a sleeveless gown of soft white faniche,* stood leaning against the balustrade, oblivious to his presence.

*A fairy fabric woven from dandelion silk.

Carfilhiot sat up in his chair, vexed for reasons indefinable. Melancthe turned to look at him, then a moment later gave her attention back to the sea... Carfilhiot watched her under half-closed eyelids. Her self- possession—so it occurred to him—if sufficiently protracted, might well tend to scrape upon one's patience... Melancthe glanced at him over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth drooping, apparently with nothing to say: neither welcome nor wonder at his presence unattended, nor curiosity as to the course of his life.

Carfilhiot chose to break the silence. "Life here at Ys seems placid enough."

"Sufficiently so."

"1 have had a dangerous day. I evaded death by almost no margin whatever."

"You must have been frightened."

Carfilhiot considered. "'Fright'? That is not quite the word. I was alarmed, certainly. I grieve to lose my troops."

"I have heard rumors of your warriors."

Carfilhiot smiled. "What would you have? The land is in turmoil. Everyone resists authority. Would you not prefer a country at peace?"

"As an abstract proposition, yes."

"I need your help."

Melancthe laughed in surprise. "It will not be forthcoming. I helped you once, to my regret."

"Truly? My gratitude should have soothed all your qualms. After all, you and I are one."

Melancthe turned and looked off over the wide blue sea. "I am I and you are you."

"So you will not help me."

"I will give you advice, if you agree to act by it."

"At least I will listen."

"Change utterly."

Carfilhiot made a polite gesture. "That is like saying: ‘Turn yourself inside-out.'"

"I know." The two words rang with a fateful sound.

Carfilhiot grimaced. "Do you truly hate me so?"

Melancthe inspected him from head to toe. "I often wonder at my feelings. You fascinate the attention; you cannot be ignored. Perhaps it is a kind of narcissism. If I were male, I might be like you."

"True. We are one."

Melancthe shook her head. "I am not tainted. You breathed the green fume."

"But you tasted it."

"I spat it out."

"Still, you know its flavor."

"And so I see deep into your soul."

"Evidently without admiration."

Melancthe again turned to look across the sea. Carfilhiot came to join her beside the balustrade. "Does it mean nothing that I am in danger? Half of my elite company is gone. I no longer trust my magic."

"You know no magic."

Carfilhiot ignored her. "My enemies have joined and plan terrible acts upon me. Today they might have killed me, but tried rather to take me alive."

"Consult your darling Tamurello; perhaps he will fear for his loved one."

Carfilhiot laughed sadly. "I am not even sure of Tamurello. In any event he is very temperate in his generosity, even somewhat grudging."

"Then find a more lavish lover. What of King Casmir?"

"We have few interests in common."

"Then Tamurello would seem to be your best hope."

Carfilhiot glanced sidewise and searched the delicate lines of her profile. "Has Tamurello never offered his attentions to you?"

"Certainly. But my price was too high."

"What was your price?"

"His life."

"That is inordinate. What price would you demand of me?"

Melancthe's eyebrows raised; her mouth went wryly crooked. "You would pay a notable price."

"My life?"

"The topic lacks all relevance, and disturbs me." She turned away. "I am going inside."

"What of me?"

"Do as you please. Sleep in the sun, if you are so of a mind. Or start back to Tintzin Fyral."

Carfilhiot said reproachfully: "For one who is closer than a sister, you are most acrid."

"To the contrary; I am absolutely detached."

"Well then, if I may do as I please, I will accept your hospitality."

Melancthe, mouth pursed thoughtfully, walked into the palace, with Carfilhiot at her back. She paused in the foyer: a round chamber decorated in blue, pink and gold, and with a pale blue rug on the marble floor. She called the chamberlain. "Show Sir Faude to a chamber and attend to his needs."

Carfilhiot bathed and rested for a period. Dusk settled across the ocean and daylight faded.

Carfilhiot dressed in garments of unrelieved black. In the foyer the chamberlain presented himself. "Lady Melancthe has not yet appeared. If you like, you may await her in the small saloon."

Carfilhiot seated himself and was served a goblet of crimson wine, tasting of honey, pine needles and pomegranate.

Half an hour passed. The silver-skinned serving girl brought a tray of sweetmeats, which Carfilhiot tasted without enthusiasm.

Ten minutes later he looked up from his wine to find Melancthe standing in front of him. She wore a sleeveless black gown, cut with total simplicity. A black opal cabochon hung on a narrow black ribbon around her neck; against the black, her pale skin and large eyes gave her a look of vulnerability to the impulses of both pleasure and pain: a semblance to excite any wishing to bring her either or both.

After a pause she sat beside Carfilhiot, and took a goblet of wine from the tray. Carfilhiot waited but she sat in silence. At last he asked: "Have you enjoyed a restful afternoon?"

"Certainly not restful. I worked on certain exercises."

"Indeed? To what end?"

"It is not easy to become a sorcerer."

"That is your will?"

"Certainly."

"It is not overly difficult, then?"

"I am only at the fringes of the subject. The real difficulties lie yet ahead."

"Already you are stronger than I." Carfilhiot spoke in a jesting voice. Melancthe smiled not at all.

After a heavy silence she rose to her feet. "It is time for dinner."

She took him into a large chamber, paneled in the blackest of ebony and floored with slabs of polished black gabbro. Over the ebony a set of glass prisms illuminated the service.

Dinner was served on two sets of trays: a simple meal of mussels simmered in white wine, bread, olives and nuts. Melancthe ate little, and apart from an occasional glance at Carfilhiot, gave him no attention, and made no effort at conversation. Carfilhiot, nettled, likewise held his tongue, so that the meal went in silence. Carfilhiot drank several goblets of wine, and finally set the goblet down with a petulant thump.

"You are beautiful beyond the dreams of dreaming! Yet your thoughts are those of a fish!"

"It is no great matter."

"Why should we know constraint? Are we not ultimately one?"

"No. Desmei yielded three: I, you and Denking."

"You have said it yourself!"

Melancthe shook her head. "Everyone shares the substance of earth. But the lion differs from the mouse and both from man."

Carfilhiot rejected the analogy with a gesture. "We are one, yet different! A fascinating condition! Yet, you are aloof!"

"True," said Melancthe. "I agree."

"For a moment consider the possibilities! The vertexes of passion! The sheer exuberances! Can you not feel the excitement?"

"Feel? Enough that I think." For an instant her composure appeared to falter. She rose, crossed the chamber and stood looking into the sea-coal fire.

In a leisurely fashion Carfilhiot came to stand beside her. "It is easy to feel." He took her hand and laid it on his chest. "Feel! I am strong. Feel how my heart moves and gives me life."

Melancthe pulled her hand away. "I do not care to feel at your behest. Passion is a hysteria. In truth I have no yearning for men." She moved a step away from him. "Leave me now, if you please. In the morning, you will not see me, nor will I advance your enterprises."

Carfilhiot put his hands under her elbows and stood facing her, with firelight shifting along their faces. Melancthe opened her mouth to speak, but uttered no words, and Carfilhiot, bending his face to hers, kissed her mouth. He drew her down upon a couch. "Evening stars still climb the sky. Night has just begun."

She seemed not to hear him, but sat looking into the fire. Carfilhiot loosed the clasps at her shoulder; she let the gown slide from her body with no restraint and the odor of violets hung in the air. She watched in passive silence as Carfilhiot stepped from his own garments.

At midnight Melancthe rose from the couch, to stand nude before the fire, now a bed of embers.

Carfilhiot watched her from the couch, eyelids half-lowered, mouth compressed. Melancthe's conduct had been perplexing. Her body had joined his with suitable urgency, but never during the coupling had she looked into his face; her head had been thrown back, or laid to the side, with eyes focused on nothing whatever. She had been physically exalted, this he could sense, but when he spoke to her, she made no response, as if he were no more than a phantasm.

Melancthe looked at him over her shoulder. "Dress yourself."

Sullenly Carfilhiot donned his garments, while she stood in contemplation of the dying fire. He considered a set of remarks, one after the other, but each seemed very heavy, or peevish, or callow, or foolish and he held his tongue.

When he had dressed he came to her and put his arms around her waist.She slipped from his grasp and spoke in a pensive voice, "don't touch me. No man has ever touched me, nor shall you."

Carfilhiot laughed. "Am I not a man? I have touched you, thoroughly and deep, to the core of your soul."

Still watching the fire Melancthe shook her head. "You occur only as an odd thing of the imagination. I have used you, now you must dissolve from my mind."

Carfilhiot peered at her in bafflement. Was she mad? "I am quite real, and I don't care to dissolve. Melancthe, listen!" Again he put his hands to her waist. "Let us truly be lovers! Are we not both remarkable?"

Again Melancthe moved away. "Again you have tried to touch me." She pointed to a door. "Go! Dissolve from my mind!"

Carfilhiot performed a sardonic bow and went to the door. Here he hesitated, looked back. Melancthe stood by the hearth, one hand to the high mantle, firelight and black shadow shifting along her body: Carfilhiot whispered to himself, inaudibly. "Say what you will of phantoms. I took you and I had you: so much is real."

And in his ear, or in his brain, as he opened the door, came soundless words: "I played with a phantom. You thought to control reality. Phantoms feel no pain. Reflect on this, when every day pain comes past."

Carfilhiot, startled, stepped through the door, and at once it closed behind him. He stood in a dark passage between two buildings, with a glimmer of light at either end. The night sky showed overhead. The air carried an odd reek, of moldering wood and wet stone; where was the clean salt air which blew past Melancthe's palace?

Carfilhiot groped through a clutter of rubbish to the end of the passage and emerged into a town square. He looked around in slack-jawed perplexity. This was not Ys, and Carfilhiot spoke a dour curse against Melancthe.

The square was boisterous with the sights and sounds of a festival. A thousand torches burnt on high; a thousand green and blue banners with a yellow bird appliqued on high. At the center two great birds constructed of bound straw bundles and ropes faced each other. On a platform men and women costumed as fanciful birds pranced, bobbed and kicked to the music of pipes and drums.

A man costumed as a white rooster, with red comb, yellow bill, white feathered wings and tail strutted past. Carfilhiot clutched his arm. "Sir, one moment! Enlighten me, where is this place?"

The man-chicken crowed in derision. "Have you no eyes? No ears? This is the Avian Arts Grand Gala!"

"Yes, but where?"

"Where else? This is the Kaspodel, at the center of the city!"

"But what city? What realm?"

"Are you lost of your senses? This is Gargano!"

"In Pomperol?"

"Precisely so. Where are your tail feathers? King Deuel has ordained tail-feathers for the gala! Notice my display!" The man-chicken ran in a circle, strutting and bobbing, so as to flourish his handsome tail-plumes; then he continued on his way.

Carfilhiot leaned against the building, gritting his teeth in fury. He carried neither coins, nor jewels, nor gold; he knew no friends among the folk of Gargano; indeed Mad King Deuel considered Carfilhiot a dangerous bird-killer and an enemy.

To the side of the square Carfilhiot noted the boards of an inn: the Pear Tree. He presented himself to the innkeeper only to learn that the inn was occupied to capacity. Carfilhiot's most aristocratic manner earned him no more than a bench in the common-room near a group of celebrants who caroused, wrangled and sang such songs as Fesker Would a-Wooing Go, Tirra-Lirra-Lay, Milady Ostrich and Noble Sir Sparrow. An hour before dawn they tumbled forward across the table to lie snoring among gnawed pig's feet and puddles of spilled wine. Carfilhiot was allowed to sleep until two hours into the morning, when charwomen came with mops and buckets, and turned everyone outside.

Celebration of the festival already had reached a crescendo. Everywhere fluttered banners and streamers of blue, green and yellow. Pipers played jigs while folk costumed as birds capered and pranced. Everyone used a characteristic bird-call, so tha the air resounded to twitterings, chirps, whistles and croaks.

Children dressed as barn-swallows, gold-finches, or tom-tits; older folk favored the more sedate semblances, such as that of crow, raven or perhaps a jay. The corpulent often presented themselves as owls, but in general everyone costumed himself as fancy directed.

The color, noise and festivity failed to elevate Carfilhiot's mood; in fact—so he told himself—never had he witnessed so much pointless nonsense. He had rested poorly and eaten nothing, which served to exacerbate his mood.

A bun-seller dressed as a quail passed by; Carfilhiot bought a mince-tart, using a silver button from his coat for payment. He ate standing before the inn, with aloof and disdainful glances for the revelry.

A band of youths chanced to notice Carfilhiot's sneers and stopped short. "Here now! This is the Grand Gala! You must show a happy smile, so as not to be at discord!"

Another cried out: "What? No gay plumage? No tail-feathers? They are required of every celebrant!"

"Come now!" declared another. "We must set things right!" Going behind Carfilhiot he tried to tuck a long white goose quill into Carfilhiot's waist-band. Carfilhiot would have none of it, and thrust the youth away.

The others in the band became more determined than ever and a scuffle ensued, in which shouts, curses and blows were exchanged.

From the street came a stern call. "Here, here! Why this disgraceful uproar?" Mad King Deuel himself, passing by in a be-feathered carriage, had halted to issue a reprimand.

One of the youths cried out: "The fault lies with this dismal vagabond! He won't wear his tail-feathers. We tried to help him and cited your Majesty's ordinance; he said to shove all our feathers up your Majesty's arse!"

King Deuel shifted his attention to Carfilhiot. "He did so, did he? That is not polite. We know a trick worth two of that. Guards! Attendants!"

Carfilhiot was seized and bent over a bench. The seat of his trousers was cut away, and into his buttocks were thrust a hundred quills of all sizes, lengths and colors, including a pair of expensive ostrich plumes. The ends of the quills were cut into barbs to prevent their detachment, and they were arranged to support each other so that the plumage, upon completion, thrust up from Carh'lhiot's fundament at a jaunty angle.

"Excellent!" declared King Deuel, clapping his hands in satisfaction. "That is a splendid display, in which you can take pride. Go, now. Enjoy the festival to your heart's content! Now you are properly bedizened!"

The carriage rolled away; the youths appraised Carfilhiot with critical eyes, but agreed that his plumage captured the mood of the festival, and they too went their way.

Carfilhiot walked stiff-legged to a crossroads at the edge of town. A sign-post pointed north to Avallon.

Carfilhiot waited, meanwhile plucking the feathers one by one from his buttocks.

A cart came from town, driven by an old peasant woman. Carfilhiot held up his hand to halt the cart. "Where do you drive yourself, grandmother?"

"To the village Filster, in the Deepdene, if that means aught to you."

Carfilhiot showed the ring on his finger. "Look well at this ruby!"

The old woman peered. "I see it well. It glows like red fire! I often marvel that such stones grow in the deep dark of the earth!"

"Another marvel: this ruby, so small, will buy twenty horses and carts like that one which you ride."

The old woman blinked. "Well, I must believe your word. Would you halt me in my home-going to tell me lies?"

"Now listen carefully, as I am about to state a proposition of several parts."

"Speak on; say what you will! I can think three thoughts at once."

"I am bound for Avallon. My legs are sore; I can neither walk nor sit astride a horse. I wish to ride in your cart, that I may come to Avallon in comfort. Therefore, if you will drive me to Avallon, ring and ruby are yours."

The woman held up her forefinger. "Better! We drive to Filster, thence my son Raffin puts straw in the cart and then drives you to Avallon. So all behind-hand whispers and rumors at my expense are halted before they start."

"This will be satisfactory."

Carfilhiot alighted from the cart at the sign of the Fishing Cat and gave over the ruby ring to Raffin who immediately departed. Carfilhiot entered the inn. Behind a counter stood a monstrous man half a foot taller than Carfilhiot, with a great red face and a belly which rested on the counter. He looked down at Carfilhiot with eyes like stone pebbles. "What do you wish?"

"I want to find Rughalt of the sore knees. He said that you would know where to find him."

The fat man, taking exception to Carfilhiot's manner, looked away. He worked his fingers up and down the counter. At last he uttered a few terse words. "He will arrive presently."

"How soon is ‘presently'?"

"Half an hour."

"I will wait. Bring me one of those roasting chickens, a loaf of new bread and a flask of good wine."

"Show me your coin."

"When Rughalt comes."

"When Rughalt comes, I will serve the fowl."

Carfilhiot swung away with a muttered curse; the fat man looked after him without change of expression.

Carfilhiot seated himself on a bench before the inn. Rughalt at last showed himself, moving his legs slowly and carefully, one at a time, hissing under his breath the while with a frowning eye, Carfilhiot watched Rughalt's approach. Rughalt wore the fusty gray garments of a pedagogue.

Carfilhiot rose to his feet; Rughalt stopped short in surprise. "Sir Faude!" he exclaimed. "What do you do here, in such a condition?"

"Through treachery and witchcraft; how else? Take me to a decent inn; this place is fit only for Celts and lepers."

Rughalt rubbed his chin. "The Black Bull is yonder on the Square. The charges are said to be excessive; you will pay in silver for a night's lodging."

"I carry no funds whatever, neither silver nor gold. You must provide funds until I make arrangements."

Rughalt winced. "The Fishing Cat, after all, is not so bad. Gurdy the landlord is daunting only at first acquaintance."

"Bah. He and his hovel both stink of rancid cabbage and worse. Take me to the Black Bull."

"Just so. Ah, my aching legs! Duty calls you onward."

At the Black Bull Carfilhiot found lodging to meet his requirements, though Rughalt screwed his eyes together when the charges were quoted. A haberdasher displayed garments which Carfilhiot found consonant with his dignity; however, to Rughalt's dismay Carfilhiot refused to haggle the price and Rughalt paid the wily tailor with slow and crooked fingers.

Carfilhiot and Rughalt seated themselves at a table in front of the Black Bull and watched the folk of Avallon. Rughalt ordered two modest half-measures from the steward. "Wait!" Carfilhiot commanded. "I am hungry. Bring me a dish of good cold beef, with some leeks and a crust of fresh bread, and I will drink a pint of your best ale."

While Carfilhiot satisfied his hunger, Rughalt watched sidelong with disapproval so evident that Carfilhiot finally asked: "Why do you not eat? You have become gaunt as an old leathern strap."

Rughalt replied between tight lips, "Truth to tell, I must be careful with my funds. I live at the edge of poverty."

"What? I thought you to be an expert cut-purse, who depredated all the fairs and festivals of Dahaut."

"That is no longer possible. My knees prevent that swift and easy departure which is so much a part of the business. I no longer ply the fairs."

"Still, you are evidently not destitute."

"My life is not easy. Luckily, I see all in the dark and I now work nights at the Fishing Cat, robbing guests while they sleep. Even so, my clicking knees are a handicap, and since Gurdy, the landlord, insists on a share of my earnings, I avoid unnecessary expense. In this connection, will you be long in Avallon?"

"Not long. I want to find a certain Triptomologius. Is his name known to you?"

"He is a necromancer. He deals in elixirs and potions. What is your business with him?"

"First, he will supply me with gold, as much as I need."

"In that case, ask enough for the both of us!"

"We shall see." Carfilhiot stood erect. "Let us seek out Triptomologius."

With a cracking and clicking of the knees, Rughalt arose. The two walked through the back streets of Avallon to a dark little shop perched on a hill overlooking the Murmeil estuary. A slatternly crone with chin and nose almost making contact gave information that Triptomologius had gone out that very morning to set up a booth on the common, that he might sell his wares at the fair.

The two descended the hill by twisting flights of narrow stone steps, with the crooked old gables of Avallon overhanging: the swaggering young gallant in fine new clothes and the gaunt man walking with the stiff careful bent-kneed tread of a spider. They went out upon the common, since dawn a place of seething activity and many-colored confusion. Early arrivals already hawked their goods. Newcomers established themselves to best advantage amid complaints, chaffing, quarrels, invective and an occasional scuffle. Hawkers set up their tents, driving stakes into the ground with great wooden mauls, and hung bunting of a hundred sun-faded hues. Food stalls set their braziers aglow; sausages sizzled in hot grease; grilled fish, dipped in garlic and oil, was served on slabs of bread. Oranges from the valleys of Dascinet competed in color and fragrance with purple Lyonesse grapes, Wysrod apples, Daut pomegranates, plums and quince. At the back of the common, trestles demarcated a long narrow paddock, where the mendicant lepers, cripples, the deranged, deformed and blind were required to station themselves. Each took up a post from which he delivered his laments; some sang, some coughed, others uttered ululations of pain. The deranged foamed at the mouth and hurled abuse at the passersby, in whatever style he found most effective. The noise from this quarter could be heard over the whole of the common, creating counterpoint to the music of pipers, fiddlers and bell-ringers.

Carfilhiot and Rughalt walked here and there, seeking the booth from which Triptomologius sold his essences. Rughalt, uttering low moans of frustration, pointed out heavy purses easily to be taken, were it not for his debilities. Carfilhiot halted to admire a team of two-headed black horses, of great size and strength which had drawn a wagon upon the common. In front of the wagon a boy played merry tunes on the pipes, while a pretty blonde girl stood by a table directing the antics of four cats which danced to the tunes: prancing and kicking, bowing and turning, twitching their tails in time to the music.

The boy finished his tune and put aside the pipes; on a platform in front of the wagon stepped a tall spare young-seeming man, with a droll face and sand-colored hair. He wore a black mantle displaying Druidic symbols, a tall black hat with fifty-two small silver bells around the brim. Facing the throng he raised his arms for attention. The girl jumped up to the platform. She was dressed as a boy in white ankle-boots, tight trousers of blue velvet, a dark blue jacket with golden frogs on the front. She spoke: "Friends! I introduce to you that remarkable master of the healing arts, Doctor Fidelius!"

She jumped to the ground and Dr. Fidelius addressed the throng. "Ladies and Sirs: We all know affliction of one sort or another—the pox, or boils, or hallucinations. Let me state at the outset, my powers are limited. I cure goiter and worm, costive impaction, stricture and bloat. I soothe the itch; I heal the scabies. Especially I mourn the anguish of cracking and creaking knees. Only one who suffers the complaint can know its' trouble!"

As Dr. Fidelius spoke, the girl moved about the crowd selling ointments and tonics from a tray. Dr. Fidelius displayed a chart. "Observe this drawing. It represents the human knee. When injured, as at the blow of an iron bar, the kneecap recedes; the joint becomes a toggle; the leg rasps back and forth like a cricket's wing, with clicks and cracking sounds."

Rughalt was profoundly stirred. "My knees might serve as models for his discourse!" he told Carfilhiot.

"Amazing," said Carfilhiot.

Rughalt held up his hand. "Let us listen."

Doctor Fidelius spoke on. "The affliction has its remedy!" He picked up a small clay pot and held it on high. "I have here an ointment of Egyptian source. It penetrates directly into the joint and strengthens as it relieves. The ligaments recover their tone. Persons creep into my laboratory on crutches and stride out renewed. Why suffer this debilitation when relief can be almost immediate? The ointment is valuable, at a silver florin per jar, but it is cheap when one considers its effects. The ointment, incidentally, carries my personal guarantee."

Rughalt listened with fascinated attention. "I must surely put the ointment to a test.'"

"Come along," said Carfilhiot curtly. "The man is a charlatan. Don't waste time and money on such foolishness."

"I have nothing better to waste it on," retorted Rughalt with sudden spirit. "Were my legs once more nimble I would have money to spare'."

Carfilhiot looked askance toward Dr. Fidelius. "Somewhere I have seen that man."

"Bah!" growled Rughalt. "It is not you who suffers the pangs; you can afford skepticism. I must grasp at every straw! Hey there, Dr. Fidelius! My kneecaps answer your description! Can you bring me relief?"

Dr. Fidelius called out: "Sir, come forward! Even from this distance I diagnose a typical condition. It is known as ‘Roofer's Knee,' or sometimes ‘Robber's Knee,' since it often comes from the impact of the knee against roof-tiles. Please step over here, so that I may examine your leg with care. I can almost guarantee your surcease in a very short time. Are you a roofer, sir?"

"No," said Rughalt curtly.

"No matter. A knee, after all, is a knee. If left untreated, it will eventually turn yellow, extrude bits of decaying bone and become a source of annoyance. We shall forestall these events. Step over here, sir, behind the wagon."

Rughalt followed Dr. Fidelius to the other side of the wagon. Carfilhiot impatiently turned away and went off in search of Triptomologius, and presently found the necromancer stocking the shelves of his booth with articles brought by dog cart.

The two exchanged greetings and Triptomologius inquired the reason for Carfilhiot's presence. Carfilhiot responded in oblique terms, hinting of intrigues and mysteries which might not be discussed. "Tamurello was to leave a message for me," said Carfilhiot. "Have you been in late contact with him?"

"As lately as yesterday. The message made no mention of you; he remains at Faroli."

"Then I will make for Faroli with all speed. You must provide me a good horse and ten gold crowns, for which Tamurello will reimburse you."

Triptomologius drew back in shock. "His message told me none of this!"

"Then send a new message, but be quick about it, as I must I depart Avallon at once—tomorrow at the latest."

Triptomologius pulled at his long gray chin. "I can spare no more than three crowns. You must make do."

"What? Must I eat crusts and sleep under the hedge?"

After a period of undignified wrangling, Carfilhiot accepted five gold crowns, a horse, suitably furnished, and saddle-bags packed with provisions of carefully stipulated kind and quality.

Carfilhiot returned across the common. He paused by the wagon of Dr. Fidelius, but the side doors were closed and no one could be seen: neither Dr. Fidelius, the girl or boy, nor yet Rughalt.

Once more at the Black Bull, Carfilhiot seated himself at a table in front of the inn. He sprawled out his legs, drank the yellow wine of muscat grapes, and reflected upon the circumstances of his life. In recent days, his affairs had not gone well. Images thronged his mind: he smiled at some and frowned at others. Thinking of the Dravenshaw ambush, he uttered a small moan and clenched his hand on the goblet. The time had come to destroy his enemies once and for all. In his mind he saw them in the semblance of beasts: snarling curs, weasels, boars, black-masked foxes. Melancthe's image appeared to him. She stood in the shadows of her palace, nude save for a wreath of violets in her black hair. Calm and still, she looked through him, past and away... Carfilhiot straightened sharply in his chair. Melancthe had always treated him with condescension, as if she felt a natural ascendancy, apparently on the basis of the green fume. She had preempted all of Desmei's magical apparatus, allowing him none. From compunction, or guilt, or perhaps only to stifle his reproaches, she had beguiled the magician Shimrod, so that Carfilhiot might plunder his magical appurtenances— which, in any event, due to Shimrod's cunning lock, had brought him no benefit. Upon his return to Tintzin Fyral he must surely... Shimrod! Carfilhiot's instincts prickled. Where was Rughalt, who had limped forward so confidently to take treatment from Dr. Fidelius?

Shimrod! If he had taken Rughalt, who would be next? Carfilhiot felt cold and his bowels went queasy, as if they needed relief.

Carfilhiot rose to his feet. He looked out across the common. There was no sign of Rughalt. Carfilhiot cursed between his teeth. He had neither coin nor gold, and would have none till the morrow.

Carfilhiot worked to regain his composure. He drew a deep breath and clenched his fist. "I am Faude Carfilhiot! I am I, the best of the best! I dance my perilous dance along the edge of the sky! I take the clay of Destiny in my hands and shape it to my will. I am Faude Carfilhiot, the nonpareil!"

With a firm light step, he set off across the common. Lacking a weapon of any sort, he halted to pick up a broken tent-stake: a length of ash something over a foot long, which he concealed under his cape, then proceeded directly to the wagon of Dr. Fidelius.

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Once behind Dr. Fidelius' wagon, Rughalt spoke in a reedy voice: "You have mentioned sore knees, which I have in abundance, to the number of two. They creak and click and on occasion bend in reverse direction, causing me discomfort."

"Interesting!" exclaimed Dr. Fidelius. "Interesting indeed! How long have you been so troubled?"

"Forever, or so it seems. It came upon me during the course of my work. I was subjected to alternating heat and cold, dampness and dry. Meanwhile I was forced to great exertions, twisting, turning, pushing, pulling, and I feel that I weakened my knees in the process."

"Precisely so! Still, your case shows peculiarities. It is not typical of the Avallon sore knee."

"I then resided in South Ulfland."

"I am vindicated! For the South Ulfland disease we will need certain medicines which I do not keep in the wagon." Shimrod called to Glyneth; she approached, looking back and forth between the two men. Shimrod took her somewhat aside. "I'll be in conference with the gentleman for perhaps an hour. Close up the wagon, put the horses to their traces. Tonight we may be on the road to Lyonesse."

Glyneth nodded her head in assent and went back to Dhrun with the news.

Shimrod turned his attention back to Rughalt. "This way, sir, if you will."

Presently Rughalt put a plaintive question: "Why are we going so far? We are quite away from town!"

"Yes, my dispensary is somewhat isolated. Still, I think I can promise you total palliation."

Rughalt's knees began to click and creak in earnest, and his complaints became increasingly peevish. "How far must we go? Every step we take is a step we must retrace. Already my knees are singing a sad duet."

"They will never sing again! Surcease is absolute and final."

"That is good to hear. Still, I see no sign of your dispensary."

"It is just yonder, behind that alder thicket."

"Hmf. An odd place for a dispensary."

"It should serve our purposes very well."

"But there is not even a path!"

"So we ensure our privacy. This way then, behind the thicket. Mind the fresh pads of cow-dung."

"But there is nothing here."

"You and I are here, and I am Shimrod the Magician. You robbed my house Trilda and you burned my friend Grofinet over a flame. I have sought you and your comrade a very long time."

"Nonsense! Nothing of the sort! Absurd, every word... What are you doing? Stop at once! Stop! Stop!, I say!"

And later: "Have mercy! No more! I was commanded to the work!"

"By whom?"

"I dare not tell... No, no! No more, I will tell—"

"Who commanded you?"

"Carfilhiot, of Tintzin Fyral!"

"For what reason?"

"He wanted your magic stuff."

"That is far-fetched."

"It is true. He was encouraged by the magician Tamurello, who would give Carfilhiot nothing."

"Tell me more."

"I know nothing more... Ah! You monster! I will tell you!"

"What then? Hurry, do not stop to think. Do not gasp; talk!"

"Carfilhiot is in Avallon, at the Black Bull... What now are you doing? I have told you all!"

"Before you die you must toast a bit, like Grofinet."

"But I have told you everything! Have mercy!"

"Yes, perhaps so. I have no real stomach for torment. Die then. This is my cure for sore knees."

Carfilhiot found Dr. Fidelius' wagon closed, but the team of two-headed horses was hitched to the wagon-pole, as if in readiness for departure.

Carfilhiot went to the door at the back of the wagon and pressed his ear against the panel. Silence, so far as he could determine, with the noise of the fair behind him.

He walked around the wagon, and discovered the boy and girl beside a small fire where they toasted skewers of bacon chunks and quartered onion.

The girl looked up as Carfilhiot approached; the boy kept his attention on the fire. Carfilhiot wondered briefly as to his detachment. A shag of golden-brown curls fell over his face; his features were fine, yet decisive. He was, thought Carfilhiot, a boy of remarkable distinction. His age was perhaps nine or ten. The girl was two or three years older, in the early springtime of her life, as gay and sweet as a daffodil. She looked up, to meet Carfilhiot's gaze. Her mouth drooped and she became still. She spoke, however, in a polite voice: "Sir, Dr. Fidelius is not here just now."

Carfilhiot came slowly forward. The girl rose to her feet. The boy turned to look in Carfilhiot's direction.

"When will he be back?" asked Carfilhiot gently.

"I think very soon," said the girl.

"Do you know where he went?"

"No, sir. He had important business, and we were to be ready to leave when he returned."

"Well then, everything is quite in order," said Carfilhiot. "jump into the wagon and we will drive directly to Dr. Fidelius."

The boy spoke for the first time. Despite his clear features, Carfilhiot had thought him pensive, or even a trifle daft. He was taken aback by the ring of authority in the boy's voice. "We cannot leave here without Dr. Fidelius. And we are cooking our dinner."

"Wait in front, sir, if you will," said the girl and turned her attention back to the sizzling bacon.