Lyonesse

Chapter 31

WITH THE COMING OF DAYLIGHT the Ulf army, still a mutually suspicious set of small companies, struck camp and mustered in the meadow before Cleadstone Castle: two thousand knights and men-at-arms. There they were shaped into a coherent force by Sir Fentaral of Graycastle who, of all the barons, was most generally respected. The army then set off across the moors.

Late the following day they established themselves on that ridge overlooking Tintzin Fyral from which the Ska had previously attempted an assault.

Meanwhile, the Troice army moved up the vale, encountering only incurious stares from the inhabitants. The valley seemed almost uncanny in its stillness.

Late in the day the army arrived at the village Sarquin, within view of Tintzin Fyral. At the behest of Aillas, elders of the town came to a colloquy. Aillas introduced himself and defined his goals. "Now I wish to establish a fact. Speak in candor; the truth will not hurt you. Are you antagonistic to Carfilhiot, or neutral, or do you support him?"

The elders muttered among themselves and looked over their shoulders toward Tintzin Fyral. One said: "Carfilhiot is a man-witch. It is best that we take no stance in the matter. You are able to strike off our heads if we displease you; Carfilhiot can do worse when you are gone."

Aillas laughed. "You overlook the reason for our presence. When we leave Carfilhiot will be dead."

"Yes, yes; others have said the same. They are gone; Carfilhiot remains. Even the Ska failed so much as to trouble him."

"I remember the occasion well," said Aillas. "The Ska retired because of an approaching army."

"That is true; Carfilhiot mobilized the valley against them.

"We prefer Carfilhiot, who is a known if erratic evil, to the Ska, who are more thorough."

"This time there will be no army to succor Carfilhiot: not from north or south or east or west will help come."

The elders again muttered among themselves. Then: "Let us suppose that Carfilhiot falls, what then?"

"Yoy will know a just and even rule; I assure you of this."

The elder pulled at his beard. "It makes good hearing," he admitted; then, after a glance at his fellows, he said: "The situation is of this nature. We are staunchly faithful to Carfilhiot, but you have terrified us to the point of panic, and therefore we must do your bidding, despite our inclinations, if Carfilhiot ever should ask."

"So be it. What, then, can you tell us of Carfilhiot's strength?"

"Recently he has augmented his castle guard, with wolf-heads and cutthroats. They will fight to the death because they can expect nothing better elsewhere. Carfilhiot forbids them to molest the folk of the valley. Still, girls often disappear and are never again heard from; and they are permitted to take women from the moors, and they also practice indescribable vices among themselves, or so it is said."

"What is their present number?" "I guess between three and four hundred."

"That is not a large force."

"So much the better for Carfilhiot. He needs only ten men to hold off your entire army; the others are extra mouths to feed. And beware Carfilhiot's tricks! It is said that he uses magic to his advantage, and he is an expert at his ambushes."

"How so? In what fashion?"

"Notice yonder: bluffs extend into the valley, with little more than an arrow-flight between. They are riddled with tunnels; were you to march past a hail of arrows would strike down and in one minute you would lose a thousand men."

"Just so, if we were rash enough to march under the bluffs. What else can you tell us?"

"There is little else to tell. If you are captured you will sit a high pole until your flesh rots away in rags. That is how Carfilhiot pays off his enemies."

"Gentlemen, you may go. I thank you for your advice."

"Remember, I spoke only in a hysteria of fear!"

That will be the way of it."

Aillas marched his army another half-mile. The Ulf army occupied the heights behind Tintzin Fyral. No word had yet arrived from the force which had set out to take Kaul Bocach; presumably it had succeeded.

The exits and entrances to Tintzin Fyral were sealed. Carfilhiot must now trust his life to the impregnability of his castle.

In the morning a herald carrying a white flag rode up the valley. He halted before the gate and cried out: "Who will hear me? I bring a message for Sir Faude Carfilhiot!"

On top the wall stepped the captain of the guard, wearing Carfilhiot's black and lavender: a massive man with gray hair flowing back on the wind. He cried out in booming tones: "Who brings messages to Sir Faude?"

The herald stepped forward. "The armies of Troicinet and South Ulfland surround the castle. They are led by Aillas, King of Troicinet and South Ulfland. Will you convey the message I bring, or will the miscreant descend to hear with his own ears and answer with his own tongue?"

"I will convey your message."

"Tell Faude Carfilhiot that, by order of the king, his rule at Tintzin Fyral is ended, and that he remains in occupation as an outlaw, without franchise from his king. Tell him that his crimes are notorious and bring great shame to him and his henchmen, and that a requital is forthcoming. Tell him that he may ameliorate his fate by surrendering at this instant. Tell him further that Ulf troops control Kaul Bocach, to bar the armies of Lyonesse from Ulfland, so that he may expect no succor from King Casmir, nor anyone else."

"Enough!" cried the captain in a vast roaring voice. "I can remember no more!" He turned and jumped down from the wall. Presently he could be seen riding up the road to the castle.

Twenty minutes passed. The captain returned down the road and once more ascended the wall. He called: "Sir Herald, listen well! Sir Faude Carfilhiot, Duke of Vale Evander and Prince of Ulfland, knows nothing of Aillas, King of Troicinet, and does not acknowledge his authority. He requires the invaders to leave this domain which is alien to them, on pain of bitter war and awful defeat. Remind King Aillas that Tintzin Fyral has known a dozen sieges and has succumbed to none."

"Will he or will he not surrender?"

"He will not surrender."

"In that case, make announcement to your fellows and all those who bear arms for Carfilhiot. Tell them that all who fight for Carfilhiot and shed blood on his behalf will be deemed no less guilty than Carfilhiot and will share his fate."

Dark moonless night fell across Vale Evander. Carfilhiot climbed to the flat roof of his high tower and stood in the wind. Two miles down the valley a thousand campfires created a flickering carpet, like a drift of red stars. Much closer a dozen other fires rimmed the northern ridge and suggested the presence of many more across the ridge, away from the wind. Carfilhiot turned and, to his startled dismay, at the top of Tac Tor he saw three more fires. They might well have been built only to daunt him, and so they did. For the first time he felt fear: first, a gnawing edge of wonder if possibly, by some tragic failure of fate, Tintzin Fyral might, on this occasion, fall to a siege. The thought of what would happen were he captured sent a clammy coldness down through his bowels.

Carfilhiot touched the harsh stone of the parapets for reassurance. He was secure! How could his magnificent castle fall? In the vaults were stores for a year or even longer; he had ample water from an underground spring. A gang of a thousand sappers, working night and day, in theory, might excavate the base of the cliff so as to topple the castle; practically the idea was absurd. And what could his enemies hope to achieve from the top of Tac Tor? The castle was protected by the width of the chasm: A long bow-shot. Archers on Tac Tor might cause a harassment until screens were raised against the arrows, whereupon their efforts became futile. Only from the north would Tintzin Fyral seem vulnerable. Since the Ska attack Carfilhiot had augmented his defenses, providing ingenious new systems against any who might hope to use a battering-ram.

So Carfilhiot reassured himself. Further, and superseding all else, Tamurello had avowed support. Should supplies run short, Tamurello could replenish them by magic. In effect, Tintzin Fyral might stand secure forever!

Carfilhiot looked once more around the circle of night, then descended to his workroom, but Tamurello, through absence, neglect, or design, would not talk with him.

In the morning Carfilhiot watched as the Troice army advanced almost to the base of Tintzin Fyral, evading his ambush by marching single-file behind a screen of shields. They cut down his impaling poles, released the stretched men of Femus Castle from their weights, and set up camp on the meadow. Trains of supplies moved up the valley and along the ridge, preparations of an unhurried and methodical sort, which caused Carfilhiot new apprehension despite all logic to the contrary. There was peculiar activity on top of Tac Tor and Carfilhiot watched the skeletons of three enormous catapults take shape. He had thought Tac Tor a place of no danger, by reason of its steep slopes, but the cursed Troice had found the trail and with ant-like industry, piece by piece, had carried to the summit the three great catapults now rearing against the sky. Surely the range was too far! Thrown boulders would simply bounce away from the castle walls and menace the Troice encampment below. So Carfilhiot assured himself. On the north ridge six other siege-engines were under construction, and again Carfilhiot felt queasiness to see the efficiency of the Troice engineers. The engines were massive, designed with great precision. They would in due course be brought close to the edge of the cliff; in just such a fashion the Ska had ranged their engines... As the day wore on Carfilhiot began to doubt, and the doubts deepened to rage: the engines were set up well to the safe side of his collapsible platform. How had they learned of this danger? From the Ska? Reverses from all directions! A thud and a shock as something struck the side of the tower.

Carfilhiot swung around aghast. On Tac Tor he saw the arm of one of the great catapults swing up and snap to halt. A boulder climbed high into the air, made a slow arc and slanted down toward the castle. Carfilhiot threw his hands over his head and crouched. The stone missed the tower by five feet and hissed past to land near the drawbridge. Carfilhiot took no pleasure in the miss; these were ranging shots.

He ran down the stairs and ordered a squad of archers to the roof. They went to the battlements; they placed their bows to the merlons, lay back and held the bows with a foot. They drew to the fullest draught and loosened. The arrows arched high across the gulf, then slanted down to strike the slopes of Tac Tor. A futile exercise.

Carfilhiot cried out a curse and waved his arms in defiance. Two of the catapults launched together; two boulders hurtled high, completed their arcs, slanted down their final courses and plunged into the roof. The first killed two archers and broke the roof; the second missed Carfilhiot by ten feet, to plunge through the roof and into his high parlor. The surviving archers scrambled down the stairs followed by Carfilhiot.

For an hour boulders struck down upon the roof of the tower, destroying the battlements, bursting in the roof and breaking the roof-beams, so that they protruded half in the air, half-down to the floor below.

The engineers altered the aim of their machines and began to break in the walls of the tower. It became clear, that in a period of time to be measured in days, the engines on Tac Tor alone could batter the tower of Tinfzin Fyral to its foundation.

Carfilhiot ran to the frame in his workroom and now succeeded in making contact with Tamurello. "The army is attacking from the heights with enormous weapons; help me or I am doomed!"

"Very well," said Tamurello in a heavy voice. "I will do what must be done."

On Tac Tor Aillas stood where he had stood before, during a different era of his life. He watched as the flung stones crossed the gulf to batter Tintzin Fyral, then spoke to Shimrod: "The war is over. He has nowhere to go. Stone by stone we dismantle his castle. It is time for another parley."

"Let's give him another hour of it. I feel his mood. It is fury but not yet despair."

Across the sky moved a crepuscule. It settled to the top of Tac Tor and exploded with a small sound. Tamurello, taller by a head than ordinary men, stood facing them. He wore a suit of gleaming black scales and a silver fish-head helmet. Under black brows his eyes glared round with rings of white surrounding the black iris. He stood on a ball of flickering force which subsided, lowering him to the ground. He looked from Aillas to Shimrod and back to Aillas. "When we met at Faroli I failed to recognize your high estate."

"At that time I lacked such estate."

"Now you expand your grasp across South Ulfland!"

"The land is mine by right of lineage and now by force of conquest. Both are valid entitlements."

Tamurello made a sign. "In peaceful Vale Evander, Sir Faude Carfilhiot maintains a popular rule. Conquer elsewhere, but stay your hand here. Carfilhiot is my friend and ally. Call away your armies, or I must exert my magic against you."

Shimrod spoke. "Desist, before you cause yourself embarrassment. I am Shimrod. I need speak a single word to summon Murgen. I was forbidden to do so unless you made prior interference. Since you have done so I now call on Murgen to intercede. "

A flash of blue flame illuminated the mountain-top; Murgen stepped forward. "Tamurello, you violate my edict."

"I protect one dear to me."

"You may not do so in this case; you have played a wicked game, and I tremble with the urge to destroy you at this moment."

Tamurello's eyes seemed to glare with black radiance - He took a step forward. "Do you dare such threats to me, Murgen? You are senile and flaccid; you cringe at imaginary fears. Meanwhile I wax in strength!"

Murgen seemed to smile. "I will cite first, the Wastes of Falax; second, the Flesh Cape of Miscus; third, the Totness Squalings. Reflect; then go your way, and be grateful for my restraint."

"What of Shimrod? He is your creature!"

"No longer. In any event, the offense was engendered by you. It is his right to restore the equipoise. Your deeds were not overt, and I punish you thus: return to Faroli; do not in any guise venture from its precincts for five years, on pain of expunction."

Tamurello made a wild gesture, and disappeared in a whirl of smoke, which became a crepuscule drifting eastward with speed.

Aillas turned to Murgen. "Can you help us further? I would hope not to risk the lives of honest men, nor yet my son."

"Your wishes do you credit. But I am bound by my own edict. No more than Tamurello may I interfere for those whom I love. I walk a narrow way, with a dozen eyes judging my conduct." He laid his hand on Shimrod's head. "Already you have altered from my concepts."

"I am as much Dr. Fidelius the mountebank as I am Shimrod the magician."

Murgen, smiling, drew back. The blue flame in which he had arrived came into being and enveloped him; he was gone. On the ground where he had stood remained a small object. Shimrod picked it up.

Aillas asked: "What is it?"

"A spool. It is wound with a fine thread."

"To what purpose?"

Shimrod tested the cord. "It is very strong."

Carfilhiot stood in his workroom, shuddering to the shock and thud of boulders striking down from the sky. The circular frame altered to become the face of Tamurello, mottled and distorted with emotion. "Faude, I have been thwarted; I may not intercede for you."

"But they destroy the fabric of my castle! And next they will tear me to pieces!"

Tamurello's silence hung more heavy in the air than words.

After a moment Carfilhiot spoke on in a voice breathless, soft and exalted with emotion: "So great a loss and then my death—is it tolerable to you, who so often have declared your love? I cannot believe it!"

"It is not tolerable, but love can not melt mountains. All reasonable things, and more, will I do. So now, make yourself ready! I will bring you here at Faroli."

Carfilhiot cried out in a piteous voice: "My wonderful castle? I will never leave! You must drive them away!"

Tamurello made a sad sound. "Take flight, or give surrender: which will you do?"

"Neither! I trust you! In the name of our love, help me!"

Tamurello's voice became practical. "For best terms, surrender now. The worse you hurt them, the harder will be your fate."

His face receded into the gray membrane, which now snapped away from the frame and disappeared, leaving only the beech-wood backing-panel. Carfilhiot cursed and dashed the frame to the floor.

He descended to the floor below and walked back and forth with hands clasped behind his back. He turned and called to his servant. "The two children: bring them here at once!"

On top of Tac Tor the captain of the engineers suddenly leapt in front of the catapults. "Hold your fire!"

Aillas came forward. "What goes on?"

"Look!" The captain pointed. "They have put someone up on what is left of the roof."

Shimrod said: "There are two: Glyneth and Dhrun!"

Aillas, looking across the gulf, for the first time saw his son. Shimrod, beside him, said: "He is a handsome boy, and strong and brave as well. You will be proud of him."

"But how to make rescue? They are at Carfilhiot's mercy. He has canceled our catapults; Tintzin Fyral is once more invulnerable."

Glyneth and Dhrun, dirty, bewildered, unhappy and frightened, were seized from the room where they had been confined and ordered up the spiral staircase. As they climbed they became aware of a recurrent impact which sent vibrations down the stone walls of the tower. Glyneth stopped to rest, and the servant made urgent gestures. "Quick! Sir Faude is in haste!"

"What is happening?" Glyneth asked.

"The castle is under attack; that is all I know. Come now; there is no time to waste!"

The two were thrust into a parlor; Carfilhiot paused in his pacing to survey them. His easy elegance was absent; he seemed disheveled and distraught. "Come this way! At last you will be of use to me."

Glyneth and Dhrun recoiled before him; he urged them up the staircase, into the upper levels of the tower. Above a boulder plunged down through the broken roof to batter at the far wall. "Quick now! Up with you!" Carfilhiot shoved them up the sagging and broken staircase, out into afternoon sunlight, where they stood cowering in expectation of another projectile.

Dhrun cried out: "Look to the mountain yonder!"

"That's Shimrod up there!" cried Glyneth. "He's come to rescue us!" She waved her arms. "Here we are! Come get us!" The roof groaned as a beam gave way and the staircase sagged. "Hurry!" cried Glyneth. "The roof is falling under us!"

"This way," said Dhrun. He led Glyneth close to the broken battlements, and the two gazed in fascinated hope across the chasm.

Shimrod came to the edge of the cliff. He held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. He gave them to an archer.

Glyneth and Dhrun watched him in wonder. "He's trying to signal us," said Glyneth. "I wonder what he wants us to do?"

"The archer is going to shoot the arrow; he's telling us to be careful."

"But why shoot an arrow?"

The line from Murgen's spool, so fine as almost to float in the air, could not be broken by the strength of human arms. Shimrod carefully laid the thread along the ground, back and forth in ten-foot bights, so that it might extend freely. He held up bow and arrow so that the two wistful figures, so near and yet so far, might divine his purpose, then tied an end of the thread to the arrow.

Shimrod turned to Cargus. "Can you flight this arrow over the tower?"

Cargus fitted arrow to bow. "If I fail, pull back the cord and let a better man make the attempt!"

He drew back the arrow to arch the bow, raised it so that the arrow might fly its farthest course, and released. High through the sky, down and over the roof of Tintzin Fyral, flew the arrow, the thread floating behind. Glyneth and Dhrun ran to catch the thread. At Shimrod's signal they tied it to a sound merlon at the far side of the roof. At once the thread thickened, to become a cable of braided fibers two inches in diameter. On Tac Tor a squad of men, putting their shoulders to the rope, pulled up the slack and drew it taut.

In the parlor three floors below, Carfilhiot sat glumly, but relieved that he had so ingeniously halted the barrage. What next? All was in flux; conditions must change. He would exercise his keenest ingenuity, his best talents for agile improvisation, that from this dreary situation he might salvage the most and best for himself. But, despite all, a dismal conviction began to ease across his mind, like a dark shadow. He had very little scope for maneuver. His best hope, Tamurello, had failed him. Even if he could keep Dhrun and Glyneth on the roof indefinitely, he still could not endure a siege forever. He made a petulant sound of distress. It had become a time for compromise, for amiability and a clever bargain. What terms would his enemies offer him? If he surrendered his captives and Shimrod's goods, might he be left in control of the Vale? Probably not. Of the castle itself? Again, probably not.. .Silence from above. What might be happening on Tac Tor? In his mind's eye Carfilhiot imagined his enemies standing at the edge of the cliff, calling ineffectual curses across the wind. He went to the window and looked up. He stared at the line across the sky and uttered a startled cry. Already from the edge of Tac Tor he detected men preparing to slide down the rope. He ran to the stairs and bellowed down to his captain. "Robnet! A squad to the roof, in haste!"

He ran up to the wreck of his private quarters. The stairs to the roof sagged under his weight, groaning and swaying. With a tread as light as possible, he climbed up. He heard Glyneth's exclamation, and tried to hurry, and felt the stairs give way beneath his feet. He lunged, and, catching a splintered roof-beam, pulled himself up. Glyneth, white-faced, stood above him. She swung a length of broken timber and struck at his head with all her strength. Dazed, he fell back and hung with one arm over the roor-beam; then, making a wild grasp with the other arm, he caught Glyneth's ankle and pulled her toward him.

Dhrun ran forward. He held his hand into the air. "Dassenach! My sword Dassenach! Come to me!"

From far across the Forest of Tantrevalles, from the thicket into which Carfilhiot had flung it, came Dassenach the sword, to Dhrun's hand. He raised it high and thrust it down at Carfilhiot's wrist and pinned it to the roof-beam. Glyneth kicked herself free and scrambled to safety. Carfilhiot gave a poignant cry, slipped to hang by his pinned wrist.

Down the rope, riding a loop, came a squat broad-shouldered man, with a dark dour countenance. He dropped upon the roof, went to look at Carfilhiot. Another man slid down from Tac Tor. They lifted Carfilhiot to the roof and bound his arms and legs with rope, and then turned to Glyneth and Dhrun. The smaller of the two men said, "I am Yane; that is Cargus. We are your father's friends." This was said to Dhrun.

"My father?"

"There he stands, next to Shimrod."

Down the line slid man after man. Carfilhiot's soldiers tried to fire arrows from below but the embrasures were set unsuitably in the walls and the arrows went astray.

Tintzin Fyral was empty. The defenders were dead: by sword, fire, asphyxiation in sealed tunnels and the executioner's axe. Robnet, captain of the guard, had climbed atop the wall which enclosed the parade grounds. He stood spraddle-legged, wind blowing his gray locks. He roared challenge in his vast hoarse voice. "Come! Who will meet me, sword in hand? Where are your brave champions, your heroes, your noble knights? Come! Clash steel with me!"

For a few moments the Troice warriors stood watching him. Sir Cargus called up. "Come down, old man! The axe awaits you."

"Come up and take me! Come test your steel against mine!"

Cargus made a motion to the archers; Robnet died with six arrows protruding from neck, chest and eye.

The aviary presented special problems. Certain of the captives fluttered, dodged and climbed to high perches to avoid those who came to release them. Mad King Deuel attempted a gallant flight across the cage, but his wings failed him; he fell to the floor and broke his neck.

The dungeons yielded stuff forever to haunt the thoughts of those who explored them. The torturers were dragged screaming out on the parade ground. The Ulfs cried out for the impaling poles, but King Aillas of Troicinet and South Ulfland had proscribed torment, and their heads were taken by the axe.

Carfilhiot occupied a cage on the parade ground at the base of the castle. A great gibbet was erected, with the arm sixty feet from the ground. At noon on a raw overcast day, with wind blowing strangely from the east, Carfilhiot was carried to the gibbet; and again passionate voices were heard. "He escapes too easily!"

Aillas paid no heed. "Hang him high." The executioner bound Carfilhiot's hands behind him, fitted the noose over his head, and Carfilhiot was taken aloft to dangle kicking and jerking: a grotesque black shadow on the gray sky. The impaling poles were broken and the fragments set afire. Carfilhiot's body was cast on the flames, where it twitched and crawled as if dying a second time. From the flames rose a sickly green vapor which blew away on the wind, down Vale Evander and over the sea. The vapor failed to dissipate. It clotted and coalesced, to become an object like a large green pearl, which fell into the ocean where it was swallowed by a turbot.

Shimrod packed into cases his stolen apparatus, and other items as well. He loaded the cases into a wagon and with Glyneth beside him drove the wagon down the vale to old Ys. Aillas and Dhrun rode on horses to the side. The cases were loaded aboard the ship which would convey them back to Troicinet.

An hour before sailing, Shimrod, motivated by caprice, mounted a horse and rode north along the beach: a way he had come long ago in dreams. He approached the low palace beside the sea, and found Melancthe standing on the terrace, almost as if she had been awaiting him.

Twenty feet from Melancthe Shimrod halted his horse. He sat in the saddle, looking at her. She said nothing, nor did he. Presently he turned his horse about and rode slowly back down the beach to Ys.