The Tale of Ludd

Of time, and of the other cause by which
These two, as yet unnamed, had come to part
Asunder and forever, at that place
Wherein there grew the fœtid hellebore
The affodil, the columbine betimes,
The gorse and hawthorn, nenuphar and least,
Though not least grandly, stood the oak,
The proud progenitor or those who now,
Amidst the branches, singing through the night,
Laid blessing on that rupture. Then the jay,
From nether vale’s sequestered solitude
Flew thrice across a strangely twisted moon
And vanished in the brome. Ah, was there not
A stronger heart beheld that passing flight
From those damp banks of shrub and scarab’s haunt,
Than she, Marinda, mistress of the time,
And of the other cause by which, apart,
Two brothers, neither twins nor even friends,
Did war to death oe’r fair Por’palam’s bounds,
A kingdom less two-factioned now than sundered,
As snake by sharp spadille? Nor was it known
Wherein th’unsibbed co-rival claimants’ cause
Might seethe in aspiration’s twofold gaze
Th’interminate canzonet in several parts
In clinging cadence fearlessly to end.
For through the minstrelsy that night the rumour flew
As goaded goat from milkmaid’s cruel sport
And to the ears of Danjel, who a lay
Then writ and sang to all whose audience
Were first uncomprehending, till there dawned
On allegory’s plains the helpful sun
Unfailingly to clarify and work
Unrumour’d wonders of rhetoric art
And airy plains of sense. Thus was it learnt
By manners devious, indirect, and long
What every God of wayside shrine or hearth,
Of pauper, lecher, invalid or whole,
Of river, swamp, of peak or plain or glen,
Of infidel or noble knightly faith,
Had craved concealed, withheld, kept hid and dark,
From ears of men. But then Sir Terebinth,
An evil, lecherous, base, untutored lout,
To horse he fled, and from the postern gate,
The same his pois’nous father, long ago,
Had sealed against the Good Crusades, set forth.
Ere long the way divided. On the left
A deep and silent valley; on the right
A quickly-shelving scarp; below, a lake,
Besmirched by ripple-cent’ring rafts of cork;
Before, the lonely ridge of Radagar.
And as he pondered there which way to take,
Gazing first left with longing eyes, then right
With fear of memory’s fastnesses on high,
There chanced upon the ridge of Radagar
A wanderer, aloof, but wholly formed,
And in the sibling prince’s liv’ry clad,
As seemed a refugee from tyrants’ sway,
And weaker from his faring on the way.
Then Terebinth mote hail the silhouette,
But [sensing] treachery’s apprentice nigh at hand,
Remained awhile within the aspen’s shade
That there did wax, as to his bed the sun
Unhurriedly prepared. Now as it neared,
This high-clad figure, a thunder-cloud arose
Above the vale where now the mountain’s shade
Did clothe the land’s composure, as with night
The kindly moon doth, shirking, bathe the glebe
In weaker luminescence than of yore.
Nor was this darkness silent; for a bolt
Of Thor’s devising, swift as is the stoat
Sprang, laughing as it seemed, and leapt a-down
Upon the lonely ridge at Radagar,
And smote the purple rocks and blackened peaks
With mighty pounding crashes. May the mole
Withstand the portly farmer’s tremblous tread?
What wasp outlives the playful scholar’s switch?
Thus fared those who, upon the fateful ridge
Were even now struck dumb and could not speak
Above the thronging clamour of the night.
Shortly it passed. And in the silent vale
By errant herdsmen tending nightly flocks,
By sleepless infants at their mothers’ breasts,
By watchmen yawning o’er their pots of ale,
Was heard the terror-stricken moan of fear.
Whence and whither came it, neither knew
But both who on that ridge their journey wrought
Were on a sudden giv’n to see with sight
More clear than ever known to man before
Each the other’s purpose, feelings, aims.
To Terebinth then seemed the other man
Clad now in but a charred travesty,
His raiment gone, his flesh as black as jade,
And hair and beard to ash and cinders turned.
And seeing this did moan for that he feared,
To wit, a six-some bent on dire revenge
For some offence unknown, perhaps unreal;
Such was the Hexagyne, whose sway was great
And greatest in this part, which was their home
Amidst the rock-strewn glades of Radagar.
And had they turned this wanderer to coal?
His moaning grim attested to a change
Germane to more than simple chance or whim,
Such as the Hexagyne were wont t’affect.
“Good wight,” quathe Terebinth (and now his voice
Was clearly heard above the whisp’ring breeze),
“How ails thy pate? Thy armpits? Or thy knee?”
Awhile the man was silent; then he stirred,
And casting up his gaze anon he sighed
And, speaking from a dry and crispen mouth,
Gave syllable: “Now am I all undone –
Once noble, sent on espion’s task, revealed,
Cast out in shame, now all but oxidised,
A brittle image of my former self.
I, Endocarl, who once with earls and kings
Conversed on equal terms, am now cast down;
What woe now scours this land?” Sir Terebinth
Now certain of some spineless six-fold scheme
Was quick as now as yore to grasp his chance
As fisher slithy eel from braggling brook:
And so, downbent, in pity’s tongue he spoke,
In whispers, of a charity so whole
That Endocarl from churl to noble might
Converted be again ere ten nights passed.
“But what the terms?” the carbonised exclaimed
Who knew no windfall comes without a catch
As e’en dull dross doth taint the purest gold.
“’Tis thus, my friend,” did Terebinth exclaim,
“Of late unto my willing ears arrived
Rumours of sundrance: from Danjel were they heard
To whom, from bard to bard, the tiding flew,
First bruited by a fleeing witness jay.
Whereof this tiding, I shall not disclose
Apace; but thou shall’st tell me all the lore,
The gossip, guilt and gutter-muttered goods
Of Radgadune, from which thy path insists
Thy recent coming.” Then did Endocarl
In solemn tones his heart discharge of grief:
“GoodSir, forgathered now in Radgadune
(The silver city, as of yore ’twas clept)
Now disputes the Equinoctial Doom,
Those wisards, who in council shall resolve
Of fiscal, regal, amatory deeds.”
At this a gleam lit up the other’s eye,
Who breathing fast now quizzed in thusly wise:
“Indeed, my friend? What things are being said?”
“What things? Of brome they spoke much: that the tithe
Demanded by the burgh where Terebinth
His sovereignty in marvellous manner stays
Shall not, nay cannot this tide be yield,
From harvest failure, rampant worm, and storms.”
Then paused he; from his charred pouch brought forth
A piece of tattered grass and handed it
With shaking hand to Terebinth. “This stalk,
Twisted and limp, unyielding, grey and rank,
Is by the wigworm poisoned: see the leaf,
If leaf a man may call it, square and blue …”
Abruptly struck him Terebinth, who cried,
“Although this much concerns me, there is more
I crave to learn of silver city’s courts!
Thou spok’st anon of regal cares! Explain!”
And then he smote poor Endocarl anew.
“Pray gentle be, for I will in my time
Such as you wish and more besides set forth.
Of regal care, if thou would’st know, they talk
Of Ectobart the Ever’s sickly mind
Becoming each day madder; he is wont
To absent him for many days at once
Some say to flirtive trysts – I do not know
And dare not guess with whom ...” Then Terebinth
His metal gauntlet pressed ’gin th’other’s throat
And forced him to disclose the maiden’s name.
“Marinda she, the festive and the fair,”
Groaned Endocarl. And Terebinth sank back
And knew that in the north it was not known
How Ectobart no more that maiden’s charms
In secret assignations in the hills
Enjoyed, his former manliness decayed.
“Good wight,” he then declared, “I have a scheme,
The which, an you compact, shall see thee well,
My purse to you divulged, my trust withal,
And hap, in years to come, some royal rank.
My name as yet I spare you. Go we pat,
Recruit some vulgar swineherd, an we may,
And press him to our service. He shall thus:
A missive to the knightly congress bring,
Informing all of matters better hid
Unless to cause disruption in the ranks
As is my hope and present cause. Aloft!
Our path shall next the Hexagyne ascend;
As back your steps to Paradigm return
Mine ever onwardly pursue their path.
Thus having passed the secret sixsome’s realms
We’ll down to Radgadun our journey lead
I’th’wake of him our swineherd thus recrote.”
“The Hexagyne?” said Endocarl, aback.
“Methought a man of steel (such seeming you)
Mote shun to hire his credence out to those
For whom old legend masquerades as fact.
Know this – this path I trod some hours hence
(When somewhat less than charcoal I appeared)
Loves not the errant foot: for dangers great
Await or blind or sighted, lamed or hale,
In grave negotiation, rocked and cragged.
But I came hither whole! No witches six,
No spectres, nay, no Hexagyne there lurk!”
Thus Terebinth discerned that Endocarl,
His speech denying not unfoolishness
Was yet for that a spurner of the tales
Of ancient lore and all the truth they held.
And that his mind rest easy on return
He judged it better not to say too much
To fright his charred companion. Thus the dumb
Told more of all his grim and deathly pacts,
Exchange of soul and will for present power,
And wit to con a mind, than Terebinth
To Endocarl as upwards on they toiled.
The caven summit lengthily appeared
A fearsome crag scarce visible through mist,
Above the which there circled watchfully
Six eagles. Great these birds of fire,
Gilt-naped and dark, lords of the upper air
And of the lonely ridge of Radagar.
To Terebinth, unlettered though he was,
The sign was clearly read: the eagles six
Were surely to the Hexagyne one each
A watcher of the skies for earth below.
How might he hide? These five-and-seven years
Had Terebinth his every deed been watched.
He had not known a privy moment since,
Nor had his unfulfilled desires fulfilled,
Strive though he may, without they deemed it whole.
And vainly, with his mantle o’er his pate,
He raced ahead of Endocarl with shouts,
As one pursued by myriad arrows sharp’d:
This latter understood it not at all –
He saw but eagles six and far above –
And yet he ’gan his pace of foot increase
If only to remain with his new lord.
Sudden a whirlwind rose; black Endocarl
Unfooted flew with all the force of fire
In wingless curve up through the skirling sky.
And, burying his head amidst his cape,
In shiv’ring cold faced Terebinth his fate.
Amid the grappling vortex which him bore.
A voice he heard, a dark and cringing whine,
Which [slyly] called, “Good Terebinth, perpend,
The mistresses of fate shall call thy day
Whenas the tears of love thy heart shall slay!”
Sudden, the forces waned, and in clear sun
He found him, Terebinth, lain across a log,
With Endocarl his blackened man-at-arms
Beside him, on the table-land of Tisch,
And scarcely more than thirty double miles
From Radgadune, his once and future goal.
Each stood him up, and gazed across the land,
Discerning far away a herd of swine
Their little eyes and floating ears in mire
Disclosing them for what had elsewise been
A stump of tree or other lifeless thing.
Among them, tall on stilts, a fenman strode
Conning with eager eye his rowing herd
As to the richer pastures them he drove,
Now, eager to be seen for what he was,
A shrewder man than ever walked in shoes,
Black Endocarl addressed his wond’ring lord.
“Why here’s a swain to work whate’er thy will –
And secrets bring to th’Equinoctial Doom.”
So thus agreed the twosome did draw near
Through ill-drained fields to next the fenman’s ear
And into it poured Terebinth sweet words:
“How fare thy swine, wight? Four and twenty head
We passed by yonder track.” The man replied
“If beasts you passed, good sirs, at once so fair
And strangely twisted black, they were not mine –
For those that here you see are sole my charge,
A paltry four and seven, lean and sick.
Your threesome eight by yonder track, I deem,
Have better fare than this polluted brome.
I would my care were large, but I am poor,
And scarcely earn in one day that day’s fare.
And yet withal I have two wives to feed
And fivefold progeny. Ah, life is hard!”
At this did Terebinth and Endocarl
Each to the other toss a covert glance
That they th’advantage to their new-born plan
[Might] best imbue. And so, with talk of wealth,
And final regal favour, power, and such,
They deftly did compel that forthright swain
This task to undertake: to bear with haste
Unto the assembled knights at Radgadune
A forgen missive wrought to this effect:
That Ectobart the Ever, King no more,
Nas no more courted neither by the wife,
Of Panadol, his all-unknowing son
Nor her by him: the rupture was complete.
This missive thus prepared, the swineherd told
Both where and when to leave it, Terebinth
A golden guinea fed his fattest pig,
Which he, the swain, should cull on his return
By slaughter; and, in case he tarried long,
Excretion’s loss might keep him to his task.
Thus was the humble swineherd now despatched
And bounded nimbly ’pon his stilten legs
Across the miry solitude of Tisch.
Meanwhile did Terebinth and Endocarl
Congratulate what seemed to them their skill,
But truly was but malice of the Six
Whose power more than any realised drove
Their cause and them to mischief and to war
And new uprisings of the darker powers.
“Ere we arrive, the secret will be out,
And then quite soon Por’palam shall resound
With cries of men before the pigs of war!
Thus shall my power swell to fill the gap,
For I alone control the spate of trade,
’Twixt Por’pal’m’s sundered moieties.” At this,
Black Endocarl did start with new amaze,
And quizzed, “Then thou art Terebinth,
Tereb the Fearless, son of Tereborg
Whose mystic power held at bay the fiend
Which longtime ravaged Nin and Radagar?”
And Terebinth admitted it was so.
Now as the sun did pass his peak there fell
Upon the hurrying swineherd messenger
A widespread, winged shadow. On the ground,
In fright he fell and lay for hours three.
Meanwhile at Radgadune assembled were
Some twelve and dozen knights, fresh from the shires
Of Eled, Dolf, Dunporc and Radagar,
And even from the troubled borderland
Of Nin, where dwelt the smugglers of the lake,
Which few folk knew. And through the dog-days dry
They summarised the present state of trade,
The border, and the army, crops and herds,
And latest touched on Ectobart, once king:
“My friends,” quathe Strumbod from Dunporc,
“I know not how the king his ailing pate
Affects you all, but much it toucheth me,
For in Gorrimib, City in the Gap,
His hours are squandered frequently and long
In scarcely human wise: his food is grass,
His bed oft-times the same, when in the hills
He wanders far in solitary quest
For what men may not know. This king forlorn
Doth ape in deeds the land’s unwholesome state
Which we have spoken of who gather here
In sorrow’s garb and anxious. What his deeds
In fields of rushes, meads of oak and gorse,
Beside the plashy rivulet’s descent
Where Trumloc marries Tramlin, down to flow
Through bromelands rich and richer then than now
To border zones and Pernia’s terrain
We know not; yet I deem it more than whole
An we should ere our congress hence uncome
In unenlightened gloom, this thing discuss!”
As Strumbod’s echoes fled (who once had been
Renowned for shouts that carried eighty leagues)
A score and three of troubled faces turned;
And first to Paradigm, and then Laporc,
His ombudsman, dismay its visage shewed:
“My lords,” began in the latter, “you I beg
Now listen carefully unto my words
Concerning matters better talked of low,
Or not at all – and so I hold my tongue.”
Then sate he down, confused, and all who watched
Knew some important matter clogged his brain
From freely flowing sparkling out his mouth
In wonted cataracts of eloquence:
“I fear, my lords, I have offended you;
’Tis but from shock of recent news received
Which forces me a double blow to deal
To those of you who love the king his line
As holders-up of moral deeds and good.
I have no words ’gin Paradigm my lord
Whose wisdom eightyfold hath judgment made
That thing to unannounced, for all he knew
It many weeks; and this, new-learnt by me
The prince himself knew not. My lords, ’tis thus:
For many years our once and noble king
His manhood ailing less than was his mind
Has kept a lover down in green Dunporc,
In Strumbod’s lands …” Here Strumbod fast uprose
The empty vessels dashing to the ground
And, ’lightenment a-dawning round his mind
A sturdy oath gave forth. “But more,
I prithee, hear,” went on the brave Laporc,
“That lover’s name is thus, Marinda fair,
She who – ” But through the noise he spoke no more
For all those northern nobles, headstrong folk
were breaking up the tables and the stools,
And smashing empty goblets on the walls
In grief, and fear, and rage at what they’d learned.
Then Paradigm, in tall green robe of power,
Arose before the company and spoke:
“What cause is so unwhole as makes of men
The parody of children’s party games
Their soul-expression? Know then this,
If such as spake Laporc affects you thus,
Such tidings as I now do give, I fear,
Shall cause you each to burst in flames, or worse
Explode and gore my walls with organs split!
For worse, O worse there is: Marinda now,
Has left my sire, and Panadol knows all!”
At this grave news each knight was stricken dumb
For many minutes, and as many more
Did after cry in lamentation dire.
Meanwhile beyond the walls of Radgadune,
Freshly arrived by journeying from Tisch
Sir Terebinth and twisted En-Docarl
Did hear the cries o’th’Equinoctial Doom.
And thus they knew their message was received,
And through the silver portals entered in,
Assured that none should call them harbingers,
Who followed on the heels of fateful news.
They saw their stilten swineherd loping forth,
With glee-set face at guilten-pieced reward,
But hailed him not, nor wasted words of thanks.
At length unto the prince’s palace gate
Wherein the Equinoctial Doom took place
They spurred their feet; and privily,
The one disguised by burning of his frame
And th’other by his visage all unknown
(For ’twas the name that folk did hate and fear
Yet never was his likeness widely known
For seldom did he venture far abroad
Save to the caven top of Radagar
His assignations with the Hexagyne
Renewing there). And soon, through marbled squares
And jaded cobble-courtyards passed they on,
Up hanging stairways, galleries and steps,
To that great chamber, erstwhile of the king,
Where Paradigm the four and score addressed.
They lurked behind an arras, ’neath an arch
And listened carefully to what might hap
In speech or deed amongst the gathered knights.
Now spoke young Adagbod, that man of steel,
The son of Adagit the Monkey-Slayer,
Who cried, “What need we fear? A laughing-stock?
The cuckold of a raving father king?
No rather may the fair herself tread soft,
Lest Panadol’s revenge on her be harsh.”
Straight rose Fubbod, a fiery-tempered man
And spoke thus harshly : “What know you, Adagbod,
Who hast not seen as many Vernal Dooms
As hast uncostumed damsels, that full few?”
And straightway for this insult slew he him,
And frightful tumult ruled the hall once more,
Till once more green-robed Paradigm gave voice:
“My lords, pray stop this foolish bickering!
What need I now of idiots who brawl
At provocation’s slightest goading? How
Without your counsel may I rightly know
The wiseman’s choice in what confronts us now?”
Thus chid, a silence fell on score and three,
And even from the corpse of Fubbod rose
No sound to dull the prince’s nextmost words:
“Good Adagbod, your words hold aught of sooth:
For Panadol has now the fair one ta’en
To Preath, the southmost guarding citadel
In all our land; where now she nightly pines
In tears of eight, and many, many more:
And I, I own, permitted this to hap
When long ago I vowed to undisclosed
Adultery to him, my former twin.
We now disown each other, as you know,
Through wrangle o’er the king our father’s care;
But secrecy I hoped should him protect
From th’other’s wrath: for in my inmost heart
I feared cruel Pan aye wished the madman dead
And lacked excuse, which this affair provides;
Now will he surely waste no jot of time
In seeking to demand we yield him up,
Renounce our northern care over the king,
That he, my tainted brother, may delight
In torture’s role, imprisoner of maids,
And warrior on too kin-careful twin.”
At this the dumbstruck knights cast thrice about
Lest espions have heard such doughty truths,
But Terebinth and Endocarl were safe,
Behind the arras within a cranny hid
Built by palace’s maker long ago
But oft-times since forgot. Thus did they stay
To listen further to what may be said
Concerning stratagem and other things
Germane to mischief. Now spake Terebinth
In sombre tones and quiet to Endocarl,
And said these words: “I prithee now give ear
To this my craving, that which is my lust,
These sixty years (throughout which time
The Hexagyne with potions kept me young)
First for her mother, now for her herself,
Marinda, mistress of the time; in her
I now direct my every thought.”
As Endocarl did marvel, on he went,
Who craved the fairest: “She, so long desired
Not just by me, but many else beside,
Is without doubt the fairest in the land.
Saw’st ever thou her image, Endocarl?”
And whispered then the negro-seeming one,
“No never – men do say, that images
Of her are straightway stolen by the gods
Who see in her a very masterpiece
Of Aphrodite’s art. Men say her eyes
Strange powers possess, as do the men o’th’East,
To quell or rouse emotions as they please.”
And Terebinth replied, “She shall be mine,
As is the day the sun’s and moon’s the night,
For who controls the border wins the war,
And it am I! Let no man say me nay!”
At this he taciturned, and turned they both
Attentively unto the knightly Doom,
Discerning now the voice of Paradigm
In further explanation: “Now it is
That sages three have cunningly compiled
From elder sources, scrolled lines of wit –
These shall you shortly hear, nor fail to bend
Your actions speedily to their command.
Meanwhile a word or two I’ll add
Concerning credence which your faces vow
Not wholly formed: ’tis thus – you all have heard
And hap inferred from clever Danjel’s lay
The truths concealed within by bardic skills:
Allusion, rhetoric, nonsense, allegory,
And all the rest within his subtle grasp.
Th’interpretation true whereof made clear
By this new-comen missive.” He held up high
What Terebinth – as Panadol – had writ
And by his swineherd messenger sent forth.
At this th’assembled knights spoke long and loud,
Each measuring his credence by his doubt
To find the latter wanting. Then a knight,
Esteemed throughout his native land of Dolf
Melkond yclept, stood up and ’gan to speak:
“How,” quoth the knight, “should men of skill
In alchemy’s or sage physician’s art
With research, insight, haruspex or glass
Divine the cause of parting?” And the court
Did hub and bub and scarcely could the prince
Discern from midst that holy blissful noise
The semblance of an answer. Then Laporc,
The worthiest and oldest of the knights,
Extracted from his pouch a sely script
And, crimson blushes playing on his cheeks,
He broke the seal and sternly ’gan to quote:
“Cum Benedictus terrapintis nunc
Incepit somnulator, praedat rex,
Azurusque pependunt ilices!”
And wonderment was on their faces then,
Whenas uncomprehendingly each sat
That fasted in that hall and spake no word
That might traduce for each to understand
What lately read Laporc. Then Terebinth,
That pig-faced wight who stood beneath the arch
Surveying all and unsurveyed himself,
Did beckon to his man-at-arms and pressed
A leather purse between his oozy palms
And thus, with Judas-kiss, a pact was sealed
’Twixt two dark factions ’gin another’s might.
“Go, wight,” he bade, “to seek Marinda’s hand,
Fairer than in this land has long been seen
Or spoke of, or e’en been. Go seek her now,
Or live henceforth a swineherd. Go, I bid.”
And though, amid the fasting, no man heard
Or e’en suspected what, in treacher’s guise,
Had then begun, and though no syllable
Redounded from the king his court its walls,
Yet flickered every candle, darked each flame,
And guessed each soul most inly what should pass
Ere next day’s sun had set. O hapless wench!
She of the purple cloak and long dark hair,
Who pined within the citadels of Preath
Long leagues removed. She sighed and sate her down
Upon a wicker bollard in her tower
And gazed forlornly o’er the fenny waste
Weaving what she would from what she knew
Of manly ways, and Aphrodite’s lore.
And lo! from out the east she spied a bird
Winging its way across the level plain
Borne on a current rather less of ær
Than in the manner of an angel’s breath
That comes at dusk to exorcise the poor.
Black was the bird, and larger than an orc
As told in tales of yore; and in its beak
The waning sunlight played upon a blade
As seemed of steel; but what can maidens’ eyes
From fourscore leagues discern with sennight’s tears
To cloud their gaze? What knew Marinda then
Of Terebinth his plans, that so could wield
The potent magic of the Hexagyne
Within his blades of steel that all who knew
Th’inception of a new, unsated lust
Within his breast, though it may touch them not,
Were not at ease and trembled in their beds?
As swiftly sank the sun across the plain,
So quit the fair her window on the world
And to her nightly letter bent her pen.
But O what tears, delicious salty drops,
Commingled with the raven ink! What blurs,
Would greet the prince who, many nights to come,
If battle’s fortune had not wrecked his schemes,
Should break the seal and read with panting heart.
Despite the blackness, onward ploughed the bird,
An æronaut who hoed the wind, to sow,
Tidings of grief, or, hap, of rare delight
Upon the barren lands of simple sense
And apprehension’s guise. It nearer came,
And soon, within her solitary den,
The bird was clearly audible to her
Who aped the scribe in grief-diluted ink.
His beak he oped, the blade upon the sill
He deftly dropped, and somewhat out of reach;
Then ominously croaked. Marinda’s fright
Was great as had the infidel arrived
Till swift the bird she spied, and ek the blade,
which grasping as she hoped, the bird forbade.
“O, Bird!” she cried, “What tidings shall you bring?
And what the purpose of this gleaming blade
So vicious and so bright?” And th’avian croaked
But spake not, in the manner of old tales,
And poor Marinda’s leaking heart sank more:
“O, Bird?” anon she quizzed, “Art thou the same
As from my sill each night a letter takes
That nightly place I there? And dost thou bring
It swiftly to that distant burgh whereat
Repines the last good force Por’palam knows?”
And still the bird spake not, but creaking low
Turned round and from that lofty sill took wing
And northward flew across the Preathian plain.
The damsel sighed and from her window turned
The unsent missive crumpled in her clutch
As wearily she lay herself to bed.
Meanwhile, the knights who met at Radgadune
Two hundred leagues removed across the land
Were tiring out the night in policy,
And sagest ’quiry as to wisdom’s course.
And dawning through the prince’s portals fell
Enlightenment in single silver beams.
Uprose Laporc, his garments sticking close
Unto his sweat-lined body. And he spoke
These short but pregnant words in ancient tongue:
“Aca baragdo plinctu Radgadún,
Crosp langit ritro eskatombu fubb.”
And of the knights there gathered only one,
Amongst this company, and that himself.
Yet none there was who dared to voice in wrath
A plea against self-colloquy alone,
And so, as ever had been, ’twas Laporc
And he alone whose doom was deemed the law.
Thus baffled did the noble knights disperse
T’enact the orders they did not understand
As bade the brave Laporc. And Terebinth,
Hereto unviewed behind the arras gold,
Woven by swineherds from finest upland brome,
Now slunk away into the dark of night
And sought the succour of some shady inn
Where wand’ring folk forgather. There he slept
As sleeps a man ambition-crazed, but tired
By over-conning that he craves to gain.
And to his drowsing mind came visions: one
Of her his base desire aching sought
Marinda; then the Six who him comptrolled –
And in his dream Marinda was the sixth.
Meanwhile Laporc awaited by the bridge
Which crossed the swirling river Rostrum there
Which hurried from the ridge of Radagar
And flowed toward the neighbouring land of Ludd.
Laporc awaited, watching anxiously
For him who would a princely missive bear
Intuitively forecast. In the south
Where the great mountains lost their northern heights
And in wild foothills (haunt of uncouth folk)
Descended to the southern plains of brome:
There even now there dwelt the ailing king,
In maladjusted weeds these seven years,
His kingdom regent-roistered by his sons
The princes Panadol and Paradigm.
And south, to where the former, and the eld
held sway, the duteous ombudsman, Laporc,
His bulging eye anticipating bent.
His time-voluted brow a burden bore
As great as was the deficit in brome
Who guessed a letter might be sent, but knew
No whit of thing. Yet through the summer night
Laporc held watch. Perhaps it was his age
Or some strange pow’r to con a distant mind,
That urged ’To Paradigm Marinda writes!’.
Meanwhile, beyond the Radagatian ridge,
Far, far beyond, beside the mighty flow
Of Drumnin, greatest river of all the land,
There stood within the port of Pergatroy
The other prince, the scheming Panadol.
Beside a groaning brome-lade wharf he stood
And gazed with knowing eye at those who stacked
With expertise the bales of brome aright;
Amongst these gallant workers there was one
Whom muscled wisdom mark’d above his mates,
To whom the prince in furtive wise aside,
Suggested service, thank’d with future power.
“Swain!” declared the prince, “What would you have
Of recompense for brave deeds nobly done
Though not undangerous? For I have sent
One Endocarl to bring me in my court
News from the north; and yet he tarries hence.
His news or else his neck I shall require,
And you, once gone, in congruent contract sealed,
Shall be as the Mist Monkey, seldom seen,
Though seeing all. And when thou com’st again
With swift report, reward shall oil thy locks
Not with the foul grease favoured by the poor
But with the finest ointment brome can buy –
My meaning shan’t, I trow, escape your wit?”
At this th’unlettered swain did coyly grin
And bowing low his neckerchief removed,
As custom in those nether zones dictates.
Bold Panadol then saddled him a horse,
And for the turnpike provender brought forth,
And keenly did his emissary despatch.
And thus he rode, this crude but cunning knave,
Beyond the confines of that city’s bounds,
And soon anent the marshes of the south
On Crannopurgis Causeway rang his hooves,
With many sparks, that all but set ablaze
The heavy-laden brome-carts on their route
To’th’docks of Pergatroy beside the sea.
Not thither but away pushed on the wight,
Once-humble docker Froggard, he whose line
Long docked for many kings Porcpalam’s brome
Uncleft of yore in factions. Ever North
He kicked his palfrey onward (lacking spurs)
Into the velvet darkness of the night.
At length the low and level meadows rose
In gentle hills whose brooks swelled Drumnin’s might
Yet undiminished. Yet with passing hours
And foam and sweat, that river grew less wide;
Though ever fast, and smooth, to Froggart’s eye
It dwindled slow and slower, till at length,
Dawn loping through the sky, a spire he spied,
Of province-gating Pernia firstmost sign.
For there, and not till there, the river’s course
(Traced backward, just as rode good Froggard’s steed)
Permits of bridging: and there at Pernia’s bridge
The brome-route from the upland meadows comes
To cross great Drumnin ere more south it winds
Following its banks to Pergatroy and Preath,
Then onward shipp’d, through estuarine mud,
To realms beyond the sea and present ken.
At Pernia might sturdy Froggardt rest,
While scanned its burgers thrice his talisman
And checked for authenticity the seals
And blazons of his livery and charge.
Pernia! How shall the bard recite its joys
That city where a thousand races meet,
That town of tills, of tales, of tolls and tithes
Where daily from throughout the north there came
Merchants of brome, and other booty too,
That would their sely wares for profit bring
Unto the south, that trade may thus ensue
With foreign lands through Pergatroy’s great port
And Panadol’s. Yet cargo thither came
But by this single route; and levied wealth
Most wholesome to th’prosperity of the town,
And ek the princeling Terebinth, whose power,
Of wondrous source unguessed at by the folk,
Enabled Pernia to withstand long years
The rules of subjugation which the rest ,
Held firmly to th’Por’palmate princes’ sway.
Now Terebinth his father had devised
A sixfold star as emblem for his realm,
Long years ago, in times of the crusade;
And with this star endowed had brought to him
Six crones from out the wilderness of Zubb,
Now long hence sunk beneath th’encroaching sea.
These aged three-and-three the Hexagyne,
Self-dubbed anon, brought power to the town,
And ruled for years, while Pernia’s tiny strength,
In maplore, star-signs, and the cant of beasts,
Waxed daily. Yet at length, their whim fulfilled,
The Hexagyne withdrew their influence,
On all but one, their regent, and his line
Continued thus its sole strength to derive
From them. So Terebinth, thanks to their powers
His hundredth year rejoiced still in his prime,
Now six and seventy more years in the past.
And all that while his city, staying small,
Had taken tolls of all the cargo; now
One of many Froggard joined the queue
I’th’market square where meat was handed out
To those who would the lengthy journey north
Beyond the ridge of Radagar to go.
And finally the voice that called on high
Cried ‘Froggard’ and ’twas his turn to endure
The questionings of they who guard the town’s
More northern exits. At length he was giv’n back
The documents which voiced the prince his wish
To let the good knave through. Thus did he soon
The northern frontier of Pernia surpass.
As forth he set, above him winged its way
A bird of size and darkness wonderful
That in its beak held aught of unseen ilk
And strange that in the waning noon did flash
Bright as to catch strong Froggard’s active eye.
Nor did he guess, untutored that he was,
What leagues of distance that great beast had flown,
Following the course of Drumnin e’en beyond
Fair Pergatroy, the guardian of the south;
Far in that river’s swampy delta-plain
To where the heights of Preath the sky did pierce.
Of Preath, a zone ambiguously built,
Where sea and land in endless argument
Both came and went by season. In these days,
When summer suns were ablicate and vast,
The sea the roots of Preath’s great towers lapped
As might the prairie brome the poplar’s bole
In languid breeze. Yet all the ocean’s salt
Seemed nothing to the eyes of her who wept,
In prison tower far above the main.
There still the fair Marinda wox more sad,
For lack of missive greeting missive sent.
Fair she was, to melt the hearts of men:
And in her present grief more fair became
Than was of yore that fairest, nameless queen
Whom legend crowned the queen of all that breathed.
A’th’table sate she, clad but in a robe
Of plain white raiment, gilded at the edge,
Her purple cloak cast carelessly aside.
Dishevelled now her dark and lustrous hair
That hung in colpouns ’bout her grieven face
Whose pale cheeks now glistered bright with tears.
“Ah woe,” she mused, “Each night brings danger near
And nearer for Por’palam’s humble folk;
For rumour, which to Panadol revealed
At once my love and shunning of his sire,
Now may reveal more; and thus shall be
Disturbed the fragile peace of these our times,
So finely balanced on commercial scales.
O, that Prince Paradigm may be forewarned
That he, whose wisdom and experience,
Despite his greater youth, predominate,
Might peace prefer! These many years his eyes,
All knowing still have chosen not to pry,
When Ectobart at Gorrimib sojourned,
That I, his mistress, him might thereby meet
In passion’s clutch a little time to sweat
Ere morning saw us strangers once again.
Oh that his manhood had outlived his mind –
For now, with both thrown down, he knows no use
Of woman nor of statesman nor of kin,
Yet endless stalks the forest, speaks with birds,
And eats no meat, but only nuts and grass.
Poor withered love! Too cold and old to stay
My correspondent amorous and hid,
It recks me thus to leave him. Yet what else
Mote woman do? He grew too wild. The beasts
Would gambol round him, sensing dimmer wits
Than human, more like theirs. And what was once
A happy, moonstruck fool, is now grown fierce,
And threatens all. Thus Panadol, incensed,
On Paradigm, his present keeper, war
Would gladly wage, or cause to do so find.
Yet what might war achieve? No good should come
To fair Porcpalam’s land, nor distant Skyre
Who prospers not without Por’palam’s brome.
His wrath is just: unfaithful wife, and worse
Adult’rous father; worst, condoning twin
That pries no whit, although he knows full well!”
And thus she breathed more easily, finding solace
In that her doings their secret did connive
Good Paradigm to unreveal and care
And Panadol in part to justify.
And, but that war in presage racked her sore
She might have slept a little of that night,
For sooth believed she all her letters, sealed
And to the sill delivered, had been sped
To Paradigm, by persons of the sky
Who worldly cares by mystic compass chart
And whenso caring may in part correct.
But truth was not her mentor,
Only hope, her vision-moulding saviour
Who bore her weighty incubus of fear
And desperation in timely solace thence.
The fact was, every night a little breeze
Would carry off her scripts and set them down
Upon the silt of Drumnin’s delta plain;
Thence fate did carry them where're it would:
Some, that on the slowly-flowing stream
Had chance to land, were carried out to sea
Where all her words were vain (unless it happed
They stirred the hearts of turbot, cod, or hake);
And some, discovered by the madmen’s sons
Who pine their days away on Drumnin’s bank
Were carried thence to secret gatherings
Their words intoned most solemnly to those
Who thought them by the goddess Pashti scrobe
Who pined at Helvin’s gates eternally
That she her long-lost mortal spouse regain
Whom distant mythologic battle killed;
And some the winds picked up anew and bore
To grim grey janitors of lonely Preath
Who treasured them as keepsakes, else in fire
Them burning, that th’uncomprehended words
Should trouble nevermore their simple minds.
Thus from the south flew th’bird that Froggard saw,
Whose beak-held booty, flashing, caught his eye,
And caused him from the way to raise his head
That almost nevermore was raised; for lo!
Around the bend as flew his steedy horse,
Full tilt into a caravan it crashed
And whinnied high in fright; as did the mokes
Of brome-laid haulage, they whose steady path
South to Pernia led, in commerce good
That economic exigencies be met.
But now this way and that the mokes did flee
And bromebales, broken cartwheels, shattered yokes
And bruised and yelling brome-boys strewed the way,
As did the stalwart docker’s crimson blood.
At length the frenzied mokes were gathered up
And in more ordered regiment arrayed
And by the brome-boys conned to ascertain
What loss had been sustained. With great relief
At length it was proclaimed that none there was,
Save sixteen twisted ankles, one shin barked,
And broken buckles seventeen-and-eight.
Meanwhile the unhorsed Froggard lay quite still
Unhearing mid the parley of the men
Who roundly did ignore him. Then a lad,
Scarce fifteen years of age, or so it seemed,
Espied him lying underneath his horse
All swathed in scattered brome, and him approached.
“See, brothers, here, a Red Man from the South,
Who sleeping, bathes in wine beneath his horse.”
And all his kin forgathered there, and saw
No fabled ‘Bilbod’, drunken at his rest,
But rather one who, wounded near to death
Lay moaning pale-faced in the waning light.
And forth they brought a tourniquet of jute,
A buckram bandage, sheaves of calico,
Some worsted squares of most absorbent type,
And oil of Alexanders, as was used
By men of old throughout Por’palam’s land.
Carefully, with time-blest expertise,
Did one among them bandage Froggard up
His every injured limb quite swathed: his legs
Tight bound, as wern the mummy-corpses old
In Abbatim; and equally his arms,
Oftfold encompassed by the bandages were.
Now while this skilled practitioner did work
At Froggard’s stricken body, he, Froggard,
Did questions ask to’th’north full pertinent
For all his wheezing wind and lab’ring lungs.
And, till the dressings covered up his mouth,
In quiz and question learned he of the Doom,
The need to reach the border ere it closed
As final seal upon th’oncoming war.
He further learnt the will of Paradigm
To rescue fair Marinda from the tower
Wherein his brother kept her (which amazed
White-bandaged Froggard, for he never knew
No whit of how prince Panadol his queen
Had oft deceived her partner and his lord.)
And, till the dressings covered up his ears
He listened how the ombudsman of Rill
Had waited all night long beside the flood
Of Rostrum, fairest river of the north,
Along whose chalky banks he hoped to see
Some messenger arriving from the south
A message bearing for prince Paradigm.
And little knew those rustics that, e’en now,
Bent weary, strained with eyes, the great Laporc,
Laporc of Rill, the oldest of the knights,
Renowned in deeds of valour scarcely told
Should all the men ’neath Helvin’s high regard
Combine to praise him, he, Laporc the Great,
Succumbed to [dreams] beside fair Rostrum’s stream,
In credit two whole nights to gods of sleep.
And Froggart guessed that, had his luck been in,
It would have failed him had he reached those banks
And had to tell the sum of his intent
Now brought from the far south by him alone.
What now to do did dog weak Froggard’s brain
And stood he musing while the caravan
Wound south and into night. He stood alone,
Set upright like a skittle in the road,
Who, bandage-bound, could neither walk nor shout,
Nor see his fate to come. For charity
Had over-reached full usefulness and now,
He helpless tottered, fell, and rolled away
Into a sodden creek, nor did he see
Approaching from the mountains in the north
A wild whirlwind, a terrible typhoon,
Which hovered o’er the land, not touching down
Until it reached the point where Froggard lay
But marked by bubbles rising from the mire
Wherein he lay; and, lo! he was snatched up
And carried by the whirlwind from that land
On high and through empyrean wondrous blue,
Among the night-clouds, where, as legend claims,
Are lovers’ faults forgiven. But to him,
Who flew unseeing, that was no concern
Of pressing import; for he knew not where
He may be being taken, nor what power
Of mystic force and unknown potency
Could so divert the natural course of things
That he, of nature’s norm in things of weight
Might centre prove in aberration’s warp.
Now on, now up good Froggart rose; hereto
He had not risen ’bove the second floor
Of that small house, his mother’s, now his own,
Where waited him his wife and only child.
Now as he rose, a vision came to him,
As though with human eye he once more saw,
Far north, the silver tow’rs of Radgadune,
And, in the south, pale crimson Pergatroy.
At this fair burgh discerned he Pan’dol’s brow
Creased up with worry, wondering what befell
His emissary: and faithful Froggard knew
’Twas very him the princely care embraced
Above, indeed, the doings of his knights
That mustered force throughout the lowland south
In preparation for a wooted war.
For, sans good Froggard’s quest, or news or neck
Of Endocarl, a distant ear long dumb,
Could truth and rumour not be disentwined
And bent in several wise to warlike ends.
And now at that, the mighty Radgadune,
Did sage Laporc in well-earnt slumber dream;
And in his dream he saw a man that flew
In strange unwinged manner, clad in white
A chrysalis too quick to butterfly.
Laporc was much afraid at dreaming thus,
And knew not what it meant; nor did he say
To any man on waking how he dreamt
But worried deep and long around its theme,
As back to Radgadune his way he wound
Despondent at the wooted missive’s lack.
But then he thought, ’Perhaps it was the dream
That message I expected in my mind?
What flies in manner like?’ He pondered long
But knew the answer not, and then was sad.
And, as his shadow lengthened into noon
And strode before him on the homeward road
In black, above it, flew a winged shape
Bound northward; yet his glance discerned it not.
And as it passed there dropped before his feet
A smallish package, whereon enscribéd was
A blurred insignium and indistinct
And words unclear, of  ’biguous import;
And yet Laporc intuitively knew
And picked the package up and kissed it thrice
And ran from there to silver city straight.
Meanwhile that self-same burgh had Endocarl
Three days and nights behind him; and, this time
He did not dare the climb of Radagar
Where, ’spite his disbelief, had greater powers
Both flung him through the ær and singed his flesh
That he was wholly hideous to see;
His feetsteps led him west to Eladale
A montane corrie looking o’er a pass
Which southward from the tableland of Tisch
Led ’twixt the crimson peaks of Gardabil
And those the silvery of Radagar
Down to the æry wilderness of Nin.
Deserted were the paths that ’Docarl trod,
The better that he no man meet, for sooth
The stoutest tree had taken fright, surprised
By one of charred physique as such he was –
And if there chanced upon his westward path
A wanderer, then Endocarl would hide
Lest out of fear the other him should smite.
At length his upward path bore him aloft
Unto the guardian pass of Eled-nin,
Thence higher still to Eladale at last.
There did he rest full many a lengthy hour;
O wondrous ær of Eladale the Clear
Which, breathing, men wax bountiful and glad
And see with potent eye the joys about:
The alpine meads with gillyflowers bright,
The twining vetch, and gentians dark and blue
And gilded thistles gleaming on the grass.
There wild beasts of many kinds disport,
The mountain cousins of their plainer mates
That dwell upon the tableland of Tisch:
Wild boars of strength unparalleled below,
And ibex, chamois, lynx and many more,
Prowling the meads at night, but ’neath the sun
Of timid mercy to the passing van.
Aye, timid all in sunlight but for one,
A mighty beast, but seldom seen by men,
The fearsome Mudgard, monkey of the hills,
Dweller of caves and silent pinewoods dark
Upon the lonely steeps of Gardabil.
At times the Mudgard came to Eladale
And went again replete: and fewer wept
Behind him than before his steps had quaked.
And now, as rested Endocarl the Black
Beyond the houses, skirted out of shame
Of his appearance, down from Gardabil
A menace swept towards him, shimmered white,
devouring cattle, trees and fences, homes,
and winter-waiting woodpiles by the way.
And Endocarl know flight might not avail
Whenas th’unseeing mist him now encroached.
What man may blindfold guide his urgent feet
When that his path is rough and rudely-trod
And he knows not direction? Thus was found
By Endocarl the terrors of the blind.
Dimly he groped, sought ever Ninward path,
And vainly on, in precipice’s fear
in front, and Mudgard’s terror to the rear.
And sudden, by the pass of Eled-nin
Unknowing, far above the road, he found
A second highway, broad and smoothly worn,
And hurtled down, it caring whither not
But glancing ever back, lest there should chance
The mist-born monkey to devour him straight.
It chanced not thus, for Mudgard at this tide
At newborn nest his care in kind directs –
But Endocarl in panic from the mist
Which thickened as his speed increased, fled on,
Till stumbling came he to a settlement
Of timber shacks beside an azure tarn.
And what a sight then met those dwelling there!
At racing speed crashed down from out the mist
A melanistic madman, so it seemed,
Who rushed unheeding o’er the stony wall
Encircling the dark lacustrine croft,
Across a struggling garden, through w fence
Momentum-borne, and endly came to rest
By crashing through a wall into a house
Spread-eagling across a widespread map
A twisted, living cinder who surprised
The rough, conspiring hillmen there that straight
Arose and clam’ring loud did flee th’abode.
Now Endocarl himself lay there concussed,
Unknowing for the while his body or his mind;
And slowly did the other men return
The evil-looking intruder to inspect.
There all but dead he supine on the floor
Was scanned by eyes incredulous and scared
Whose map, as scholar’s book by beetle squashed,
By blackest Endocarl obscured was.
At length the chief of these nefarious folk
The swarthy Dottle, woodman, woodman’s son
Exclaimed, “This corpse, my friends, I vote we burn.
However come, it cannot do us good.”
But Dottle’s wife, who brought them in hot broth
And stoked the fire, pronounced, ’This charcoal breathes!’
At this the men about more closely peered
And saw the gentle rhythmic heaving breast
Of Endocarl; and looking closer still
Perceived the semblance of a human face
Upon his head; for all that he was black
And dry, two eyes still sparkled ’midst charred bone
And still his tongue lolled, moist, from gumless lips.
At length did Dottle cautiously enquire
“Good – thing, what art thou, man or beast?”
And Endocarl, his breath returned, gave voice
And, quite despite the terror of those men
Who, hearing embers speak, did all but flee,
Explained he was ’by dark disaster dogged.’
And no more name nor reason uttered he.
Then Dottle’s men, suspicious, left the room
And parleyed long, and each did weigh in turn
His hopes against his fears, and how they might
Adversely or in favour be impressed
By what had lately happed. And Dottle spoke,
“Men, (men I call you, for such men are you
As might ’gainst North and South continue trade
Avoiding tax and levy of the road
Through parasitic Pernia) yes, men –
A stratagem I now put to you, thus:
This new arrival, cindered countenance
Shall surely crave our help; the which, I moot,
Be given only an he in his turn
Be sworn to no disclosure; for, while stunned
He lay upon our map of occult paths,
The which, perhaps, he conned with wisdom’s eye?
We know not yet his purpose in these parts:
What man has sent him forth, perhaps, to learn
Of that we here pursue in covert wise
To right the wrongs devised in Pernia’s name
By bringing to the folk of Thamnador
Their rightful share of Eled’s yield of brome.”
“Aye sooth,” returned one Bollish, “’Hap he comes
To tax the price we get from Thamnador?”
“Or maybe,” quothe another, Tamnavoo,
“He comes to join us in our company,
And seeks employment with us?” Thus the knaves
In ill-spun dialects, in the cant of thieves,
And larcener’s divisions tried their wit.
When finally they finished went they in
To quiz the blackened one in cautious wise,
So to determine, ere decision make,
The aim and purposes which brought him there.
At first no answers were forthcoming, but,
When oiled with broth and dried with shallow,
Came forth replies from Endocarl; “I crave
But guide and passage deep into the South,
An passage you provide. Mesaw your rafts,
And trowing them fair transport did I think
That, bold and gen’rous gentlemen as you are
Your guidance surely you would not refuse.”
At this, up Bubbin, crying loud and clear:
“Our rafts? Sir Knave, what else pray have you seen?”
“Along your upper path descent I made
In coming from the col at Eladale.
Nought else, I trow,” did Endocarl reply
And added puzzled, “What, pray, might you mean?”
“No carts from Eled? Saw’st Lutergit’s men?”
Asked Bubbin, till by Dottle he was stunned
Across the pate with heavy oaken club.
“He raves,” said Dottle, casually. “Mad!”
But Endocarl, as shrewd as man could be,
Discerned that simple silence served him best.
Thus taciturn he gently acquiesced
In what of him was now demanded by
The mountain men ’mongst whom him fate had sent.
Insistent first they were that he should not
Permitted be their maps and instruments
To scan or even glimpse; the next constraint
Was that, when travel dawned, the morrow morn,
His face be hid within the master-cart
For fear that folk remark them pass, who craved
Above all else no stir or fuss to cause,
As might a carbon spectre like himself.
And Endocarl agreed in bland assent.
Meanwhile within the inn at Radgadune
Had Terebinth been scheming: for three days
And ek as many nights worked hard and long.
Four bodyguards he had acquired, strong louts
Gathered by Tereb from the narrow streets
Which cluster in the west of Radgadune
The river’s reach hard by. These surly men
He had enjoined with promises of wealth
His cause to wed, in stout protection’s role.
And with these hireling bridegrooms by his side
At length he wound, both insolent and slow
Beneath the prince’s window, palace-high,
And rudely hailed, as swineherd errant pig:
“Hoy! You within? Come greet another’s might
That we may parley o’er your nation’s fate
That now, it seems, grows ever less secure,
Thanks to th’fraternal threat from Pergatroy.”
And dignity bade Paradigm ignore
Those shouts he heard full well – and out he sent
His yeoman Mubbod, giant amongst men,
Who in the foesome five did shepherd straight
His late-instructed inquisition’s gaze;
Straightway discerned he from amongst the louts
The like, indeed the ilk, of Terebinth –
And him and him alone directed in.
But Terebinth insisted hard and fast
That sans his sturdy convoys one-and-three
Unto the prince he mote not enter in.
Then Mubbod swift withdrew to hear the views
Of Bellinger, the sentry-capitain,
Who would allow but one and then one more
Of bodyguards to enter, out of fear
For rash attempt upon the Prince’s life.
And Terebinth, in boorish tones, agreed
And, leaving two without, with two went in.
“Sir Terebinth,” then calmly spoke the prince
As if chastising a child-transgressor there
Where stood the tall, the pig-faced Terebinth
With insolent expression in his eyes;
“Sir Terebinth, pray explicate to me
Why you, so rarely seen abroad that only few
Thy humble features know for what they are,
Have come in brazen clamour to my court
And shout of threats, while knowing less than babes
Of my concerns?” And though he seemed so calm
Beneath the even tenour of his voice
There swelled his bridled anger; which betimes,
Or so feared Terebinth, mote forth amain
In forceful acts of vengeance be unleashed.
“Good Prince,” he ’gan replying, striving hard
To ape the other’s poised serenity
Beneath the which he saw no troubled hint
Of cares that sooth ’plexed Par’digm grievously.
For how, the Prince did wonder, might this knave
Have learnt of Pan’dol’s doings in the south?
And congruently it troubled Terebinth
That Paradigm him recognised with ease.
“Good Prince, for so thou seem’st whose care extends
To senile kings and fickle brother-wives ...”
And turned away Prince Paradigm, to hide
The awful pains which stung him through the head
On hearing secrets in the mouths of churls.
“... Consider now your people as a whole;
Well do you know wherefrom their wealth derives:
Export of brome into the south. Thou know’st
How every route twixt forth and South must wend
In fealty, as ’twere, through Pernia,
Where I, and I alone, my powers wield.
Consider this, fair Prince (for I do know
You for a man of sense and passing wise
As fit to hear my words as any man,
Nor apt to miss their point), consider how
Two armies, if they marched to meet in war
By road or river, eastern flank or west,
Might need at Pernia’s gate assembly make
ere passing to their combat there-beyond.
And which, or north or south, should Terebinth
The son of Tereborg, allow to pass?”
The prince wox wrath at these unwholesome words,
Nor answered yet, but turned about dismayed
Regarding with his inner eye how first
Churl Terebinth had pained him with his speech
Who sore was racked before with pressing cares,
And scarcely might coherent answer give
For grief and rage at upstart’s scheming knave
Whose purpose full was doubtless still to come.
And Terebinth resumed, “It recks me not,
Who pays my taxes or who wins your war
But certes ’tis the vanquished who shall pay
For such disturbance of great Pernia’s peace!”
“What? Shall your overflated levies rise?
Is this your news?” cried Paradigm, who, wise,
Divined forthwith his import, inasmuch
As Terebinth was stating more or less
That if he took a side, that side should win,
As surely as the night shall follow day;
Yet feigned the prince incomprehension’s face
For Terebinth had not, in words of eight,
His point pressed home in guilt-assuring words.
But then did Terebinth speak openly
At last, as Paradigm had hoped, and said,
“You see, the choice of who shall win is mine,
And Pernia, independent of this strife
Owes nor to South nor North allegian’s due –
But on the payment of a certain fee ...”
And Paradigm quoth, “Barter shall I shun,
As do all honest folk and princes too.
For how, unless by upright mien, may men
Authority and human care command?”
And Terebinth believed he would not stoop
To bribe, nor craved he should, and said –
“A man may barter shun, in kind for kind,
Or wealth for power – this is not my gist.
I rather moot exchange of deed for deed –
Right chivalrous and manful too, I deem,
In these our troubled times. For you must know
As well as any living how the heart
Of one imprisoned pines for freedom’s cloak
Most specially when the past has been of joy
And carefree exercise of nature’s gifts.”
Here Paradigm was startled sore, and guessed
The subject to his brother’s queen would turn,
Marinda, now imprisoned, none knew where,
In Pergatroy perhaps, or Crannodor?
“If of Marinda Queen thou speakest, why
To rumour hire you credence, naming gaols
Where, though the minstrelsy have ranted long
She stays, yet wisdom may not countenance
Unwholesome fabrications such as these?
Now you reveal yourself for what you are,
A mean unlettered scoundrel, who would bend
A keener ear on fable than on fact!”
Now bluff was called, and answered, for to each,
It seemed the other knew some sely fact
Concerning her that, tower-pent, repined
Whereat did neither know, except from th’lay;
And thus their deadlock, buried with a bolt
Went unresolved for wanting of a key.
Sudden outside a tumult was there heard,
Patter of fleeting footsteps, shouts and cries,
And then loud banging on the palace gate,
And then the drawing back of iron bars,
Of ’mazing cries from waiting men-at-arms,
Of crashing boots upon the hanging stair,
Of panting breath in corridor without,
Of doors a-crashing open, and Laporc
Who cried, “Marinda writes from prison Preath!”
A wide and empty silence met these words,
And trembling stared Laporc at Paradigm,
And then at Terebinth (whom once before
At Pernia he’d met, long years ago
When he was but a humble new recruit
In old Eclindo’s mighty warring troops)
And baffled, swooning swift, he breathed his last,
Or so it seemed. Straightway did Paradigm
His nearest man-at-arms enjoin to fetch
The surgeon-royal to cure the ailing knight
While Tereb, wond’ring, paced about the room
Add sought to clarify his troubled thoughts:
If Paradigm, he mused, wished to delay
His parting thence, he now had good excuse
In Terebinth his new-found cognisance
Of fair Marinda’s whereabouts. And so
He turned to black his bodyguard, whose swords
Approvingly he saw were long-since drawn.
Now turned his gaze to blundering Laporc,
Once deadlock’s key, and haply now for-dead?
And straight he heard the surgeons on the stair
In clam’rous learned discourse; and it seemed
That all the doctors in the world would come
So great their noise of feet. Then swung the door,
Then rang the clash of arms throughout the room
For Paradigm, in underclothes of guile,
Had summoned not the surgeons, but the guard!
As cornered rat that, trapped in blazing barn
Doth scurry forth the compass all around
But nowhere finds a gap i’th’burning brome
Where safety’s path may lead, so Terebinth
In vain from nineteen guards to flee did strive.
But soon, his cohorts slain, with chains of brass
Head-hanging Terebinth was bound and led
Down many a foot-worn stair where, dungeon-deep,
The water dripped and ek the cell-doors clanged,
And in the dark was left to wail alone.
O murky sadness! How may man pursue
The goal and purpose of his inner heart
When in delved darkness is he chained,
His guard thrown down, his weapons not to hand,
And all his hoping heaped on lamer cause
Than e’er before he might be glad to hold?
Thus in the dank and dismal den he lay,
This prophet-scoundrel, darkly-clad, unwhole
In noble purpose as in peace of mind.
And while within this dripping caven grot
Sir Terebinth did pine his soul’s decrease,
His captor, brave Prince Paradigm the Wise,
Set pen to paper, paper ek to pen,
In furthering of that he had ordained,
To wit, the scouring of his land for spies,
The seeking out of further cancers: now
His heart acknowledged what his brain had sensed
When rumours from the west of treachery
And from the south of goods ungood had come
To bring unease unto the princely breast.
Thus was he now desirous that all trace
Of treason, new rebelliousness and old
Be cauterised, excised, and purged withal
To purge the ailing body-politic
That it in strength may face the doughty foe.
Thus scrobe he words of force: clear and direct,
Bereft of cumbrous clause subordinate
And muddled diction, muddling thus no whit.
At length the task was done, the wax was melt,
And press’d the regent-seal in pregnant wise
As doth the fleeing water-buck his spoor
Impress upon the mud-bank of the creek,
Which, drying, doth more solidly declare
The creature’s recent coming and depart.
The prince uprose, and summoned him some ale,
And sate a-down beside his broiling hearth.
At length the potboy Padrigal arrove
With pewter vessels on a pewter tray,
And to this same, in simple folkish words
’Gan Paradigm his newest scheme unveil:
“Know’st, lad, of how in recent secret wise
My foe is to the dungeon ta’en?” The boy
His eyes uploft, and answered with a nod
And ek a subsmile scarce discernible
Except perhaps to mothers or to loves,
And to the prince! “Aha! You grasp my gist?
Precisely! In this palace secrets spread
As jaundice through a ship, or fire a wood.
What secret was in stateroom after lunch
By teatime is the kitchener’s delight,
And supper sees it shouted round the town!”
The prince for all his jesting was dismayed
That matters better kept for but a few
Should so contage from one tongue to the next
That e’en the slightest potboy should them know.
Yet spake he not his anger, but prepared
Young Padrigal yet further confidence
To tell. “Here is my plan, which you, I hope,
Shall further, inasmuch as I have thought
These eighty weeks you were my finest page ...”
(At this the potboy nearly burst with pride)
“My scrolls and privy missives , when I send
Them to the foremost nobles in our land
With you t’entrust; four days you shall be gone,
No more, no less, as lightning-foot thou’lst ride
To Shelefdun in Dolf, and Taragoss,
To Rill ...” The prince’s train of speech was cut
By outburst grief from Padrigal: “My Lord,
I cannot ride a horse! Nor steed nor moke,
For all that I have often tried the art,
Succumbeth to my heels.” The prince broke in,
“Thou trusty swain and true, Impeccable,
Then know I thou art not that horsen rogue,
Whom I surmise is he who in our land
Has late upset all lines of concourse, such
As briefly have I lately sent about,
In speech and syntax. Thus, thou n’art not he
Nor ever was, nor to his like, nor else
Conniver in his scheming. This is good,
For though my plan for you is not the which
I lately did impart, I yet demand
Of you a service wherein maystow shine
In mother-mocking thraldom, more a man
Than ever wast a boy!” And Padrigal
Unto th’ensphered skies gave thricefold thanks
For thus relief from potboy’s paltry tasks,
Unknowing yet the greatness of the deeds
Which soon might be in exigency due
From his untested youthful valour; nor,
Despite his gossip-gathered cognisance
Of deeds late done, and others yet to hap,
Yet was he man in wit to con the world.
In this saw Paradigm his chiefest boon
For in such tasks as he would him confer
No greater virtue was than virgin guile,
Not yet matured, nor, equally, yet downed
In disappointment’s abyss, in whose dark
Die hopes, die hopes which once were born
Of virgin joy in equal darkness hid;
For Paradigm, in philosophic wise,
Had oft equated birth and death, of hope,
As spake Ozwes, the Skyrian sage, of yore,
How in Hope’s eyes, nor light nor dark
Of promises’ fulfilment, yet in gleams
Of sinew-succoured melancholy dies;
And briefly flash the lights of daily life ...
The princeling started from his thoughts, recalled
His plot to speed the missive to the south,
Untampered, and to Padrigal gave word:
“My letters have of late been sped awry
In who knows what direction, who whom by?
Yet must they to their destinations come
The promises of trade to unfulfil
In incompleteness, as the meanest task
May yet to ruin come if villains please.
My proper postal servants sooth are watched,
(Or else corrupt themselves) some say by birds
Which warn the bandit horseman, then who robs
Of missive, bearer, or bale-bromer, sooth,
In twofold villainy; or else proclaim
How ’cross the arid hinterland of Nin
There chance from time to time an æry freak,
A fluke, a vortex, such as may unfoot
The stoutest, contravening Gravit’s laws
And weight’s propensity to bide aground;
Thus human kind shall soar anent the sky
And messengers come, not to riches, nay
But horrid death on grim and jiggered crags.
Thus!” spake he loud, the goodly Paradigm,
As jerksome from his sleep woke Padrigal,
With ale-fumes and the heat his wits bedulled
And four nights’ slaving in the charnel house.
“My lord?” he quizzed, and Paradigm did speak:
“’Tis thus the task I give you for your wits,
Nor shall you ere its ’pletion more return
Within these silvern walls: I bid thee go,
Full speedily in propelled wain
(I’ll find for thee a steersman, have no fear)
This scroll to render to my kinsman, Jymne,
Who, long retired, at Eladale breeds swine,
And keeps the road in order; thither wend,
As fast as moken hoof shall take thee, straight!”
Thus Paradigm to Padrigal entrust
His lately scriben missive, in whose lines
The worthy Jymne might meaning read, t'affect
That, spite the great confusions in the post
Which intercourse denied twixt Radgadun
And Taragoss and Eled as a whole,
Yet intuition’s spokesman, eld Laporc
Such meddling had not failed t’interpret right.
In sweven had he seen Lutergit crowned
By seven maids of Eled; while the men
Of Taragoss a bromen wreathe had wrought
To symbolise in kind fair Eled’s wealth
And future thrift, and placed about his neck.
Thus dreamt Laporc; and truer than he knew
His dreaming was in converse congruent wise
E’en by Lutergit ’self in dream desired.
For was not he, Lutergit, he who ’pelled
Th’immoral horse-borne bandits who of late
All missives intercepted, carried North;
The foul polluter of the northern land
Whose wickedness had caused the crops to fail
Before th’unyielding toothless mandibles
Whereby the wigworm plundered all the brome?
In seeking further to investigate
The guesses of Laporc, did Paradigm
Make ’plicit ’quiry in Jymne his letter to
Concerning matters meddlesome and low.
For, as a boy, had Paradigm in hunt
With Adagit at Eladale sojourned
In Mudgard’s search; and knew he well that paths
Uncharted , secret, known to only few,
Amidst the pines their covert ways did wend.
’Twas such a path that Endocarl had trod,
His black face hiding from more normal folk
Unsinged by lightning, charred unyet by fire,
And rosy red with wondrous mountain ær.
Here had he run, from wooted Mudgard’s jaws
Straight down the smugglers’ highway to the tarn
By whose dark waters Dottle’s hamlet sat
Below the southern slopes of Gardabil.
And hither had the dawning seen them wend
To secret meeting with Lutergit’s men
Who supervised their bills of lading so
T’ensure as much brome came to Dottle, left.
But honest Dottle was, up to a point,
And smuggler’s honour kept at constant weight
Th’illicit cargo which through him alone
Was safely carried down into the south.
From deep within the foremost cargo-cart
The sounds of breathing wafted through the stalks
Of brome which covered passenged Endocarl,
As rattling over covert cobbled ways,
Betimes, or else through shifting miry loam
The wain-wheels turning took their southbound way.
At length Lutergit’s men turned back, but ever on
The moken wagons spoked their weary weight
Through groves of cork, half-hearted fields of kale
And vineyard hillocks down to Havard blue
Whose waters lapping on the reedy shore
Were calm beneath the clear immobile sky
And softly nursed their teeming native bream.
Here stood a wharf, new-shored with timbren shafts
And faced with pitch against whatever beasts
Delight in gnawing rotting bits of plank
To render them no use as strut or jamb
Or sely prop or hallowed architrave;
Upon this wharf they laid the bales of brome
As, from across the lake, twelve rafts set sail
Towards the wharf that those same bales be stacked
Thereon. And sudden, their traverse half-complete,
A granite-coloured cloud obscured the sky,
The ground began to shake, a screeching wind
Did churn the brooding waters of the lake
And trees began to bend and dust to fly.
“The brome!” yelled Dottle, as the whirlwind grew
And many hands (e’en Endocarl’s) made work
And saved the cargo; then the wharf collapsed
The bales were whisked aloft, the lake uprose
The rafts, wave-topping, rocked, and tipped, and sank.
And all the men that stood beside the lake
Did fall upon their knees, and prayed aloud
To all the gods of wayside shrine and hearth,
To Pashti, En’Abtar, Elidocorc,
The Kings of Helvin, to the Queens of Zubb,
And last to Kaldorath, who slew the fish,
And in whose skills their only hope remained.
How like this whirlwind to that told of yore
Which scoured the plain of Zubb ere its demise,
When through the tempest watchers saw depart
The doughty Kaldorath, Porpalam’s King
Of dynasty long distant, line extinct,
Or else forgot; whose skill at taming storms
Lived on in minds which knew the proverb sage:
“Whenas Porpalam’s might by storm is rent
Then Kaldorath from Helvin shall be sent.”
Small wonder then that these untutored swains
Bethought their storm akin to that of yore
When mighty fishes stirred the ocean; waves
Crashed down and sank the land – and Kaldorath
Strode forth alone – when next the watchers looked
He stood alone, aloof but whole – the fish
Of half the ocean dead about his feet
The storms of heaven gone, the sea becalmed!
He died thereafter, mighty king that was,
And lay in earthern sherds not who knew where –
Small wonder was his legend’ry renown!
The bromers prayed and ’plored, and grasped the earth
Their fingers bleeding lest the wind aspire
To cast them skyward as it did their brome.
And sudden as the fierce typhoon had come,
The ær was still again, the sky was blue,
Hard by the lake’s subsiding waters’ edge,
Amidst a pile of dead or dying bream
Alone and upright, closely bound in white,
Erect, sublime, as motionless as still,
A mummy swathed and balanced on its point
Stood Kaldorath the King, or so it seemed.
And Dottle, Bubbin, all the smuggler folk
Rushed forth to view the spectre. It was real!
They quick withdrew, in fright. Yet Froggardt stood
Bound by constraining bandages quite still,
And from the icy whirlwind frozen hard.
Young, ’petuous Bubbin was the first to speak.
In ringing tones he called to all around:
“The prophecy ! ’Tis Kaldorath the King
Returned to bring us benison and peace!
He calmed the storm which wracked Porpalam’s face!
Now us he spares! Ah blessed we!” But then
His cousin Fittle scathingly replied
“The saws conflict: some say that king lies dead
In some secluded spot where North and South
May someday meet in happy harmony,
Forgetting mutual woes, and only there
In all the land may sundered halves unite;
In balanced unifaction, as of yore,
Was Kaldorath his kingdom, ere the flood.”
Yet Bubbin spake, “Perhaps that band are we,
The Silent Traders, friend to North nor South,
And so the king-corpse comes to roost with us?”
“Or yet,” said Podd, “Our horrid blackened friend
He came from the north, and with us now
In bond of fellowship is somewhat come
With us united – at least he helped us save
Our bromy cargo, that’s how north helps south ...”
“And how south north?” asked Bubbin, unconvinced,
And straight received reply, “We give him transport,
Thus our due fulfilled ...” This arrant tosh
By Dottle straight was silenced: “Gather, men
That we discuss in reasonable discourse
The what and why and wherefore of this thing
So strange that recently has happed hereby.
You argue several thoughts: I for my part
Discount them everichoon: our task is now
As ever was – the brome. Fair Eled’s yield
Uniquely whole midst cankered northern crops
Yet pines for trade in southmore Thamnadoo,
Where yet (ah yes) awaits our stipend still!
If this be Kaldorath, then well and good,
We’ll take it with – and hap he’ll bring us luck,
And skill to mend our bales, construct new rafts,
And undo all the damage of the day.”
Direct upon this speech the men agreed,
And set about the tasks; some to the groves
New cork to cull, that rafts be built anew
which in the recent whirlwind were destroyed,
Or sunken ’neath blue Havard’s waters clear;
Others with eager foot did wend their way
To where the bales, some split but mostly whole
Of brome upon the laken shore did stand,
Sodden and ragged but serviceable yet
In southmore province, past and future goal.
Still more repaired to gently-shelving banks
And on flat stones spread out their bread to dry,
And kindled tiny fires to broil some tea
That whirlwind-wearied minds and bodies rest
May find in feasting solaces enow
To soothe the ferbid pate; and Dottle then
His ancient map of covert paths and creeks
Of yore devised by Denis, Pernia’s duke,
Did scan with judgement’s eye their ways to con
And, knowing, justly plan their further course.
South it should lead them, laden with their bales
And further with their passengers; the one
So grim and black, the other pure and white
The frozen Froggardt, who, if but his eyes
Might scan the crew, should scarcely recognise
The purpose of his errand, Endocarl,
Now grown so black. Nor might the latter know
How, weary of his waiting, Panadol
This luckless docker had despatched at speed
In his, or his death’s search; nor could he guess
How stale the confirmation, then besought,
Had grown of Paradigm’s complicity
In matters best concealed from th’world at large
Concerning two who met but best had not.
South then their paths would take them, all and one,
Borne on swift Drumnin’s youthful swirling stream,
Which, ever widening, at length should greet
With slower pace the Pernian swamps about
Through which, unloaded, they should pick their path
Hidden, unknown to all save Dottle’s men,
Winding through mires, from tussock to the next
Now carrying, now carried by the rafts,
And onward, undetected, and untaxed!
Oh poisonous swamps of Inthepp, green and rank
Which slop around the rock where Pernia,
The province-gating city overlooks!
And woe betide the causewayman who falls
Within that reeking quag, whence scarce a soul
Unmapped may ever come; for fœtid gas
Of odour most mephitic takes its toll
And will’o’wisps, corpse-candles, sudden lights
And bubbled voices soon usurp the mind
From just its throne; and hence its name,
which cossets Pernia, Inthepp, Madman’s Marsh!
Then, south of Pernia, Drumnin’s course regained,
Their way anew upon the river’s face
They would pursue: through Tangusdale and Borve,
Fair Podvataum and mighty Ibbon-Drum,
Where Crannopurg the Alchemist was born
And where his mighty wisdom ran to seed
Who turned from engineer to eerie ends:
Young virgins would he feed with mercury
In hope that, retching, they would vomit gold
As writ in tomes of yore; at length their course
To Pergatroy would lead, a’th’delta’s head
And of the causeway terminus; but trade
Wound ever on across the sea to Skyre
And ’midst that low and level delta-plain,
The Plain of Thamnadoo, unknown and bleak,
There waited men in hiding, who the brome
Would intercept, make payment, and transport
Through knotted creeks in reedy seaward path
To where, nor Dottle nor Lutergit cared
Their fiscal ’plenishment at last secure.
Those selfsame marshes where the brome would go,
Of large extent, and trackless as the sea
(Save who would scan them well) were scanned in turn
By eyes on high, and higher; those of birds
Who on behalf of sovereign or self
Or other wight (unknown to all but them),
The skies did roam, descending now and then
To bring sometimes a missive, else some tool,
An instrument of fate, to mortal men,
Whose destinies, minutely altered thus,
In slow accumulation might throw down
The greatest schemes of countryman or king.
Above this briny marsh, with wide-spanned wing
Now southward flew a shadow, swift and high
With clouds communing, alike in form to them
Save in discernment’s eye, yet moving unlike they,
In motion purposeful, direct and swift;
Over the hostile swamps it winged its way
Through thund’rous ærs in line direct to Preath.
And beak-held bounty, cargo of the claw
And feathered freight, a missive newly-writ,
Or so it seemed; and yet in truth it was
Marinda’s hand that scrobe the flowing line
Which thereon had been written: this dumb bird
Had picked it up from some lone pigster’s croft
Where, weeks before, some postal pirate’s whim
Had had it misdelivered; now at speed
Unto the lonely citadel the avian came
And hovered at the maiden’s window-sill.
There lay the blade his colleague lately brought
But bade Marinda shun, still out of reach
of the fair maiden’s trembling lily-wrists;
And there, within, upon a trestle bed
All strewn with tearstained garments, there she lay
In bitter disappointment that so long
No missive had been brought from the far North.
Now, hearing rustling wings, she turned her head
And saw th’empyrean’s native, big and black,
Who speedily alighted; “Brave Sir Bird!
Thou com’st (I dare not doubt) from Paradigm
With words of hope bound up in yonder scroll
Your beak doth bear.” And straightway did the bird
His mandibles lay open, that the scroll
Upon the sill did fall; and she stretched out,
And grasped with eager hand the inken lines
And roughly tore the seal; then what dismay
Her hopes submerged: for here was no reply
To all her pleas for peace, for war unfought,
And erstwhile princely love once more restored
’Twixt each and t’other; for the end of strife
And rude commercial pressure, tax on tax
And super-tax again – in short, for end
Of all the ills that now did plague the land.
No, no reply was here; but rather words
By her herself long days ago forpenned,
Such words as in her moment’s gleaming hope
She thought to have reply to. “Oh alack!
And woe tenfold!” she cried in her despair,
“How have I now this wretched state deserved
Who write and write, and wait and wait for weeks
Till letter comes, and that but what I wrote?
With what despair the harvester shall reap
But single seed-potatoes which in spring
He hoped might bloom and profit? Of my nine
And ninety letters scriben, which are lost?
And which delivered rather than returned?
O, would that birds could speak, that they could tell
The fate of each my letters, and the world!”
And as she ranted thus, the big black bird
That sate upon the sill, though speaking not,
Stirred gently from its perch, and with sad eyes
Gazed at Marinda fair, and hung its head.
From yellow-circled eyes there came forth tears
Bright swelling drops, which, bulging, fell and fell
In sorrow’s salty deluge on the sill.
His fallen crest and languid drooping tail
Were but a parody of what they were:
No more that fiery pride, no more the strength
Of forthright taloned will. Ah, what a sight,
What fallen mastery amongst the clouds,
Which here did weep as might an unloved babe!
And what the cause? ’Twas naught but damsel tears
Which through the ages, falling where they will
Have conquered swords and stones, and doughty frowns
Of ogres, giants, tyrants, men of steel;
The universal solvent, long in search,
But seldom named, as such, by any man.
So this great bird, by tears of grief subdued,
Now enigmatically did turn about,
And parting, with ambiguous intent
As one might hand a viper to a child,
To educate, or cause the speedy death,
And thinking twice withhold the snake again,
The grasp-eluding sword in beak he took,
Spun thrice around, and placed it there again
Where it had lately lain, without her grasp
And mischief’s too. And then he flew away.
“O, would these birds could speak,” thought ’Rinda then,
Reflecting once again how avian dumbth
If only once rescinded by the gods
Might change her fate, for better or for worse.
For change was all she craved, who seemed in all
Some sennights eight confined; and in that time
Had many winged companions come and gone,
And objects ta’en or left; and yet of these,
Beyond a gentle croak, or now a song
Whose wordless beauty pained the heart still more
Not one had uttered aught that might console
The tortured breast. And now despair and doubt
Held her more tight and kept her from her sleep.
With purpose more to mend than reconcile
The grim doubt-sundered factions in her mind,
The gentle wench craved more than ever sleep,
But, craving’s anguish brooked not craving’s goal,
Just as the face which craves its mirror’d twin
With hot breath mists the mirror and destroys
The object of its craving; thus the fair
Lay sobbing down and wept the night away
And, head to foot along her naked back,
The watching moon all night did careless shine.
[…]
Then on the high command the train set forth
A pennant at the head and at the tail
And buglers armed with rousing airs, and those
Of hero-high renown from past campaign,
Whose aged task to brag of glory was.
At first they marched with Rostrum to their left,
Until, ere long, a bridge did hove in sight,
The same where long the sage Laporc did wait
After the end o’th’Equinoctial Doom.
This bridge they crossed, their heavy clanging steps
Affrighting ducks and swans that swam below
And feared their fathers’ grandsires’ tales of feet
Which marched that way in times of the Crusade.
But right turned not this vanguard to the Ridge,
Nor marched straight on Dunporc’s turnpike; No!
’Twas left they chose, and, wheeling as a man,
Forth into Dolf the highway then pursued.
At length to Medlocdam the party came
Whose population window-watched, alarmed
At sudden noisy roister from the South
Unwonted and unwanted. Yet they heard!
And none was left unmoved by war’s command
When forth from thence th’recruiting party went.
Twice greater was the throng that crossed the ford
Of Medlocdam that led them into Dolf.
And from the central stepping-stone, Labray
Into the swirling river cast a flag
Upon a barrel mounted, which should bring
The warlike news through Tisch and on, to Ludd.
Meanwhile, in Dolf, the cavalcade marched on
Recruiting all the while a greater horde
With mattock rude and shovel quickly armed
But true and sturdy, eager and alert,
To whatsoever; ’tween the brome-failed fields
Where labour-cheated brome-boys idled aye,
Labray with new employ a throng seduced.
Two days they progressed ever north and east
Far into th’agricultural plains of Dolf
But now report preceded them, and thus
Whenas at last they entered Shelefdune
A mighty throng did greet them with great cheers,
Strong peasants from the land’s most northern edge.
Ah, Shelefdune! The golden, midst the brome,
A lonely city, but a prosperous,
The hub of Dolf, whereto from miles around
The brome at harvest-time came flooding in.
For once was quality the only care,
(Ere sharp division sundered North from South)
And southern buyers thronged to Shelefdune
To buy the best and speed it out to Preath
Before the silt’s advance. Now, every stalk
Both good and bad by labour forged it thence
And south – Dunporc, Gorrimib, Pernia,
Where Terebinth his tithe extracted thence.
Now with the wigworm spreading its domain
A thousand ruined bromers begged in rags
That they their profits and advantages
Might now in warrior’s guise straightway increase.
And thus it was the swollen army went
From grand to great, as ’buncle grows from boil
Upon the palsied pate. So turned they west
T’ward Eled and the tableland of Tisch.
At length the river Rostrum came they to
Now broader far here in the bromy north
Than back at Radgadun. And here the horde
The sacred ferry Dewahip, where once
The Goddess Pashti swam, of yore, it took
And on the further side in parties split:
One, the larger, to the south was bound
To silver Radgadune, where sage Laporc
His martial skills and weapon-wielding ways
As much as time allowed would then impart.
The other, but a fragment of the force
Now gathered by Labray, continued west
Into the land of Eled, where the brome,
Grew fairer even than the Dolfen crops.
And as they marched across the silent plain
The men of Eled welcomed not with cheers
Those brave recruiters, nor supplied them food
And ale, but kept their purses shut and sealed
As fast their doors; Labray was much perplexed
For in his youth had Eled’s bounty-fame
In song been sung. But now it seemed oppress’t
A land of secret doings, where strange men
By night were seen to lurk amidst the brome
Or slink across the fields in wild surmise.
Here cartwrights tacit toiled in secret sheds
And scouts surveyed the highways of the realm
And others by Radgadune unrecognised.
For, nightly, secret caravans of brome
Their toilsome way did wend towards the south,
To Eladale and crimson Gardabil.
Of this Labray knew nothing, nor did guess
But only wondered sad at bounty’s lack -
And through the land unloved the soldiers passed
Received not, or with frowns, by all who saw.
But then, an unmarked road, on any map
Departed to the left; yet they did not
Spare time and manpower it t’investigate.
Morale was low: upon their ancient charts
Of Pernia, they sought a speedy way
To Taragoss, the Fortress on the Lake.
For this fair city, many leagues removed,
The chiefest burgh of Northern Eled was,
Astride the river Lara on its course
To join the river Rostrum (yet this join
Without Porpalam’s bounds took place, in Ludd)
And, wheeling right, for Taragoss they rode
Through hostile belts of Upper Eled’s fields,
Beneath a heavy sky of dowly clouds
And once, Labray believed, beneath that bird
The which Laporc awaited long by Radgadun
In missive-bearing flight. Thus troth Labray
The message was received; and thinking thus
He wondered whence it came and what it said.
For if it were surrender’s seal, Ah Joy!
No war should hap, and all his work was done.
But surely not, he mused, for Panadol
Had seldom stopped at aught his aims t’achieve,
Most specially when these touched his inmost heart.
No rather, ’twas a challenge making plain
The covert post-script to the swineherd’s text
If truly it was borne from Panadol.
But sage Laporc had haply other wit
Which boded letters sent from other wight?
Thus musing, led he on his doughty men
Across the northmost plains a further day
Till Taragoss from dot to dragon grew
With battlemented teeth to warn its foes
Who once from Ludd had swarmed, the lake to steal.
Anon the city’s gates they entered in,
Proclaiming loud the purpose of their quest,
And using Paradigm’s authority
To claim from Northest Zone his due of men
To quell the warlike clamour in the South,
His brother’s force. But came there forth but one,
The seneschal Lutergit, fortune-fat,
A bumptious man who swaggered as he walked.
“Begone!” he called, “We do not want you here,
We’ve nought to offer you, nor men nor arms.
Our once allegiance now we do rescind,
Our former debt to Radagar in roads,
Dunporc in transport, Paradigm in liege
We wholly abnegate and put from mind.
Go then, dull fools, nor longer overstay
Your insubstantial welcome. Get you gone.”
And then a drawbridge dropped, of blackest wood,
And stoutest chain, and so there stood revealed,
Lutergit’s crack platoon of spear and pike.
Labray discretion knew, and turned about.
Full hastily his force then southward rode
Along the highway bound for Radgadune.
There, under silver towers, Paradigm
Looked east across the land, as on the plain
He viewed the first departing army march
In gaunt array, with Fubbod at their head.
He shook his patient head at what he saw:
His rustic folk, ill-fit in armour clad,
His cattlers, cartwrights, tinkers, mattockmen
And four-and-four platoons of bromers. Now
At least there would be soldiers at the gates
Of Pernia at North as well as South,
That Paradigm may vie with Panadol
In show of numbers if in nothing else
Germane to war, and war’s intentions then.
Then turned prince Paradigm his eagle gaze
On closer things: the fields near at hand
Where even now Laporc new soldiers trained.
“Ho! Now, up buckler, run, now cudgel, strike!
And thrust! No, guard your nether flank!” His voice
Across the grassy celandines rang clear
And Paradigm a gentle smile suppressed
At this, his captain, schooling clumsy oafs
All apter for the waining than the war.
Next turned he his gaze south, but all he saw
Across the plains that stretched before his eye
Blued by the distance, seeming very small,
Were aye the jagged peaks of Radagar.
There stopped his eye: yet onward swept his thought
Beyond the City-State of Terebinth,
Beyond those tax-swelled walls, to further goal
The martial yards of Panadol his seat.
What preparations, mused Prince Paradigm,
Now gathered under way in Pergatroy?
And what fell deeds already had been done
By Panadol’s marauders northward bound?
He knew not of the fighting force that pressed
From Kannakal, the eastmost southern state
That long at far-off forest-fort had grown
Stout oaks and elms wherefrom were fashioned boats,
Barrels and wains, and bows and arrows keen
And yet more potent engines warring: slings,
Siege-breakers, bashing-rams and catapults,
Crossbows and caltrops, halberds, shields and spears
A bevy of fine bezoms bellicose
To arm th’inhabitants of Por’pal’m’s south
That war would wage against fair Radgadune.
Nor knew he of the eightyfold platoon
That now from forth that forest-fort set out
Which local folk called Ibbon-Drath, nor yet
How Panadol from Pergatroy had rid,
His trumpet’s echo now four days dispersed,
And soon would meet that force at Corameath
Below the hills of Gorrimib and Herv
In Southern Por’pal’m’s northern state of Lumm.
And there, once married to his eastern force,
And swelled by bold contingents on the road,
His brother would against him, marching North,
His force at length at Pernia display.
But not on brothers thought that brother now
His purpose bent t’wards Trumloc’s leafy vales
To where the rumour, unconfirmed but strong,
Had placed the secret trysts of him his sire
The addled king, and her his princely wife.
His purpose lay in traps as much as swords,
For, should he catch that foolish Ectobart
Whose buttered brains in woodland glades ran wild,
In warring bargain might his cause be armed
With bloodless ’vantage: for the captured king
Most well should serve his final purposes
Whereby the king’s unkilling may exchange
In sely pact for sovereignty o’th’north.
Thus when at Corameath there waited him
Reports of recent sighting of the king
Whose habits, like a comet’s, brought him here,
Now there, now thence, in wholly random wise
As falls th’encyphered hexalithic die,
Then Panadol’s each eye did glister bright
And moist his mouth. And spies then sent he forth
As once despatched he Endocarl, to find
From all the humans dwelling thereabouts
Exactly when and where in recent sport
The ailing king had pranced. And then he bade
His eight most trusty knights in parley come
That they, who knew full well the prince’s mind
In warlike purpose bent, should now discuss
Whereby the captured king may be despatched
And southward bound be sent to Pergatroy;
And how, moreover, may the northern force
Be countered in full readiness of war
Awaiting but his capture, and the news,
From Froggard in the North, whose true report
Would quell or give the rumour further strength.
The sun had set ere this discussion ceased,
And from the woods surrounding Corameath
All manner of nocturnal sounds came forth:
The grunting boars that foraged near at hand,
The distant wolf, and loudest of them all
The owl whose shriek resounded o’er the hills.
And through the dusk, a structure on a cart
Was swiftly wrought by artisans in wood:
A cage, scarce human size, yet big enough
To house the king whose capture soon to come
Anticipation’s handmaids bent their will
Towards. And then, beside a smoky fire
Were forged strong bolts of iron and vasty chains
Wherewith T'ensure their captive, captured once
Should nevermore escape their jealous clutch.
And round that fire sang minstrels Danjel’s lay
Reminding all the soldiers round about
The cause of southern grievances wherefore
Prince Panadol had taken grave offence
And straight prepared for war. And in the glow,
As burning wood released its stored sun’s heat
Unto the sable skies of sunless night
Full eighty faces t’ward the fire did look
As backed there winked the ember-wights, from eyes
As red as legend’s Bilbods. Now a hush
Descended on the company, wherefrom
Upstood a swarthy six-foot southern swain,
Friend of the muses, and of Panadol,
And strummed with skill a tenor Balladoon,
Whereto he sang full manfully and loud
Of deeds renowned beside the southern sea.
Of Kaldorath, the man who slew the fish,
Of Marakan the blind, Elimilech,
And Dand Cnifu, who th’needle clomb of yore
All heroes of their time, and of the coast.
At length his lute-strings spoke of shores at Preath,
The signpost city , south in Thamnador,
Whose beacon citadels by night are seen
By errant sloops upon the ocean’s brine,
And other craft: the cutter and the yawl,
The keely brig and ek the humble ketch,
Which paint the swelling surface of the sea
With furrowed wake and foaming surf astern.
And even then, Marinda, queen the fair,
And ’quainted now of no-one but herself,
On navigation’s servants of the sea
Looked down from lonely window in the South
Dejected, with a silver knife in hand.
With what intent that knife had come to her
She yet unknew. And so in pondering
She guessed a hundred answers, each one wrong,
To whence it may have travelled, and from whom.
At length to darker thoughts her musings turned:
Of waning, ending, and her soul’s decrease,
Of what it would be like to cease to be,
A body yet, but mindless, like a bush,
Or e’en a beast – or foolish Ectobart?
A body yet: unclothed she lay a-down
And wept for thought her selfsame fate might be
Here in the tower of Preathe to wax insane
For want of company and all that brings.
Her body she inspected: it was fair,
As adulation owned throughout the land,
And as, till late, adultery endorsed
In Herv where groves of columbine allowed
Smooth lovers’ couch, where cuckoo sang his song
Two-valued, of a stranger in the nest
An Other Man, the cuckold’s moonstruck prey.
And ’membering sudden all her former joys
And holding them against her present fate
She sought for hope in life, and found there none.
Once more she gazed upon the argent blade
Which bird had brought, she knew nor cared not when.
She minded how she first had reached to grasp,
And how the bird had placed it out of reach
And seeming warned against it; how he left
And how one night she’d dared to reach and strain
Across the lofty sill, and having grasped
The spangled hilt, how wondrous bright it flashed!
Oft since then Marinda’s eyes had turned
Unto this artefact of rare device,
And, following, her hands run o’er the blade
To prove its keenness, shedding blood betimes.
But death she had not pondered up ’til now,
Nor self-inflicted woe of any sort.
But now in pond’ring wherefore had the bird
The dagger brought and carefully laid down,
All roads she now had covered time by time
Of ’magination’s map, save one alone,
And that arrived as dawn’s first rays broke night.
Not only south in Preath did Phœbus’ rays
The grip of blackness loosen from the land,
But ’neath his dawning in fair Corameath
Could be discerned, around an ashen pile,
A company who slowly shook and woke,
And scratching, dressed, and stretching washed their limbs
In water from the horse-trough. Then the fire
Rekindled by the lowest of the force
Sprang up in crackles – cooking filled the air
And men began to talk of what should hap.
In Panadol’s pavilion where he lay
Awake but seeming-sleeping, with an ear
Full openly receptive to what talk
Or other sound may clamber through the air
The rumour came: that night the watch had seemed
To see dark figures slipping through the woods,
The which, when hailed, had speedily withdrawn
Within some covert sett of brock or bear
Defying watchers’ vision. And, said some,
Had certain nightbirds watched from then till dawn
The doings of th’encampment, while on high
Across the star-embroidered firmament
Strange shapes were seen to move. In tremblous fear
The guard had thrown their faces on the ground,
Forthwith to rise again; for though no sound
Of footstep, flight, or foe had reached their ears
Nor cry of quickslain partisan, the ær
Had ’verberated with the strangest sense
Of not-all-seeming. Like the questive quail,
Who midst the bruit of kinship hears a sound
Germane to decoy rather more than dove,
And cowers in fear amidst the ripening brome,
So had the watchers sensed a strangemost thing
The presence of a human, or a beast
A creature of ambiguous comport
Both like themselves and unlike. So the cant
Of breakfast ran, till Panadol burst forth,
And quizzed, in wrath, why aught ham been withheld
From his aspiring cognisance. “Am I,”
He cried in growing wrath, “so small a thing
That, as one hides a favoured puppy’s death
From children of the house, may only hear
By day-delayed report of ’portuous deeds?
This thing concerns me much, you vapid dolts!”
At this th’assembled company did hub
And ek in bubsome wise, nor though in jest,
With wild cries dismay to’th’skies unleash.
And Panadol spake more: “Hear now my wish:
The country hereabout, where, from report
That this last night is lately come to us,
Of darkness and of dæmons ...” (Here a hush
Did seethe amidst the ranks in fiery wise
As all did strain the clearer for to hear)
“Again, I say, this land where now we camp
And through whose oaken glades report has told
Of kingly progress, maddened now of course
As reckless torments goad his pulsing feet,
I now command be scoured in spareless search
For: aught of vestige of his passing through,
That we, our profits and advantages
May quest in conquest, con in quick surmise,
And quell conspiring kingship!” All in all
This eloquence had wondrous fast effect,
For all the force at once uprose, took arms,
And to the forest wall their feetsteps rushed.
And Panadol his wrath began to ebb
As doth the lion-sire whenas his pride
Spring forth from rest all eager for the kill
Because his rumbling stomach them did warn
Of new arriv’n hypoglycaemic wrath.
Thus was the forest’s every inch passed o’er
In seasoned search for that which night had hid
When waiting sentries thought to view, perhaps,
What Panadol the addled king construed.
Now of these searching parties one, more brave
Perhaps, or else of greater foolishness
Set forth with swaddling sticks to beat the bush
More northward than the rest; eft to their ears
There came the sound of voices talking low.
The leader of this party, Shelfox tall
And apt for service or of sire or self,
With secret gestures, since that morn agreed,
His footsore men a further furlong on
Did now entreat to go. Thus through the wood,
Which dense now grew and denser, crept they on;
And every step required a sharper knife
For severing the creeper all around,
The branches thick and dead which clogged the way
If way there was, for none could aught discern,
So dim had grown the solar radiance there,
The fading daylight fading faster still
Beneath the lush-clad canopy of leaves.
At length they reached a point from which it seemed
No further could be gone: for straight ahead,
No mattock, cudgel, hoe, or forfex bright
No tenon saw or spokeshave, axe or scythe
No rasp or drill, nor blade of knife nor sword
Availed in woodish cutting through the copse
Of stout and twined dendrils thrice about
In clasping cold embrace enspiralling
The gnarled and ageless trunks of oak and elm.
Here Shelfox bade his men to rest their limbs
Although the ground permitted no man sit,
So rough it was; and yet, beyond, they heard
Both faint and clear, the sounds of men at rest,
In leisured accents, accents of the North!
Thus hearing, spake up Limbod loud and clear:
“My good lord Shelfox, may we not find rest
A little further on, where even now
W e hear strange voices; what have we to fear,
Of men who lurk in forests?” Shelfox thought
And then replied. “If they have passed this way
Through treen this wall, then ’clipses ours their wit.
If not, then from the North they surely hail
And therefore mote be shunned.” But now there spoke
The dark-skinned Cherrug, foreigner to this land,
Yet in Porpalam’s service long since come
Ere that land’s wholeness sundered was in two:
“My friends,” quoth Cherrug, “Is there none so brave
That roosts his nights hereby, as was of yore,
Brave Kaldorath, the wight that slew the fish,
Or half the other heroes of these parts?
I vote we hail these corpseless voices pat,
And hear, mayhap, in answer such as may
Inform us of the king his whereabouts,
Or failing that at least how may a man
His path discern amongst this leafy gloom.”
And Shelfox said that that would do no harm.
How loud the cry which those that, trapped and dark
Shall utter when remotest aid seems nigh!
And how enorm the woe of those who hear,
Who, trapped themselves for many a longish hour
Hear pleas to double theirs in succour’s quest
In place of hoped-for cry of rescue bold.
Thus was’t decided th’resting ones to hail
In friendish greeting, nor tarry thereabune.
“Holla!” cried Shelfox “Hail! and Howdy-doo!
What men are there who rest as in a mead
Of wholesome vapours, like to this wood not?”
And through liana hangings there beyond
The cry was heard by Galagit of Dolf
Who rested with ten others in a vale
Beyond th’impenetrable wall of trees.
There wisdom bade them rest awhile who, lost
Since dawn, had stumbled through a maze of oaks
And through a swamp to this sequestered vale
On one side overtow’red by precipice
And topped with trees where now cried Shelfox’ force,
On t’other borded, not by frightful crag,
Nor woody thicket, but an open heath
Where midst the affodil and columbine
There grew full several sturdy durmast oaks.
This valley had beguiled their aching feet
As velvet couch the chaste to unchaste ends,
And after all the perils of the way
(Yet greater to this unschooled soldier-band)
Gave space for new recuperation’s due
Unto their bodies, bruised by unwonted garb,
Ill-fitting mail, in haste from th’mailstore snatched
On Paradigm’s command in Radgadune.
When forth at Fubbod’s trumpet feet had trod
The southward road, t’ward Dorrlin and Dunporc,
Amongst the many there was Galagit
With his companions ten. On had they marched
A bromer’s dozen Dolfers (stingy folk)
Amidst a grand contingent of eight score
And eighty more besides of little bands
with local captains. Such was Galagit,
Who on the southward march proposed to do
Some deed that to his credit might redound
And might his stubborn lass’s heart be-thaw
Who since a night of pain long weeks ago
Had outright spurned him. Thus at Gorrimib,
Where all the company in feast relaxed
Before continuing by Drumnin’s road
To th’northern gate of Pernia, Galagit
Bethought his glory might be twice increased
(From that slight pittance which it truly was)
If he, and ten his colleagues, rested not,
But off on left-borne path their trail pursued
That very night. Through sleeping Gorrimib
Up steep o’erhanging alleys, garret-lit,
Then to the river’s bridge, across, and on
They left the walled city of the gap,
And south into the woodlands made their way.
At first they travelled at tremendous pace
Their feet but scarcely reaching to the ground
So fast their flight; and Galagit cried, “On,
On! Within these lands we’ll surely find
Some chance of valour, and its reward withal;
Come let us quickly scan these wooded vales
For what may come our way.” Thus pressed they on,
Twelve country miles in less than half the time
It takes a wife to braise a side of beef
For lengthy lunchtime snack; and on and on
Through heathy waste, and quagmire, swamp, and fen,
Until at last, exhausted, bade they rest
In nether vale’s sequestered solitude
Their legs, worn down to stumps, and aching backs;
And thus they did, these ’leven uncouth swains
Native to Dolf, nor skilled in aught but brome
And of that craft by harvest-failure stripped;
And thus it was that morning found them all
Fast sleeping midst the stinking hellebores
And mindless of the force they’d left behind
And whom no hope could find them; luncheon passed
And fasted they perforce: then eventide,
And then a sorry night, unfed and cold,
And dreaming of their wives in Barabeck
(Those wooden shacks that cluster round the way
Which northward branches from the rutted road,
Whose wellworn camber stretches through the brome
From Medlocdam to golden Shelefdun)
That night passed slowly, dawn was sluggish too
And Galagit repented all his pride
Till sunrise, when a mighty cry they heard
Faint through the trees atop the precipice
Whose slaty face o’erlooked that sleepy vale
Whose wat’ring brooks gleamed bright with nenuphar.
How long had they awaited rescue’s cry!
Their unconsoling murmurs had been vain,
For – came cry of rescue, no, but help!
Yet up sprang Galagit, his strength renewed
And swelled his lungs and oped his larynx wide
And, “Holla, wights,” he cried, a dozen times,
While ten his colleagues lent their voices too.
“What men are you that hail us from above?”
Cried Galagit, and answer straightway came
“Such men as may not fear or go afeard.”
“Then come you down, if any path there be
Upon yon upright craggy wall of rock
Whereby a man may safely come a-down!”
At length upon the grey-green slaty face
Below the oaken crown atop its bulk,
Appeared a single figure, clad in mail
But scarcely half the width of normal man.
This Lorrit was, or ‘Pencil’ to his friends,
And brother to stout Limbod, who remained
with Shelfox and the others up above.
Lean Lorrit soon with nimble gibbon skill
Did reach the foot of the grey wall of slate
And bounded o’er the mead of columbine
To where the mazing bromers stood, half–scared
At Southern soldiers quite so near at hand
Not being sure if war had been declared
Or not, and yet at human visage glad,
After their lonesome days within the wood
From their companions, now marching on
To Pernia’s great citadel, disjoint.
And Rombod, who was famed among his friends
As something of a poet, stepped forth first
And slow, pedantic greeting uttered, thus:
“May Pashti thrive you, wight of whole intent,
Nor lose you favour in th’eyes of En’abtar
Whose guiding hand all travellers desire
That they their journey’s end may safely reach!”
And, baffled, Lorrit answered “How d’ye do?”
“Sir man,” then quizzed him Galagit the brave,
“I see that from your speech you hail from Lumm,
Or else, perhaps, the north of Kannakal.”
“Indeed,” replied the slender Lorrit then,
“Your ear is good: for Liscall is my home,
And has been since the day before my birth.
And you, I think, a Dolfer? Woe alas,
That all our provinces be thus disjoint,
From south the north, and north from forth the south
Such that, to know the tongues and accents strange
From other parts is now a talent rare.
Yet here within this valley’s fragrant ær,
Which, breathing, may a man no more complain
Of past or future woes, nor malice feel
Against th’intruders on his wonted peace
Here do I feel the hate which once I felt
For northern men and customs no whit more.”
And then the men of Dolf turned each to each
And nodded thrice; and struck less hostile pose
Am, on the ground deposited their arms.
Now Lorrit asked them why they waited there
Amid the affodil and columbine
But Galagit forbore to deem him lost,
And luckily, the cuckoo called instead.
And in th’insectuous hazy afternoon,
The balanced twofold answering cuckoo’s song
Seemed answer fine to Lorrit’s questioning.
“North-south,” he sings, the pencil man remarked,
“And we are no more enemies than he.”
In glad assent the bromers now gave voice,
And wondered how the rest of Lorrit’s friends
Might pass the thicket squirming tightly-grown
’Twixt they and them, twixt north and south indeed,
For there the bound’ry ridge afforested
Doth reach its highest point at Dorath-lumm,
And there it is the wood cannot be passed
Except by one of razor-thin physique
Such as was Lorrit; he who now did quiz
His new-found friends in terms of weapon-strength.
“We lack the wherewithal to hack the copse,
But yet our kindling implements, with which last night*
We kept ourselves alive, we do retain
And, through our skills in burning fœtid crops
(For we are brome-men, see you) might we aid
Your passage through the dark, resisting wood.”
With this a few of Galagit’s tough men
Clomb up the precipice, loaded withal
With kindling, some with tinder, many more
With flasks of best phlogiston; others yet
With phosphorus, white fire as some would say
And other stuff for causing things to burn
Should all the others their due tasks not wreak.
Soon was the forest blazing; yet withal
The bromers’ skill made sure it did not spread,
This carefully tended fire. And thus was made
A narrow gap within the forest dim
Whereout, due minutes past for embers’ coolth,
Emerged the blinking men of Shelfox’ force.
Down then clomb all the slaty precipice,
Both Northerners and South in union brave
Until once more in that sequestered vale
Of flowers bright and murm’rous summer airs
And beasts a-gambol, sate they down as one,
And concourse made of war the newest state.
First Galagit explained that, as recruits,
They’d southward marched with Pernian intent
There at the Northern gate in bold array
Some show to make of force unwise t’assail
The brash-faced confidence of Southern might
Thus wise to disinflate; and then he spoke
Explaining all the Northern faction’s doubt
Of whether war indeed was to be waged,
Declared perhaps already, or as yet
But latent in the several princes’ plans
Which forces mustered, ’pared and issued forth
Perhaps with hoax-intent, as decoy’s men,
Façade’s bravado; or with warring schemes
To bring about submission of the south –
Or north, as case may be – and thus unite
In one unsundered unity the land,
Beneath a single monarch. Or perhaps
Each army craved a single hostage, one,
As such was Ectobart, or ek the fair
Who long lay pining somewhere in the south,
(For after such a parting as was sung
In Danjel’s numbers, eft in prose confirmed
By churl-borne missive to far Radgadune,
The further news of chaos in the post,
Of sabotage and fakery abroad
Had thrown new darkness on her current state
So much that no man knew, though much surmised
wherein her destiny had laid her path).
And Cherrug in riposte inquired, “Then how,
Amidst this whole confusion, do you act
Pursuant to your prince’s wish? Our quest
Is simple – be the buttered king arraigned!
But you, who know no definite designs,
Nor speak of how your ends may be achieved,
What orders do you follow?” Then Ladune,
The nephew of tough Melkond, man of Dolf,
Explained what occult sway ordained their deeds,
How words of mystic force and power strange,
When uttered to their ears in ringing tones,
So worked upon their spirits and desires,
That they as to direct command obeyed
These orders, though they understood them not.
At this the southern soldiers were amazed
But fully saw the boon; that torture dire
By whomsoever lord in whatso dunge,
Nor cruel persuasion’s driving eloquence,
May never from these warring swains extract
One mite of what their lord or quest may be,
Though never may such pains have been influct
Them on, as by the quizzing tortures’ irons.
“Sooth,” said Shelfox, somewhat took-aback
“The Northmore folk have many wily ways.”
“As have your men,” was Galagit’s reply
“Who brave the densest woods so scantly armed
Nor fear the wolf, the mighty brownish bear,
Nor ek the fiercest hunter of them all,
The legendary goat, whose mighty horns
Full many a hapless traveller in these parts
Have mercilessly gored and left to rot!”
“Our favour is with fortune,” Shelfox said,
“But what we seek herein is not to harm
But capture: with this sturdy net equipped,
We sought the King, who, crazed, these parts doth roam.”
“Thus spake the lay,” the poet Rombod cried,
“When covertly it spake of monarch mad
And ’dultrous trysts! The allegory’s plain:
‘The aged lion’ – why that’s no doubt the King
And ’Blushing lily’ – that betokens blood
Of fairer lineage still: Oh Ruddy Bloom!
‘Transplanted to a barren garden walled’
What may that be? Oh crafty Danjel! How
May symbols clash so sweetly ...” Galagit
Cut short this prattle with more urgent stuff:
“My friends! Now we are here, what shall be done?
North has met south, in fair and friendly wise.
I shall admit, for our part, we were lost
And you, my allies new, I dare suspect
Were less than sure of geography’s concerns.
Yet may we not in part, though compassless,
Bereft of sextant, astrolabe, or charts
In some wise self-locate by old wives’ saw?”
Wise words these were; yet most they fell on ears
Uncomprehending, save of Limbod, who
By virtue of his girth had, as a lad
Remained hard by his mother, when his sib
At sportive play in meadows had conjoined,
And ’tentive to her every word paid heed –
“He lies a-ground ...” the proverb he began
As joined the rest: “… in solitude’s domain
Where North to South shall be conjoined again!”
A moment’s silence on the allies fell
As import dawned upon them; Cherrug though
Despite his years as publican at Kolth
And long acquaintance with Porpalam’s ways,
Yet knew this proverb not, nor what it meant.
Thus asked he of the others, “Who is this
Of whom you lately spoke in bardic chaunt?”
And all and one replied, “Of Kaldorath,
Of Kaldorath the king that slew the fish!”
And Cherrug now remembered how one night
His colleague at the bar had spoken long
How that the country’s fate might straight be sealed,
The cankers cured, the brome-crops whole again,
If fabled Kaldorath the King might be reborn:
“When fair Por’palam’s might by storms be rent
Then Kaldorath from Helvin shall be sent!”
Thus spake the saw; and yet more was there said
Concerning him that storms had tamed, with groans
Of wild exertion – how, to save his land,
Which else were riven quite by foam and tide
by mighty fish (invoked, some said, by crones
Who wished their native Zubb to be submerged)
Had slain the finny rebels; then himself,
Expired through exertion) and his corpse,
Tight bound in calico was then interred
“Where North and South shall be conjoined again.”
“So is it true,” asked Gloppard, of them all
That gathered were the dimmest as to wit,
“That this sequestered vale must be the place
Where Kaldorath is buried?” And at once
What all had thought but none so well expressed
O’erwhelmed them each. And so they ’gan to search
That merry vale, to find that king his grave.
At Corameath, reports had filtered back
To Panadol, the whom it pleased no whit,
That Shelfox and his men could not be found,
Gone quite amiss, no trace or even track,
No vestige, spoor, nor sign, no print of foot
To show where they had gone could be discerned.
“What men are these that so may go awry
Like schoolboys lost twixt lessons’ end and home?
My simple orders, ’Catch the madman’, why
Can no-one of my army execute?
And up spake Eppard, “Sire, the king we saw,
Behind some bushes lurking, and we crept
Closer and closer, till at length he stirred
And chanting snatches, rushed apace beyond.
And we, in mind your orders not to kill
Could only follow after; but the King
With alien chant a camel summoned nigh,
And on his back he leaped and rode away.”
Now Panadol, enraged beyond belief,
Cried, “Eppard, Soggy Wretch and rightly named,
This lame excuse shall hang thee!” And it took
A score of knights, corroborating quite,
This camel-tale to verisimulate.
Yet still the prince did disbelieve, and cried,
“Dullards! No camels have been hereabouts
For many centuries or seen or heard;
Long since extinct: why, you know well as I
That only on the desert sands of Ludd
Where once their bodies, now remain their bones
And nowhere else, by all the darker powers!”
The prince’s face with wrath was clou’d and grim
And all the soldiers trembled; yet there spake
From their despairing midst a single voice
Of Git the cook, who shouted, “Kettle’s boiled!”
At this the prince no more his wrath contained,
And, red-faced, shouting, with wildly waving arms,
Bade one be hung, another burned in fire,
Evisceration for a third, and more
And crueller tortures for the score of men
Who’d testified to camels in the south!
“Camels!” he muttered, the brave Prince Panadol,
“What fools are these my men. Camels indeed!”
And as he raved, from out the forest dim
A scuffling sound was heard, and then the creak
Of wheels badly oiled, and joyful shouts.
And all men spun about, thro’ trees they peered,
And strange new noises strove to place. For lo!
The forest parted. First there came a horse,
A tautened chain, a wooden cage, a king
Within, who raving roared, and last of all,
Shaggy and humped, a camel did appear!
Wild joy and laughter filled the forest air
As all the camel scanned, and in the cage
The straining, heaving, retching, filthy form
Of Ectobart the Ever, King that was,
And mad that grew and manless; now he roared
And even when the prince’s men fell dumb
By order from dark Panadol, his voice
And random shouting drowned his next command:
“’Ud’s terebinth! They’ll slay the kelistwhip,
O, thistlepewk! Which is the fairest? Ha!
The one, the other, unmiddled? Twinklefoot!”
[…]