The Stolen Lake (23 page)

Captain Hughes looked at him thoughtfully.

"But how do you know you ever
will
get out?" he said. "Your aunt appears to be in a position of very great power. It might be in her interest to persuade the queen that you should stay here for a long time—perhaps for the rest of your life."

"Ay—don't think I haven't thought the same," said Silver Taffy. "But I'm a peevy man to diddle, as Auntie Ettarde will learn, and a hard man to fasten down. I'd not have stayed in the
Thrush
if it hadn't suited my book. It's odds but I'll find some way out o' the coop."

"If you are of that mind," said Captain Hughes, "you and I may yet be of service to one another. It's no use expecting aid or sense from
that
poor wretch"—he glanced exasperatedly at the lachrymose Mr. Brandywinde. "Your aunt seems to have bewitched him—or he thinks she has, which comes to the same thing. He has lost the use of his hands."

"Ay, she can play that sort o' trick on a poor softie like him," said Taffy scornfully. Nonetheless, Captain Hughes noticed that he made the figure-eight sign, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "The sooner we're out o' here, Cap'n, the better pleased I'll be. Did you have any special notion in mind?"

"Why, yes. I have been exercising my wits to some purpose. Come through here and I will show you."

And Captain Hughes led the way to the chamber where there were paints, paper, and drawing materials.

"Look!" He indicated a mathematical diagram on a large sheet of paper. "I have not been wasting my time in here! The design is done. But the construction requires two people—because these struts here have to be bent and held in shape while the fabric is stretched over them. And poor Brandywinde is quite useless for that."

Silver Taffy bent over the design, and presently a shimmering silver smile split his face.

"Why, Cap'n!" he said. "You were wasted aboard the
Thrush!
You ought to spend your days a-visiting poor coves in prison!"

The journey from Lake Arianrod to the court of King Mabon was achieved in a considerably shorter time than Lieutenant Windward had reckoned. This was due to the fact that King Mabon, grief-stricken at the loss of his child and requiring distraction, had undertaken a tour of his kingdom, and was, the travelers learned, about to preside over the quarterly assize sessions at his sheep capital of Wandesborough, hardly fifty miles from the frontier.

At the spanking pace set by the frontier patrol on their picked mountain mules, swift rangy beasts, short-tempered and surefooted, it took the party less than a day to reach the assize town. Wandesborough, like Bath, lay in a great upland basin, but its surroundings were green and fertile, kept temperate by balmy breezes from the slopes of Mount Catelonde. For this reason the last four hours of the journey were enlivened by the continuous bleating of sheep, which were pastured in enormous numbers on the high grassy slopes.

"What a deal of wool and mutton they must export," remarked Lieutenant Windward.

He said this to Dido, kindly trying to divert her mind, for he thought she looked very mopish and down-pin. Not even the friendly escort of the legionaries in their short red tunics and mule's-hair-plumed helmets, or being mounted on a crack cavalry mule, seemed to put any heart in her. She only muttered "I daresay" in reply to Windward's well-meant remark.

"Come, cheer up, little 'un," said Mr. Multiple. "I reckon when King Mabon hears he's got his daughter back, he'll hand over Queen Ginevra's lake without any round-aboutation, and we'll be posting back to Bath again in the twinkling of a pig's tail. And once she has her blessed piece of water back, not to mention her husband, if Mr. Holystone is really that—which I, for one, take with a bushel of salt—then she'll let Cap'n Hughes go, and we can all be on our way. And I tell you what," he added generously, "I'll go cahoots with you in some of my sparklers, for I've got enough to make us both into nabobs!"

But even this promise failed to arouse any enthusiasm in Dido. She said, "Thanks, Mr. Mully," in a flat little voice, and continued to gaze glumly at her saddlebow, or sometimes ahead, to where Mr. Holystone and Princess Elen rode in silence side by side.

It is a considerable shock when somebody you have known (you thought) very well indeed, and have been fond of, not only proves to be a completely different person from the one you believed to be your friend, but also fails to remember you at all. If, on top of that, he turns out to be a king, reborn after thirteen hundred years, the shock is greater still. And if, into the bargain, he is married to one of the wickedest and most horrible people you have ever met, you can hardly help feeling very unhappy about it. Especially if he seems to be showing rather too much interest in a princess who certainly
isn't
his wife.

Not that Mr. Holystone talked much to the princess; but all the way on the journey, whether in motion or at rest, they kept near to each other, and there seemed to be a kind of wordless communication going on between them.

"What the dickens does it matter to
me,
" Dido said to herself crossly, "if he rides beside her and helps her on and off her moke?
I
ain't in charge of em."

But she couldn't help thinking how very much Queen Ginevra would dislike it, if she knew that her newly recovered
Rex Quondam,
instead of making all possible speed back to Bath Regis to greet his long-lost queen, was riding in precisely the opposite direction, by the side of a much younger, and very beautiful, princess.

"The queen'll
never
let Cap'n Hughes out of prison at this rate," Dido thought gloomily. "And we can't go off and leave poor old Cap hobbled up in Cumbria. And it's bezants to breadcrumbs she'll grab the lot of us if we go back—have our heads shrunk, or our tongues cut out, or drop us in the river for those pesky fish to guzzle."

Dido's thoughts were far from cheerful.

But when they were about five miles from Wandesborough, they saw a mounted party approaching them at full gallop, accompanied by waving banners and the sound of bocinas; and the little brown-faced, roly-poly man on a fiery mountain pony in the lead proved to be none other than King Mabon himself, impatient for reunion with his daughter. He flung himself off his mount and ran to embrace her, then turned to address her rescuers in a flood of joyful Latin. As this was received by all except Mr. Windward and Mr. Holystone with blank faces, he switched to English.

"Heroes you are indeed, every one of you! My gratitude to the end of your days you will be having. Anything in Lyonesse is yours for the asking! Well, well, now—what a big bonny girl you have grown, cariad! I can see Miss Castlereagh fed you all those years on milk and honey, even if you are a bit skinny just now, with you," he added, giving Elen another hug. "And plenty of learning to go with the bonny looks, I am hoping?"

"Oh yes, Papa, I can speak seven languages, and Professor Crumhorn gave me AA for disputation, and I have reached the second part of the calculus."

"There, now! A bluestocking I have got myself! But as for that Ginevra," said King Mabon, suddenly becoming formidable, "as for that fiend in human form, boiling in oil would be too good for her. She should be—"

"But, Dadda—"

"Well, what?"

"Gwydion is married to her!"

"What?"

"They say that Cousin Gwydion is Queen Ginevra's
Rex Quondam.
"

"Who say?"

"Caradog, the old guardian—and Gwydion himself says it."

The guardian, however, had prudently seen fit to make himself scarce and disappear during the bustle of departure from the Pass of Nimue.

King Mabon said to Mr. Holystone, "Is this so, my boy? Are you Mercurius Artaius? Are you the Pendragon?"

"Yes; it is true," said Mr. Holystone, who still looked very tired.

"Then I salute you, my liege lord, and offer you fealty," said King Mabon, going down without more ado on one knobby knee. This was not comfortable for him, since he wore a toga and short tunic, and the ground was stony; he kissed Holystone's hand, then briskly stood up again. "But, my boy, how is it you never knew that before? All those years when you used to visit us as a child, and play with Elen and her brothers—"

"His time had not yet come," interposed Bran, who now, greatly to Dido's astonishment, limped out from among King Mabon's escorting troop. I suppose it was him as passed word that Elen was up there in the stable, Dido thought. Bran wore a white tunic and purple toga. A pageboy carried his cockatoo. He went on, "No use to ask the chrysalis why it is not a butterfly. The hour had not yet struck nor the hilt of Caliburn come to his hand."

"But—bless me—this puts an entirely new complexion on the matter." King Mabon ran a hand through his dark hair, which was cut short, Roman fashion. "Married to Ginevra, you are? Shocking pity that is, indeed! I don't mind telling you, some nasty rumors have been coming through about her, these twenty years and more. Still," he added, not very hopefully, "maybe now you are returned to her she will be a bit more neighborly. Closed her frontier, she did, years back, and the tales that trickle out from Cumbria I would sooner not be believing."

"I reckon they're all true, Mr. King," said Dido, who saw no reason why she should not take part in this discussion.

"And who might you be, my dear?" King Mabon turned his intense, dark, very intelligent eyes on her.

"Why, this is Dido, Papa, who rescued me; she helped me out of the cave."

"Then it's welcome you are as lambs in spring," said King Mabon. "But why are we all standing like this in the fosseway? Let us go back directly to Wandesborough so that the feasting may commence."

They remounted, the troop of legionaries riding ahead, the frontier patrol behind, and King Mabon and his daughter's rescuers in the middle.

King Mabon talked hard all the way.

"Now you are back, my boy—and delighted I am, though I won't say it wasn't a surprise—"

Wonder what Cap'n Hughes'll say when he finds his steward's a king, Dido thought.

"—unification of the three kingdoms—need for a strong, guiding hand," King Mabon was continuing. "Danger from Biru, from Patagonia, and the Southern Incas—"

Mr. Holystone seemed to have little to say. He remained silent and listened.

Bran, who, despite his wooden leg, appeared able to ride a mule without any difficulty, came alongside Dido. Noticing her despondent looks, he broke into one of his little songs, sung very softly for her alone:

"
I like the way
You say my name
None other says it
Quite the same
The syllables sing like the notes of a song
When you say it, I wish it were Jive times as long!

So when I die
Pray don't feel glum
But simply write
Upon my tomb
Forget his career; but tell this to his credit
His name sounded best in the way that she said it!
"

"Your songs are downright silly sometimes," said Dido crossly. "And how did you get here, anyway? You belong in Cumbria. And the frontier is closed, King Mabon said."

"Smugglers, minstrels, and messengers travel where they choose," Bran said. "And a good storyteller is welcome anywhere. Shall I tell you a story, child? You appear somewhat despondent."

"Despondent?" said Dido. "D'you expect me to be as chirpy as a cricket? Cap'n Hughes is in jail, and Mr. Holystone says he's Arthur come back, so—so he's married to that hateful woman." Her voice wavered. To cover this she added quickly, "D'you reckon that's
true?
"

Despite his oddity, she felt sure that Bran would know, and give her a true answer. But instead of replying directly, he said:

"Once there was a wicked rich man who had gained all his riches by despoiling his neighbors. He had particularly abused a man called Abel, taking his land unlawfully, bearing false witness against him; in the end he had Abel turned out of his home. Abel, penniless, became a sailor, and was absent from his homeland for many years, and came back no richer than he had gone.

"But when he did come back, Cain, the rich man, was dying; all his ill-won riches could not protect him from death. And as he lay tossing and turning on his velvet couch, he was tormented by one desperate, feverish craving. 'In all my life I have never heard the sound of the sea! Oh, if I could but hear the sound of the waves beating on the shore, I believe I might recover. Or at least I could die happy.' But the sea was many thousands of leagues away.

"Now, as you know, you can hear the sound of the sea if you hold a shell to your ear. There was only one man in the town who possessed a shell, and that was Abel. The shell, indeed, was his only possession. But when he heard of his enemy's wish, he carried the shell to Cain's house and said, 'Here it is; listen to it by all means if you think it will ease you.' And Cain held the shell to his ear, and his face contorted with rage and envy. '
You have had this all these years, while I parched on the dry land?
' he cried. 'But I will take it from you now!' And he crushed the shell between his hands, and so doing, he died. But Abel said, 'I can still listen to the wind. Its voice is as sweet as the voice of the sea.'"

"Just the same," said Dido indignantly, "that rich man was a pig. A real pig! Did Abel get his things back after Cain died?"

"As to that," Bran said, "I can't tell you. But see, here we are, arriving in Wandesborough."

The assize town was very different from Bath Regis. It was laid out geometrically, a small walled town of neat thatched Roman villas, built strongly of clay and wattle, and all painted white. Mabon was staying in the governor's house, which was simply a bigger villa, with a large, square inner court containing the usual fountain and cactuses.

King Mabon instantly set his stewards to organizing a feast in the main hall, and dispatched messengers to Lyonesse City to make arrangements for the return of Lake Arianrod.

"Fair's fair," he said. "Let no one claim I don't keep my word. I have my child, the old woman can have her pond. And furthermore, I'll send it back faster than I took it." He chuckled. "My master of irrigation has hatched up a plan to ship it back by a series of air balloons, helped by the updraft over Mount Catelonde—which will be a deal quicker and cheaper than all those llamas."