Looking miserably at him, I said, 'The chill of that canal has probably done for me. Like Lasionio in the Prilipit passes, I shall die young.'
'Pooh to that, you deboshed fish! Only silly women place credence in horoscopes — my whore of a wife is a bigger fool than I thought, to believe in a false one. Pull yourself together and stop dripping on my carpets. Slobber off home, get dry, and learn your lesson.'
So upset was I, that it was only much later — after midnight, in fact — that the meaning of his sneer about the false horoscope dawned. He had bought Parterre as well as the louts who nearly killed me.
I have so far painted a cheerful picture of life; but that senseless attack made me aware of self-interest — and what I most feared was my own self-interest. My lovingness had been challenged. I felt unmanned.
But there was the comfortable, familiar, old tiled world, lolling between Satan and God, and I went about it like any other citizen, acting my part before the zahnoscope — we were nearly at the end of Mendicula's drama — arranging to obtain san Lasionio's promised horse, slipping a message to Armida, managing to keep my stomach full.
Mandaro counselled me, Seemly Moleskin looked squint and told me that I would be attacked again next day, and that my life was progressing towards the animal. I left them and climbed that evening to the ruined Baths of Callacappo, behind the Arena, to recover my wounded spirits in solitude.
The massive surrounding walls of the baths stood after many hundred years, their archways and vaults and staircases enduring yet, though overgrown with wildernesses of bay and myrtle and the flowering laurustinus. It was possible to climb dangerously until I looked down on the thickets of blossom trees which now filled the ancient bathing centre. Here I perched, tracing the twisted roots of shrubs where they showed like knuckles, gripping the stones for purchase among their interstices.
So still was I, and lost in thought, that other animals which had taken refuge here came out and sported. Most flamboyant was a pair of tree-snaphances or grab-skeeters which had made their home in a decayed portal high above ground. The entrance to this shelter was screened by branches of ivy and bay, from which both male and female snaphance emerged, to bask in the last hour of sunlight.
They were rather like the common chick-snakes of the streets, but of sturdier build. Snaphances were the most handsome ancestral animals, with noble, small heads perched on well-proportioned necks. My pair sat upright, their tails tucked out of sight, using their dainty hands to feed themselves with leaves. Since this was not the mating season, the male was the same mellow green as his mate, verging almost to bright aquamarine on his belly. Her leathery skin was beautiful, marked with faint stripes but lacking the double row of bony scutes which decorated the hide of the male.
After a while, they observed me, but sat calmly as before. The configurations of skin about their mouths and eyes gave them a benevolent aspect. If these were offshoots of the distant ancestral line from which mankind had developed, as scholars claimed, then we had little to be ashamed of.
These creatures, and others like them, lived contented lives. They had nothing to prove. Whereas…
Dreams of doing great things filled me. The skulls of grab-skeeters would be innocent of such phantasms.
In two days' time, during the ancestral hunt in Juracia, I might have my chance to win fame, advancement and Armida. I wanted to show everyone what a man I was, that I was meet for more than a ducking in a dirty canal. The crippled magician had told me I should swim more strongly; so I would. But I remained dismayed to find how much hurt I took over so little. When my father had turned me out of his house, I had gone laughing, with a gallant air, despite the disgrace of it.
Thought of my father reminded me that I had never gone back to see that he was looked after. Well, life was lived out among ruins.
Nor did I forget the captain of the Tuscady Horse, wondering how he would feel when he led his force back through the bleak defiles of Prilipit, without the one woman who had ever caught his heart. He was a gallant fellow, and would survive not knowing how Kemperer had tricked him. Wherever he was, I wished him well — long might he wench and smite the bearded Turk!
The birds homed about me, little twittering sparrows, thrushes, finches, and the swooping cavorts which visit Malacia in late summer. It grew cooler. The sun dipped behind the city, filling the sky with harmonies of colour. No one could experience the hour without giving up his soul to its delight.
I climbed down from my eyrie while there was light enough to find a safe foothold.
The Ancestral Hunt
The flighted people were ringing the four great bells of the cathedral. I rode Capriccio behind St Marco and stabled him, going on foot to the great West doors, where Armida awaited me. She was standing by a statue together with de Lambant and Bedalar, and friends whom I did not know. Behind this group, shadowy and severe, stood Yolaria and Jethone with other chaperons, all looking alike in drab cloth and lace caps.
As I kissed Armida's hand, I looked into her eyes and thought that she still loved me; certainly she had been all affection on the two previous days, when working before Otto's zahnoscope.
'As ever your servant, mistress,' I said. I was curt, as befits a man who has ridden to worship. I bowed to the rest of the company, winking at de Lambant. I had hoped to enjoy a word alone with Armida. Well, there would be opportunity after Matins, no doubt, for we were due in front of the zahnoscope again. So we smiled and exchanged pleasantries.
All were cheerful, turning their faces to one another, to the facade of the cathedral, to the flighted people circling overhead, and to the personages flocking in the square, as if they had a surplus of energy to be used for general benefit. Or was it all self-interest? De Lambant was sparkling; both the girls and their friends were inclined to be amused at his sallies. I smiled at him in gratitude, for he gave me time to adjust to the company.
Matins were being held to mark the opening of the ancestral animal hunting season. Many of the elite would be off after the service to lodges in the wilderness. Even I, the poor player, would be following them on the morrow. I only wished my spirits were higher for it.
The Hoytola family coach drew up, the Hoytolas descended, Armida moving meekly to her father's side. Andrus Hoytola smiled bleakly on all; his beam was a little oblique when aimed at me. He and his wife, possessing themselves of Armida and her younger sister, Lena, proceeded up the cathedral steps with the chaperon and two servants in their train. He gestured graciously with a limp hand on the way. The Nortolini family made a similar appearance — Caylus nodding genially at de Lambant and me — sweeping Bedalar and Jethone into their wake. Armida's other friends moved up to the cathedral doors.
De Lambant and I, isolated for the moment, raised eyebrows at each other.
'According to family legend, the de Lambants were all-powerful in Tuscady — but that was over sixty generations ago,' he said.
'The de Chirolos may have to wait sixty generations for the same sort of thing, unless I strike lucky in the next few days.'
'Let's go in and pray for luck.'
As we moved into the all-encompassing darkness of the cathedral, he asked, 'Are you getting much satisfaction from life?'
'Would you care to rephrase your question?'
By way of answer, he said, 'Master Bledlore's glasses are finished. The old man delivered them himself yesterday evening. Very prompt. They are really perfection. I hope they'll make Smarana happy; we hear that Traytor Orini is a sot and a libertine, and his sister, Teressa, a whore of the first water. Very encouraging… I despise immorality in others, don't you?'
A great shade had been brewed inside the cathedral. Wafers of light from tall windows dipped into the broth, almost dissolving into shadow before they reached the flagstones at the base of the vast stone vessel. Clouds of incense boiled upwards, their intricate structure matching the silver and bronze censers, and obliterating, with their fumes of styrax, olibanum and cascarilla bark, the aroma of th
e humanity which seethed along the aisles. We lit candles by the door to add to the murk, kissed an image of Minerva, and moved in among the crowds.
From the High Priest standing behind St Marco's famous carved altar-screen came the electric sorrowing wail of the Higher Religion. His voice soared in love and lamentation. The obscurity took on features; humanity remained a vague stew, while saints and satyrs became incarnate on every pillar, from floor to cupola. In attitudes of serenity, travail, or molestation, they gazed down, heavy-eyed, in gilt — but saw little of the impenitence a-cooking in the dark, for St Marco's was as licentious as the opera; de Lambant and others of my friends had enjoyed women among the throng, even as the Responses of Dual Sanctities drowsed up towards the embossed vaultings, while many a fancy man took the wafer with his lover-boy's semen slimy in his hand.
'Look especially, O Mediator, on those of our brethren assembled here beneath Thy prevailing wing who are about to venture on the perils of the hunt,' cried the High Priest to the image of Minerva. 'May they comprehend in their hearts, through Thy intercession, that, just as the World was created by Satan, so it will in the fullness of time be redeemed by the Lord God… To placate both Adversaries, we go forth to slay our ancestors and eat the flesh of our Fathers.
'May those who hunt recall that we partake in our origins of Satan's purpose, as the animals are symbols of his accursed blood, standing condemned as do we all in the dreadful forests of the universe. Let them, O Mediator, share of thy Sacred Flesh here today, lest they die unshriven tomorrow, and revert to the more unseemly forms of satyr, gnome, or ancestral animal, which are nearer to the Dark Creator and all his fearful works. May we all strive upward, towards a greater Light, which is Thine alone, until we too are fit to be numbered among Thy beings, in the world the Almighty plans to wrest for his own.'
The strepent trumpets sounded and the responses began with a great confused mutter from the congregation.
'The serpent on the staff entwined…'
'…It is of gnosis all refined.'
'Giant reptiles with a bird-like gait…'
'…Remind us of our fallen state.'
And the wise owl whose pinions catch the midnight wynd…'
'…Behold, behold, sunrise strikes him blind.'
'The apes that flitter queerly, nearly…'
'They envy us dearly
And would usurp us merely.'
As I pressed forward to take the wine and wafer from the hands of the priest, de Lambant came too.
'Why do you bother? You're not hunting, Guy.'
'I have good news for you, or I hope it's good news. Bedalar's pa is still being a difficult old clod, but she has managed to smuggle me along to Juracia as a musician. I'll sing for my supper while you do your brave deeds in the forest, massacring slobbergobs and shatter-horns.'
'That's good news. I'll be in need of friends. You may see more of Armida than I, in that case. Listen, keep close to her if you can, watch her, protect her. I fear a noble rival…'
We broke off for the communion and the muttered words. 'Soul and flesh… tokens of the great schism… one in Thee…'
Still munching, we pushed towards a side door as de Lambant said, 'Are you really serious about Armida?'
'Guy, don't laugh. I've not been myself lately. Something's got into me. Haven't you noticed?'
'We haven't seen so much of each other. Is it Armida?'
'Yes. I want to make something of myself. Oh, things I can't express…'
'Sounds like love.' He clapped me sympathetically on the shoulder.
'I swear I'll never look at another woman. Well — look, maybe, but never more than that. I regret some of the things I've done since I knew her. She's worth reforming for, isn't she?'
'Oh, she's a splendid girl. Very pretty, too,' he said carelessly. 'But Malacia's full of splendid girls. This is a radical change in you, de Chirolo. And not for the better.'
'Just look to her in Juracia, will you, while I'm not there.'
'It's a sacred trust, I swear. I'll do all I can to advance your cause, if that's really what you want.'
Much relieved, I parted from him in the square, and headed for the stables to collect Capriccio and give my last performance before Bengtsohn's zahnoscope.
All over again, I realized what a difference a horse made.
It was impossible to profess to be a gentleman without a horse. The gallant Captain John Pellegrino san Lasionio — even now riding loveless over many an unintelligible mountain — must have commanded a troop which had sustained considerable losses for a beast as stalwart as Capriccio to be consigned to baggage duties. True, the gelding was slightly lame from a sword-thrust in a rear wither.
Capriccio stood sixteen hands high; his coat was of a dull bronze. Both his teeth and his temper appeared good. In short, san Lasionio had done me a service, while I had rendered him nothing.
At the Chabrizzi Palace, activity was all. The servants were preparing to receive the family back from holiday, turning their own illicitly billeted relations out of quarters, and furiously beating carpets at windows after their spell of neglect.
Bengtsohn, too, was winding up his affairs. We had accumulated quite a little property for our mercurized play, not to mention our changes of clothes, all of which had been stored in an out-building. Now a handcart stood by, with Bengtsohn, his stout old wife Flora, and Letitia, loading it with all the pieces we had finished with. Bonihatch leaned against a pillar, sunning himself with Solly the Solid — a stout, impudent lad who burst into laughter as I rode up and dismounted.
'Have you never seen a decent horse before?' I asked him.
'I never saw a chick-snake riding one!'
To Bonihatch I said as I passed, 'Prince Mendicula, keep your malformed subjects in their proper place, will you?'
Without answering, he followed me along, laying his hand familiarly on Capriccio's saddle.
'A nag, hey? You've always had big-headed ideas. What are you up to now, de Chirolo?'
'Isn't it time to climb out of that sweaty old tunic and into your fancy shirt?'
'Ha, there's envy speaking! Let me inform you, de Chirolo, I know very well how you tried to seduce Miss Zlatorog to get yourself a shirt like mine.'
'That's how you managed it. Well, you're welcome to it if those are the conditions. Does the poor little minx always have to bribe you with clothes before you go to?' Bonihatch bared his teeth, lowered his brow, and raised a fist. I dropped the rein and squared up to him.
'Come on, then, you cut-price conqueror!'
'You saddle-sore fop, with your fancy airs!'
'Now who's spitting envy?'
He swallowed his anger and dropped his hands unexpectedly. Turning a shoulder to me, he kicked the dust.
'I didn't intend quarrelling, de Chirolo, but the sight of you lording it on that animal makes me sick. There's going to be changes in Malacia soon, and those who go barefoot to work will have an accounting with those who don't work at all.'
'So it's been said for thousands of years. I'm in neither of your classes, Bonihatch, so leave me alone. I've got troubles enough.'
Facing me, he spoke mildly, smoothing his whiskers.
'You're oppressed and exploited like the rest of us. You caper for the wealthy in your pansy clothes like a performing dog in a ruff. Join us and overthrow all those who victimize us.'
'Do you ever get bored parroting Otto?'
'Set aside personalities and think of the idea of freedom, of change, of equality.'
'I can manage those things better for myself than a mob of ragged apprentices could.'
'All right.' He looked at me contemptuously, his broad face dark. Solly came up behind him, smirking. 'I know your idea of equality, de Chirolo! You plan to marry Armida Hoytola and play lap-dog for the rest of your days. What a life of misery that would be! But she'll never wed you — she doesn't want you, and her stuck-up fart of a father wouldn't let her if she did.'
'I'll throw those words in your
grimy face in a few weeks' time, Bonihatch! And then you'll have to grub about elsewhere to find yourself a job of work.'
'I wouldn't give you thanks for her cast-off chastity-belts, that I wouldn't,' Solly jeered. He doubled up with laughter. Bonihatch ignored him, staring at me with furrowed brow.
'You don't know your real friends,' he said, soberly.
Turning on my heel, I led Capriccio to the stable before changing into my General Gerald outfit for the last time. For the last time, I was to stand rigid while Bengtsohn's magic glass lens sucked light into his zahnoscope.
The Joyous Tragedy of Prince Mendicula was complete, except for three or four scenes that needed to be done again. And still Bengtsohn had let nobody see the results.
Already, I had run my sword through (or rather behind) Bonihatch's absurd Mendicula. He had died absurdly. Letitia's Lady Jemima had taken a fatal potion and died on her couch for a full five minutes. Armida's Patricia had wept for as long against a draped balustrade, and I had attitudinized for as long with triumph on my face and red paint on my sword. All that remained was to re-enact a couple of poses which Bengtsohn regarded as unsatisfactory.
The first scene we replayed was the beginning of the betrayal, where Gerald casts a lustful glance on Patricia while Prince Mendicula is looking away. This was no hardship for me: five minutes of lustful glancing, my gaze fixed on that delightful breast, was hardly enough.
Afterwards, in a lull, I said to Armida, 'How I look forward to viewing this complete production. Why is Otto so secretive?'
'I don't think he trusts me.'
'We shall be such a success! You will be so much in demand that you will have to turn actress; then your family can have no objection to my marrying you.'
We were sitting together in the shade, apart from the others.
'General Gerald, I find your company exciting, but I already act in charades at home,' said Armida. 'I would never become a professional actress.'
'Even if you went into tragedy?'