(And now Aldred, who was at this point overcome by his fever, so that he had to lie down and was not able to see anything more of what happened, must in his own person bid the reader farewell; for he took no part in subsequent events. Erumardil attempted to examine his hand, which was now black and swollen, but Aldred could not endure the pain of being touched. Later, that same day, Erum sent a messenger to the house of Ostendil, beseeching shelter and protection for a sick Punchkin, and the messenger brought back a gracious answer. Although Melohtar and Swin had left the City by then, Swin had spoken of the Punchkins often and with sufficient warmth as to recommend them to his host. So Aldred said goodbye to his friends, was carried from the Chamber of Sanctuary and arrived at the house of Ostendil. There he was kindly welcomed and attended, as Swin had promised, by the best doctors of the City, members of the league of the Aulendili or Men of Skill. In those days the skills and knowledge of the City were very great; and the doctors gave Aldred strange remedies, pastes of grey mould and pills of tree-bark, and other drugs which took away the pain of his hurt, so that he might allow them to search his wounds and to rebind, more carefully, the broken fingers. And in six weeks he was well again, although his hand was crippled. In those weeks he often talked with Ostendil, and read much in Ostendil’s library, and so learned many things. Then Melohtar returned alone, and Aldred heard all of his sad story. Finally, in the middle of May, he rode from the City under strong escort, Men of Lord Ostendil’s own household; he rode on his own pony, which Mr. Gough had been compelled to return to him, and thus came quickly and safely down the Wainroad, to Bigginton in the North of the Demesne.)
The wedding was over and the tables had been laid in the concourse before the Kegyaina; and presently the Principals and the Guests all sat down to eat. Long and rich was the wedding-breakfast, with many a curious dish and kickshaw to make up for the absence of meat. Swin was seated at the high table, on the dais, between Melohtar and Arloth; he watched their table-manners and imitated them carefully, acquitting himself with fair success, though it is to be feared that he drank a little too much, the winebearers being assiduous in refilling the cups.
The closing stages of the meal overlapped with the commencement of the Giving of Gifts, during which one after another of the courtiers came forward with their wedding-presents. Some brought jewels, others plate, crystal glasses, bowls or basins; at the command of others, servants unrolled fine tapestries and carpets, or brought forth statues, or beautiful paintings, or carved and inlaid furniture. All these possessions were arranged on either side of the dais, amounting to a very fine display. Last of all came the lady with white hair whom the Punchkins had noticed before. It was Walt who put a name to the face.
‘Berma!’ he whispered. ‘The woman of Tregg!’
She was tall, unstooped, with a friendly brown wrinkled face and a mop of white curls. She wore a plain white blouse with the green scarf thrown over her shoulders. On her left hip she carried a small leather bag or satchel. Her long grey skirt was patched and muddy, and her boots left traces of mud on the costly carpets. Such a person, so unlike the great ones who had preceded her, ought to have looked quite out-of-place, and indeed her presence was plainly unexpected; it seemed possible that she had somehow shared in the feast without an invitation. Swin and the Punchkins saw the Lord Chamberlain frown, rise from his seat and move to the high table in order to speak to the King. But there was no stir, no sense of social discomfort. The old woman was known to many of the other guests, and some waved to her pleasantly or said ‘Hi’ as she passed them. As Swin looked at her over the rim of his goblet, his own feeling was mild relief, she being evidently the last of the gift-givers. Then the relief was followed by mild curiosity, for she had nothing in her hands: what would her gift be?
She stood before the dais, easily accepting the aristocratic gazes and stares – quizzical, amused or half-indignant – that silently challenged her; and dropped a rough curtsey to Melohtar and his bride.
‘Calendis, hi!’ said he. ‘What an unexpected pleasure! It’s been a long time!’
‘Good day to you, me lord,’ she responded, ‘and wishing all happiness and long life to Your Worship. It’s true I’ve hardly been in these last few springtimes, and for that I am sorry, but there’s such a heap of folk wanting me on my rounds that I can’t hardly tear myself away. But never mind, here I am now, wanting to give you my blessing and wondering if I might first have the pleasure of drinking to yourself and your lovely bride?’
Melohtar snapped his fingers. ‘Wine, there, and a chair for the Lady.’
A chair was at once brought; she sank down into it gratefully and accepted a golden cup from the wine-bearer. ‘Cheers!’ said she. ‘Long and happy marriage to Lord Melohtar and Princess Nometh!’ And drank, and threw back her head, and drained the vessel. ‘Oh, and sorry,’ she added, half-rising: ‘Greetings to Your Majesty too, King Oresgal, and to all the other lords and ladies at this table. And you as well, Mr. Swin Gumasson! Seven o’clock this evening, if you please, and don’t you dare be late!’
‘What’s that?’ said Swin, startled. ‘Seven o’clock? Then it’s you –’
She ignored him. ‘Now, you, young Bride,’ she said, turning to Nometh, ‘it’s for you that my gift is mainly, and through you for the Kingdom. So don’t I get a word of civil greeting?’
It may be mentioned here that Melohtar had twice been taken, as a boy, by one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting, to consult the old wise-woman; and that she was well enough known, either by acquaintance or by repute, to nearly all the others who sat at the table. But they seldom used to talk of her. And Princess Nometh’s health had always been excellent.
Nometh now raised her head. ‘I don’t understand this,’ she said clearly, addressing her father. ‘Isn’t it time for the songs and speeches now?’
Melohtar took her hand. He squeezed it, and looked into her eyes, and said, ‘My dearest, I do desire you to be gracious to this good woman. She comes unannounced, but nevertheless she’s, she is a good friend.’
Her eyes opened wide, and the sore eye looked a little red; and then her brows drew down in a grotesque frown of surprise. She looked at her new husband. She saw his candour, sensed his firmness. ‘Very well,’ said she, recovering her composure, and standing, and offering Berma (or Calendis) her hand, across the table, to shake. ‘As a friend of the Kingdom and of my husband, madam, you are heartily welcome to me. I’m only sorry not to have had the pleasure of your acquaintance before.’
The old Woman chuckled as she shook the Princess’s hand. ‘Well spoken, young lady. You’ll be a credit to your husband… Or was that the wrong thing to say? Yes, maybe you’re going to be a queen, and yet maybe you’re going to wear the trousers too?’
Nometh smiled at her blankly.
‘Yes yes, all right,’ said Berma. ‘I must hurry up.’ She opened the little bag and dipped her hand into it. It was full of flour or some other white dust, of which she brought out a large pinch or very small handful. A smoky little cloud of it drifted away as she closed the bag with her other hand. ‘So this to you is: many happy and hearty hours in bed: strong belly: full breasts: and a fine brood of children –’
‘Do not throw that filth at me!’
‘Eh?’
‘You heard me, old woman.’ It was the icy insolent tone that Swin had heard at the court of justice. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands. ‘I am a seeker of the justice of Dru, to whom this church and this Tree above us are dedicated, and His power alone do I acknowledge! If your words are mere thoughtless good wishes, they are nonetheless offensive to me: if they hold some attempted magical import, they are wicked blasphemy in this holy place! Understand that I desire nothing you have to give, and so begone! Let the speeches commence!’
But no-one moved. Everyone, throughout the entire building, stood or sat frozen.
‘Aha,’ said Berma heavily, ‘I see. You don’t want children.’
‘The offensiveness of your assumption is equalled only by the crassness with which you – Oh, haven’t we heard enough? No more words, no more talk! Just go!’
‘No, not enough,’ said Berma with a sigh. ‘I can’t give it to you if you don’t want it, lass, but I’m starting to think I should be giving you something else instead. But what about the Kingdom – you know, heirs, the succession? And your husband? Isn’t that what you’d like, me lord?’
‘Yes, I would indeed,’ answered Melohtar. ‘Have a care, darling. You could be missing out on the most valuable gift of all.’
‘Faugh!’ she shook her head with screwed-up eyes, seeming almost to spit her disgust out. ‘Melohtar, if you do not immediately summon the guard and have this woman removed, I’ll – I will –’ Her fingers plucked and jerked with frustration, and suddenly snatched up a half-full goblet, which she dashed at Berma, hitting her in the chest. The red wine splashed across the table and over Berma’s clothes. Nometh sank back into her seat. She was panting a little.
‘Oh dear me. You little bitch,’ said the old Woman.
‘Now let this be stopped,’ said the King. ‘Captain, call your men –’ ‘No, please your Majesty,’ cried Melohtar, and ‘Fuck off, you old hag,’ said Nometh simultaneously, and now everyone was beginning to talk at once, in a real squabble, through which the words of the old Woman came strangely slow and clear:
‘Bitch…
‘Then be seen as a bitch…
‘Your name is Gauriel…’
With these words, and with a sharp flicking movement of her raised hand, like a darts-player, she threw the small handful of powder at the seated figure of the Princess. It billowed around her, and shimmered. Innumerable points of rainbow-coloured light glowed and swirled, seeming to scribble a myriad words of some unknown script before they burnt out and swiftly vanished. And with them came not a sound, but a smell, an alarming pungent vapour that caused all those nearby to have a sensation of falling, and catch their breath, and blink. They heard the sound of an animal snarling. A fully-grown wolf was squatting in the Princess’s place, its forepaws on the table. It growled furiously at Berma as if about to leap across and bite her in the throat. She smiled back at it; and the animal’s rage turned, in half a second, to terror. With a loud high yelp it came down from the chair, scrabbled under the table, fled past the Witch and streaked off down the aisle. It was a very light greyish colour, with slightly darker legs, and a white mane and tail. At the Western door, which stood open, the guards all thoughtlessly dodged out of its way. It shot out of the Temple.
Before the she-wolf had vanished, Berma had begun to follow it out; but the King, now standing, had called out to his guards. He was not accustomed to raise his voice, and so his shout was thin, dry, half-throttled and full of rage: ‘Seize that woman!’
Several guards ran forward to obey. The foremost was Lieutenant Sorquid. The Witch hardly glanced at them. Her hand dipped into her bag and drew out a larger handful of the magic powder, which she at once threw behind her, half-turning and sweeping out her arm in a semi-circle. Again there were the multitudinous squiggling points of coloured light and the startling pungent smell. This time, as it seemed, no transformation followed; but while Berma continued to make her way out of the Temple, brisk and untroubled, six guards laid hands on Sorquid and began forcibly to drag him back to the King. To the vast majority of those present the case was painfully but ludicrously clear: that the effect of the second spell was to render the Witch invisible to all who might seek to oppose her, while causing the leader of her opponents to appear to them in her image. Sorquid allowed his Men to drag him a few paces. He then began to resist vigorously, to upbraid them and to command them with loud oaths. The bewitched guards tightened their grips and dragged him on. More ran forward to assist, including the captain, Crabanir. Sorquid was now struggling hard and trying to draw his sword.
‘Subdue her!’
And so the lieutenant, struggling and writhing on the carpeted floor, under the astonished eyes of the whole aristocracy of Ruminas, suffered many kicks and violent blows – as sound a drubbing as he had ever witnessed or inflicted. His armour protected him from the first few buffets, but soon, as if affected by the same magic, it began to work loose and come apart. Yet before the guards had finished with him the Witch had used her powder a third time – this time, as she herself later admitted, for no better reason than pure mischief. Walking out of the door, unheeded by any of the guards, she had seen the trumpeters lined up on each side, ready to provide the music and flourishes for the royal departure. Out flew the magic, like an enormous swarm of tiny iridescent gnats, and ‘Blow!’ she cried; the men lifted up their trumpets and did blow, puffing out their cheeks and turning red in the face with earnest effort, filling the Temple with such an unmusical fanfare, such a loud discordant jumble of parps and flats and fartlike noises that almost everyone present, from the humblest waiter to the most senior ambassador, began to laugh, and laugh, until the tears ran down their cheeks.
Grimly the King faced the captain and the two soldiers who stood before him, holding up their gasping captive. His face was very badly bruised and most of his teeth had been broken or knocked out. Sourly the two high priests, unaffected by the uproar, waited to see what the King would do next. Blankly and bewilderedly the newly-bereft bridegroom gazed about the building, searching among the rows of tables and the shaking guests as if he might after all discover his bride among them. Laughing, yet compassionately aware of his friend’s distress, Swin offered Melohtar his hand, which was taken and tightly held. And still the mirth grew louder, still the ridiculous din of the trumpets went on and on. Many of the company were courtiers, persons of experience who had never laughed, never ever before, in the face of the King’s displeasure. Perhaps they now took courage from their unanimity.
‘Female miscreant apprehended, Sire!’ said Crabanir, proudly saluting. It occurred to Swin that this officer, despite his rank, had not the brightest of minds. The King opened his mouth, closed it speechlessly, opened it again, closed it again. Then Ar the High Priest rose to his feet.
‘By Your Majesty’s leave,’ he said respectfully, and then, to the Captain: ‘Send one of your men to thank the trumpeters for their excellent performance, and tell them they can stop now.’ At a sign from Crabanir a man went to do this. ‘Now your men may release the prisoner. Let them all take six steps back, and yourself too. And let them all look at the prisoner carefully.’
This was done. Sorquid swayed on his feet as they released him, then fell to the floor with a crash of broken armour. The soldiers looked at him. Swin greatly relished the change that came over their faces.
‘It’s time to make an end of this foolery,’ said Ar. ‘If the King’s Grace will depart first of all, then the Temple can be cleared.’
‘Yes,’ said the King. ‘Thank you, Reverence. Accompany us, and we’ll take counsel at the palace.’
He left the table, paying no attention to Melohtar. Rapidly and informally he strode down the aisle. The officials of his household hurried after him. Arloth laid her hand gently on Swin’s shoulder for a moment, then left him without a word. The trumpeting ceased, and there was a wave of sudden sobriety: the laughing guests saw the King’s black expression and fell silent as he passed, one table after another. Soon the only noise was the sound of shuffling footsteps, as the assembly quietly left their seats and queued at the doors.
Four guards picked up the lieutenant and carried him away. The others formed a line, swords back in sheaths, trumpets tucked under arms. They too marched off, and the clumping sound of their feet faded from hearing.
Swin and Melohtar still sat together, hand in hand.
The peaceful light of early afternoon fell through the windows and the high dome. Servants of the Palace and of Lord Ostendil, Temple servants, footmen and waiters and vergers and sweepers and kitchen-maids began to take away the wedding-presents and to tidy up the remains of the banquet. They worked silently and purposefully, oppressed by their own sense of the disaster. Tables were cleared and uncovered and carried away, chairs stacked and moved. With a strange deference the servants tidied away the very table at which the bridegroom and the groomsman were sitting. Their slices of wedding-cake were taken away with the glasses of sweet wine, the silver, the white flowers in vases, the white tablecloth and the table itself. And then the two friends were left alone.
Swin disengaged his numb fingers from the rigid deathlike clasp. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what’s to be done now?’
‘I don’t know,’ was the dull answer. ‘Any ideas?’
‘I was thinking: is it possible to get her back?’
‘How?’
‘If we could get her back, and take her to that old witch of yours, and expressed some sorrow – you know, a really humble speech – then she might take the spell off again.’
‘Yes, I suppose she might.’
‘How, then, to get her back?’ As he said this, Swin remembered that Berma herself wanted to see him that same evening. ‘I tell you what. I’ll ask her for you: what our best course would be. Yes, perhaps I ought to be off now. Go and catch her up.’
‘No! Don’t leave me!’
‘All right…’
‘You’ve got plenty of time,’ Melohtar assured him. ‘This evening at seven, I heard her say. Her place is only half an hour’s ride from the City.’
‘Her cottage? A mile down the river?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why don’t you come too?’
Melohtar made an uneasy grimace. ‘It’s difficult,’ he said. ‘Ouch.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘My arm is hurting again. How’s yours?’
‘How is it difficult? You were very gracious just now.’
‘That’s court policy. We know her, as you saw, but she’s terribly tricky and slippery. I actually did rather agree, in spirit, with poor Gauriel. I mean poor Nometh. Calendis certainly helps people. She’s helped me. But, I mean you saw, there’s no controlling her at all. The King doesn’t like her being talked about… I shouldn’t come with you. I’ll stay for the evening service and then I’ll go home. Will you stay with me?’
‘Of course.’
They moved from the dais so that the waiting workmen could dismantle its platform and scaffolding and take it all away. Swin and Melohtar sat together in a pew. An hour later all traces of the marriage had been removed – everything but the golden ring that still remained on Melohtar’s finger. He took it off, played with it and twiddled it while resolutely confronting his painful difficult thoughts.
‘My arm is aching, actually,’ said Swin. ‘How’s yours?’
‘Hurting like hell.’
‘What does that mean?’
Melohtar made no answer. More time passed. Robed vergers emerged from the Melangali, carrying many tall candles and candlestands, which they arrayed on the green turf all about the Tree. A few other people, the first arrivals of the evening congregation, were also coming in. An acolyte came towards the circle of candles. He carried a lighted taper. He began to light the candles one by one.
‘Melohtar,’ demanded Swin suddenly, ‘what is happening?’
Melohtar was watching the lighting of the candles, his brow clenched with pain. ‘It’s the end of the Springmorrow festival. The equinox.’
‘No, look at yourself! What’s happening to you?’
The fine white linen of his shirt-sleeve was stained deep red. He stripped it back, and the two friends were horrified to see that the scar-seam on his right forearm had opened up and was now bleeding copiously. Dark red streams were flowing over the back of his hand, big drops falling from his fingers and splashing on the floor-tiles.
Swin and Melohtar gazed at one another.
‘Say something!’ said Melohtar.
‘All right, so that bloody witch has put a spell on you too, but why?’
Melohtar shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s her,’ he said. ‘If anything it’s some other power that is acting against her. It means – it means Lord Dru –’ Stammering, uttering incoherent phrases, he lifted his eyes to the golden statue of the Eagle. ‘Eagle of Mindir,’ he prayed aloud, ‘vassal of Dru Almighty, help us to understand! Come on, Swin, we’ve got to think!’
‘Yes?’
‘About – about Nometh.’
‘Who?’
‘About her! Gauriel!’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Either she’s going to survive, or she’s going to die.’
‘Yes,’ said Swin bleakly.
‘She hasn’t been a wolf for long. She might find it difficult to live as a wolf. If she finds other wolves, they will probably attack her. Still, say she lives. Say she learns how to live as a wolf. Then, either she will remember herself – keep her woman’s mind and memory – or she’ll forget.’
‘Yes… Or suppose she falls slowly into beasthood, but for a while she’s still aware of herself? She might come back of her own accord. She might seek out the witch and beg to be disenchanted.’
‘Do you think that that is at all likely?’ asked Melohtar wryly.
‘No,’ said Swin.
‘True, we don’t know that she may not come back of her own accord. But it doesn’t befit us as men, nor as knights of this City, to sit around and wait for things to come right of their own accord! I desire to be up and doing! A great affliction and dishonour has fallen upon our house, and I desire it to be remedied! And I desire the help of my friend and brother!’
‘So – we’re to look for her? Go and hunt for her?’
‘Yes!’ Melohtar’s shout rang round the arches and aisles.
‘How? – with dogs?’
‘Consider. Either a she-wolf – or a maid in wolf’s form – or a maid who may soon cease to be a maid in wolf’s form, and become a mere wolf. If she is but a wolf, we will need at least – oh, a score of hounds, fifty men, another animal for tethered bait, a strong cage to trap her in, a wagon and horses to draw it: no quick or light undertaking. Yet of Gauriel be truly a maid, then we may hope to woo her. She might be brought to follow us back. Just the two of us on horseback, with a couple of good dogs, would suffice. We could be gone from here in an hour, and maybe catch up with her before dark – maybe; there is so much that we do not know. But does not your heart burn, as mine does, to be off and away?’
‘Not noticeably,’ said Swin, ‘but I’m at a loose end now. I don’t mind coming.’
‘Good! And swear an oath!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A second oath: and this one shall be of my teaching! Come!’
He rose and began to move toward the gate of the Kegyaina, which still stood open. He turned and looked back at Swin. His face was flushed, his manner exalted – quite unlike his usual courteous poise.
‘Let’s swear an oath on the Tree! Since one set of vows has been cut asunder, let’s try another knot! Come, my brother!’
Hand in hand they passed through the Kegyaina and approached the great bole. It was surrounded by a circle of short grass, very green and well-kept, upon which Melohtar left a trail of dark-red blots and splashes. Priests and attendants at once came hastening up, scandalized by the intrusion.
‘Other hand on the trunk! With me! Now swear! Use the names of your own Gods! Repeat after me!’
The bark of the Tree was very hard to their hands; neither warm nor cold. It was criss-crossed with small cracks that had sharp raised edges. These resisted the pressure of the two palms, like numerous small knives, but without cutting the flesh. A sort of power seemed to flow out of them.
‘I swear –’
‘I swear –’
‘On this Tree, and in the name of Lord Dru, and by Mindir, Marbaug, Auland, Oriom and all the other Gods –’
‘On this Tree, and by Orom of our people, and Dryghten-Sweald, and Dryghten-Metod, and Holma, and Auland –’
Now the sense of something flowing or rushing seemed to come up through the grass, up through the soles of their feet, through their legs and loins and their whole bodies, rising to the crowns of their heads. Their hair stirred and was lifted.
‘That I will follow the wolf Gauriel –’
‘That I will follow the wolf Gauriel –’
‘Until she be found, caught and brought back to the Temple –’
‘Until she be found, caught and brought back to the Temple –’
Their clasped hands were bonded together, their other hands bonded to the trunk of the Tree. At this moment they could not have pulled apart, nor away, even had they so desired. Swin’s hair was standing up like a red flame, Melohtar’s prick straining and threatening to burst out of his codpiece.
‘And cleave to my friend –’
‘And cleave to my friend –’
‘In this hunt –’
‘In this hunt –’
‘Forsaking all other resolve, all bond of kinship, all delight and all pledge of duty –’
‘Forsaking all other resolve, all bond of kinship, all delight and all pledge of duty –’
‘And may everlasting darkness take me –’
‘And may everlasting darkness take me –’
‘If I break this Oath! Amen!’
‘If I break this Oath! Amen!’
The current ebbed away, and the Tree released them, and a new look of astonishment came over Melohtar’s face. He held up his bare arm. It was completely healed. The blood had vanished. The sleeve was white. Even the seam of the scar had disappeared, leaving the skin smooth and unmarred. Swin looked back at the trail of blood-drops, which was still plainly visible, and at the priests standing all around like solemn disapproving ghosts. Then the many sacred candles, that stood burning near and far, flamed with white brilliance like fierce stars and then went out in blackness. Straightaway there came a crash of thunder. Above the dome the sky was grey and lowering. Swin and Melohtar hastened from the dark Temple, through the deserted, hail-swept streets, back to the house of Ostendil. Before the thunderstorm had passed away they had prepared to leave the City. Farewells they said, and northward they rode, following the word of the wolf’s passing, intent on their quest.