The Worm Ouroboros by Eric Rücker Eddison (english readers txt) 📕

Prezmyra laughed. “F’Tis not all so bad,” she said, “and yet it makes

me angry. The enterprise he commends, up to the hilt, and I have his

leave to broach it to the King, as his mouthpiece, and press it with

him out of all ho. But for the leading on’t, he will not have it, he.

Corsus must have it, or Corinius. Stay, let me read it out,” and

standing near one of the lights she took a parchment from her bosom.

“Pooh! ‘tis too fond; I will not shame my lord to read it, even to

thee.”

“Well,” said Gro, “were I the King, Corund should be my general to put

down Demonland. Corsus he may send, for he hath done great work in his

day, but in mine own judgement I like him not for such an errand.

Corinius he hath not yet forgiven for his fault at the banquet a year

ago.”

“Corinius!” said Prezmyra. “So his butchery of mine own dear land

goeth not only without reward, but hath not so much as bought him back

to favour, thou thinkest?”

“I think not,” said Lord Gro. “Besides, he is mad wroth to have

plucked that prickly fruit but for another’s eating. He bare himself

so presumptuous-ill in the hall tonight, gleeking and galling at

Laxus, slapping of his sword, and with so many more shameless braves

and wanton fashions, and worst of all his most openly seeking to toy

with Sriva, i’ this first month of her betrothal unto Laxus, it will

be a wonder if blood be not spilt betwixt them ere the night be done.

Methinks he is not i’ the mood to take the field again without some

sure reward; and methinks the King, guessing his mind, would not offer

him a new enterprise and so give him the glory of refusing it.”

They stood near the arched gateway that opened on the terrace from the

inner court. Music still sounded from the great banquet hall of Gorice

XI. Under the archway and in the shadows of the huge buttresses of the

walls it was as though the elements of gloom, expelled from the bright

circles round the flamboys, huddled with sister glooms to make a

double darkness.

“Well, my lord,” said Prezmyra, “doth thy wisdom bless my resolve?”

“Whate’er it be, yes, because it is thime, O Queen.”

“Whate’er it be!” she cried. “Dost hang in doubt on’t? What else, but

seek audience with the King as my first care in the morning. Have I

not my lord’s bidding so far?”

“And if thy zeal outrun his bidding in one particular?” said Gro.

“Why, just!” said she. “And if I bring thee not word ere tomorrow’s

noon that order is given for Demonland, and my Lord Corund named his

general for that sailing, ay, and letters sealed for his straight

recall from Orpish–”

“Hist!” said Gro. “Steps i’ the court.”

They turned towards the archway, Prezmyra singing under her breath:

Nor he that still his Mistresse payes.

For she is thrall’d therefore;

Nor he that payes not, for he sayes

Within, shee’s worth no more.

Is there then no kinde of men

Whom I may freely prove?

I will vent that humour then

In mine own selfe love.

Corinius met them in the gateway, coming from the banquet house. He

halted full in their path to peer closely through the darkness at

Prezmyra, so that she felt the heat of his breath, heavy with wine. It

was too dark to know faces but he knew her by her stature and bearing.

“Cry thee mercy, madam,” he said. “Methought an instant ‘twas—but no

matter. Your best of rest.”

So saying he made way for her with a deep obeisance, jostling roughly

against Gro with the same motion. Gro, little minded for a quarrel,

gave him the wall, and followed Prezmyra into the inner court.

The Lord Corinius sat him down on the nearest of the benches, leaned

his stalwart back luxuriously upon the cushions and there rested,

thripping his fingers and singing to himself:

What an Ass is he

Waits a woman’s leisure

For a minute’s pleasure.

And perhaps may be

Gull’d at last, and lose her;

What an ass is he?

What need I to care

For a woman’s favour?

If another have her.

Why should I despair?

When for gold and labour

I can have my share.

If I chance to see

One that’s brown, I love her.

Till I see another

Browner is than she;

For I am a lover

Of my liberty.

A rustle behind him on his left made him turn his head. A figure stole

out of the deep shadow of the buttress nearest the archway. He leapt

up and was first in the gate, blocking it with open arms. “Ah,” he

cried, “so titmice roost i’ the shade, ha? What ransom shall I have of

thee for making me keep empty tryst last night? Ay, and wast creeping

hence to make me a fool once more the night-long and I had not caught

thee.”

The lady laughed. “Last might my father kept me by him; and tonight,

my lord, wouldst thou not have been fitly served for thy shameless

ditty? Is that a sweet serenade for ladies’ ears? Sing it again, to

thy liberty, and show thyself an ass.”

“Thou art very bold to provoke me, madam, with not even a star to be

thy witness if I quite thee for’t. These flamboys are old roisterers,

grown gray in scenes of riot. They shall not blab.”

“Nay, if thou speakest in wine I’m gone, my lord;” and as he took a

step towards her, “and I return not, here or otherwise, but fling thee

off for ever,” she said. “I will not be entreated like a serving-maid.

I have borne too long with thy forced soldier fashions.”

Corimius caught his arms about her, lifting her against his broad

chest so that her toes scarce kept footing on the ground. “O Sriva,”

he said thickly, bending his face to hers, “dost think to light so

great a fire, and after walk through it and not be scorched thereat?”

Her arms were close pinioned at her sides in that strong embrace. She

seemed to swoon, as a lily swooning in the flaming noon-day. Corinius

bent down his face and kissed her fiercely, saying, “By all the sweets

that ever darkness tasted, thou art mime tonight.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, as if stifled.

But Corinius said, “My dearest happiness, tonight.”

“My dear lord,” said the Lady Sriva softly, “sith thou hast made such

a conquest of my love, be not a harsh and forward conqueror. I swear

to thee by all the dreadful powers that clip the earth about, there’s

matter in it I should to my father this night, nay more, now on the

instant. ‘Twas this only made me avoid thee but now: this, and no

light conceit to vex thee.”

“He can attend our pleasure,” said Corinius. “‘Tis an old man, and oft

sitteth late at his book.”

“How? and thou leftest him carousing?” said she. “There’s that I must

impart to him ere the wine quite o’erflow his wits. Even this delay,

how sweet soe’er to us, is dangerous.”

But Corinius said, “I will not let thee go.”

“Well,” said she, “be a beast, then. But know I’ll cry on a rescue

shall make all Carcë run to find us, and my brothers, ay, and Laxus,

if he be a man, shall deal thee bitter payment for thy violence toward

me. But if thou wilt be thy noble self, and respect my love with

friendship, let me go. And if thou come secretly to my chamber door,

an hour past midnight; I think thou’lt find no bolt to it.”

“Ha, thou swearest it?” he said.

She answered, “Else may steep destruction swallow me quick.”

“Am hour past midnight. And until then ‘tis a year in my desires,”

said he.

“There spoke my noble lover,” said Sriva, giving him her mouth once

more. And swiftly she fared through the shadowy archway and across the

court to where in the north gallery her father Corsus had his chamber.

The Lord Corinius went back to his seat, and there reclined for a

space in slothful ease, humming to an old tune:

My Mistris is a shittle-cock.

Compos’d of Cork and feather;

Each Battledore sets on her dock.

And bumps her on the leather.

But cast her off which way you Will.

She will requoile to another still—

Fa, la, la, la, la, la.

He stretched his arms and yawned. “Well, Laxus, my chubfaced meacock,

this medicine hath eased powerfully my discontent. ‘Tis but fair, sith

I must miss my crown, that I should have thy mistress. And to say

true, seeing how base, little, and ordinary a kingdom is this of

Pixyland, and what a delectable sweet wagtail this Sriva, whom besides

I have these two years past ne’er looked on but my mouth watered: why,

I may hold me part paid for the nonce; until I weary of her.

Love is all my life.

For it keeps me doing:

Yet my love and wooing

Is not for a Wife—

“Am hour past midnight, ha? What wine’s best for lovers? I’ll go drink

a stoup, and so to dice with some of these lads to pass away the time

till then.”

THE LADY SRIVA’S EMBASSAGE

How the Duke Corsus thought it proper to

commit an errand of state unto his daughter: and

how she prospered therein.

SRIVA fared swiftly to her father’s closet, and finding her lady

mother sewing in her chair, nodding towards sleep, two candles at her

left and right, she said, “My lady mother, there’s a queen’s crown

waits the plucking. ‘Twill drop into the foreign woman’s lap if thou

and my father bestir you not. Where is he? Still i’ the banquet house?

Thou or I must fetch him on the instant.”

“Fie!” cried Zenambria. “How thou’st startled me! Fall somewhat into a

slower speech, my girl. With such wild sudden talk I know not what

thou meanest nor what’s the matter.”

But Sriva answered, “Matter of state. Thou goest not? Good, then I

fetch him. Thou shalt hear all anon, mother;” and so turned towards

the door. Nor might all her mother’s crying out upon the scandal of

their so returning to the banquet long past the hour of the women’s

withdrawal turn her from this. So that the Lady Zenambria, seeing her

so wilful, thought it less evil to go herself; and so went, and in

awhile returned with Corsus.

Corsus sat in his great chair over against his lady wife, while his

daughter told her tale.

“Twice and thrice,” said she, “they passed me by, as near as I stand

to thee, O my father, she leaning most familiarly on the arm of her

curled philosopher. ‘Twas plain they had never a thought that any was

by to overhear them. She said so and so;” and therewith Sriva told all

that was spoke by the Lady Prezmyra as to an expedition to Demomland,

and as to her purposed speaking with the King, and as to her design

that Corund should be his general for that sailing, and letters sealed

on the morrow for his straight recall from Orpish.

The Duke listened unmoved, breathing heavily, leaning heavily forward,

his elbow on his knees, one great fat hand twisting and pushing back

the sparse gray growth of his moustachios. His eyes shifted with

sullen glance about the chamber, and his blabber cheeks, scarlet from

the feast, flushed to a deeper hue.