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

Zenambria said, “Alas, and did not I tell thee long ago, my lord, that

Corund did ill to wed with a young wife? And thence cometh mow that

shame that was but to be looked for. It is pity indeed of so goodly a

man, mow past his prime age, she should so play at fast and loose with

his honour, and he at the far end of the world. Indeed and indeed, I

hope he will revenge it on her at his coming home. For sure I am,

Corund is too high-minded to buy advancement at so shameful a price.”

“Thy talk, wife,” said Corsus, “showeth long hair and a short wit. In

brief, thou art a fool.”

He was silent for a space, them raised his gaze to Sriva, where she

rested, her back to the massive table, half standing, half sitting, a

dainty jewel-besparkied hand planted on the table’s edge at her either

side, her arms like delicate white pillars supporting that fair frame.

Somewhat his dull eye brightened, resting on her. “Come hither,” he

said, “on my knee: so.”

When she was seated, “‘Tis a brave gown,” said he, “thou wearest

tonight, my pretty pug. Red, for a sanguine humour.” His great arm gave

her a back, and his hand, huge as a platter, lay like a buckler

beneath her breast. “Thou smell’st passing sweet.”

“‘Tis malabathrum in the leaf,” answered she.

“I’m glad it likes thee, my lord,” said Zenambria. “My woman still

protesteth that such, being boiled with wine, yieldeth a perfume that

passeth all other.”

Corsus still looked on Sriva. After a while he asked, “What madest

thou on the terrace i’ the dark, ha?”

She looked down, saying, “It was Laxus prayed me meet him there.”

“Hum!” said Corsus. “‘Tis strange then he should await thee this hour

gone by in the paved alley of the privy court.”

“He did mistake me,” said Sriva. “And well is he served, for such

neglect.”

“So. And thou turnest politician tonight, my little puss-cat?” said

Corsus. “And thou smellest an expedition to Demonland? ‘Tis like enow.

But methinks the King will send Corinius.”

“Corinius?” said Sriva. “It is not thought so. ‘Tis Corund must have

it, if thou push not the matter to a decision with the King tonight,

O my father, ere my lady fox be private with him tomorrow.”

“Bah!” said Corsus. “Thou art but a girl, and knowest nought. She hath

not the full blood nor the resolution to carry it thus. No, ‘tis not

Corund stands i’ the light, it is Corinius. It is therefore the King

withheld from him Pixyland, which was his due, and tossed the bauble

to Laxus.”

“Why, ‘tis a monstrous thing,” said Zenambria, “if Corinius shall have

Demonland, which surely much surpasseth this crown of Pixyland. Shall

this novice have all the meat, and thou, because thou art old, have

nought but the bones and the parings?”

“Hold thy tongue, mistress,” said Corsus, looking upon her as one

looketh on a sour mixture. “Why hadst not the wit to angle for him for

thy daughter?”

“Truly, husband, I’m sorry for it,” said Zenambria.

The Lady Sriva laughed, placing her arm about her father’s bullock-neck

and playing with his whiskers. “Content thee,” she said, “my lady

mother. I have my choice, and that is very certain, of these and of

all other in Carcë. And now I bethink me on the Lord Corinius, why,

there’s a proper man indeed: weareth a shaven lip too, which, as

experienced opinion shall tell thee, far exceedeth your nasty

moustachios.”

“Well,” said Corsus, kissing her, “howe’er it shape, I’ll to the King

tonight to move my matter with him. Meanwhile, madam,” he said to

Zenambria, “I’ll have thee take thy chamber straight. Bolt well the

door, and for more safety I will lock it myself o’ the outer side.

There’s much mirth toward tonight, and I’d not have these staggering

drunken swads offend thee, as full well might befall, whiles I am on

mine errand of state.”

Zenambria bade him goodnight, and would have taken her daughter with

her, but Corsus said nay to this, saying, “I’ll see her safe

bestowed.”

When they were alone, and the Lady Zenambria locked away in her

chamber, Corsus took forth from an oaken cupboard a great silver

flagon and two chased goblets. These he brimmed with a sparkling

yellow wine from the flagon and made Sriva drink with him not once

only but twice, emptying each time her goblet. Them he drew up his

chair and sinking heavily into it folded his arms upon the table and

buried his head upon them.

Sriva paced back and forth, impatient at her father’s strange posture

and silence. Surely the wine lighted riot in her veins; surely in that

silent room came back to her Corimius’s kisses hot upon her mouth, the

strength of his arms like bands of bronze holding her embraced.

Midnight tolled. Her bones seemed to melt within her as she bethought

of her promise, due in an hour.

“Father,” said she at last, “midnight hath stricken. Wilt thou not go

ere it be too late?”

The Duke raised his face and looked at her. He answered “No.” “No,” he

said again, “where’s the profit? I wax old, my daughter, and must

wither. The world is to the young. To Corinius; to Laxus; to thee. But

most of all to Corund, who if a be old yet hath his mess of sons, and

mightiest of all his wife, to be his ladder to climb thrones withal.”

“But thou saidst but mow–” said Sriva.

“Ay, when thy mammy was by. She cometh to her second childhood before

her time, so as to a child I speak to her. Corund did ill to wed with

a young wife, ha? Phrut! Is not this the very bulwark and rampire of

his fortune? Didst ever see a fellow so spurted up in a moment? My

secretary when I managed the old wars against the Ghouls, and now

climbed clean over me, that am yet mime year his elder. Called king,

forsooth, and like to be ta’en soon (under the King) for Dominus fac

totum throughout all the land if a play this woman as a should. Will

not the King, for such payment as she intends, give Demomland upon

Impland and all the world beside? Hell’s dignity, that would I, and

‘twere offered me.”

He stood up, reaching unsteadily for the wimejug. Furtively he watched

his daughter, shifting his gaze ever as her eye met his.

“Corund,” said he, pouring out some wine, “would split his sides for

laughter to hear thy mother’s prim-mouthed brabble: he that hath

enjoined upon his wife, there’s ne’er a doubt on’t, this very errand,

and if he visit it on her at his coming home ‘twill but be with hotter

love and gratitude for that she wins him in our despite. Trust me,

‘tis not every lady of quality shall find favour with a King.”

The casement stood open, and while they stood without speech sounds of

a lute trembled upward from the court below, and a man’s voice, soft

and deep, singing this song:

Homes to the bull.

Hooves to the steede.

To little hayres

Light feete for speed.

And unto lions she giveth tethe

Agaping dangerouslye.

Fishes to swim.

And birds to flye.

And men to judge

And reeson why.

She teacheth.

Yet for womankind

None of these thinges hath she.

For women beautie

She hath made

Their onely shielde

Their onely blade.

O’er sword and fire they triumph stille.

Soe they but beautious be.

The Lady Sriva knew it was Laxus singing to her chamber window. Her

blood beat wildly, the spirit of enterprise winging her imagination

not toward him, nor yet Corinius, but into paths strangely and

perilously inviting, undreamed of until now. The Duke her father came

towards her, thrusting the chairs from his way, and saying, “Corund

and his mess of sons! Corund and his young Queen! If he conjure with

the white rose, why not thou and I with the red? It hath as fair a

look, the devil damn me else, and savoureth as excellent sweet

perfume.”

She stared at him big-eyed, with blushing cheeks. He took her hands in

his.

“Shall this outland woman,” he said, “and her sallow-cheeked gallant

still ruffle it over us? Long beards, whether they be white or black,

are too huge a blemish in our eye, methinks. The thing seemeth not

supportable, that this precise madam with her foreign fashions—Dost

fear to stand i’ the field against her?”

Sriva put her forehead on his shoulder and said, scarce to be heard,

“And it come to that, I’ll show thee.”

“It must be now,” said Corsus. “Prezmyra, thou hast told me, seeketh

audience betimes i’ the morning. Women are best at night-time, too.”

“If Laxus should hear thee!” she said.

He answered, “Tush, he need never blame thee, even if he knew on’t,

and we can manage that. Thy silly mother prated but now of honour.

‘Tis but a school-name; and if’twere other, tell me whence springeth

the fount of honour if not from the King of Kings? If he receive thee,

then art thou honoured, and all they that have to do with thee. I am

yet to learn dishonour lieth on that man or woman whom the King doth

honour.”

She laughed, turning from him toward the window, her hands still held

in his. “Fob, thou hast given me a strong potion! and I think that

swayeth me thore than thy many arguments, O my father, which to say

truth I cannot well remember because I did not much believe.”

Duke Corsus took her by the shoulders. His face overlooked her by a

little, for she was not tall of build. “By the Gods,” he said, “‘tis a

stronger sweet scent of the red rose to make a great man drunk withal

than of the white, though that be a bigger flower.” And he said, “Why

not, for a game, for a madcap jest? A mantle and hood, a mask if thou

wilt, and my ring to prove thee mine ambassador. I’ll attend thee

through the courtyard to the foot o’ the stairs.”

She said nothing, smiling at him as she turned for him to put the

great velvet mantle about her shoulders.

“Ha,” said he, “‘tis well seen a daughter is worth ten Sons.”

In the meanwhile Gonce the King sate in his private chamber writing at

a parchment spread before him on the table of polished marmolite. A

silver lamp burned at his left elbow. The window stood open to the

night. The King had laid aside his crown, that sparkled darkly in the

shadow below the lamp. He put down his pen and read again what he had

writ, in manner following:

Fram Me, Gorice the Twelft, Greate Kyng of Wychlande and of Ympelande

and of Daemonlande and of al kyngdomes the sonne dothe spread hys

bemes over, unto Corsus My servaunte: Thys is to signifye to the that

thoue shalt with all convenient spede repaire with a suffycyaunt

strengthe of menne and schyppes to Daemonlande, bycause that untowarde

and traytorly cattell that doe there inhabyt are to fele by the the

sharpnes of My correctioun. I wyll the as holdynge the place of My

generalle ther, that thow enter forcybly ynto the sayd cuntrie and doe

with al dilygence spoyl ravysche and depopulate that lande, enslavying

oppressyng and puttyng to the dethe as thow shalt thynke moost

servychable al them that shal fall ynto thy powre, and in pertyculer

pullyng downe and ruinating all thayr stronge houlds or castels, as

Galinge,