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

Gorice, the King spake a word to Corinius, who went straightway and

standing by the Red Foliot spake privily in his ear. And Corinius

menaced the Red Foliot, and said, “Beware lest thy mind be swayed by

the brow-beating of the Demons. Rightfully hast thou adjudged the

victory in this bout unto our Lord the King, and this talk of

thrusting of fingers in the nose is but a pretext and a vile

imagination of this Goldry Bluszco, who, being thrown fairly before

thine eyes and before us all, and perceiving himself unable to stand

against the King, now thinketh with his swaggering he can bear it

away, and thinketh by cheats and subtleties to avoid defeat. If,

against thine own beholding and the witness of us and the plighted

word of the King, thou art so hardy as to harken to the guileful

persuading of these Demons, yet bethink thee that the King hath

overborne ninety and nine great champions in this exercise, and this

shall be the hundredth; and bethink thee, too, that Witchland lieth

nearer to thine Isles than Demonland by many days’ sailing. Hard shall

it be for thee to abide the avenging sword of Witchland if thou do him

despite, and against thy sworn oath as umpire incline wrongfully to

his enemies in this dispute.”

So spake Corinius; and the Red Foliot was cowed. Albeit he believed in

his heart that the King had done what thereof Goldry accused him, yet

for terror of the King and of Corinius that stood by and threatened

him he durst not speak his thought, but in sore perplexity gave order

for the horn to be blown for the third bout.

And it came to pass at the blowing of the horn that the flittermouse

fared forth again from the booths of the Witches, and going

widdershins round about the wrastling ground returned on silent wing

whence she came.

When the Lord Goldry Bluszco understood that the Red Foliot would pay

no heed to his accusation, he grew red as blood. A fearsome sight it

was to behold how he swelled in his wrath, and his eyes blazed like

disastrous stars at midnight, and being wood with anger he gnashed his

teeth till the froth stood at his lips and slavered down his chin. Now

the cymbals clashed for the onset. Therewith ran Goldry upon the King

as one straught of his wits, bellowing as he ran, and gripped him by

the right arm with both his hands, one at the wrist and one near the

shoulder. And so it was that, before the King might move, Goldry spun

round with his back to the King and by his mickle strength and the

strength of the anger that was in him he heaved the King over his

head, hurling him as one hurleth a ponderous spear, head-foremost to

the earth. And the King smote the ground with his head, and the bones

of his head and his spine were driven together and smashed, and blood

flowed from his ears and nose. With the might of that throw Goldry’s

wrath departed from him and left him strengthless, in such sort that

he reeled as he went from the wrastling ground. His brethren, Juss and

Spitfire, bare him up on either side, and put his cloak of cloth of

gold worked with red hearts about his mighty limbs.

Meanwhile dismay was fallen upon the Witches to behold their King so

caught up on a sudden and dashed upon the ground, where he lay

crumpled in an heap, shattered like the stalk of an hemlock that one

breaketh and shattereth. In great agitation the Red Foliot came down

from his car of ebony and made haste thither where the King was

fallen; and the lords of Witchland came likewise thither stricken at

heart, and Corund lifted the King in his burly arms. But the King was

stone dead. So those sons of Corund made a litter with their spears

and laid the King on the litter, and spread over him his royal mantle

of black silk lined with bearskin, and set the crown of Witchland on

his head, and without word spoken bare him away to the Witches’

booths. And the other lords of Witchland without word spoken followed

after.

Of the entertainment of the witches in the palace

of the Red Foliot; and of the wiles and subtleties

of Lord Gro; and how the witches departed by

night out of the Foliot Isles.

THE Red Foliot gat him back into his palace and sat in his high seat.

And he sent unto the lords of Witchland and of Demonland that they

should come and see him. Nor did they delay, but came straightway and

sat on the long benches, the Witches on the eastern side of the hall

and the Demons on the west; and their fighting men stood in order on

either side behind them. So sat they in the shadowy hall, and the sun

declining to the western ocean shone through the high windows of the

hall on the polished armour and weapons of the Witches.

The Red Foliot spake among them and said, “A great champion hath been

strook to earth this day in fair and equal combat. And according to

the solemn oaths whereby ye are bound, and whereof I am the keeper,

there is here an end to all unpeace betwixt Witchland and Demonland,

and ye of Witchland are to forswear for ever your claims of lordship

over the Demons. Now for a sealing and making fast of this solemn

covenant between you I see no likelier rede than that ye all join with

me here this day in good friendship to forget your quarrels in

drinking of the arvale of King Gorice XI., than whom hath reigned none

mightier nor more worshipful in all this world, and thereafter depart

in peace to your native lands.”

So spake the Red Foliot, and the lords of Witchland assented thereto.

But Lord Juss answered and said, “O Red Foliot, as to the oaths sworn

between us and the King of Witchland, thou hast spoken well; nor shall

we depart one tittle from the article of our oaths, and the Witches

may abide in peace for ever as for us if, as is clean against their

use and nature, they forbear to devise evil against us. For the nature

of Witchland was ever as a flea, that attacketh a man in the dark. But

we will not eat nor drink with the lords of Witchland, who bewrayed

and forsook us their sworn confederates at the sea-fight against the

Ghouls. Nor we will not drink the arvale of King Gorice XI., who

worked a shameful and unlawful sleight against my kinsman this day

when they wrastied together.”

So spake Lord Juss, and Corund whispered Gro in the ear, saying,

“Were’t not for the privilege of this respected company, now were the

time to set upon them.” But Gro said, “I prithee yet have patience.

This were over hazardous, for the luck goeth against Witchland. Let us

rather take them in their beds tonight.”

Fain would the Red Foliot turn the Demons from their resolve, but

without avail; they courteously thanking him for his hospitality which

they said they would enjoy that night in their booths, being minded on

the morrow to take to their beaked ship and fare over the unvintaged

sea to Demonland.

Therewith stood up Lord Juss, and with him the Lord Goldry Bluszco,

that went in all his war gear, his horned helm of gold and his golden

byrny set with ruby hearts, and bare his two-handed sword forged by

the elves wherewith he slew the beast out of the sea in days gone by;

and Lord Spitfire that glared upon the lords of Witchland as a falcon

glareth, hungering for her prey; and the Lord Brandoch Daha that

looked on them, and chiefly on Corinius, with the eye of contemptuous

amusement, playing idly with the jewelled hilt of his sword, until

Corinius grew ill at ease beneath his gaze and shifted this way and

that in his seat, scowling back defiance. For all the rich array and

goodly port and countenance of Corinius, he seemed but a very boor

beside the Lord Brandoch Daha, and dearly did each hate the other. So

the lords of Demonland with their fighting men went forth from the

hall.

The Red Foliot sent after them and made them in their own booths to be

served of great plenty of wine and good and delicate meats, and sent

them musicians and a minstrel to gladden them with songs and stories

of old time, that they might lack nought of entertainment. But for his

other guests he let bear in the massy cups of silver, and the great

eared wine jars holding two firkins apiece, and he let pour forth to

the Witches and the Foliots, and they drank the cup of memory unto

King Gorice XI., slain that day by the hand of Goldry Bluszco.

Thereafter when their cups were brimmed anew with foaming wine the Red

Foliot spake among them and said, “O ye lords of Witchland, will you

that I speak a dirge in honour of Gorice the King that the dark reaper

hath this day gathered?” So when they said yea to this, he called to

him his player on the theorbo and his player on the hautboy, and

commanded them saying, “Play me a solemn music.” And they played

softly in the Aeolian mode a music that was like the wailing of wind

through bare branches on a moonless night, and the Red Foliot leaned

forth from his high seat and recited this lamentation:

I that in heill was and gladness

Am trublit now with great sickness

And feblit with infirmitie:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance here is all vain glory.

This fals world is but transitory.

The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary.

Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary.

Now dansand mirry, now like to die:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

No state in Erd here standis sicker;

As with the wynd wavis the wicker.

So wannis this world’s vanitie:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Unto the Death gois all Estatis.

Princis, Prelattis, and Potestatis.

Baith rich and poor of all degree:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in to field

Enarmit under helm and scheild;

Victor he is at all mellie:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That strong unmerciful tyrand

Takis, on the motheris breast sowkand.

The babe full of benignitie:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the campion in the stour.

The captain closit in the tour.

The lady in bour full of bewtie:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He spairis no lord for his piscence.

Na clerk for his intelligence;

His awful straik may no man flee:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Art-magicianis and astrologis.

Rethoris, logicianis, theologis.

Them help is no conclusions slee:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In medecine the most practicianis.

Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis.

Themself from Death may nocht supplee:—

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

When the Red Foliot had spoken thus far his dirge, he was interrupted

by an unseemly brawling betwixt Corinius and one of the sons of

Corund. For Corinius, who gave not a fig for music or dirges, but

liked well of carding and dicing, had brought forth his dice box to

play with the son of Corund. They played awhile to Corinius’s great

content, for at every throw he won and the other’s purse waxed light.

But at this eleventh stanza the son of Corund cried out that the dice

of Corinius were loaded. And he