[Illustration: Detail of Hyacinth on the castle walls]
It is now time to introduce Wiggs to you, and I find myself in a difficulty at once. WhatwasWiggs's position in the Palace?
This story is hard to tell, for I have to piece it together from the narratives of others, and to supply any gaps in their stories from my knowledge of how the different characters might be expected to act. Perhaps, therefore, it is a good moment in which to introduce to you the authorities upon whom I rely.
First and foremost, of course, comes Roger Scurvilegs. His monumental work,Euralia Past and Present, in seventeen volumes, towers upon my desk as I write. By the merest chance I picked it up (in a metaphorical sense) at that little shop near—I forget its name, but it's the third bookshop on the left as you come into London from the New Barnet end. Upon him I depend for the broad lines of my story, and I have already indicated my opinion of the value of his work.
Secondly, come the many legends and ballads handed on to me years ago by my aunt by marriage, one of the Cornish Smallnoses. She claims to be a direct descendant of that Henry Smallnose whose lucky shot brought about the events which I am to describe. I say she claims to be, and one cannot doubt a lady's word in these matters; certainly she used to speak about Henry with that mixture of pride and extreme familiarity which comes best from a relation. In all matters not touching Henry, I feel that I can rely upon her; in its main lines her narrative is strictly confirmed by Scurvilegs, and she brought to it a picturesqueness and an appreciation of the true character of Belvane which is lacking in the other; but her attitude towards Henry Smallnose was absurd. Indeed she would have had him the hero of the story. This makes Roger and myself smile. We give him credit for the first shot, and then we drop him.
Thirdly, Belvane herself. Women like Belvane never die, and I met her (or a reincarnation of her) at a country house in Shropshire last summer. I forget what she calls herself now, but I recognised her at once; and, as I watched her, the centuries rolled away and she and I were in Euralia, that pleasant country, together. "Stayed to tea and was very charming." Would she have said that of me, I wonder? But I'm getting sentimental—Roger's great fault.
These then are my authorities; I consult them, and I ask myself, What was Wiggs?
Roger speaks of her simply as an attendant upon the Princess. Now we know that the Princess was seventeen; Wiggs then would be about the same age—a lady-in-waiting—perhaps even a little older. Why not? you say. The Lady Wiggs, maid-of-honour to her Royal Highness the Princess Hyacinth, eighteen and a bit, tall and stately. Since she is to endanger Belvane's plans, let her be something of a match for the wicked woman.
Yes, but you would never talk like that if you had heard one of my aunt's stories. Nor if you had seen Belvane would you think that any grown-up woman could be a match for her.
Wiggs was a child; I feel it in my bones. In all the legends and ballads handed down to me by my aunt she appears to me as a little girl—Alice in a fairy story. Roger or no Roger I must have her a child.
And even Roger cannot keep up the farce that she is a real lady-in-waiting. In one place he tells us that she dusts the throne of the Princess; can you see her ladyship, eighteen last February, doing that? At other times he allows her to take orders from the Countess; I ask you to imagine a maid-of-honour taking orders from any but her own mistress. Conceive her dignity!
A little friend, then, of Hyacinth's, let us say; ready to do anything for anybody who loved, or appeared to love, her mistress.
The King had departed for the wars. His magic sword girded to his side, his cloak of darkness, not worn but rolled up behind him, lest the absence of his usual extensive shadow should disturb his horse, he rode at the head of his men to meet the enemy. Hyacinth had seen him off from the Palace steps. Five times he had come back to give her his last instructions, and a sixth time for his sword, but now he was gone, and she was alone on the castle walls with Wiggs.
"Saying good-bye to fathers is very tiring," said Hyacinth. "I do hope he'll be all right. Wiggs, although we oughtn't to mention it to anybody, and although he's only just gone, we do think it will be rather fun being Queen, don't we?"
"It must be lovely," said Wiggs, gazing at her with large eyes. "Can you really do whatever you like now?"
Hyacinth nodded.
"I alwaysdidwhatever I liked," she said, "But now I reallycando it."
"Could you cut anybody's head off?"
"Easily," said the Princess confidently.
"I should hate to cut anybody's head off."
"So should I, Wiggs. Let's decide to have no heads off just at present—till we're more used to it."
Wiggs still kept her eyes fixed upon the Princess.
"Which is stronger," she asked, "you or a Fairy?"
"I knew you were going to ask something horrid like that," said Hyacinth, pretending to be angry. She looked quickly round to see that nobody was listening, and then whispered in Wiggs's ear, "I am."
"O—oh!" said Wiggs. "How lovely!"
"Isn't it? Did you ever hear the story of Father and the Fairy?"
"His Majesty?"
"His Majesty the King of Euralia. It happened in the forest one day just after he became King."
Didyouever hear the story? I expect not. Well, then, you must hear it. But there will be too many inverted commas in it if I let Hyacinth tell you, so I shall tell you myself.
[Illustration: Five times he had come back to give her his last instructions, verso][Illustration: Five times he had come back to give her his last instructions, recto]
It was just after he became King. He was so proud that he used to go about saying, "I am the King. I am the King." And sometimes, "The King am I. The King I am." He was saying this one day in the forest when a Fairy overheard him. So she appeared in front of him and said, "I believe you are the King?"
"I am the King," said Merriwig. "I am the King, I am the——"
"And yet," said the Fairy, "what is a King after all?"
"It is a very powerful thing to be a King," said Merriwig proudly.
"Supposing I were to turn you into a—a small sheep. Then where would you be?"
The King thought anxiously for a moment.
"I should like to be a small sheep," he said.
The Fairy waved her wand.
"Then you can be one," she said, "until you own that a Fairy is much more powerful than a King."
So all at once he was a small sheep.
"Well?" said the Fairy.
"Well?" said the King.
"Which is more powerful, a King or a Fairy?"
"A King," said Merriwig. "Besides being more woolly," he added.
There was silence for a little. Merriwig began to eat some grass.
"I don't think much of Fairies," he said with his mouth full. "I don't think they're very powerful."
The Fairy looked at him angrily.
"They can't make you say things you don't want to say," he explained.
The Fairy stamped her foot.
"Be a toad," she said, waving her wand. "A nasty, horrid, crawling toad."
"I'vealwayswanted—" began Merriwig—"to be a toad," he ended from lower down.
"Well?" said the Fairy.
"I don't think much of Fairies," said the King. "I don't think they're very powerful." He waited for the Fairy to look at him, but she pretended to be thinking of something else. After waiting a minute or two, he added, "They can't make you say things you don't want to say."
The Fairy stamped her foot still more angrily, and moved her wand a third time.
"Be silent!" she commanded. "And stay silent for ever!"
There was no sound in the forest. The Fairy looked at the blue sky through the green roof above her; she looked through the tall trunks of the trees to the King's castle beyond; her eyes fell upon the little glade on her left, upon the mossy bank on her right . . . but she would not look down to the toad at her feet.
No, she wouldn't. . . .
Shewouldn't. . . .
And yet——
It was too much for her. She could resist no longer. She looked at the nasty, horrid, crawling toad, the dumb toad at her feet that was once a King.
And, catching her eye, the toad—winked.
Some winks are more expressive than others. The Fairy knew quite well what this one meant. It meant:
"I don't think much of Fairies. I don't think they're very powerful. They can't make you say things you don't want to say."
The Fairy waved her wand in disgust.
"Oh, be a King again," she said impatiently, and vanished.
And so that is the story of how the King of Euralia met the Fairy in the forest. Roger Scurvilegs tells it well—indeed, almost as well as I do—but he burdens it with a moral. You must think it out for yourself; I shall not give it to you.
Wiggs didn't bother about the moral. Her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her hands, she gazed at the forest and imagined the scene to herself.
"How wonderful to be a King like that!" she thought.
"That was a long time ago," explained Hyacinth. "Father must have been rather lovely in those days," she added.
"It was a very bad Fairy," said Wiggs.
"It was a very stupid one. I wouldn't have given in to Father like that."
"But there are good Fairies, aren't there? I met one once."
"You, child? Where?"
I don't know if it would have made any difference to Euralian history if Wiggs had been allowed to tell about her Fairy then; as it was, she didn't tell the story till later on, when Belvane happened to be near. I regret to say that Belvane listened. It was the sort of story thatalwaysgot overheard, she explained afterwards, as if that were any excuse. On this occasion she was just too early to overhear, but in time to prevent the story being told without her.
"The Countess Belvane," said an attendant, and her ladyship made a superb entry.
"Good morning, Countess," said Hyacinth.
"Good morning, your Royal Highness. Ah, Wiggs, sweet child," she added carelessly, putting out a hand to pat the sweet child's head, but missing it.
"Wiggs was just telling me a story," said the Princess.
"Sweet child," said Belvane, feeling vaguely for her with the other hand. "CouldI interrupt the story with a little business, your Royal Highness?"
At a nod from the Princess, Wiggs withdrew.
"Well?" said Hyacinth nervously.
Belvane had always a curious effect on the Princess when they were alone together. There was something about her large manner which made Hyacinth feel like a schoolgirl who has been behaving badly: alarmed and apologetic. I feel like this myself when I have an interview with my publishers, and Roger Scurvilegs (upon the same subject) drags in a certain uncle of his before whom (so he says) he always appears at his worst. It is a common experience.
"Just one or two little schemes to submit to your Majesty," said the Countess. "How silly of me—I mean, your Royal Highness. Of course your Royal Highness may not like them at all, but in case your Royal Highness did, I just—well, I just wrote them out."
She unfolded, one by one, a series of ornamental parchments.
"They are beautifully written," said the Princess.
Belvane blushed at the compliment. She had a passion for coloured inks and rulers. In her diary the day of the week was always underlined in red, the important words in the day's doings being frequently picked out in gold. On taking up the diary you saw at once that you were in the presence of somebody.
The first parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR ECONOMY IN REALM
"Economy" caught the eye in pale pink. The next parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR SAFETY OF REALM
"Safety" clamoured to you in blue.
The third parchment was headed:
SCHEME FOR ENCOURAGEMENT OF LITERATURE IN REALM
"Encouragement of Literature" had got rather cramped in the small quarters available for it. A heading, Belvane felt, should be in one line; she had started in letters too big for it, and the fact that the green ink was giving out made it impossible to start afresh.
There were ten parchments altogether.
By the end of the third one, the Princess began to feel uncomfortable.
By the end of the fifth one she knew that it was a mistake her ever having come into the Royal Family at all.
By the end of the seventh she decided that if the Countess would forgive her this time she would never be naughty again.
By the end of the ninth one she was just going to cry.
The tenth one was in a very loud orange and was headed:
SCHEME FOR ASSISTING CALISTHENICS IN REALM
"Yes," said the Princess faintly; "I think it would be a good idea."
"I thought if your Royal Highness approved," said Belvane, "we might just——"
Hyacinth felt herself blushing guiltily—she couldn't think why.
"I leave it to you, Countess," she murmured. "I am sure you know best."
It was a remark which she would never have made to her Father.
[Illustration: Detail of Hyacinth, reviewing the Army of Amazons]
In a glade in the forest the Countess Belvane was sitting: her throne, a fallen log, her courtiers, that imaginary audience which was always with her. For once in her life she was nervous; she had an anxious morning in front of her.
I can tell you the reason at once. Her Royal Highness was going to review her Royal Highness's Army of Amazons (seeScheme II, Safety of Realm). In half an hour she would be here.
And why not? you say. Could anything be more gratifying?
I will tell you why not. There was no Army of Amazons. In order that her Royal Highness should not know the sad truth, Belvane drew their pay for them. 'Twas better thus.
In any trouble Belvane comforted herself by reading up her diary. She undid the enormous volume, and, idly turning the pages, read some of the more delightful extracts to herself.
"Monday, June 1st," she read. "Became bad."
She gave a sigh of resignation to the necessity of being bad. Roger Scurvilegs is of the opinion that she might have sighed a good many years before. According to him she was born bad.
"Tuesday, June 2nd," she read on. "Realised in the privacy of my heart that I was destined to rule the country.Wednesday, June 3rd.Decided to oust the Princess.Thursday, June 4th.Began ousting."
What a confession for any woman—even for one who had become bad last Monday! No wonder Belvane's diary was not for everybody. Let us look over her shoulder and read some more of the wicked woman's confessions.
"Friday, June 5th.Made myself a——" Oh, that's quite private. However we may read this: "Thought for the week.Beware lest you should tumble down In reaching for another's crown." An admirable sentiment which Roger Scurvilegs would have approved, although he could not have rhymed it so neatly.
The Countess turned on a few more pages and prepared to write up yesterday's events.
"Tuesday, June 23rd," she said to herself. "Now what happened? Acclaimed with enthusiasm outside the Palace—how do you spell 'enthusiasm'?" She bit the end of her pencil and pondered. She turned back the pages till she came to the place.
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "It had three 's's' last time, so it's 'z's' turn."
She wrote "enthuzziazm" lightly in pencil; later on it would be picked out in gold.
She closed the diary hastily. Somebody was coming.
It was Wiggs.
"Oh, if you please, your Ladyship, her Royal Highness sent me to tell you that she would be here at eleven o'clock to review her new army."
It was the last thing of which Belvane wanted reminding.
"Ah, Wiggs, sweet child," she said, "you find me overwhelmed." She gave a tragic sigh. "Leader of the Corps de Ballet"—she indicated with her toe how this was done, "Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Amazons"—here she saluted, and it was certainly the least she could do for the money, "Warden of the Antimacassars and Grand Mistress of the Robes, I have a busy life. Just come and dust this log for her Royal Highness. All this work wears me out, Wiggs, but it is my duty and I do it."
"Woggs says you make a very good thing out of it," said Wiggs innocently, as she began to dust. "It must be nice to make very good things out of things."
The Countess looked coldly at her. It is one thing to confide to your diary that you are bad, it's quite another to have Woggsseses shouting it out all over the country.
"I don't know what Woggs is," said Belvane sternly, "but send it to me at once."
As soon as Wiggs was gone, Belvane gave herself up to her passions. She strode up and down the velvety sward, saying to herself, "Bother! Bother! Bother! Bother!" Her outbreak of violence over, she sat gloomily down on the log and abandoned herself to despair. Her hair fell in two plaits down her back to her waist; on second thoughts she arranged them in front—if one is going to despair one may as well do it to the best advantage.
Suddenly a thought struck her.
"I am alone," she said. "Dare I soliloquise? I will. It is a thing I have not done for weeks. 'Oh, what a——" She got up quickly. "Nobodycould soliloquise on a log like that," she said crossly. She decided she could do it just as effectively when standing. With one pale hand raised to the skies she began again.
"Oh, what a—"
"Did you call me, Mum?" said Woggs, appearing suddenly.
"Bother!" said Belvane. She gave a shrug of resignation. "Another time," she told herself. She turned to Woggs.
Woggs must have been quite close at hand to have been found by Wiggs so quickly, and I suspect her of playing in the forest when she ought to have been doing her lessons, or mending stockings, or whatever made up her day's work. Woggs I find nearly as difficult to explain as Wiggs; it is a terrible thing for an author to have a lot of people running about his book, without any invitation from him at all. However, since Woggs is there, we must make the best of her. I fancy that she was a year or two younger than Wiggs and of rather inferior education. Witness her low innuendo about the Lady Belvane, and the fact that she called a Countess "Mum."
"Come here," said Belvane. "Are you what they call Woggs?"
"Please, Mum," said Woggs nervously.
The Countess winced at the "Mum," but went on bravely. "What have you been saying about me?"
"N—Nothing, Mum."
Belvane winced again, and said, "Do you know what I do to little girls who say things about me? I cut their heads off; I——" She tried to think of something very alarming! "I—I stop their jam for tea. I—I ammostannoyed with them."
Woggs suddenly saw what a wicked thing she had done.
"Oh, please, Mum," she said brokenly and fell on her knees.
"Don'tcall me 'Mum,'" burst out Belvane. "It's sougly. Why do you suppose I ever wanted to be a countess at all, Woggs, if it wasn't so as not to be called 'Mum' any more?"
"I don't know, Mum," said Woggs.
Belvane gave it up. The whole morning was going wrong anyhow.
"Come here, child," she sighed, "and listen. You have been a very naughty girl, but I'm going to let you off this time, and in return I've something you are going to do for me."
"Yes, Mum," said Woggs.
Belvane barely shuddered now. A sudden brilliant plan had come to her.
"Her Royal Highness is about to review her Army of Amazons. It is a sudden idea of her Royal Highness's, and it comes at an unfortunate moment, for it so happens that the Army is—er——"Whatwas the Army doing? Ah, yes—"manoeuvring in a distant part of the country. But we must not disappoint her Royal Highness. What then shall we do, Woggs?"
"I don't know, Mum," said Woggs stolidly.
Not having expected any real assistance from her, the Countess went on, "I will tell you. You see yonder tree? Armed to the teethyouwill march round and round it, giving the impression to one on this side of a large army passing. For this you will be rewarded. Here is——" She felt in the bag she carried. "No, on second thoughts I will owe it to you. Now you quite understand?"
"Yes, Mum," said Woggs.
"Very well, then. Run along to the Palace and get a sword and a helmet and a bow and an arrow and an—an arrow and anything you like, and then come back here and wait behind those bushes. When I clap my hands the army will begin to march."
Woggs curtsied and ran off.
It is probable that at this point the Countess would have resumed her soliloquy, but we shall never know, for the next moment the Princess and her Court were seen approaching from the other end of the glade. Belvane advanced to meet them.
"Good morning, your Royal Highness," she said, "a beautiful day, is it not?"
"Beautiful, Countess."
With the Court at her back, Hyacinth for the moment was less nervous than usual, but almost at the first words of the Countess she felt her self-confidence oozing from her. Did I say I was like this with my publishers? And Roger's dragged-in Uncle——one can't explain it.
The Court stood about in picturesque attitudes while Belvane went on:
"Your Royal Highness's brave Women Defenders, the Home Defence Army of Amazons" (here she saluted; one soon gets into the knack of it, and it gives an air of efficiency) "have looked forward to this day for weeks. How their hearts fill with pride at the thought of being reviewed by your Royal Highness!"
She had paid, or rather received, the money for the Army so often that she had quite got to believe in its existence. She even kept a roll of the different companies (it meant more delightful red ink for one thing), and wrote herself little notes recommending Corporal Gretal Hottshott for promotion to sergeant.
"I know very little about armies, I'm afraid," said Hyacinth. "I've always left that to my father. But I think it's a sweet idea of yours to enrol the women to defend me. It's a little expensive, is it not?"
"Your Royal Highness, armies arealwaysexpensive."
The Princess took her seat, and beckoned Wiggs with a smile to her side. The Court, in attitudes even more picturesque than before, grouped itself behind her.
"Is your Royal Highness ready?"
"Quite ready, Countess."
The Countess clapped her hands.
There was a moment's hesitation, and then, armed to the teeth, Amazon after Amazon marched by. . . .
An impressive scene. . . .
However, Wiggs must needs try to spoil it.
"Why, it's Woggs!" she cried.
"Silly child!" said Belvane in an undertone, giving her a push.
The Princess looked round inquiringly.
"The absurd creature," explained the Countess, "thought she recognized a friend in your Royal Highness's gallant Army."
"How clever of her! They all look exactly alike tome."
Belvane was equal to the occasion.
"The uniform and discipline of an army have that effect rather," she said. "It has often been noticed."
"I suppose so," said the Princess vaguely. "Oughtn't they to march in fours? I seem to remember, when I came to reviews with Father——"
"Ah, your Royal Highness, that was an army of men. With women—well, we found that if they marched side by side, theywouldtalk all the time."
The Court, which had been resting on the right leg with the left knee bent, now rested on the left leg with the right knee bent. Woggs also was getting tired. The last company of the Army of Amazons was not marching with the abandon of the first company.
[Illustration: Armed to the teeth, Amazon after Amazon marched by, verso][Illustration: Armed to the teeth, Amazon after Amazon marched by, recto]
"I think I should like them to halt now so that I can address them," said Hyacinth.
Belvane was taken aback for the moment.
"I am afraid, your—your Royal Highness," she stammered, her brain working busily all the time, "that that would be contrary to—to—to the spirit of—er—the King's Regulations. An army—an army in marching order—must—er—march." She made a long forward movement with her hand. "Must march," she repeated, with an innocent smile.
"I see," said Hyacinth, blushing guiltily again.
Belvane gave a loud cough. The last veteran but two of the Army looked inquiringly at her and passed. The last veteran but one came in and was greeted with a still louder cough. Rather tentatively the last veteran of all entered and met such an unmistakable frown that it was obvious that the march-past was over. . . . Woggs took off her helmet and rested in the bushes.
"That is all, your Royal Highness," said Belvane. "158 marches past, 217 reported sick, making 622; 9 are on guard at the Palace—632 and 9 make 815. Add 28 under age and we bring it up to the round thousand."
Wiggs opened her mouth to say something, but decided that her mistress would probably wish to say it instead. Hyacinth, however, merely looked unhappy.
Belvane came a little nearer.
"I—er—forgot if I mentioned to your Royal Highness that we are paying out today. One silver piece a day and several days in the week, multiplied by—how many did I say?—comes to ten thousand pieces of gold." She produced a document, beautifully ruled. "If your Royal Highness would kindly initial here——"
Mechanically the Princess signed.
"Thank you, your Royal Highness. And now perhaps I had better go and see about it at once."
She curtsied deeply, and then, remembering her position, saluted and marched off.
Now Roger Scurvilegs would see her go without a pang; he would then turn over to his next chapter, beginning "Meanwhile the King——," and leave you under the impression that the Countess Belvane was a common thief. I am no such chronicler as that. At all costs I will be fair to my characters.
Belvane, then, had a weakness. She had several of which I have already told you, but this is another one. She had a passion for the distribution of largesse.
I know an old gentleman who plays bowls every evening. He trundles his skip (or whatever he calls it) to one end of the green, toddles after it, and trundles it back again. Think of him for a moment, and then think of Belvane on her cream-white palfrey tossing a bag of gold to right of her and flinging a bag of gold to left of her, as she rides through the cheering crowds; upon my word I think hers is the more admirable exercise.
And, I assure you, no less exacting. When once one has got into this habit of "flinging" or "tossing" money, to give it in any ordinary way, to slide it gently into the palm, is unbearable. Which of us who has, in an heroic moment, flung half a crown to a cabman can ever be content afterwards to hold out a handful of three-penny bits and coppers to him? One must always be flinging. . . .
So it was with Belvane. The largesse habit had got hold of her. It is an expensive habit, but her way of doing it was less expensive than most. The people were taxed to pay for the Amazon Army; the pay of the Amazon Army was flung back at them; could anything be fairer?
True, it brought her admiration and applause. But what woman does not like admiration? Is that an offence? If it is, it is something very different from the common theft of which Roger Scurvilegs would accuse her. Let us be fair.
[Illustration: Detail of sleeping king]
Meanwhile "the King of Euralia was prosecuting the war with utmost vigour."
So says Roger in that famous chapter of his, and certainly Merriwig was very busy.
On the declaration of war the Euralian forces, in accordance with custom, had marched into Barodia. However hot ran the passion between them, the two Kings always preserved the elementary courtesies of war. The last battle had taken place in Euralian territory; this time, therefore, Barodia was the scene of the conflict. To Barodia, then, King Merriwig had led his army. Suitable pasture land had been allotted them as a camping ground, and amid the cheers of the Barodian populace the Euralians made their simple preparations for the night.
The two armies had now been sitting opposite to each other for some weeks, but neither side had been idle. On the very first morning Merriwig had put on his Cloak of Darkness and gone to the enemy's camp to explore the situation. Unfortunately the same idea had occurred at the same moment to the King of Barodia. He also had his Cloak of Darkness.
Half way across, to the utmost astonishment of both, the two Kings had come violently into contact. Realising that they had met some unprecedented enchantment, they had hurried home after the recoil to consult their respective Chancellors. The Chancellors could make nothing of it. They could only advise their Majesties to venture another attempt on the following morning.
"But by a different route," said the Chancellors, "whereby the Magic Pillar shall be avoided."
So by the more southerly path the two Kings ventured out next morning. Half way across there was another violent collision, and both Kings sat down suddenly to think it out.
"Wonder of wonders," said Merriwig. "There is a magic wall stretching between the two armies."
"He stood up and holding up his hand said impressively:
"Bo, boll, bill, bole.Wo, woll——"
"Mystery of mysteries!" cried the King of Barodia. "It can——"
He stopped suddenly. Both Kings coughed. They were remembering with some shame their fright of yesterday.
"Who are you?" said the King of Barodia.
Merriwig saw that there was need to dissemble.
"His Majesty's swineherd," he said, in what he imagined might be a swineherd's voice.
"Er—so am I," said the King of Barodia, rather feebly.
There was obviously nothing for it but for them to discuss swine.
Merriwig was comfortably ignorant of the subject. The King of Barodia knew rather less than that.
"Er—how many have you?" asked the latter.
"Seven thousand," said Merriwig at random.
"Er—so have I," said the King of Barodia, still more feebly.
"Couples," explained Merriwig.
"Mine are ones," said the King of Barodia, determined to be independent at last.
Each King was surprised to find how easy it was to talk to an expert on his own subject. The King of Barodia, indeed, began to feel reckless.
"Well," he said, "I must be getting back. It's—er—milking time."
"So must I," said Merriwig. "By the way," he added, "what do you feed yours on?"
The King of Barodia was not quite sure if it was apple sauce or not. He decided that perhaps it wasn't.
"That's a secret," he said darkly. "Been handed down from generation to generation."
Merriwig could think of nothing better to say to this than "Ah!" He said it very impressively, and with a word of farewell returned to his camp.
He was in brilliant form over the wassail bowl that night as he drew a picture of his triumphant dissimulation. It is only fair to say that the King of Barodia was in brilliant form too. . . .
For several weeks after this the battle raged. Sometimes the whole Euralian army would line up outside its camp and call upon the Barodians to fight; at other times the Barodian army would form fours in full view of the Euralians in the hope of provoking a conflict. At intervals the two Chancellors would look up old spells, scour the country for wizards, or send each other insulting messages. At the end of a month it was difficult to say which side had obtained the advantage.
A little hill surmounted by a single tree lay half way between the two camps. Thither one fine morning came the two Kings and the two Chancellors on bloody business bent. (The phrase is Roger's.) Their object was nothing less than to arrange that personal fight between the two monarchs which was always a feature of Barodo-Euralian warfare. The two Kings having shaken hands, their Chancellors proceeded to settle the details.
"I suppose," said the Chancellor of Barodia, "that your Majesties will wish to fight with swords?"
"Certainly," said the King of Barodia promptly; so promptly that Merriwig felt certain that he had a Magic Sword too.
"Cloaks of Darkness are not allowed, of course," said the Chancellor of Euralia.
"Why, haveyougot one?" said each King quickly to the other.
Merriwig was the first to recover himself.
"I have one—naturally," he said. "It's a curious thing that the only one of my subjects who has one is my—er—swineherd."
"That's funny," said the King of Barodia. "My swineherd has one too."
"Of course," said Merriwig, "they are almost a necessity to swineherding."
"Particularly in the milking season," said the King of Barodia.
They looked at each other with added respect. Not many Kings in those days had the technicalities of such a humble trade at their fingers' ends.
The Chancellor of Barodia has been referring to the precedents.
"It was after the famous conflict between the two grandfathers of your Majesties that the use of the Magic Cloak in personal combats was discontinued."
"Great-grandfathers," said the Chancellor of Euralia.
"Grandfathers, I think."
"Great-grandfathers, if I am not mistaken."
Their tempers were rising rapidly, and the Chancellor of Barodia was just about to give the Chancellor of Euralia a push when Merriwig intervened.
"Never mind about that," he said impatiently. "Tell us what happened when our—our ancestors fought."
"It happened in this way, your Majesty. Your Majesty's grandfather——"
"Great-grandfather," said a small voice.
The Chancellor cast one bitter look at his opponent and went on:
"The ancestors of your two Majesties arranged to settle the war of that period by personal combat. The two armies were drawn up in full array. In front of them the two monarchs shook hands. Drawing their swords and casting their Magic Cloaks around them, they——"
"Well?" said Merriwig eagerly.
"It is rather a painful story, your Majesty."
"Go on, I shan't mind."
"Well, your Majesty, drawing their swords and casting their Magic Cloaks around them they—h'r'm—returned to the wassail bowl."
"Dear, dear," said Merriwig.
[Illustration: When the respective armies returned to camp they found their Majesties asleep, verso][Illustration: When the respective armies returned to camp they found their Majesties asleep, recto]
"When the respective armies, who had been waiting eagerly the whole of the afternoon for some result of the combat, returned to camp, they found their Majesties——"
"Asleep," said the Chancellor of Euralia hastily.
"Asleep," agreed the Chancellor of Barodia. "The excuse of their two Majesties that they had suddenly forgotten the day, though naturally accepted at the time, was deemed inadequate by later historians." (By Roger and myself, anyway.)
Some further details were discussed, and then the conference closed. The great fight was fixed for the following morning.
The day broke fine. At an early hour Merriwig was up and practising thrusts upon a suspended pillow. At intervals he would consult a little book entitledSword Play for Sovereigns, and then return to his pillow. At breakfast he was nervous but talkative. After breakfast he wrote a tender letter to Hyacinth and a still more tender one to the Countess Belvane, and burnt them. He repeated his little rhyme, "Bo, Boll, Bill, Bole," several times to himself until he was word perfect. It was just possible that it might be useful. His last thoughts as he rode on to the field were of his great-grandfather. Without admiring him, he quite saw his point.
The fight was a brilliant one. First Merriwig aimed a blow at the King of Barodia's head which the latter parried. Then the King of Barodia aimed a blow at his adversary's head which Merriwig parried. This went on three or four times, and then Merriwig put into practice a remarkable trick which the Captain of his Bodyguard had taught him. It was his turn to parry, but instead of doing this, he struck again at his opponent's head; and if the latter in sheer surprise had not stumbled and fallen, there might have been a very serious ending to the affair.
Noon found them still at it; cut and parry, cut and parry; at each stroke the opposing armies roared their applause. When darkness put an end to the conflict, honours were evenly divided.
It was a stiff but proud King of Euralia who received the congratulations of his subjects that night; so proud that he had to pour out his heart to somebody. He wrote to his daughter.
"MY DEAR HYACINTH,
"You will be glad to hear that your father is going on well and that Euralia is as determined as ever to uphold its honour and dignity. To-day I fought the King of Barodia, and considering that, most unfairly, he was using a Magic Sword, I think I may say that I did well. The Countess Belvane will be interested to hear that I made 4,638 strokes at my opponent and parried 4,637 strokes from him. This is good for a man of my age. Do you remember that magic ointment my aunt used to give me? Have we any of it left?
"I played a very clever trick the other day by pretending to be a swineherd. I talked to a real one I met for quite a long time about swine without his suspecting me. The Countess might be interested to hear this. It would have been very awkward for me if it had been found out who I was.
"I hope you are getting along all right. Do you consult the Countess Belvane at all? I think she would be able to advise you in any difficulties. A young girl needs a guiding hand, and I think the Countess would be able to advise you in any difficulties. Do you consult her at all?
"I am afraid this is going to be a long war. There doesn't seem to be a wizard in the country at all, and without one it is a little difficult to know how to go on. I say my spell every now and then—you remember the one:
'Bo, boll, bill bole.Wo, woll, will, wole.'
and it certainly keeps off dragons, but we don't seem to get any nearer defeating the enemy's army. You might tell the Countess Belvane that about my spell; she would be interested.
"To-morrow I go on with my fight with the King of Barodia. I feel quite confident now that I can hold him. He parries well, but his cutting is not very good. I am glad the Countess found my sword for me; tell her that it has been most useful.
"I must now close as I must go to bed so as to be ready for my fight to-morrow. Good-bye, dear. I am always,
"YOUR LOVING FATHER.
"P.S.—I hope you are not finding your position too difficult. If you are in any difficulties you should consult the Countess Belvane. I think she would be able to advise you. Don't forget about that ointment. Perhaps the Countess might know about some other kind. It's for stiffness. I am afraid this is going to be a long war."
The King sealed up the letter and despatched it by special messenger the next morning. It came to Hyacinth at a critical moment. We shall see in the next chapter what effect it had upon her.