Part 16 (2/2)

'Six. Poor faithful friends . . . I am afraid Aurocs or wild beasts must have killed the others.'

'Not all o' them,' said Dido. 'Three got through. But like the loot here asked who put you in there?'

'Queen Ginevra, of course,' said Elen, as if surprised that anybody should ask such a simple question.

Dido noticed that Mr Holystone, who, since entering the warm, dim stable, had seemed wrapped in dreamy reverie, gazing at the fire, started slightly at this name and looked round.

'The queen put you there?' Windward gaped at the princess. 'But why?'

'For a sacrifice to Sul. The temple of Sul is up above here, on the mountain.'

'Why?' he said again incredulously.

'For long life, naturally?' Elen. raised her beautiful brows. 'Many short lives make one long one. How can she live until her Quondam king comes back unless she takes a great many other lives young lives, of girls?'

Windward stared at her, speechless, stiff with horror.

'That's why there weren't any girls in Tenby or Bath? It ain't the Aurocs at all?' Dido nodded, her suspicions fully confirmed.

'I daresay the Aurocs may have had one or two every year,' said Elen. 'But they mostly remain in the mountains. You have only to ask the Guardian of this place; he will tell you how many years he has been throwing girls into Lake Arianrod. And his predecessors before him.'

'I never heard anything so disgraceful in my whole life,' said Lieutenant Windward hoa.r.s.ely. 'And she calls herself a civilised woman! But how did she manage to get hold of you, miss?'

'Well: when I was seven my father sent me to school in Queen's Square. In the other Bath in England. Lyonesse ought to be safe enough; but, my father thought, best take no chances. So I went to school for nine years. And on the way back my s.h.i.+p was captured by pirates. Pirates? They were in Ginevra's pay; her watch-dogs. Those three witches of hers throw their net far afield. And a king's daughter, by their reckoning, is worth far more than any ordinary girl. Her bones give six months of life; mine, who knows how long? Six years, perhaps .. .'

'Bones?' whispered Mr Multiple, who, now that the fire was burning well, had been drawn by the sound of Elen's level voice.

'Thrown into the lake. Eaten by Sul's sacred fish. Then the bones are made into a paste, which, eaten daily by Genevra, has preserved her life for many hundreds of years.'

Dido thought of the fat queen, lolling on her couch, languidly tasting white thick porridge from a silver dish. My reflection, she thought suddenly. I wonder if it ever came back like those watches beginning to go again? But even if it didn't better lose your reflection than be thrown into Arianrod for the fish to munch and then have your bones ground up into porridge.

'That was why your dad pinched the lake, then?' she said. 'So you couldn't be thrown in? He guessed the queen musta got you?'

'Did he steal the lake?' A warm ripple of affection came into Elen's voice. 'Clever father! He knew that would put a stone in her shoe!'

'So then she called in the British Navy,' said Windward. 'I begin to see . . . But how could she hope to make King Mabon return the lake so long as she held you, Princess?'

'Because,' said Dido, 'she hoped as I'd let on to be the princess, and that King Mabon 'ud be fooled. That was why she didn't make me into porridge. Though I reckon she was fair itching to. But why were you left in that cave, Ma'am? Princess?'

'Oh, pray call me Elen. All the girls at Miss Castelreagh's Academy did so. I was left in the cave because the sacrifice has to be made at a particular time of the month, when the new moon holds the old one in its arms. Lady Ettarde and those other women put me there. And the Guardian used to come every day or so to feed me . .. when he remembered. He will not be best pleased when he finds that I have escaped. Ginevra will probably have him thrown in the lake. Oh, no, I forget; there is no lake. She must have been growing desperate. . .'

Elen's eyes widened. The fire had now burned up into a good blaze and, for the first time, she had noticed Mr Holystone, who stood gazing at the flames with a puzzled frown creasing his brow, as if he were groping in his mind for the verse of some ancient rhyme which continually escaped him.

Elen said, 'But why is my cousin Gwydion with you? And why is he so silent?'

'Gwydion?' said Dido. Her eyes followed Elen's to the silent figure by the fire.

'Gwydion,' repeated Elen. 'I recognised him at once. Though he has grown a beard, which suits him very well and it is a long time since we used to play as children. He used to carve me dolls from sigse wood. He is the son the adopted son of my uncle Huw Ccapac. Atahallpa, they called him in Hy Brasil, but father always called him Gwydion. How are you, cousin?'

'No, Madam,' said a new voice, which made them all, Holystone included, turn hastily towards the doorway, 'he is not your cousin. He is of more ancient lineage than you reckon.'

Framed in the entrance stood a strange figure what seemed at first sight to be a walking s...o...b..ll, but proved, when he had shaken himself, to be a dwarfish little man, hardly more than three feet high, with white hair and deep dark eyes and a long hooked nose. He threw off the snow-caked toga which he had wrapped round him, and stumped forward, giving his unbidden guests some very unwelcoming looks, and stopping in front of Mr Holystone to launch at him a stare of particular dislike while apparently making an inventory of every detail of his appearance, from the gold-brown beard, bronzed skin, and quiet grey eyes, to the birth-mark on his right forearm and the hand which still clasped the hilt of the sword Caliburn. Splitting the rock had cleaned the rust from the swordblade; it now shone green and deadly; more light than was reflected from the fire seemed to play up and down the blade.

'I beg your pardon are you the Guardian Caradog?' broke in Lieutenant Windward briskly, feeling that some explanation was owing to their reluctant host. 'Ahem! Excuse me! I have a permit here, signed by Queen Ginevra, for travel through the Gate of Nimue and on to Lyonesse '

'Yes, yes, yes, I know all about that,' testily answered the Guardian. 'I was expecting you last night, my sister had informed me of your intentions.'

He spoke as if their journey seemed to him a tiresome fidget about a trifle, and went on, ignoring Windward and addressing Holystone, 'But why trouble King Mabon about the lake, my lord, since you are already returned to us? What need to visit Lyonesse? Will you not rather return to your capital of Bath Regis?'

'Gwydion's capital?' exclaimed Elen. 'Gracious me, whom do you take him for?'

'Why, who should he be but the Pendragon? He is Mercurious Artaius, true son of Uther. Let me be the first to salute you, lord, Rex Quondam et Vivens, High King of New c.u.mbria, Lyonesse and Hy Brasil,' said Caradog, not sounding in the least pleased about it, but going rather creakily and grumpily down on one knee nevertheless, to kiss Mr Holystone's hand, which still rested on the hilt of the sword Caliburn. 'Ave rege! Vivat rex!'

The party from the Thrush stared at one another, dumbstruck.

Elen exclaimed, 'Gwydion? Can this be true? Or is the old man joking? Are you can you really be the Pendragon?'

Holystone looked down at the sword in his hand. He said slowly, 'Yes, it is true. I am beginning to remember it all -the battle by the winter sea, and how the queens came in a boat across the lake, and carried me away, and cast me into a sleep.'

'In the Isle of Avilion,' confirmed Caradog. He added rather sourly, 'Your lady wife will be very happy to have you restored to her. She has waited and sorrowed for you these many hundreds of years.'

'Wife?' exclaimed Dido in horror. 'D'you mean that Mr Holystone is married to that murdering old hag of a queen in Bath? Who's been killing off girls right, left and rat's ramble, just so she could stay alive longer than ordinary folk?'

'Finis coronet opus,' said Caradog.

'What's that mean, mister Guardian?'

'It means, the end justifies the means.'

'No it certainly don't! What do you think, Mr Holy? King What'syourname? If you really are him? Do you think it's right for that fat queen to stay alive by having poor girls chucked into the lake? Why, she was fixing to chuck Elen here, if we hadn't turned up '

Mr Holystone appeared deeply troubled. Frowning perplexedly at Dido, he said, 'Who are you, child? Why do I seem to know you? And what can you know of these high matters?'

It was evident that the three separate parts of his existence had not yet dovetailed together.

'Oh, blimey!' said Dido, hurt and cross. She felt extremely upset, but tried not to show it. However she couldn't help adding, 'When I think of all the times I fed Dora and taught you the Battersea Basket and how you used to put c.o.c.kroach lotion on my toes '

At the same instant Elen exclaimed in a tone of horror, as though the reality had been gradually dawning on her, 'You mean my cousin Gwydion is married to that wicked woman to Queen Ginevra?'

'Was, was, in a former life,' corrected Caradog fussily. 'And as, although he has been reborn, she has remained alive, of course the marriage is still valid. Any court of law would uphold it. Not to mention the ties of honour and obligation since she has faithfully waited for him so many hundreds of years.'

'I don't see how honour could tie him to somebody who's been eating people's bones all that time!'

'Really, Miss Twite, I feel this is none of your of our business!' exclaimed Lieutenant Windward.

'Our business is to fetch the lake back and have Cap'n Hughes let out of the pokey,' pointed out Mr Multiple matter-of-factly. 'And then to get h.e.l.l-for-leather out o' this infernal country,' he added under his breath, rattling the diamonds in his pocket.

<script>