The Worm Ouroboros, Eric Rücker Eddison [epub ebook reader txt] 📗
- Author: Eric Rücker Eddison
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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.
III THE RED FOLIOTOf 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
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