The Worm Ouroboros, E. R. Eddison [best e reader for academics txt] 📗

shall do of Laxus,” said Lord Brandoch Daha, “that he troweth to do of us.”

But Juss was fallen silent, his chin in his hand.

Goldry Bluszco said, “I would allow him odds and beat him.”

“It is a great shame in thee, O Juss,” said Brandoch Daha, “if thou wilt be abashed at this. If that they be in number more than we, what then? They are in hope, quarrel, and strength far inferior.”

But Juss, still in a study, reached out and caught him by the sleeve, holding him so a moment or two, and then looked up at him and said, “Thou art the greatest quarreller, of a friend, that ever I knew, and if I were an angry man I could not abear thee. May I not three minutes study the means, but thou shalt cry out upon me for a milksop?”

They laughed, and the Lord Juss rose up and said, “Call we a council of war. And let Hesper Golthring be at it, and his skippers that were with him o’ that voyage. And pack up the stuff, for we will away o’ the morn. If we like not these lettuce, we may pull back our lips. But no choice remaineth. If Laxus will deny us sea-room through Melikaphkhaz Straits, I trow there shall go up thence a crash which when the King heareth it he shall know it for our first banging on the gates of Carcë.”

XXX Tidings of Melikaphkhaz

Of news brought unto Gorice the King in Carcë out of the south, where the Lord Laxus lying in the straits with his armada held the fleet of Demonland prisoned in the midland sea.

On a night of late summer leaning towards autumn, eight weeks after the sailing of the Demons out of Muelva as is aforewrit, the Lady Prezmyra sate before her mirror in Corund’s lofty bedchamber in Carcë. The night without was mild and full of stars. Within, yellow flames of candles burning steadily on either side of the mirror rayed forth tresses of tinselling brightness in twin glories or luminous spheres of warmth. In that soft radiance grains as of golden fire swam and circled, losing themselves on the confines of the gloom where the massy furniture and the arras and the figured hangings of the bed were but cloudier divisions and congestions of the general dark. Prezmyra’s hair caught the beams and imprisoned them in a tawny tangle of splendour that swept about her head and shoulders down to the emerald clasps of her girdle. Her eyes resting idly on her own fair image in the shining mirror, she talked light nothings with her woman of the bedchamber who, plying the comb, stood behind her chair of gold and tortoiseshell.

“Reach me yonder book, nurse, that I may read again the words of that serenade the Lord Gro made for me, the night when first we had tidings from my lord out of Impland of his conquest of that land, and the King did make him king thereof.”

The old woman gave her the book, that was bound in goatskin chiselled and ornamented by the gilder’s art, fitted with clasps of gold, and enriched with little gems, smaragds and margery-pearls, inlaid in the panels of its covers. Prezmyra turned the page and read:

“You meaner Beauties of the Night,
That poorly satisfie our Eies,
More by your number then your light,
You Common-people of the Skies;
What are you when the Moone shall rise?

You Curious Chanters of the Wood,
That warble forth Dame Natures layes,
Thinking your Passions understood
By your weake accents; what’s your praise
When Philomell her voyce shall raise?

You Violets that first apeare,
By your pure purpel mantles knowne,
Like the proud Virgins of the yeare,
As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the Rose is blowne?

So, when my Princess shall be seene
In form and Beauty of her mind,
By Vertue first, then Choyce a Queen,
Tell me, if she were not design’d
Th’ Eclypse and Glory of her kind.”

She abode silent awhile. Then, in a low sweet voice where all the chords of music seemed to slumber: “Three years will be gone next Yuletide,” she said, “since first I heard that song. And not yet am I grown customed to the style of Queen.”

“ ’Tis pity of my Lord Gro,” said the nurse.

“Thou thinkest?”

“Mirth sat oftener on your face, O Queen, when he was here, and you were used to charm his melancholy and make a pish of his phantastical humorous forebodings.”

“Oft doubting not his forejudgement,” said Prezmyra, “even the while I thripped my fingers at it. But never saw I yet that the louring thunder hath that partiality of a tyrant, to blast him that faced it and pass by him that quailed before it.”

“He was most deeply bound servant to your beauty,” said the old woman. “And yet,” she said, viewing her mistress sidelong to see how she would receive it, “that were a miss easily made good.”

She busied herself with the comb awhile in silence. After a time she said, “O Queen, mistress of the hearts of men, there is not a lord in Witchland, nor in earth beside, you might not bind your servant with one thread of this hair of yours. The likeliest and the goodliest were yours at an eye-glance.”

The Lady Prezmyra looked dreamily into her own sea-green eyes imaged in the glass. Then she smiled mockingly and said, “Whom then accountest thou the likeliest and the goodliest man in all the stablished earth?”

The old woman smiled. “O Queen,” answered she, “this was the very matter in dispute amongst us at supper only this evening.”

“A pretty disputation!” said Prezmyra. “Let me be merry. Who was adjudged the fairest and gallantest by your high court of censure?”

“It was not generally determined of, O Queen. Some would have my Lord Gro.”

“Alack, he is too feminine,” said Prezmyra.

“Others our Lord the King.”

“There is none greater,” said Prezmyra, “nor more worshipful. But for an