Queen Sollace posited herself higher among the cushions. "As you must know, I am married to His Majesty the King. Do you consider me "vulgar and untidy"?"
Madouc pursed her lips. "I can only speculate that, as a queen, you are exempt from such judgments. That would be my best guess."
Queen Sollace, half-amused, sank back into the cushions. "In due course you will understand these matters with greater lucidity."
"All this to the side," cried Madouc, "it is unthinkable that I should marry some witling, merely because he brings you a nail! For all we know he has just found it behind the stable."
"Most unlikely! The criminal would not dare a divine fulmination. I am told by Father Umphred that a special level in h.e.l.l is set apart for those who falsify relics. In any case, it is a chance we must take."
"Bah!" muttered Madouc. "The plan is absurd."
The queen again raised herself up. "I failed to hear your remark."
"It was of no consequence."
The queen gave a stately nod. "In any case, you must obey the king"s ordinance, and to the exact degree."
"Yes, Your Highness!" said Madouc with sudden energy. "I shall do precisely that! Please excuse me; at this very instant I must make my preparations."
Madouc curtseyed, turned and left the chamber. Sollace looked after her in wonder. "What does she mean by "preparations"? Marriage is not so imminent as all that. How, in any event, would she think to prepare herself?"
VI.
Madouc ran at a brisk half-trot along the main gallery: past statues of ancient heroes, urns taller than herself, alcoves furnished with ornate tables and tall-backed chairs. At intervals, men-at-arms in the scarlet and gold livery of Haidion stood with halberds at parade rest. Only their eyes moved to follow Madouc as she pa.s.sed them by.
At a pair of tall narrow doors Madouc stopped short. She hesitated; then, pushing open one of the doors, peered through the gap into a long dim chamber illuminated by a single narrow window in the far wall. This was the castle library. A shaft of light slanted down across a table; here sat Kerce the librarian, a man of advanced years though still tall and erect, with a gentle mouth and a dreamer"s forehead in a face otherwise austere. Madouc knew little of Kerce save that he was said to be the son of an Irish druithine, and a poet in his own right.
After a single side-glance toward the door, Kerce continued with his work. Madouc came slowly into the room. The air carried an aromatic reek, of old wood, wax, lavender oil, the soft sweet fust of well-tanned leather. Tables to left and right supported librams two or three feet on a side and three inches thick, bound in limp leather or sometimes heavy black felt. Shelves were crammed with scrolls, parchments in cedar boxes, papers tied in bundles, books clamped between carefully tooled boards of beechwood.
Madouc approached Kerce, step by demure step. At last he straightened in his chair, turned his head to watch her approach, and not without a trace of dubious speculation, for Madouc"s repute had penetrated even the far fastnesses of the library.
Madouc stopped beside the table, and looked down at the ma.n.u.script upon which Kerce had been working. She asked: "What are you doing?"
Kerce looked critically down at the parchment. "Two hundred years ago some nameless lout covered over this page with a paste of powdered chalk mixed with sour milk and seaweed gum. Then he attempted to indite the Morning Ode of Merosthenes, addressed to the nymph Laloe, upon his discovery of her one summer dawn plucking pomegranates in his orchard. The lout copied without care and his characters, as you see, are like bird- droppings. I expunge his scrawl and dissolve his vile compost, but delicately, since below there may be as many as five other layers of ever older and ever more enthralling mysteries. Or, to my sorrow, I might find more inept.i.tude. Still, I must examine each in turn. Who knows? I might uncover one of Jirolamo"s lost cantos. So there you have it: I am an explorer of ancient mysteries; such is my profession and my great adventure."
Madouc examined the ma.n.u.script with new interest. "I had no idea you lived so exciting a life!"
Kerce spoke gravely: "I am intrepid and I defy every challenge! I scratch at this surface with the delicacy of a surgeon cutting the carbuncle of an angry king! But my hand is deft and my tools are true! See them, loyal comrades all: my stout badgertail brush, my faithful oil of limpet, my obsidian edge and dangerous bone needles, my trusty range-wood rub-sticks! They are all paladins who have served me well! Together we have made far voyages and visited unknown lands!"
"And always you return safe and sound!"
Kerce turned her a quizzical glance, one eyebrow arched high, the other in a crooked twist. "I wonder what you mean by that."
Madouc laughed. "You are the second today to ask me such a question."
"And what was your response?"
"I told him that my words meant what I said they meant."
"You have odd quirks in your mind for one so young." Kerce turned in his seat and gave her his full attention. "And what brings you here? Is it caprice, or the work of Destiny?"
Madouc said soberly: "I have a question which I hope you will answer."
"Ask away; I will lay out all my lore for your inspection."
"There has been much talk of relics here at Haidion. I have become curious about what they call the Holy Grail. Is there indeed such a thing? If so, what does it look like, and where might it be found?"
"Of the Holy Grail I can tell you only a few bare facts," said d Kerce. "While I know of a hundred religions, I give credencee to none. The Grail is reputedly the chalice used by Jesus Christos when last he dined with his disciples. The chalice came into the hands of Joseph of Arimathea, who, so it is said, caught blood in the chalice from the wounds of the crucified Christ.
Subsequently, Joseph wandered across the world and at last visited Ireland, where he left the Grail on Isle Inchagoill in Lough Corrib north of Gaiway. A band of heathen Celts threatened the island chapel, and a monk named Father Sisembert brought the to chalice to the Elder Isles, and from this point onward the stories go at variance. According to one account the chalice is buried in crypts on Weamish Isle. Another reports that as Father Sisembert pa.s.sed through the Forest of Tantrevalles, he met a dreadful ogre, who put him to evil uses, claiming that Father ad Sisembert had neglected courtesy. One of the ogre"s three heads drank Sisimbert"s blood; another ate his liver. The third head suffered from toothache and, lacking appet.i.te, made dice of Sisimbert"s knuckles. But perhaps that is only a story to be told around the fire on stormy nights."
"And who would know the truth?"
Kerce made a pensive gesture. "Who can say? Perhaps in the end it is all no more than legend. Many knights of chivalry have sought the Grail across the length and breadth of Christendom, and many have wandered the Elder Isles on the quest. Some departed forlorn; others died in combat or suffered bewitchment; others disappeared and have been seen no more. In truth, it seems mortal peril to seek the Grail!"
"Why should that be? unless somewhere it is guarded with great jealousy?"
"As to that, I cannot say. And never forget that in the end, the quest may only be the pursuit of an ideal dream!"
"Do you believe so?"
"I have no beliefs in this regard, nor in many another. Why are you concerned?"
"Queen Sollace wants to grace her new cathedral with the Holy Grail. She has gone so far as to offer me in marriage to whomever brings her this object! My own wishes, needless to say, were not consulted."
Kerce gave a dry chuckle. "I begin to understand your interest!"
"If I myself found the Grail, then I would be safe from such an annoyance."
"So it would seem-still, the Grail may no longer exist."
"If such is the case, a false Grail might be offered the queen. She would not know the difference."
"But I would," said Kerce. "The ploy would not succeed; I can a.s.sure you of this!"
Madouc looked at him sidewise. "How can you be so sure?"
Kerce compressed his lips, as if he had said more than he might have wished. "It is a secret. I will share it with you, if you hold it tightly to yourself."
"I promise."
Kerce rose to his feet and went to a cupboard. He removed a portfolio, extracted a drawing which he brought to the table. Madouc saw depicted a footed pale blue chalice eight inches tall, with handles at either side, slightly irregular. A dark blue band encircled the top rim; the base showed a ring of the same dark blue color.
"This is a drawing of the Grail. It was sent from Ireland to the monastery on Weamish Isle long ago, and rescued from the Goths by one of the monks. It is a true depiction, exact even to this nick in the base, and the differing length of the handles."
Kerce returned drawing and portfolio to the cupboard. "Now you know what there is to be known of the Grail. I prefer to keep the drawing secret, for several reasons."
"I will keep silent," said Madouc. "Unless the queen tries to marry me to someone who brings her a false Grail; then, if all else fails-""