The Worm Ouroboros - E. R. Eddison (best books to read non fiction txt) 📗

husband, thou shouldst as well wed with a thunderstorm or the hungry sea. Give me some more.”

“Some chose the lord Admiral.”

“That,” said Prezmyra, “was a nearer stroke. No skipjack nor soft marmalady courtier, but a brave, tall, gallant gentleman. Ay, but too watery a planet burned at his nativity. He is too like a statua of a man. No, nurse, thou must bring me better than he.”

The nurse said, “True it is, O Queen, that most were of my thinking when I gave ’em my choice: the king of Demonland.”

“Fie on thee!” cried Prezmyra. “Name him not so that was too unmighty to hold that land against our enemies.”

“Folk say it was by foxish arts and practices magical a was spilt on Krothering Side. Folk say ’twas divels and not horses carried the Demons down the mountain at us.”

“They say!” cried Prezmyra. “I say to thee, he hath found it apter to his bent to flaunt his crown in Witchland than make ’em give him the knee in Galing. For a true king both knee and heart do truly bow before him. But this one, if he had their knee ’twas in the back side of him he had it, to kick him home again.”

“Fie, madam!” said the nurse.

“Hold thy tongue, nurse,” said Prezmyra. “It were good ye were all well whipped for a bunch of silly mares that know not a horse from an ass.”

The old woman watching her in the glass counted it best keep silence. Prezmyra said under her breath as if talking to herself, “I know a man, should not have miscarried it thus.” The old nurse that loved not Lord Corund and his haughty fashions and rough speech and wine-bibbing, and was besides jealous that so rude a stock should wear so rich a jewel as was her mistress, followed not her meaning.

After some time, the old woman spake softly and said, “You are full of thoughts tonight, madam.”

Prezmyra’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Why may I not be so and it likes me?” said she.

That stony look of the eyes struck like a gong some twenty-year-old memory in the nurse’s heart: the little wilful maiden, ill to goad but good to guide, looking out from that Queen’s face across the years. She knelt down suddenly and caught her arms about her mistress’s waist. “Why must you wed then, dear heart?” said she, “if you were minded to do what likes you? Men love not sad looks in their wives. You may ride a lover on the curb, madam, but once you wed him ’tis all t’other way: all his way, madam, and beware of ‘had I wist.’ ”

Her mistress looked down at her mockingly. “I have been wed seven years tonight. I should know these things.”

“And this night!” said the nurse. “And but an hour till midnight, and yet he sitteth at board.”

The Lady Prezmyra leaned back to look again on her own mirrored loveliness. Her proud mouth sweetened to a smile. “Wilt thou learn me common women’s wisdom?” said she, and there was yet more voluptuous sweetness trembling in her voice. “I will tell thee a story, as thou hast told them me in the old days in Norvasp to wile me to bed. Hast thou not heard tell how old Duke Hilmanes of Maltraëny, among some other fantasies such as appear by night unto many in diverse places, had one in likeness of a woman with old face of low and little stature or body, which did scour his pots and pans and did such things as a maid servant ought to do, liberally and without doing of any harm? And by his art he knew this thing should be his servant still, and bring unto him whatsoever he would, so long time as he should be glad of the things it brought him. But this duke, being a foolish man and a greedy, made his familiar bring him at once all the year’s seasons and their several goods and pleasures, and all good things of earth at one time. So as in six months’ space, he being sated with these and all good things, and having no good thing remaining unto him to expect or to desire, for very weariness did hang himself. I would never have ta’en me an husband, nurse, and I had not known that I was able to give him every time I would a new heaven and a new earth, and never the same thing twice.”

She took the old woman’s hands in hers and gathered them to her breast, as if to let them learn, rocked for a minute in the bountiful infinite sweetness of that place, what foolish fears were these. Suddenly Prezmyra clasped the hands tighter in her own, and shuddered a little. She bent down to whisper in the nurse’s ear, “I would not wish to die. The world without me should be summer without roses. Carcë without me should be a night without the star-shine.”

Her voice died away like the night breeze in a summer garden. In the silence they heard the dip and wash of oar-blades from the river without; the sentinel’s challenge, the answer from the ship.

Prezmyra stood up quickly and went to the window. She could see the ship’s dark bulk by the water-gate, and comings and goings, but nought clearly. “Tidings from the fleet,” she said. “Put up my hair.”

And ere that was done, came a little page running to her chamber door, and when it was opened to him, stood panting from his running and said, “The king your husband bade me tell you, madam, and pray you go down to him i’ the great hall. It may be ill news, I fear.”

“Thou fearest, pap-face?” said the Queen. “I’ll have thee whipped if thou bringest thy fears to me. Dost know aught? What’s the matter?”

“The ship’s much battered, O Queen. He is closeted with our Lord the King, the skipper. None dare speak else. ’Tis feared the