The Princess and the Captain

ANNE-LAURE BONDOUX

Translated from the French by Anthea Bell

‘Who would be insane enough to die without at least exploring his prison first?'

Marguerite Yourcenar,
Zeno of Bruges

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Part One: Leaving

1 A Hedgehog Haircut

2 An Urgent Summons

3 Two Barrels of Rioro Wine

4 The Bitter Taste of Secrets

5 The
Estafador

6 Carabins and Musketoons

7 Old Bulo's Story

8 Funeral of a Traitor

9 The Goat's Hair Potion

10 Edicts and More Edicts

11 An Ambush in the Steppes

12 Philomena's Decision

13 The Mysterious Messenger

14 The Daughter of Balmun

15 Bound for the Orniant

Part Two: Wandering

16 The Baths of Purity

17 Midnight Feast

18 In Temir-Gai's Cages

19 A Night in Cispazan

20 Rescue

21 Surprises and Secrets

22 The Master of the
Errabunda

23 The
Fabula

24 The Patrols of Catabea

25 The Law of the Archipelago

26 Torments and Delights

27 The Flutes of Discord

28 Orpheus's Logbook

29 Six Toothless Men

30 Why Babilas Wept

31 Danger on the Horizon

32 Battles

33 Malva's Journal

34 The Island Beyond the Mists

35 The Hour of the Dead

36 Hope

37 The Wave

38 Malva's Island

39 A Fishing Expedition

40 The Last Stone of Life

41 The Immuration

Part Three: Coming Home

42 The Twin Stars

43 Galnicia Ahoy!

44 Ten Years

45 Reparations

46 Farewells and Meetings

47 A Last-Minute Visitor

48 At the End of the Passage

49 A Gift from Far Away

Epilogue

Imprint

A few months ago you summoned me to the Council Chamber. You asked me to take my place at the table with your ministers. In the circumstances, I thought you were going to do me the honour of including me in your discussions on the great questions involved in governing the country. I thought you wanted to initiate me into the exercise of power. My father realises that I've grown up, I said to myself. Now that I'm fifteen he thinks I'm as able to give an opinion as any of those grave statesmen. I was anxious, but flattered. At last you were taking me seriously!

I was wrong
.

Much to my surprise, my mother the Coronada entered the Chamber, bringing you a large file full of notebooks and papers. I turned pale when I realised what they were
.

On your orders my mother had searched my room. She had put everything I'd been writing for years in that file: my personal diary, my secrets, my dreams, my poems, my stories
.

My soul was there on the table. In front of you. In front of all the Council members
.

You opened the file. Your lips wore an odd kind of smile. You rose to your feet and, without so much as glancing at me, you began reading my notebooks out loud
.

At first your ministers remained silent. Attentive. They didn't understand the point of what you were doing, but I realised at once
.

As you read, derisive laughter escaped you several times. You stumbled over certain words on purpose, you emphasised any awkwardness. You did it so well that after a while the ministers began laughing too
.

There I was at your mercy, all alone, crushed. And you thought it was so funny that you began gesticulating and pulling faces to show how ridiculous my writings were. I clenched my teeth so hard to keep myself from howling out loud that my jaw hurt for several days afterwards
.

Then you abruptly closed the file, and your face grew stern again. ‘That's enough joking!' you said, and added, turning to the assembled company, ‘Gentlemen, you may be wondering to whom we owe these imperishable masterpieces. Their author is among us. Pray congratulate … our Princess.'

The ministers turned to look at me in surprise, their eyes reddened by tears of laughter. Some of them coughed, others were still having difficulty containing their mirth. One of them – I think it was the Minister of Agriculture – had actually dribbled on his lace collar
.

You told me to rise to my feet, and you said, ‘Time to make an end of such childishness, Princess. You are the sole heir to the throne of Galnicia. Very soon you will be the country's official representative. Galnicia does not need such tall tales as these.'

You handed me the file and told me to throw it on the fire
.

I took a few steps towards the hearth. As I did so, I looked at the Galnician flag hanging on the wall, with its bands of yellow and green
and the two arrows passing through them, and I cursed all that it represented
.

I knelt down. As I let go of my notebooks the flames licked my hands. I felt them burn me to the core. I rose again, and you looked satisfied
.

It was then I came to the decision that I had been putting off making for weeks
.

I left the Council Chamber under the scornful gaze of your ministers and my mother, but I didn't mind that any more
.

And so, ‘dear Father', this is how things stand
.

You are a good Coronador; all the Galnicians think so, and they are right. You rule fairly and justly. Tranquillity and Harmony guide your actions. But as a father you're the very opposite
.

Do as you like with this letter: burn it like the rest of my writings if it gives you any pleasure. I only hope that remorse will keep you awake at night
.

I'm claiming my freedom. What a beautiful word! You'll have plenty of time to think about it now
.

Malva

To the north, the walls of the Citadel dropped straight to a sheer precipice. Perched there on its rock, it looked like a watchful bird of prey, unfolding its towers and wings above the valley and casting its imposing shadow on the calm waters of the River Gdavir. Once upon a time, invading forces from Dunbraven and the kingdom of Norj had been smashed to pieces against those walls; warriors and their mounts alike had perished here, and for months afterwards the Gdavir had washed helmets, armour and the bodies of men and animals downstream.

To the south, however, the Citadel looked very different. Its broad facades with their innumerable windows embraced a series of gently sloping terraces. Almond, olive and lemon trees grew there in neat rows, standing deep in lush grass. Basins of water adorned with blue and green mosaics had been sunk among them, to cool people strolling along and to attract birds. Recently the Coronador had become passionately interested in exotic plants, so one terrace had been turned into a paddy field
and another into a palm grove. Here and there huge hedges of bamboo swayed in the light breeze of the coming summer.

It was here, in the Citadel, that the heart of Galnicia beat. For many years, far from the noise of conflict, the Coronador had governed according to the precepts of Tranquillity and Harmony, the two principal goddesses worshipped by his people. Galnicia was prosperous, the Galnicians lived happy lives, and yet … that evening, no one suspected that the country was enjoying its last hours of peace and freedom from care.

Malva had finally managed to escape her mother's eagle eye.

Even ordinarily that wasn't easy to do, but today she had thought she never would. Besides the hours wasted with her dressmaker and her dancing master, an interminable session prostrated before the Altar of the Divinities had been inflicted on her. The Coronada had made her lie on the cold tiles and recite the incantations over fifty times. Malva was used to the constraints of the protocol that ruled her life as a Princess, but now she had difficulty hiding her impatience. She clenched her fists, telling herself over and over again that soon all this would be just a bad memory.

At last, as evening fell, the Coronada was called away by other duties. She was too busy to give any orders, and didn't see Malva slip out of the Hall of Delicacies, where a whole army of domestic staff was completing the preparations for the next day's festivities.

Discreet as a shadow, the Princess hurried towards the South Wing. She passed the kitchens and then went upstairs to the ballroom, where a dozen silent maids, skirts spread around them, were kneeling to polish the floor. In the corridors, on the stairs, up in the galleries she passed bevies of menservants
handling pulleys to lower the chandeliers, replacing candles and beating carpets. None of them paid her any attention.

Outside, the gardeners were just finishing clipping the hedges, and were hanging lanterns in the branches of olive trees. As she passed an open window, Malva heard the fountains begin to play in a large basin of water, and further off, in a bandstand, musicians were rehearsing serenades. Their notes floated into the warm evening air, mingling with the scent of jasmine.

Malva felt the Citadel, and all Galnicia beyond the walls, thrilling with joyous excitement. She herself was the central figure of the coming festivities, yet she didn't feel in the least cheerful. To tell the truth, her head was full of very different plans.

When she finally reached her alcove bedroom in the South Wing, she breathed a sigh of relief. A tall, thin girl was standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped over her apron. It was her chambermaid Philomena, waiting for her as they had arranged.

Without a word Malva bolted the door and sat down at the long mirror in its mother-of-pearl frame. She took the pins out of her hair, then picked up a pair of scissors and held them out to Philomena.

‘Quick!' she breathed. ‘There's no time to lose. Night will soon fall, and the Archont is expecting us.'

Philomena stood behind her without moving. Her bony face looked even paler than usual.

‘I … I don't understand,' she faltered.

Malva thrust the scissors into her hands impatiently. ‘Yes, you do! You understand perfectly well! Hurry up!'

Philomena had been in the Princess's service for years. She
had known Malva as a baby when she herself was a very young girl. The Princess had always trusted her like a sister. Philomena had always been devoted to her mistress. But there were certain things that her beliefs forbade her to do, such as violating the principles of Harmony.