The Princess and the Captain (6 page)

On the first floor, their leader narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. ‘That bed's neatly made up,' he said. He turned to Orpheus, who was following the men from room to room, unable to make out what they were after. ‘Where were you last night? Looks as if you didn't sleep here.'

Orpheus murmured huskily, ‘I must have dropped off in my chair. What exactly are you looking for?'

The soldiers exchanged suspicious glances. The whole city knew about it. Was this young man laughing at them?

‘Carry on searching!' their leader ordered, pointing his musketoon at Orpheus. ‘I've got my eye on him!'

The others took hold of the mattress, lifted the base of the bed, emptied the wardrobe and drawers. This unceremonious search acted on Orpheus like a cold shower, bringing him back to his senses.

‘I have nothing to hide!' he said indignantly. ‘What you're doing is against the precepts of Tranquillity and Harmony!'

‘The precepts of Tranquillity and Harmony are suspended until further notice!' replied the soldiers' leader. ‘Until the Princess has been found!'

Orpheus gave a start of surprise, but he didn't ask for explanations. Through all these years of peace the soldiers' musketoons and carabins had been in disuse, mere decorations on guardroom walls. But this time there was a whiff of real gunpowder in the air.

After a while, when they had found nothing, the soldiers left, but not without threatening all kinds of reprisals if Orpheus had been hiding anything from them.

‘And seeing as you're so keen on the divine precepts,' added their leader, ‘sleep in your bed next time! A night in an armchair is anything but tranquil!'

Then he went out, laughing uproariously and leaving Orpheus in disarray. His house looked like nothing on earth – or rather like the mirror image of his mind, all confused and topsyturvy.

Now that he was fully awake, Orpheus heard the cries and lamentations out in the streets. So it was true: the Princess had disappeared! How could such a thing have happened? When he went up to his bedroom, intending to tidy it a bit, he saw the washerwomen gathered on their rooftops opposite. They weren't at work as usual, but standing on tiptoe, trying to see what was going on in the Citadel.

Orpheus quietly opened his window.

‘They're draining the water from the basins!' cried one of the women.

‘Oh, Holy Harmony!' moaned another. ‘Let's hope the Princess hasn't drowned!'

‘Look, there's the Archont himself!' said the eldest washerwoman, pointing to the west facade of the palace. ‘He's questioning the servants.'

‘They're in trouble,' commented another woman. ‘The Archont must be dreadfully anxious!'

‘Look over there!' called the youngest woman. ‘There's some horse-drawn carriages coming!'

‘That'll be the Prince of Andemark's party,' confirmed a tall, thin washerwoman. ‘What a disaster! Oh, just think of the ceremony being called off!'

‘If the Princess isn't found we'll all be put to shame,' sighed the eldest. ‘Dear me, I see sad times ahead.'

Orpheus had heard enough. He closed his window again.

Sad times ahead. That last remark had a strange effect on him. It was as if, by some unfortunate chance, his own and his country's destiny had been thrown off balance together in a single night.

Suddenly there was more knocking on his door. Orpheus felt perspiration run down his back. Had the soldiers come back to arrest him? Did they suspect him? In his overheated mind, everything was happening so fast that he even wondered if the truth about his father might have reached the Coronador's ears.

He ran downstairs and went to get the poker from the hearth. If the soldiers wanted to take him away they'd have to fight him first! Orpheus approached the door and flung it open abruptly, brandishing his improvised weapon.

But there was no soldier on the doorstep, only old Berthilde, waiting there transfixed, with a black scarf over her grey hair.

‘Holy Tranquillity!' she cried. ‘Whatever are you doing?'

Orpheus quickly put down his poker and mumbled an excuse. The old servant's face was sad, and he knew at once why she had come.

‘He's dead, isn't he?'

Berthilde nodded. ‘He died in the night,' she breathed. ‘Only a few hours after you left.'

Orpheus stood there for a moment in the fresh air with his arms dangling. He shivered, and sneezed twice. Since last night, in spite of the mild summer weather, he couldn't seem to get warm.

‘What's to become of us?' wailed Berthilde, choking back her sobs.

Orpheus looked gravely at her; he had known her all his life, yet he felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. At that
moment he realised that there was no one left for him to rely on. He had never made friends, his father was dead, and now the great gulf created by that lie lay between him and Berthilde.

‘I had a word with the Holy Diafron,' the old woman told him. ‘Nothing's certain now, what with the incidents in the Citadel – the Coronador's forbidden all ritual ceremonies. But I managed to arrange for the funeral to be held all the same. It won't be for a few days, not until things have calmed down.'

Orpheus nodded. With the precepts of Tranquillity and Harmony suspended, the whole organisation of the country was upside down.

‘What about everything else, though?' Berthilde persisted. ‘What's to be done with the house? And the furniture, the books, the mementoes? Of course your father has left you everything.'

‘I don't want it,' Orpheus calmly replied.

‘But … but there's his fortune. It's a large one. Who's going to deal with it?'

‘Do what you think best with it,' said Orpheus. ‘Keep it all if you like.'

Poor Berthilde had difficulty in keeping back her tears, but she did not reproach him. ‘You'll come to the graveyard?' was all she asked.

‘Tell me when it is and I'll be there,' said Orpheus. ‘Leave me now.'

He sneezed again and then closed his door, leaving the old woman to return to the Upper Town in her grief.

Even after a few days Philomena couldn't get used to the pitching and tossing of the ship. She insisted on staying in her cabin, suffering from a bad case of seasickness. Malva, on the other hand, felt perfectly at home on the
Estafador
. She had exchanged her skirts for a pair of sailor's trousers and a canvas jacket. Thus clad, and with her short hair, she hardly looked like a girl any more, and the crew amused themselves by calling her their cabin boy. Delighted, she spent her time running from the fo'c's'le to the poop, watching the way the men handled the sails and demanding to be taught all about navigation.

The education that the Archont gave her had consisted mainly of lessons in mathematics, botany, legends, the geography of the world and the history of the Galnician dynasties. He had never taught her anything about the details of a ship's rigging. She wrote their new, poetic names down in her notebook with great delight: strops, pendants, shackles, halyards, sheets … sometimes the sailors let her climb into the shrouds,
sometimes Vincenzo showed her how to find the ship's position with the sextant. Malva was in seventh heaven. At the end of the day, when she went below decks to see Philomena, pale and lying on her bunk, she was full of the pleasures of the voyage.

‘Sailing is so intoxicating! One of these days I'm going to write a history of sailors and the sea. If you'd only come out of your burrow I could teach you the names of the sails. You'd have fun!'

Philomena snuggled further down into her pillows, a hand over her mouth to keep nausea at bay. But one evening, when she didn't feel quite so ill, she was finally persuaded by the Princess to leave her berth.

‘Come on!' said Malva. ‘Let's go up and join the crew. The cook's grilling sardines, and you need to eat something. Look how thin you are. What will your cousins in Lombardaine say when they see you? They'll think the Galnicians don't know how to feed themselves!'

Tottering, Philomena let Malva guide her up the steps through the hatch. They came out on deck just as the sun was sinking. The Sea of Ypree was covered with white horses, and the crests of the waves were crowned with rosy foam as far as the eye could see.

‘Vincenzo says we'll be landing in Lombardaine tomorrow evening,' whispered Malva. ‘So you're just in time to see the show.'

Philomena smiled at the Princess. She had never seen her so merry, lively and light-hearted. The sailors had gathered in the middle of the deck to eat and drink. There was a smell of grilling in the air. The sardines of the Sea of Ypree might not be as good as Galnician herrings, but all the same Philomena suddenly felt hungry.

‘Let's join them,' Malva encouraged her. ‘You wait and see – when they've been drinking they sing, and tell amazing stories!'

The chambermaid sat down beside the Princess. The crew of the
Estafador
numbered about twenty men, whose coarse language, loud laughter and lined faces marked with old scars didn't seem to bother Malva in the least. As for the sailors themselves, they thought it amusing to see her burning her fingers as she ate her sardines, and the atmosphere was so good-humoured that Philomena finally relaxed. She even accepted a goblet of Rioro, and then a second and a third. Roses came into her cheeks.

‘To Lombardaine! And long live Philomena!' cried the sailors, raising their bottles to their lips.

‘To Lombardaine!' the chambermaid replied.

When only the sardine bones were left, one of the sailors picked up his mandolin and began plucking the strings.

‘That's Silvio,' Malva whispered into Philomena's ear. ‘He sings the lamento so well you might think you were in Lombardaine already.'

The first stars appeared in the pale mauve sky. Silvio's musical voice soon silenced any talk, and the sailors took up his songs in chorus. Vincenzo quietly joined the group. Philomena thought he looked a little odd, and leaned over to Malva to say so, but the Princess reassured her.

‘Vincenzo works late every evening. He's shown me how to find a position by the stars. He feels responsible for us all – that's why he looks so tense.' And she added, ‘Don't forget that I wear the Archont's medallion. That will protect us from all misfortunes!'

Philomena sighed, and gradually gave herself up to enjoying the sailors' songs, while Malva happily clapped her hands in
time. Later, when Silvio put away his mandolin, she jumped to her feet.

‘Philomena hasn't heard any of the stories you told me,' she said. ‘If we're parting tomorrow, do tell her one of them!'

Bulo, the oldest of the sailors, rose to his feet. He had kept silent on the other evenings, merely making comments on his companions' tales.

‘Then it's my turn to tell the ladies about my long seafaring experience,' he said. And standing on deck under the stars, with a bottle of Rioro in his hand, he began the tale of one of his voyages.

‘It was a long time ago,' he began in a quavering voice. ‘Ah, in those days I was young, and I didn't fear the unknown. I went aboard the
Fabula
, a schooner chartered by a Polvakian ship-owner.'

Malva was already captivated. She leaned her chin on her clasped hands and didn't move.

‘We set off eastwards for the Highlands of Frigia,' old Bulo went on. ‘But as we were approaching the Frigian coast, a terrible storm broke over the
Fabula
. It rained cats and dogs, so hard that the raindrops made holes in the deck. There was thunder and lightning. By all the gods, the lightning was so bright that some of my comrades were blinded! And as for the swell …'

He paused to get his breath and toss back some Rioro.

‘Oh, shipmates, I never saw such a raging sea,' he murmured, his eyes widening as if he saw the scene again and was overcome by fear once more.

Leaning casually against Philomena's shoulder, Malva felt an enjoyable shiver run down her spine. These tales of storm and tempest reminded her of the stories the Archont had told her. She loved them.

‘So did the schooner sink?' she asked.

Old Bulo turned towards her, his sparse hair standing up on his wrinkled head. ‘No, no,' he said in mysterious tones. ‘If we'd sunk, would I be here to tell the tale?'

‘I was thinking you were the sole survivor of the shipwreck,' murmured Malva. ‘It's so exciting!'

Bulo shook his bristly head. ‘If you'd seen the reefs off the coast of the Highlands of Frigia, you'd know there was no surviving them at all.'

‘That's true,' put in Vincenzo, emerging from his reserved silence. ‘Those reefs are at least as fearsome as the reefs along the frontier between Lombardaine and Sperta.'

The other sailors solemnly nodded their agreement.

‘What a pity we can't see those reefs close up,' exclaimed Malva. ‘I'd love to know the thrill of fear!'

Philomena nudged her, and gave her a look to keep her quiet. To her simple mind, child of the common people that she was, speaking of shipwreck while at sea was tempting fate. Vincenzo moved his face close to the little brazier on which the sardines had been cooked. He lit a cigar from the glowing coals, and disquieting glints played over his black face for a moment.

‘I wouldn't wish you to make the acquaintance of such reefs,' he murmured, his green cat's eyes looking straight at Malva. ‘You'd be torn to shreds.'

‘That's enough!' cried Philomena. ‘You're frightening us with your stories!'

‘Not at all,' Malva disagreed. ‘I want to hear the rest.'

Old Bulo took another gulp of wine. His voice slowly made its way through the deep shadows that had engulfed the deck.

‘Well, the storm didn't send us to the bottom, but it blew us
off course. For days on end the wind howled through the sails, until the sails themselves were in rags. Many of the men died. We were driven east, always east, and there was nothing we could do. Hunger left its mark on our faces and fear clutched at our hearts. At last, one fine morning, the wind fell, and the stem of the
Fabula
ran ashore on sand. We'd been beached.'