So he stayed where he was, pretending not to notice that Clyde and Dale had blocked his view. After all, with a minstrel, the music was what mattered—and even more, the words! He held his place, and listened.
“Prince Arthur dwelt, unknown, obscure,” the minstrel began, and Orgoru’s heart leaped.
“Sir Ector and his good wife raised the lad from a babe with their own son Kay, and he grew to be a fine, strapping youth. Now and again the wizard Merlin came to teach him, and to bring some hint of what passed in the great world outside—but how was Arthur to know that the slain king of whom Merlin spoke was his own father, that the lost prince of legend was himself?”
“At last the wizard came with news of a tournament… Orgoru listened, unable to see the minstrel, but with his head ringing as he heard how Sir Kay had insisted on going to the Christmas tournament, and Arthur had gone as his squire, heard how they had come to Glastonbury and seen the sword locked in the stone to prove which man was rightful King of England. The lilting voice told him how Kay had forgotten to bring his sword, and Arthur, in a hurry to arm Kay in time for the joust, had pulled the sword from the stone instead—and been acclaimed King of all England!
The minstrel sang on, but Orgoru turned away, his head ringing, dazed with the wonder of it.
“Can’t see, Orgoru?” Dale gibed. He had been watching for signs of defeat. “Aw, too bad!”
“Want to sit on our shoulders?” Clyde offered.
But Orgoru scarcely heard them—though he did hear one last minstrel’s verse:
“He built his court, to withstand time, And for all courts be paradigm!”
Light exploded within Orgoru for the second time, and he staggered, nearly falling. He caught hold of a sapling in time to hold himself up, not even noticing the mocking laughter that rose behind him—for he knew now who he was! Not only what, but who! Like Arthur, he was a prince raised in secret, hidden among the common folk until he could understand his true nature, discover his true destiny! The minstrel himself had just told him his name—he was the Prince of Paradime!
He walked around the pond slowly until his legs were no longer weak, his breath no longer ragged, the light in his mind dimmed enough for him to notice other things. What wizard was this minstrel, this herald of destiny, who had brought him this understanding? Suddenly, Orgoru felt a clawing need to hear the man’s voice again.
As he neared the knot of listeners once more, he heard an older man scoff, “A city in the forests? You tell wild tales indeed!”
“I should think so, too,” the minstrel replied, “but the man who told me swore he had seen it himself—stone towers rising above the treetops, and beyond them, turrets even higher!”
“But who would build a walled city inside a forest?” one of the older men objected. “Wouldn’t the forest be wall enough?”
“Ah!” The minstrel held up a forefinger. “But what if they built the city on an open plain, so long ago that the forest has grown up about it?”
A murmur of awe went through the crowd, at the notion of buildings so old—but a grandfather called, “Nonsense! Could they have been such poor householders that they let the woods grow to cover their fields?”
“No,” said the minstrel, “if they were alive.”
It took a minute or two for the significance of his words to sink in, but when it did, a murmur of fear went through the crowd—the delicious thrill of fear that doesn’t threaten—and a frisson of superstitious awe. “Do you say it’s deserted?” a woman asked.
“Not ‘deserted,’ exactly.” The minstrel’s voice sank low. “For the man who told me of it camped by its walls that night, and swears he heard thin voices, distant laughter, even music so faint he wondered if he had heard it at all.”
A moan of delighted terror ran through the crowd. “Do you say they are ghosts?” the grandfather asked.
“Perhaps. Who knows?” The minstrel affected disdain. “He didn’t look, after all, for the walls were too high to climb. But he heard, he heard. Who knows? Perhaps the lords and ladies who lived in that city in its proud youth dwell there yet, alive and deathless!”
“Impossible!” the grandfather scoffed.
“Ghosts,” somebody said with full assurance, and the word ran through the crowd like a ripple: “Ghosts! Ghosts!”
“Ghosts of princes and princesses,” the minstrel agreed, his voice low and thrilling, hand gesturing to show them invisible royalty. “Ghosts of kings and queens! And at night they come out to feast on phantom food and listen to enchanted music, to dance their airy rounds and court one another with wraithlike grace.”
The murmur shivered, and so did the crowd that made it. But Orgoru didn’t shiver; instead, his eyes glowed. He listened through the tale, hanging on every word the minstrel said, drinking each in and letting them all together build a picture of courtly refinement, of beautiful and gallant people, in his mind. But when the minstrel was done and paid, and the crowd, disappointed that the delights must end, went off to their beds, Orgoru turned away with fire in his eyes and hope singing in his heart.
“Why are you so excited, Orgoru?”
Orgoru looked up, startled. Could one of these village girls at last have realized the excellence of his hidden qualities? But he was massively disappointed; it was only Ciletha, plain and skinny—the only village maiden to treat him with civility, even friendliness. If only Althea could have seen him so! But he was grateful for kindness, whatever its source. Ciletha was, after all, the only person in the village with whom he could share his thoughts, though he didn’t dare chance his secrets even with her. “Who wouldn’t be excited by such a tale, Ciletha?”
“No one, but with the rest of us, the excitement goes when the tale is done,” Ciletha said. “Why are you still filled with fire, Orgoru? I’ve never seen you like this!”
Orgoru looked around in one quick glance, to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. “Anyone else would think I was crazy…” He turned back to Ciletha. “You’re the only one I would tell—but you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” What did it matter if she did, though? By sunrise, he’d be gone! “I promise.” Ciletha’s eyes were wide and wondering.
Orgoru took a deep breath and plunged. “I’ve always known I’m better than these cloddish people in this village, Ciletha. In fact, I know my real parents must have been people of quality!”
Ciletha halted, staring at him in fright. “Your real parents? But, Orgoru…”
“You don’t think these shallow fools could be my true mother and father, do you? No!” The words came in a rush now. “They must have been a magistrate and his wife at least, who had to hide me here out of fear of their enemies! But even that shrew and her husband don’t know what I really am!”