It was all very puzzling. Perhaps the gentlemen had been alluding to the quality of the horse's tail. As before, and for much the same reason, Madouc rejected the theory. She decided to speculate no further but to make inquiries at the first opportu nity.
Madouc was on tolerably good terms with Prince Cassander, only son to King Casmir and Queen Sollace, and heir-apparent to the crown of Lyonesse. Cassander over the years had become something of a gay blade. His physique was robust. Under tight blond curls his face was round, with small stiff features and round blue eyes. From his father Cassander had inherited, or had learned, a whole set of curt gestures and habits of command; from Sollace had come his fine pale pink skin, small hands and feet, and a temperament easier and more flexible than that of King Casmir.
Madouc discovered Cassander sitting alone in the orangery, writing with concentration upon a parchment with a quill pen. Madouc stood watching a moment. Did Cassander spend his energies upon poetry? Song? An amorous ode? Cassander, looking up, caught sight of Madouc. He put his pen aside and dropped the parchment into a box.
Madouc slowly approached. Cassander seemed in a jovial mood, and gave Madouc a heavily facetious greeting: "Hail and thrice hail, to the avenging Fury of the castle, clothed in darts and spasms of purple lightning! Who will be next to know the sting of your awful wrath? Or-I should say-the impact of your over-ripe quinces?"
Madouc smiled wanly and settled herself upon the bench be side Cassander. "His Majesty has issued exact orders; I may no longer do what needs to be done." Madouc sighed. "I have decided to obey."
"That is a wise decision."
Madouc went on, in a wistful voice. "One would think that, as a royal princess, I might be entitled to throw quince in what ever direction and as often as I chose."
"So one might think, but the act is not considered decorous, and above all, decorum is the duty of a royal princess!"
"What of my mother, the Princess Suldrun-was she decorous?"
Cassander, raising his eyebrows, slanted a quizzical glance down upon Madouc. "What an odd question! How should I answer? In all honesty, I would be forced to say something like: ‘not altogether'."
"Because she lived alone in a garden? Or because I was born to her when she was not married?"
"Neither form of conduct is considered truly decorous."
Madouc pursed her lips. "I want to know more about her, but no one will speak. Why is there so much mystery?"
Cassander laughed ruefully. "There is a mystery because no one knows what went on."
"Tell me what you know of my father."
Cassander said ponderously: "I can tell you next to nothing because that is all I know. Apparently he was a handsome young vagabond who chanced to find Suidrun alone in the garden and imposed himself upon her lonely condition."
"Maybe she was glad to see him."
Cassander spoke with unconvincing primness: "She acted without decorum, and only that may be said for Suldrun. But his was insolent conduct! He made a fleeting mockery of our royal dignity, and well deserved his fate."
Madouc reflected. "It is very odd. Did Suldrun complain of my father's conduct?"
Cassander frowned. "By no means! The poor little wight seems to have loved him. But tush! I know little of the affair, except that it was the priest Umphred who found the two together and brought the news to His Majesty."
"My poor father was punished terribly," said Madouc. "I cannot understand the reason."
Again Cassander spoke virtuously: "The reason is clear! It was necessary to teach the churl a stern lesson, and to discourage all others of like mind."
With a sudden quiver in her voice Madouc asked: "Is he then still alive?"
"That I doubt."
"Where is the hole into which he was cast?"
Cassander jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "In the rocks behind the Peinhador. The oubliette is a hundred feet deep with a dark little cell at the bottom. It is where incorrigible criminals and enemies of the state are punished."
Madouc looked up the hill to where the gray roof of the Peinhador could be glimpsed behind Zoltra Bright-Star's Wall. "My father would be neither of those."
Cassander shrugged. "Such was the royal justice, and doubtless correct."
"Still, my mother was a royal princess! She would not have loved just anyone who happened to look over the fence."
Cassander shrugged, to indicate the puzzle took him beyond his depth. "So it would seem; I grant you that. Still-who knows? Royal princess or not, Suldrun was a girl, and girls are female, and females are as wayward as dandelion fluff in the wind! Such is my experience."
"Perhaps my father was highborn," Madouc mused. "No one troubled to ask."
"Unlikely," said Cassander. "He was a foolish young rogue who received his just deserts. You are not convinced? This is the law of nature! Each person is born into his proper place, which he must keep, unless his king grants him advancement for valor in war. No other system is proper, right, or natural."
"What then of me?" asked Madouc in a troubled voice. "Where is my ‘pedigree'?"
Cassander gave a bark of laughter. "Who knows? You have been granted the status of a royal princess; that should suffice."
Madouc was still dissatisfied. "Was my father put into the hole along with his ‘pedigree'?"
Cassander chuckled. "If he had one to begin with."
"But what is it? Something like a tail?"
Cassander could not restrain his mirth and Madouc indig antly rose to her feet and walked away.
IV
The royal family of Lyonesse often rode out from Haidion into the countryside: to join a hunt, or to indulge the king's taste for falconry or simply to enjoy a pastoral excursion. King Casmir usually rode his black charger Sheuvan, while Sollace sat a gentle white paifrey, or, as often as not, the cushioned seat of the well-sprung royal carriage. Prince Cassander rode his fine prancing roan Gildrup; the Princess Madouc ranged happily here and there on her dappled pony Tyfer.
Madouc noted that many highborn ladies doted on their steeds and frequently visited the stables to pet and nourish their darlings with apples and sweetmeats. Madouc began to do likewise, bringing carrots and turnips for Tyfer's delectation, meanwhile evading the surveillance of both Lady Desdea and Lady Marmone, and also escaping her six maids-in-waiting.
The stableboy assigned to the care of Tyfer was Pymfyd: a tow-headed lad of twelve or thirteen, strong and willing, with an honest countenance and an obliging disposition. Madouc convinced him that he had also been appointed to serve as her personal attendant and escort when the need arose. Without demur Pymfyd acceded to the arrangement, which seemed to signalize an advancement in status.
Early one afternoon, with the overcast hanging low and the scent of rain in the air, Madouc donned a gray hooded cloak and slipped away to the stables. She summoned Pymfyd from his work with the manure fork. "Come, Pymfyd, at once! I have an errand which will require an hour or so of my time, and I will need your attendance."
Pymfyd asked cautiously: "What sort of errand, Your High ness?"
"In due course you will learn all that is necessary. Come then! The day is short; the hours tumble past, while you doodle and dither."
Pymfyd gave a sour grunt. "Will you be wanting Tyfer?"
"Not today." Madouc turned away. "Come."
With something of a flourish Pymfyd plunged his manure fork into the dungheap and followed Madouc on laggard steps.
Madouc marched up the path that led around the back of the castle, with Pymfyd trudging behind.