The Princess and the Captain Page 5

  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.

  7

  Old Bulo’s Story

  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.’

  ‘So where were you?’ asked Malva, her eyes shining.

  ‘Ah, that’s it, young lady! We didn’t know. We had just come to land in a country unknown to any map!’

  There was a sudden murmur from the sailors, and Silvio burst out laughing.

  ‘That old rogue Bulo, it’s always the same. High time he left off talking about that old imaginary country of his!’

  The others started laughing, but Bulo didn’t seem inclined to leave it at that.

  ‘You mark my words,’ he went on, ‘that country exists. I’ve been there and I know! And I swear on the heads of my ancestors that if I could only find the way back to it, that’s where I’d like to end my days. Because –’

  ‘Oh, stop your nonsense!’ Silvio interrupted him again. ‘That’s just an old yarn. You’ve lost your marbles, Bulo!’

  Malva looked at the old drunk and the other laughing sailors, trying to guess who was telling the truth. Philomena was trembling impatiently.

  ‘It’s very late,’ she suddenly said. ‘I think we should go and get some rest. In Lombardaine tomorrow –’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Malva begged her. ‘Do let Bulo finish!’

  Vincenzo ground out his cigar. Sparks flew into the black night.

  ‘Yes, let’s hear the end of it,’ he decided. ‘And after that we’ll all get some sleep, for there’s certainly a long day ahead.’

  Thus encouraged, the old man finished his story. Malva listened with bated breath.

  ‘We called that country Elgolia, young lady. And as I was saying, that’s where I’d like to end my days. The climate is hot and dry, but the earth is fertile all year round, for hundreds of rivers flow through its plains. The sky is full of red birds, the trees groan under the weight of their fruit, and the folk of that land don’t know the meaning of poverty. There’s a lake of warm, bubbling water in the heart of a forest, called Lake Barath-Thor, and those who bathe in it come out ten years younger. And on top of Mount Ur-Tha grows a tree a thousand years old. Sit on its highest branch, and by some kind of magic you can see right to the other end of the Known World. So you can always find out how the people you left at home are doing, in Galnicia or wherever you lived. Last but not least, there’s a wonderful bay, the Bay of Dao-Boa. A sweet wind blows gently there, and you have only to breathe that air to feel blissfully happy.’

  Old Bulo sighed nostalgically. He poured a final draught of Rioro down his throat and threw the empty bottle overboard.

  ‘I’m not crazy,’ he muttered. ‘Elgolia exists somewhere, far to the east, at the outer bounds of the Known World.’

  ‘What I don’t see,’ said Silvio derisively, ‘is why you didn’t stay in that Elgolia of yours, if you were so happy there!’

  Bulo suddenly hid his face in his hands, overcome by profound sadness.

  ‘You have to deserve Elgolia!’ he sobbed. ‘And I turned out unworthy of it! To my great grief I was driven away. It was my fault, all my fault! If only I could put things right!’

  He fell to his knees on the deck. Philomena jumped nervously. The man seemed both sincere and very drunk. What impression was this scene going to make on young Malva’s mind? She drew her away by the hand, hoping to persuade her to go back down to their cabin, but the Princess wriggled out of her grasp and knelt down beside the drunkard.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked very gently.

  ‘I was greedy!’ snivelled Bulo. ‘I tried to take the Vuth-Nathor away with me, and I ruined everything!’ He seized the Princess’s wrists. ‘If you ever go there, be on your guard! Don’t let the brightness of the Vuth-Nathor tempt you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ breathed the fascinated Malva.

  ‘The Vuth-Nathor, the Vuth-Nathor,’ stammered the sailor, exhausted. And suddenly he collapsed on the deck. Malva let out a cry.

  ‘Well, I think the joke’s over now,’ observed Vincenzo. He snapped his fingers, and all the sailors rose to their feet. Philomena plucked at Malva’s sleeve.

  ‘Leave him to sleep it off. You can see he’s dead drunk – he doesn’t know what he’s saying any more.’

  Malva shook old Bulo once again. ‘What is the Vuth-Nathor?’ she persisted.

  But the man was unconscious, lying there full length, as if merely saying that strange name had felled him.

  Disappointed, Malva followed Philomena. As they were starting down the steps to the cabins, Vincenzo caught up with them. He leaned forward, his dark face close to them.

  ‘Sleep well,’ he told them. ‘Tomorrow is the great day.’ He brushed the Archont’s medallion with his fingertips. Malva never took it off. ‘Tomorrow, Princess, you will discover how well your protector has fixed everything.’

  That night Malva slept soundly. She dreamed of Elgolia, Lake Barath-Thor, the thousand-year-old tree growing on top of Mount Ur-Tha, and the Bay of Dao-Boa. But the next morning a terrifying noise woke her abruptly from her dreams. She sat up in her bunk with a start.

  Philomena was snoring beside her. Malva felt anxious and nudged her, but however hard she shook her, Philomena stayed fast asleep. There was a second crash. Malva put her hands over her ears: it was as if the ship were screaming with pain.

  She raced out of the cabin and went on deck. She stopped, staring: the Estafador was making straight for a line of rocks, their skeletal white heads sticking up above the water. The sea was bristling with them, and the crashing noise she had heard was the sound of the ship’s bows already scraping on the rocks in the shallows.

  Malva felt like screaming, but she didn’t have the strength. She stayed there on deck, spellbound by the sight of the waves breaking on the reefs. The bows of the ship were close to disaster, yet nothing suggested that she was about to turn!

  The Princess raised her head. Above the horizon, the sky was cloudless. The mainsail, mizzen, foresail, forestaysail and jib topsail were all hoisted, but there didn’t seem to be anyone in charge of them. The deck was deserted – there was no sign of the crew.

  ‘Vincenzo?’ she managed to call. She went to the poop deck. It was then she realised that the two lifeboats which usually rested in solid oak cradles amidships were gone too.

  ‘Vincenzo!’ she cried, louder this time.

  The only answer came from the wind in the rigging, and the vast backwash of the waves on the jagged rocks further away. Malva felt as if a gulf were opening up beneath her feet. She let out a terrified yell.

  ‘Philomena! Philomena!’ she shouted, racing back down to the cabins at desperate speed. ‘They’ve abandoned us! We’re going aground on the reefs! Philomena!’

  Malva ran into the cabin, took hold of her chambermaid and shook her with all her might.

  ‘Wake up!’ she yelled. ‘We’re sinking!’

  Philomena opened one dull eye. Its pupil seemed extraordinarily dilated.

  ‘They drugged you!’ Malva suddenly understood. ‘The traitors! They put poison in your wine!’

  Tugging at her chambermaid’s arms, she managed to haul her out of her bunk. The shock of falling on the floor seemed to bring Philomena back to her senses.

  ‘What are you doing up at this hour?’ she asked in a thick voice.

  Malva took Philomena’s face in her hands. ‘We must get off this ship, Philomena, do you hear? If we don’t we have no chance!’

  ‘Get off … the ship?’ repeated the young woman. ‘But I … I don’t want to … I can’t swim!’

  Malva slapped her twice, briskly. ‘Wake up! We’re going to die!’

  This time the mist veiling Philomena’s eyes abruptly cleared. A spasm shook her chest. She crawled to the back of the cabin, turned and vomited on the floor. When she had
finished she got to her feet, staggering.

  ‘Hurry, hurry!’ Malva urged. ‘Follow me!’

  Still groggy, Philomena set off after her mistress. The Estafador was grinding and creaking now, on the point of breaking up. When they came out on deck the rocks were alarmingly close.

  ‘Help me!’ Malva ordered. ‘We can float on this!’

  She was trying to lift the open-work wooden grating that covered the central hatch. Philomena lent her a hand, and between them they managed to free the panel of wood. They started the same operation on another hatch cover.

  ‘And now we must jump!’ said Malva, making for the stern of the ship. Where they stood they were at least ten metres above the waves. The water was boiling against the hull. Pale as death, Philomena clutched her panel of wood to her breast.

  ‘I can’t,’ she murmured.

  ‘You can!’ Malva told her.

  At that moment the prow of the Estafador hit the first reef head on. The wood shattered with a dry cracking sound, and the whole vessel started breaking up.

  ‘Now!’ cried Malva, and grabbing Philomena’s dress in her free hand, she flung herself into the void.

  They fell heavily into the tumultuous waves. The cold seized them and they swallowed water several times. Then, clutching their panels of wood, they kicked out to get away from the ship and the rocks.

  Their clothes were clinging to them, sticky as seaweed, making movement difficult. But fear gave them strength. By dint of encouraging each other, they managed to get out of the most dangerous area where the currents would inevitably have washed them against the rocks.

  When Malva thought she was far enough away she turned. The Estafador was taking in water everywhere. A great gash had opened up the hull from the rail to the hawse holes. The sails were sagging, the bowsprit was hanging inert from the end of the stays.

  ‘What happened?’ asked the frightened Philomena. Contact with cold water had brought her back to her senses.

  ‘Vincenzo tried to kill us,’ Malva replied. ‘He and his men left the ship while we were asleep. They must be far away by now.’