A Tale Without a Name Page 9

  Five years have I wandered,

  Five years have I wandered,

  On the mountains, the mountains,

  Oh, dear love of mine, on the mountains.

  IX

  Where Fate Has Seen Fit to Place Us…

  IN THE MEANTIME, the Prince had asked for the Great Ledger of the Royal Army, where all the officers and soldiers were registered.

  The King turned to the Lord Chamberlain.

  “Fetch it at once,” he commanded.

  The Lord Chamberlain left the dining hall unhurriedly, and went to the back kitchen, where Polycarpus was wiping a serving platter with exemplary zeal for Little Irene, who was herself engaged in browning the game.

  “Fetch it at once,” commanded Master Cartwheeler.

  “Fetch what at once?” asked the equerry.

  “The ledger with the lists for the Royal Army.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I know no more than you do. Find it and get it.”

  The equerry looked at Little Irene with baffled eyes.

  “Who is asking for it?” asked Little Irene.

  “His Highness your brother, Your Royal Ladyship,” replied the Lord Chamberlain.

  “Oh, Polycarpus! You simply must find it!” pleaded Little Irene.

  Her words had hardly been spoken before Polycarpus had abandoned serving platter and dishcloth, and was dashing off to the cellar.

  He looked closely into everything, ferreted about, turned upside down every single thing there was to be found in the cellar; he discovered nothing. Running like mad, and covered with dust, he scurried up to the first floor, opened every cupboard, drawer, chest and hamper there was in the palace tower, and still he found nothing. Like a cat, he crawled up the steep ladder leading to the attic, and there, at long last, after rummaging in every corner, having opened every storeroom, having plunged almost bodily into every old chest and coffer that lay there dilapidated, each a mouldy old relic eaten by woodworm and maggots, he pulled out, from under a pile of old, yellowed and crumpled papers, a tattered, oblong book, its covers half-devoured by mice, and so impregnated with dust that the gilded lettering on the jacket could barely be deciphered any longer.

  He loaded it onto his back, and triumphantly he took it down to the dining hall, where the King and the Prince were still discussing things, while a cross-armed Master Cartwheeler yearned for them to conclude their talk, so that he might have leave to return home (where he knew that a mouth-watering mash of garlic and walnuts awaited him).

  The equerry placed the book on the table.

  “What is this miserable rag?” asked the Prince.

  “I do not know,” said the equerry, “but it is the only book in the palace.”

  The King opened it and leafed through it.

  “Of course, this is it,” he said. “I can see both names and titles.”

  And he began to read at random:

  “Axer, commander of the corps; Terrorman, general; Fearless, marshal; Thunderson, centurion.”

  He turned to the Lord Chamberlain, and ordered:

  “Summon at once General Terrorman!”

  Master Cartwheeler strove hard to bow.

  “He is dead, my lord, he’s been dead and gone eight years now.”

  “Ah… Hmm…” grunted the King. “Then summon Axer, Commander of the Corps.”

  “Passed away, my lord, twelve years ago.”

  “Then surely this must be his son. Summon his son,” ordered the King nervously.

  “His son was not in the army, my lord. He spent all his money, and then went into service with Master Rogue, the Supreme Commander of the Army; he too has left to go abroad.”

  “So why on earth have you brought me this age-old register, which lists only the names of dead men!” the King broke out peevishly.

  He turned over some more pages towards the end.

  “Ah, here are some more entries,” he said, pleased with himself. “Here are also the names of soldiers. Cuckoo, Cuckoobird, Cuckoochick, Cuckooclock, Cuckoonest, Cuckooson… Here are soldiers aplenty! Who says I have no army?”

  And turning to the equerry Polycarpus:

  “Command someone to go at once and summon… and summon all of these soldiers,” he ordered.

  But Polycarpus just stood, fixed to the ground, his mouth agape.

  “Who is to go? And where?” he asked, befuddled.

  “No! No!” said the Prince. “If it is at all possible to find them, we shall find them ourselves. Let us go to town, father.”

  “Now?” protested the King. “But we are just about to eat lunch! It is noon!”

  “We shall eat more heartily later,” replied the Prince.

  And so the King followed him, sulking and muttering, while Master Cartwheeler was slipping away quietly, to go to his mash of walnuts and garlic.

  In front of the barracks, they found the one-legged man, who was eating water-soaked broad beans with great relish.

  As he saw them he stood up erect and, holding his wooden porringer, he saluted in military fashion.

  “Go and fetch the garrison commander,” ordered the King.

  “He is bedridden with the snuffles, drinking infusions of lime-flowers,” replied the one-legged man with telegraphic brevity.

  “Listen here,” said the Prince slowly, “do you know where I might find the soldiers who are on the army lists?”

  “There are no soldiers.”

  “Where is Cuckoo?” asked again the Prince.

  “Apprentice to the cobbler,” the one-legged man replied hastily.

  “What’s that you say?” the King asked crossly. “With whose permission did he leave the barracks to become an apprentice? And Cuckoobird…”

  “Undercook to Cuckoochick, who killed Cuckooclock in order to take from him the purse he had found in Cuckooson’s shooting knapsack, the man who won three five-florin coins at the tavern; he has since left to go abroad,” came the reply of the one-legged man, all in a single breath.

  The King pulled at the few hairs on his head, and took flight towards the mountain.

  The Prince continued his examination with blackened heart.

  “And the other soldiers, where are they?”

  “They are not,” replied the one-legged man.

  “But what became of them?”

  “Nothing became of them, for they were not.”

  “Since when has the army ceased to exist?” asked the Prince without losing patience.

  “It never ceased,” answered proudly the one-legged man. “The army is me, and as the army shall I die.”

  The Prince understood that he was wasting his time. With head bowed low, with heart heavy as lead, he headed for Miserlix’s house.

  He did not know where to go. He knew no one in town of whom he might seek counsel, or help. And yet he had to find men and arms at once!

  “The King paid for an army,” he thought bitterly to himself, “and the soldiers became cooks, or undercooks, or thieves and cut-throats. And the florins found their way into the pockets of the numerous Cunningsons, and the army’s supreme commanders sold the weapons, the chiefs of the royal fleet ransacked the naval base and dismantled the navy’s ships to steal a few fistfuls of iron!”

  He made every effort to understand and somehow explain the cause of all this wickedness.

  He recalled the words of the master builder regarding the brawls and acts of retaliation taking place everywhere, in the villages and in the cities. He remembered the schoolmaster’s words too, that there were times when it was necessary for one to be truly heroic in order to do one’s duty.

  Was there then no one amongst his people who had the dignity to do his duty heroically?

  He could not help remembering the thefts and the villainies, petty or significant, that he witnessed everywhere, and he thought: “Is it then only in times of happiness that my people will be honourable and honest?”

  Black despair seized him. He went into the woods, wandered and lost himself
amidst the thick trees, and lay down on the cool grass, closing his eyes with great weariness.

  “Is it worth it, putting up a fight for such people, to ache for such a land?” he murmured to himself.

  “Yes!” said a female voice softly. “It’s worth it.”

  He opened his eyes and lifted his head, startled.

  Before him stood Knowledge.

  “How did you get here?” he asked her.

  “You no longer came to my hut, and I knew that you were alone. I imagined you feeling dejected and discouraged, and I came to see you. I saw you from the road entering the woods, and I followed you. Yes, it’s worth struggling for your country.”

  The Prince hid his face away in his hands.

  “If only you knew what sort of people they were!” he said wearily.

  “Well then, do you want to become yourself like them?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean that you scorn these people who are your people, because they are thieves or cowards, or simply because they do not have life enough to fight against misery and the general lethargy. So then, do you want to become like them, forsake the state at the first sign of difficulty, abandon your post, show yourself a coward in the face of toil and responsibility? Your people are like all others, neither better nor worse. They need, however, governance. Could it be perhaps that it is you yourself who are not strong enough to be a leader?”

  Knowledge gazed at him, her eyes thoughtful.

  “Where fate has seen fit to place us,” she went on, “there must we stay. Fate chose for you the place of a leader. In your place you must stay, and, if need be, there die with dignity and pride. And then, but only then, shall you stand higher than those you scorn. But to leave? Never that, no! That would be desertion!”

  The Prince felt a shock run through him.

  “I shall stay,” he said with vehement yearning. “I shall work! Yes, I shall save them, even if they themselves don’t want to be saved. My land, I shall make it great again, I shall give it back life, or I shall perish with it. Farewell, Knowledge, and thank you for the courage that your words have stirred up inside me.”

  And with great strides he left the woods, without once looking behind him.

  X

  At the Tavern

  HE RAN STRAIGHT to Miserlix’s house and found him at the table with his daughter. When they saw him, they both rose to their feet.

  “Sit and catch your breath, you look tired,” said Miserlix, offering him an iron stool. “Have you eaten?”

  “I am not hungry,” replied the Prince.

  “Please, accept our poor fare,” pleaded Miserlix.

  And so the Prince sat at their table so as not to hurt his feelings, and the girl fetched him an iron plate.

  “Miserlix,” he then said, not wasting any words, “I am the King’s son, and I have come to ask you a favour.”

  Miserlix sprang up from his seat.

  “The King’s son?” he exclaimed.

  “The Prince!” murmured the girl.

  And both fell on their knees, stunned and bewildered.

  “No, no, please, do not take it so,” said the Prince, helping them to rise, “I did not say this to frighten you, but to ask rather for your help. Miserlix, have you heard the evil tidings? The King our Royal Uncle has crossed the border and is advancing towards the river.”

  “Heaven help us!” cried the girl.

  Miserlix grasped his head.

  “So, then, the end has come at last,” he grunted.

  “No, the end has not come!” the Prince said with fervour. “As long as we all wish it, we can send the enemy away.”

  “But how?” asked Miserlix dispiritedly. “You have no weapons, no soldiers—”

  “This is why I have come to you,” interrupted the Prince. “You will make me the weapons and I shall raise the soldiers, only tell me where all the men of the land are hiding. For I have not seen a single one, either in the fields or on the roads.”

  Miserlix laughed a dry, bitter laugh.

  “If you were to go to the tavern,” he said, “you would find all of them there together.”

  “I shall go then to the tavern. You, however—you must not waste an instant. Forge weapons for me.”

  “But what with, what with?!” said Miserlix in despair. “I do not even have a pound of iron left any more!”

  The Prince cast a meaningful silent glance at the iron furniture around him.

  Miserlix understood the hint, and smiled.

  “You want me to spoil good work that was completed long ago?” he said sadly.

  “And why not, if there is need?” answered the Prince with burning fervour.

  Seeing, however, the wretchedness on Miserlix’s face, he rose up hastily:

  “It would have been your duty to your King and to your country to do so, and you would have fulfilled it, no matter what it cost you personally. Yet there is no need to spoil work that has been already finished. Show me where the mines are, tell me how to extract the ore, and I shall get you at once as much iron as you desire!”

  Miserlix was electrified.

  “You could awaken a man long dead with that soul of yours, you could!” he said with passion. “Yours is my furniture, yours too is my life!”

  And seizing hold of two pickaxes, he went outside.

  “Take the handcart, a coil of cable and the miner’s lamp, and follow us!” he called out to his daughter.

  With long strides he headed with the Prince towards the mines, while behind them followed the girl with the handcart.

  On their way they met a pale, scrawny boy, who stretched out his hand to them when he saw them.

  “Why are you begging?” asked the Prince.

  “I have no bread,” replied the boy.

  “Then come with us. I have no money to give you, but if you work, I shall give you food to quell your hunger.”

  So the boy followed them. They reached the pits.

  “Tie the rope around my waist,” said the Prince. “I shall go down myself.”

  He took the pickaxe, secured the lantern to his belt, and Miserlix lowered him down the shaft.

  When he reached the pit bottom, he saw that there was no need to dig for ore. There were numerous loose piles of rocks already mined, even two or three baskets already filled and left lying around.

  The Prince called to Miserlix to lower down the little errand boy, and together they dragged one of these baskets to the opening of the shaft, tied it up with the cable, and told Miserlix to lift it up, and to lower it down again after emptying it.

  “And now, my boy, you are to do yourself as I have done,” the Prince said, after they had filled several baskets in this manner. “And when your work is finished, come, and I shall give you food.”

  Then the Prince attached once again the rope around his waist, and went up the shaft.

  He found Miserlix hacking at the ore stones with his pickaxe, separating the metal from the raw earth, and piling it in the handcart.

  “Now go back home,” he said to his daughter. “Unload there the metal, and bring me back the handcart.”

  And he asked the Prince:

  “You leave us, my lord?”

  “Yes! I shall go to the tavern. Time flies, and I must gather together the soldiers who are to fight with the swords and spears that you will make for me,” the Prince replied.

  The Prince and Miserlix’s daughter set off together. On the way, they talked.

  “You hope in vain that you could ever fight against your enemies, my lord,” said the girl sorrowfully. “You have no soldiers.”

  “I shall find them,” replied the Prince. “This is why I am going to the tavern.”

  “They will never follow you, they don’t care any more about this land, and whether it should perish; they only have two thoughts in their heads, gaming and wine. But even if they were to follow you, how could my father ever manage to forge so many weapons on his own? And furthermore, my father i
s a blacksmith: he can make arrow tips and spearheads, but not arrow shafts and lances. He does not work with wood.”

  “What you say is right,” replied the Prince. “But what happened to all the craftsmen who used to work for your father in the past?”

  “Some have left, some have changed trades. The best one amongst them, his brother, opened his own smithy. Only his business did not prosper, and now he does nothing.”

  “Where is he?” asked the Prince. “I shall go and find him, and I shall fetch him here…”

  The young maiden shook her head slowly.

  “You words will be to no avail; no one shall come without florins!”

  “And yet I shall try. Your uncle, can he work with wood?”

  “Of course he can, he is one of the most skilled craftsmen for weaponry and arms.”

  “And where would I find him?”

  “At the tavern, just like everyone else.”

  “Then I shall go and get him. Prepare a meal for several people,” said the Prince, animated. “I will be bringing him to supper.”

  And with that, he hastened to the capital. He went straight to the tavern. The door was open. Some youths, pale and wretched, were drinking, seated around a filthy rustic table made of rough-hewn wooden boards. Some others, collapsed on the floor, were sleeping heavily, and others still, half-sprawled across the table, were throwing dice or were snoring, their heads resting on their folded arms.

  One man, glass in hand, was telling in a husky voice the story of his youth.

  The Prince sat across from him. From the similarities in his features, he understood that this was Miserlix’s brother.

  “Those were the good days, when Prudentius I was still alive and reigning, God rest his soul,” the man was saying, sighing deeply. “No man would spend his time drinking in a tavern then; we never even set foot in one.”

  “And who is forcing you to come here now, old man?” said the Prince.

  “Who? Who else but the very wretchedness of this place. How can a man kill time otherwise, except by coming to the tavern? It was different back then. Then we worked. Not like these young lads here!…”