The Incorporated Knight (29 page)

             
"My dear," said Eudoric, "couldn't you conjure up a bigger demon, to overawe the ogre? Perchance one of those marids whereof you told me?"

             
"The spell works not, so far from the Saracenic lands. I have marid servants in my palace; but when I sought to evoke more in Armoria, none responded to my call."

             
"Have you any other magic against ogres?"

             
"One spell for routing a foe; but I've never essayed it. The result might be worse for us than for the foe."

             
"Well then, what is your idea?"

             
"We must retrace our way to the main road and enter Franconia at the regular crossing, as the old man urged."

             
"And be seized at the border by Gwennon's men-at-arms? Art daft, woman?"

             
"Nay, Shorty; you are now the besotted one. If I call out my name and rank when we reach the border port, the Franconians on the other side will rush across to rescue me."

             
Eudoric hated being called "Shorty," but he was sure that if he made an issue of this sobriquet, Yolanda would only use it all the more whenever she was displeased. He feared that, despite her pleas of wifely devotion, she would be angry over something most of the time. Mastering his irritation, he took refuge in logic:

             
"Imprimis, the Armorians might seize us ere we came within calling distance of the border post. Secundus, even if we drew nigh the post, your people might not understand that a Franconian princess was beset. Tertius, they might be under strict orders not to violate the border. Quartus, your royal family is far from popular with the lower orders, wherefore the soldiers might decide to let you stew in your own juice. Quintus, if they were partisans of the Duke of Dorelia—"

             
"Oh, you vile tradesman, calculating odds instead of rushing in to succor the right! Where is your knightly courage?"

             
Eudoric gave a mirthless smile. "My mammet, if you know your own history, 'twas but a decade ago that your gallant Franconian knights, serving in the Carinthian army, lost the day for their side and their lives as well, at Polovotsograd. They made one of those gallant, headlong charges, against orders, into the midst of the Pantorozians."

             
"At least they died with their honor bright! As for you, you're not even the other kind of swordsman. You've pranged me but twice since we left Ysness. My third husband, with his nose forever in ancient books, was no Huano of Tarraconia; but he could still futter thrice to your once!"

             
"Your third—" Eudoric stopped with his mouth agape.

             
"Aye, my third husband, the scholar Sugerius. What about him?"

             
Eudoric took time before answering, being somewhat shaken by this revelation. "I realized on our wedding night that the Armorians had stretched the truth in calling you a 'maiden'; but I knew not what a monstrous taradiddle it was."

             
• "Well? And what of that? 'Twas all perfectly legal. 'Tis not my fault that I am thrice widowed."

             
"You told me you were single," said Eudoric, "when I asked you as we sat awaiting the monster."

             
"So I was then. I said not that I had always been so."

             
Eudoric rode for a time in silence, then asked: "Tell me of my predecessors. What befell them? Didst turn them into frogs?"

             
"Nay. Art sure you wish to hear this painful history? I would not wound your feelings beyond necessity, for despite all you are dear to me."

             
"I'm sure, Yolanda," he said. "I believe in scouting territory ere I invade it."

             
"Well, my first mate was chosen for me, as is usual with the children of royalty. He was Gontran of Tolosa, a duke's son and a famous warrior. But he proved a stupid, drunken brute, who laid vile hands upon me in anger."

             
"What happened to him?"

             
Yolanda shrugged. "He disappeared one day. 'Twas thought that, like many another dissatisfied husband, he'd run off, changed his name, and taken up a new life elsewhere."

             
"But then, how could you—"

             
"Oh, I see what meanst. As I once told you, there's no divorce in Franconia; only annulment, to be had by lavishly bribing the priests of the Triunitarian hierarchy. But if a spouse vanish and nought is heard of him, or her, for a year, he may be declared legally dead. This has the same effect as an annulment; and thus it was with Gontran."

             
"What if he reappear?"

             
"Legally, that has no effect. But I dread the thought; for Gontran was a rancorous, vengeful man, who never forgave what he deemed a slight or let bygones be bygones. Hatreds and grudges so filled his mind as to render him impervious to reason. I hope you'd be prepared to confront him, should he—ah— manifest himself in the flesh."

             
Eudoric sighed. "I can only do my best. How about Husband Number Two?"

             
"He was a poet from your Empire, Landwin of Kromnitch."

             
"Forsooth? Methinks I knew that fantastico a few years agone. A tall, thin, fair-haired wight?"

             
"Aye. He had some vague claim to noble descent, which I credited not; but he sang such sweet songs and made such tender love that, being young and foolish, I overlooked the vileness of's blood, I persuaded Clothar to knight him for his verses. Still and all, to marry off a royal to such an one did bend the framework of our social order until it creaked."

             
"How fared the pair of you in wedlock?" Eudoric asked. He was a little surprised to find that his emotion on learning of Yolanda's much-married past was less jealousy than a consuming curiosity.

             
"I could not complain of his lectual performance," said Yolanda. "For all his meager frame, he had lust enough for three. The trouble was, he wouldn't confine his interest to his wedded wife, but must need fatter the scullery maids behind the door to the buttery. So we quarreled, and he disappeared as did the other."

             
"And Number Three?"

             
"That was Sugerius, Count of Perigez. An imperceiverant bookworm, who cared nought for the usual amusements of the nobility: hunting, drinking, gambling, fighting, and fornication. He neglected me for his musty tomes and moldy manuscripts until he drove me to seek consolation in other beds. When Sugerius found out, he had the insolence to strike me—me, a royal princess!"

             
"And then he disappeared," said Eudoric, suppressing the skepticism from his voice. This tale of the three absconding husbands had to Eudoric an odor of fish. He wondered what had truly befallen them. Had they been dropped through a trapdoor into a cellar or a well containing something man-eating? Had they been bricked up alive in the walls of her palace? He asked: "Were there others betwixt Sugerius and me?"

             
"Nay; you're Number Four, and I hope you will outlast your predecessors. It were worth your while to try, since you will have my royal brother as your patron.

             
"I am sorry to have betimes been bad-tempered; but I have suffered great vicissitudes of late. Nor are you an ever-present ray of sunshine. Still, you are a man of many virtues, whom I am sure I shall truly love."

             
"Thankee," said Eudoric dryly. He wondered whether even the enormous advantages of being a client of the King were worth the risk of being dropped into a monster-haunted pit. "Let me tell you a little secret. A man's ability as a swordsman of the other kind, to borrow your words, hinges much upon his health of body and peace of mind. If you'd fain cause his—ah—resolution to droop, you have but oft to berate him in harsh and wounding terms. If you're fain to have him serve you with vigor, flatter and praise him; make him think himself worthier than in his heart he knows himself to be.

             
"Meanwhile, we shall go on to Gaura and thence through the forest to the border."

             
"What of this orthodox ogre?" asked Yolanda.

             
Eudoric shrugged. "If it exist, we shall cope with it as best we can. From what I know of peasant legends, it's but a tissue of dreams and moonshine. Trot!"

-

             
"Forthred!" called Eudoric. "Mark!"

             
For half a day they had plodded through the forest east of Gaura. Since it was an ancient forest, where no timber had been felled for many decades, there was little underbrush. The only obstacles were an occasional stream, or a ledge, or a giant tree trunk athwart their path. The leaves had just begun to turn to yellow and bronze. From time to time they fell, rocking and spinning earthward in the cool, calm, autumnal air.

             
At Eudoric's command, Forthred, far in the lead, thrust a yard-long stake or wand into the ground. Yolanda, leading her horse, followed at a distance. Behind her came Eudoric, leading the remaining animals with one hand and grasping a bundle of wands in the other. When he reached the aftermost stake, he halted and, squatting, sighted over this stake and the next one. "A little to my right!" he called, waving. "Yolanda, step aside that I may see."

             
When Forthred had moved his stake to right and left until all three stakes were in a straight line, Eudoric called: "Good!" and pulled up the stake before him. Forthred inserted his stake upright in the soft soil and called:

             
"That's my last marker, sir!"

             
"Yolanda!" said Eudoric. "Hold the animals, pray."

             
Hastening forward, he thrust the reins into her hands and continued on to where Forthred stood. He handed the apprentice the bundle of wands he bore and went back to where Yolanda waited. By this simple form of surveying he hoped to keep the party traveling in a fairly straight line. Otherwise under the canopy of leaves, especially on overcast days, they could easily lose track of direction and wander in circles until they dropped.

             
They resumed their deliberate march, halting at intervals to plant and pull up stakes. Presently Forthred cried out shrilly: "Master! Sir Eudoric! Come speedily!"

             
Eudoric again handed the reins to Yolanda and ran forward. He found his squire staring fearfully at a singular being. This was a man-shaped creature half again as tall as a man, with a thick, warty hide. Webbed fingers and toes ended in claws. A pair of horns surmounted pointed ears. From beneath its blob of a nose, like a grotesque mustache, sprang a pair of yard-long, tapering, serpentine tendrils, which twitched and writhed. Smaller tendrils depended from its chin and rose from its scalp.
The club it carried was nearly a fathom long—as long as Eudoric was tall.

             
"God den," said Eudoric. "Are you the orthodox ogre whereof we have heard peculiar tales?"

             
"We do not call ourselves 'ogres,' " rumbled the giant in a guttural accent. "It is a name ye little folk have given us, meant in no flattering spirit. As for my orthodoxy, we shall soon see about that, when it is decided whether ye three shall be eaten or not.
Think not to flee, for I can outdistance you as a hare outruns a tortoise."