BEATRICE THE SIXTEENTH (9)
By:
May 31, 2024
Beatrice the Sixteenth: Being the Personal Narrative of Mary Hatherley, M.B., Explorer and Geographer (1909), by the English feminist, pacifist, and non-binary or transgender lawyer and writer Irene Clyde (born Thomas Baty) introduces us to Armeria, an ambiguous utopia — to which we are introduced initially without any firm indications of its inhabitants’ genders. HiLoBooks is pleased to serialize this ground-breaking novel for HILOBROW’s readers.
BEATRICE THE SIXTEENTH: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13.
THE WAR
I did not sleep much. The morning found me fresher, however, and it was even with some interest that I entered the Inquiry Chamber, which was the scene of the day’s proceedings. I had never seen it previously: it was plain, good-sized, panelled hall, near the centre of which was placed a massive oblong table, with a dozen or SO of capacious chairs round it on all sides. H had one of these, and opposite to me I found the queen, with a serious-looking personage whom I did not know on I either hand. At one end of the table sat Galsa. Opanthë also was there, — separated from me by the Uras messenger. Cydonia was father to the left. Otherwise, the arrangements were much like those of a court of justice, except in the public’s being frankly excluded. The Castellan and her officers kept a free space round the a table, a special guard being stationed near the queen. Beyond, there was a room for an interested crowd of the privileged inhabitants of the palace. For all the awkwardness of the situation, I could not but spend a moment in admiring the group of palace guards behind the queen. Their creamy robes, — their gorgeous feather fans, their sparing decorations of rich gold, their glittering scimitars, — impressed the eye by a tour de force. But I did not forget to salute the queen, who nodded agreeably in return across the table.
The Provost also leant towards me from the end seat, and whispered loudly that my message had gone to Ilex, and that she wanted me to know that she was doing what she could do to — but here everyone stood up, and a short procession could be descried making its way from the doors towards us. It proved to be the queen’s eldest sister, with her train, and she took a vacant seat on her majesty’s left. Cydonia caught my eye at the moment, and gave a flashing smile of recognition, which partly reassured and partly puzzled me. Evidently she did not think of Galêsa’s charge. But, then, did she know of it? Perhaps it only applied to me.
The queen began to speak, playing lightly, as she did so, with the papers and parchments in front of her.
“There are a few points which must be cleared up, about this affair of the night before last. The Lady Ophantë accuses the Lady Mêrê of treason, and the Provost does the same in respect of the of the Lady Opanthë and the Grand Steward.
“Would any of those persons like to offer any remarks?”
“Your majesty knows I have been your most intimate associate for all my life,” said Opanthë. “I have served you and your House — you best know how. I permitted this lady to believe what she pleased about me, in order that I might I find out what sort of a creature Ilex had introduced into the palace. Knowing from herself that she meant to conceal herself in the messenger’s room, I locked her in mine. Either realising her mistake, or else thinking me an untrustworthy sort of traitor, she escaped somehow, and brings Cydonia down on me, to save herself. I say nothing about my injuries. There are merged in the attack on your crown.”
“As for me,” said Galêsa, “I say the same. I have not had Opanthë’s chances of listening to so many compromising confidences from this precious foreigner —”
“Galêsa,” interposed the queen gravelY, “we must be civil to each other.”
Galêsa bowed.
“But I say unhesitatingly that she has listened to language, in my presence, and conversation — that prove her disloyal. And as for me, you know why I was in the corridor that night.”
He sat back with a cool smile of satisfaction and I felt it was my turn to speak.
“May I know the particulars of what is alleged against me?”
An amused, subdued smile flitted around the august company. People at the edge of the auditory turned interested ear to the table, or looked round to repeat to their friends farther back what had been said.
“Not just yet,” said the queen, biting her lip. “We want you to tell us anything you like — but not to ask questions.”
“May I have a moment to think, then? Has your majesty read the answers I gave the Provost? I am still asking questions! I sincerely hope your majesty doesn’t mind.”
“On the contrary, I will answer those two. Take your time to speak; and, of course, I have read what the Provost knows.” “I don’t think, then, that it is necessary for me to say anything.”
“Then there are some questions that the Provost will ask you ladies,” said her majesty, settling herself to write.
The Provost, rising, put a long series of interrogations to the various people at the table, — including Etela, the Foreign Secretary, and others. The queen’s serious neighbours added a few more: and the proceedings drifted into a low- voiced conversation between herself and these two. This was dull and my attention wandered. The queen seemed kind, — but, then, she was equally so to Opanthë, and it was scarcely possible that she should believe one of us without condemning the other.
Suddenly two silver trumpets gave forth a call mellow and soft indeed, but so startling in the half-silence that the blood went rushing to my head.
The silence grew complete, and the queen spoke.
“Of the two people most concerned in this matter, each admits that she has given colour to the notion, true or false, that she was in the interest of our enemies.
“On the one hand is the word of our two trusted officers. On the other is the word of one to whom we are bound by the ties of hospitality, and who is commended to us by our dear friend Thekla’s affection, and that of our good subject Ilex. But we notice that the observations of Opanthë and our Grand Steward do not quite agree. According to the former, Mêrê entered into the mock treasonable conversations of the latter. But the Steward only says she listened to them, and will tell us nothing of what she said. On the other hand, Mêrê has told us a good deal about poisoned or drugged wine. And we can find no trace of drugs, nor does Her Excellency the Lady Zenoia, who has kindly given us every assistance, think that any such attempt was practised upon her. She has been so advised by her own physician.
“And it is certainly remarkable and incredible thing that an officer of our a Court should, assuming her to be an emissary of secret enemies of the State, suddenly open her mind to one whom she believes to be working in the same interest, on a mere assumption. I have called it incredible: but the peculiar facts attending Mêrê’s arrival here make it just credible; when one reflects what exceedingly foolish things people will sometimes do.
“But I cannot understand why Opanthë though it necessary to frighten Etela into inactivity. She explains that she knew Etela’s ways SO well that she was sure she would be an embarrassment, and compromise matters somehow. It is not a satisfactory explanation, to me.
“On the whole, I cannot see that either charge is sustained. I cannot see my way to sentencing my Grand Steward and my chief personal attendant to the penalties of treason on what has been said. Accepting all the Mêrê has said, I am willing to believe that the official were merely sounding her, — though there are some curious coincidences in what she says she heard from them, which you can’t help thinking show that somebody was in touch with enemies of this State.
“And I do not see that I should not extend the same construction to Mêrê’s acts, or silences.
“But this is not a time when the crown can afford to be advised by person whose acts are subject to so much suspicion. The Grand Steward and Lady Opanthë both feel that the Council of State was acting rightly in dismissing them from their offices, — as it did this morning. I hope they will use their increased leisure in increased efforts, of this active and vigorous kind, to circumvent the enemies of the realm.
“We are obliged to all of you for your attendance. Come, Alexandra!”
She offered her hand to the Princess, her sister, and swept from the chamber.
We rose. Galêsa darted a glance of concentrated hatred at me, and began to force a passage blindly through the crowd, without waiting for the queen’s final exit, like the rest of the assembly. Opanthë was less perturbed.
“Shall I be entitled to a retiring allowance?” I heard her inquiring of the Arch- Treasurer, quite seriously. But Cydonia would not let me wait.
“We must go and find Ilex, first thing,” she declared. “No doubt she will be somewhere not far away.”
In the great courtyard, arcaded and full of tall ferns and palms, we could not see her. We turned through one of the arches, and, to my slight consternation — for I hardly knew how I stood in her eyes — the queen was standing in the apartment we entered, surrounded by her staff, and not too propitious. The room was pierced by many wide, lofty arches, and a good many people were in it.
“Shall we turn back?” I said to Cyndonia.
“No, let us cross the room. Stop! What is she saying?”
Her majesty observed in pungently silvern tones: “Who was the officer of the guard when this affair took place that we have just disposed of?”
“Brytas,” said somebody; and the queen, motioning that officer forward, observed, still with cool acidity: “It is extremely to be regretted that the late Grand Steward was permitted to penetrate into the palace at night. An officer who can allow things like that is fit for the command of a fifth-rate town; — exactly fit for the command of a fifth-rate town! You can take over the command of — where? —Pyramôna! — Tomorrow.”
The Uras envoy, who was next the queen, visibly jumped. Brytas, I was glad to see, did not seem to mind much, — but she did not remain, but went quickly away. We tried to follow her long strides; encountering Ilex, however we gave up the chase.
Till I met Ilex I did not know what a strain the morning’s work had been to me. When I saw the friendly and familiar face, and was clasped in the slender arms, and looked into the dear confiding eyes, I think I gave way, and I know I remember nothing that happened until I found myself in the room of a friend of hers, one of the Court Treasurers, who — blessing on her! — abandoned it to us a with a courtesy that was as spontaneous as it was appreciated.
It was not until late in the afternoon that we ordered palanquins and set off for home.
And it was not until we were alone in my quarters that she said: “Mêrê, why not have told me?”
“Then you know all the story?” I said, surprised.
She nodded twice, but still kept looking at me with uplifted eyebrows, inviting explanations.
“How did you know?” I persisted, and she relaxed her gaze, saying with a laugh:
“The Provost of the palace, — a most inquisitive person — called here, and asked me a good many impertinent questions yesterday morning. So I thought it was my turn to display a taste for knowledge, and I went and turned on the stream at the fountainhead. In other words, I saw Beatrice the queen.”
“And you found her gracious? She was not offended with you because of me?”
“My dear, she is simply grateful to you for providing her with an excuse for getting rid of those miserable, wretched, detestable, crawling, venomous insects! But, look here, Mêrê, why could you not tell me about it?”
“Because,” I said, pulling myself together, “I didn’t know you always as I know you now, Ilex!”
“That is quite a good answer,” said my friend, beaming. “And I will come over beside you, and make you some lemonade with coffee in it.” Which she proceeded to do, with a soft pat on my dress whenever she paused in the course of the process.
“Do you know,” she repeated, when we were vis-à-vis over the cups, “the queen thinks you have done a great service to the country. Really, yes! Because it shows that there must be a conspiracy at work, more or less widespread. And now we have a clue to detect it with — we know Opanthë’s friends and Galêsa’s. She wants to talk to you, but not openly; you must go to the palace disguised somehow. They would suspect a closed litter. How would you like to be got up? As an elderly, astrologer, or a bronzed sea captain from Flores, or a — what?”
“As a small lion,” I suggested. “And then no one need see my face at all!”
“No,” insisted Ilex, “you will never be known if you are made a good brown colour. You are so beautifully white!” At which I laughed outright.
“That’s right,” said Ilex, without being taken aback in any degree. “It shows you are not hurt much!”
“And, indeed, I got better very fast. My visit to the palace was duly paid, under cover of nightfall. The queen received me in an immense hall, the walls, receding to a dark distance, covered with curious black carvings of ebony: a single little table, crusted with nacre and silver, the sole furniture. She looked at me a moment in silence with knitted brows; then she advanced nearer, and put her hands on my shoulders with a gentle a pressure.
“I want to talk to you a great deal, Mêrê,” she said, “and I have no time for compliments. Will you believe that when I come again after the war I will do what I can to thank you?
“That is, if I come back! There is a vein of evil in the realm that seems to have fixed upon my reign to concentrate itself in individuals. I have not to fight Uras, so much as to protect myself from a faction of my own people. As they say, the snake wears out its own skin.
“But there are not many of these! It must be our business to track them and make them powerless for mischief. And you can help in this.
“If they challenge me to a trial of strength, I am not afraid to meet them. But if you are on my side, you know the risks of it.”
Her mouth was set in a proud but winning curve; her voice was measured, though it thrilled sensitively.
“I am your majesty’s servant,” I said, “now and always.” I do not know why I made this declaration. But it sprang to my lips.
“Not my servant,” she said — irritably, rather — “My own follower, if you like! Now let us discuss the state of affairs. The Uras people, there is no doubt, are in no hurry to attack. They think the plum is ripening nicely. The conspirators here, on the other hand, are clearly anxious for a crisis — were so, anyway, before the other night —”
She went on, laying open before me the network of diplomacy and probabilities, until I saw that the commencement of the armed struggle could not be deferred more than a week or two. Then she questioned me as to how I thought her conclusions fitted in with what I had heard from Opanthë.
When I would have spoken of Opanthë personally, however, the queen avoided the subject, and kept strictly to the matter of our discussion. Having heard from me all she wanted, she dismissed me abruptly. The Arch-Censor, who took charge of me, then carried me off to a much more cheerful apartment, where she developed a plan of campaign against the conspirators, in which she invited me to join.
It promised to be very exciting work, involving, as it did, secret assignations, domiciliary visits, and very considerable risks of a thrust with one of the pointed daggers beloved of the Armerians. I cannot say the reality quite came up to the plan put forward. Detective work may involve these picturesque incidents — but most of our information was gathered in a milder-mannered sort of way and rather in drawing room than in domino.
We had some interesting encounters, nevertheless. Particularly I remember one night, when Ilex and I received a message to intercept a conspirator who, we were informed, would leave the house in which she was a resident at a particular hour for a rendezvous. It was of no use following her; that had been done before with no results that were not known already. Our scheme was to detain her, and to observe what came of it, for we strongly suspected that she was the messenger between the faction and their agents.
Amphron, the head of the house, was elderly and never stepped beyond the doors. Her dwelling was a fine building near the outskirts of the town, and on account of the difference in level between front and back, it had the appearance of being two-storied. The garden behind it, thickly planted with shrubberies, merged gradually into a wild tangle forming part of the public possessions. Across this Athlis had been seen, night after night, to steal. She might have spared herself the trouble of dodging from aloe to cactus bush in that fashion, — for she had been tracked regularly. The family was known to be bitterly hostile to the reigning queen, though its members had the reputation of preferring to avoid active participation in dangerous matters. It needed only a little ingenuity, aided by a lucky accident or two, to arrive at the strong suspicions I have mentioned.
So it came about that we found ourselves, soon after dark, sheltering near the back premises of Amphron’s mansion. To “mak siccar,” two others were with Ilex and me: and six slaves were hidden in a bush not far I away. I did not feel (as I had expected I should) like a burglar — at any rate, if my intimations of what a burglar’s feelings are like approximate to the truth. I felt that the whole proceedings were laughably like a game of hide and seek. And then I fell to speculating which window the object of our search would appear at; whether she would be dressed in light or dark clothes; and (very dubiously) whether we could silence her before she had time to alarm the house. This wing of the building was certainly quiet. The lower story, appropriated to the slaves, had no large apertures, and the upper, though, brightly lighted, was deserted.
Still, the house was full of sympathisers with Athlis’s mission. It was imperative to seize her in quietness. As we kept straining our eyes up at the lighted windows, there appeared a form at one of them. It was impossible to realise for a few seconds that this was veritably the person we were waiting for. One of our companions drew her breath, and the other laughed a warning at her — mirthlessly. The figure at the window above us stepped out on to the colonnade adjoining it, and, after a glance at the starry night, began dexterously to climb down an ancient tree which was trained against the wall.
“Don’t lose her! Don’t lose her!” muttered Iphrûnë, our enfant terrible. “Slip to the next bush, nearer the house! She can’t miss us that way!”
She led the way, flying rather than running. It was a foolish move, for we had to cross a zone of light. But it was no use getting separated, so we fled helter-skelter, heads down, after her, Ilex indulging in some pointed and beautiful imprecations on the way. What I said on my part I really forget. I flatter myself that we executed that faulty movement noiselessly and well. If someone on our side had blundered, the mistake was never noticed by our quarry.
Now, there was nothing for it but to wait again till she should emerge into the light. This, if only for a moment, she could not help doing somewhere. Seconds seemed hours. Suddenly she appeared quite close to us, not two yards off, looking very substantial and lively. I shrank back; she did not hear the rustle, but pushed calmly on. We let her pass. Then in half a minute it was all over, and we had her secured and speechless in her valetudinarian relative’s own garden.
When people are on the other side in a struggle with you, you are apt to give them a good deal less than credit for their good qualities. And it was not until Athlis was safely disarmed, hardly even then, that it began to occur to me that she had scaled the wall and faced the darkness with a good deal of cool agility and courage. We carried her to some distance, and returned to watch for those who might come in search of her.
The sweet, heavy scent of the night flowers came to one across the grass; the red blooms showed distinctly and strangely in the light which streamed from the windows, and the stifled groans, which were all Athlis could put for a cry, sounded weirdly in the near distance.
“Stop that creaking somehow,” said Ilex to Iphrûnë. “Tell her you’ll kill her if she makes a sound! Or, better: get the slaves to carry her to Viquena’s house. Blindfold her, you know, and don’t miss the right house, whatever you do!”
We had not long to wait before a stranger appeared on the scene. We were all in high good-humour, for this was no one whom we had suspected; indeed, it was a person none of us even knew. She was a powerfully-built and tall personage, and her movements were in the highest degree suspicious. She glided with remarkable silence from one dark thicket to another, reconnoitered the house carefully, and stood for sometime near the window that Athlis had come out of. Clearly we were on the eve of an important discovery. What was our astounded feeling to observe her produce a ladder, rear it against the wall, and walk into the house! We looked at each other in astonishment.
“Well, of all —” said Oprë.
“Did you see that?” sarcastically inquired Ilex.
“She must be intimate with the family,” added I.
The question now was, whether to leave the ladder in its place. We decided to take it away. The front entrances were well watched, and anyone going out would be identified or followed. There was a long pause of waiting.
A curious cry, unlike the notes of the other birds, was heard now at intervals.
“That’s the ichone. It is rather a rare bird,” whispered Ilex. Almost immediately after, as we crouched among the leaves of the thicket, we caught sight of a dark figure creeping along by the foot of the house wall. The newcomer looked up at he window intently, and then she made the ichone‘s call, loudly and clearly in groups of three notes, over and over again repeated. She turned impatiently round, and stamped on the ground with obvious vexation. The first stranger appeared at the window: this time with a bulky parcel in her arms. But the bird-caller did not make any attempt to communicate with her; on the contrary, she slid into the shadow of an aloe that was near.
“I’ll tell you what, you people,’ said Oprë sotto voce: “That first one isn’t in it at all. It’s a thief! — An ordinary enterprising thief!”
“Believe you are right, Oprë,” returned Ilex. “What shall we do?”
“Bag them both!” said she. “We can, if we go to work properly.”
Number one threw down the parcel and descended by the tree, — which was not an easy performance for a person of that weight. Losing her bearings in consequence, she had to search about for the parcel. To our delight, she approached the bush where the bird-caller was hiding. The latter tried to escape observation; but it was hopeless, and merely served to encourage the thief, who would have otherwise fled.
“What are you doing here at this hour of night, spying about?” inquired the latter insolently.
“It isn’t necessary to inquire what you’re doing, at all events!” said the other.
“Will you wait quietly here, while I find my bundle?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No?”
“Let me fasten you up” — persuasively.
“No, I draw the line there.”
“Well, take that, then!”
The thief drew a heavy sword, and aimed a blow at the other, who leapt aside, and, slipping for a moment behind a tree, possessed herself of her own weapon.
“Uhu!” said Oprë, half awestruck and half excited at the duel which followed. Twice the thief looked as if she would have liked to turn and run; but the package caught her eye, with its carbuncles and jasper glittering out of the corners of the wrapping, and she stood her ground. At last two stupid slaves of ours came up in hot haste, inquiring if it was one of us who was fighting, and if they were wanted. The combatants caught sight of them. It was worst for the thief. Her nerve was shaken, and she received the point of her antagonist’s steel in the right shoulder.
“Now’s our time!” we simultaneously exclaimed, and, leaving the slaves to arrest the burglar, we three proceeded in chase of the other, who surprised us by making no effort to evade us. As we came up to her, we recognised her as the daughter of one of the Gate-Wardens.
“Am I not lucky?” she said, “to have settled the account of that wretched thief! Is it the same that took Scherone’s jewels the other day, do you think?”
“It was fortunate you were here,” said Ilex grimly. “Not many people are here at this time of night! What brought you, Poikelis?”
“Well, what brought you?” pertinently responded she.
“Detective work,” said Ilex. “And you caught our game for us.”
“Very glad, I’m sure — and I hope you will remember me favourably! And now I must be off.”
“Not,” said Oprë, “until you answer our question.”
She got angry. “By the lightning, I am not to give an account of my movements to you or to anybody! I had a little piece of private business — you understand? — between myself and Athlis, which third parties have nothing whatever to do with. That is enough for you! — Too much!”
“Yes, — you’re too inquisitive, Oprë,” said Ilex. “Poikelis has done our work for us. So there’s nothing but to say goodnight to her, and take ourselves off to some other job. We must leave that bundle at the house, though.”
“Let me take it,” said Poikelis eagerly.
“Certainly,” answered Ilex, pinching Oprë in secret.
As Poikelis stooped to the bundle we easily tripped her up, and had her conveyed to the same house as Athlis. We ourselves waited a considerable time longer; but no further visitors came to the premises. So we repaired to the place where our captives were interned.
First we saw Athlis.
Oprë at once took a high tone with her.
“I suppose you don’t know, Athlis,” she said, “that one of your fellow conspirators has just been found poking round your premises, and has confessed why?”
She said nothing.
“It isn’t good for our health,” said Oprë, “to hang about at night like this, and, besides, our time’s valuable. So it would be very satisfactory if you could just give us a few particulars about who are in this movement… well, if you won’t, we can get them from a more accommodating lady down the corridor. And she will get the benefits we proposed to give you.”
“Benefits!” laughed Athlis bitterly.
“Yes,” returned Oprë briskly. “We have already enough evidence to arraign you and all your family for treason. And our friend that I spoke of will probably give us a little extra. Let me see — there’s yourself, Athlis, there’s Amphron — well, she’s hardly fair game; we’ll let her off: she’s too ill — but there’s still your stepmother, Vrinda, and your intelligent cousin Raina, and your half-sister. Give us the few details we want, and we prosecute none of them. Otherwise, we do!”
I suppose it was necessary, but I could not have stood it much longer; nor could Ilex. The girl was pale and quiet, and only her hard breathing showed what she felt. Her head proud and erect.
“Vrinda, too!” she half murmured.
“Well, she’s a very nice person in a private capacity,” observed Oprë judicially. “T haven’t a word to say against her. But if she will go and get mixed up in revolutionary families, she must expect — sooner or later — the dungeons and the Trophy of Victory.”
Oprë took two or three turns down the chamber. Ilex and I stood silent, as the lamp flame flickered on the silver chains.
“Now,” resumed Oprë, in an encouraging tone, “you’re a girl of common sense, Athlis — plenty of sense! Just apply it. Which shall it be?”
Athlis’s head sank slowly forward.
“Oh, Vrinda!” she muttered.
“Yes, I’m sure you see it’s best,” said Oprë. “Vrinda and all of them will be safe if —”
“Oprë, I’m sure she’s fainted.”
And so she had. Nor can I complete this part of my narrative, as at that moment a white-kilted officer hurried into the room, and whispered to Ilex, who carried me off at once, and walked briskly homewards, informing me of the news as we started.
Ilex’s regiment was to proceed to the frontier in the morning, along with several others. The crisis had become acute.
“You will take me with you?” I said.
“I can’t! The orders are too strict. Or else I think I would venture it.”
“Couldn’t you get me a place as servant, — cook, — messenger, sutler, — correspondent? Or mightn’t I volunteer?”
She shook her head.
“The army doesn’t deal in those luxuries! But I will leave word with the headquarters staff that you are willing to do things of that sort. And I expect they’ll be glad to have despatch riders. Can you ride, Mêrê?”
Well, it would have been a pity if I could not! I satisfied her as to that, and she observed:
“Then we shall see each other again before long, because I’ll tell Cerene to send you my way. She manages that department. And she said once she would do anything I liked in reason, if only I asked.”
“And what shall I do meanwhile?”
“You can look after my house for me. That’s one thing. Mira and Darûna and Amphôr and Kara will be coming with me; perhaps some of the others may be called up, too. So there will be plenty to do at home.”
We talked about other things as we walked on through the night. At my room Ilex left me, with her accustomed warm kiss.
“Stop! When do you go, in the morning?” I cried.
“In three hours, or four, I must be going to the armoury.”
“Then I’ll go,” I declared.
“There isn’t any need for you to go all that distance,” said she. “If you like to see us away at the door —”
“Should I be a nuisance at the armoury?”
“Oh, you couldn’t get in. No, that would be no use, I’m afraid. I’ll tell Nia to waken you in time. Take a sleep now!”
I wakened to find the place a scene of bustle and excitement. Horses were trampling about, their hoofs clattering on the tile pavements; slaves were rushing to and fro with requisites for the journey and platters of refreshment; the very domestic animals shared the general stir. The younger children were not disturbed; two or three elder ones had been told what was going on, and they sat apart with rather solemn and anxious faces.
Ilex got beside me for a few minutes.
“I hate a fuss,” she said, “and we will just slip off as quietly as we can. I have told Calenda not to let the slaves shout at the gates. Sometimes they do, and it always strikes me as so very senseless.”
“Will you not salute everybody?”
“My dear! What an absurd procession it would be if we four went solemnly round the household with the due reverences! No, we know each other too well for that.”
“In England,” I said, “you would. You would say goodbye to me and kiss me.”
“And I can do that here,” she said, and demonstrated the possibility with efficacy and despatch.
Time pressed. The horses were at the door, and very unostentatiously, our small party of officers left the house and rode down the street.
There was no waving of hats or handkerchiefs; no one shouted messages of good luck, or followed at the horses’ bridles; only the little Appthis broke into a passion of tears and could not be induced to restrain them.
“You are just a baby, Appthis!” was the severe pronouncement of Lyphra, who was a year or two older. “Suppose Calenda had gone away as well and Vera and Enschîna and me? I easily might; they wanted a drummer in Chloris’s regiment, if I would have joined it. And,” she pursued, “supposed I had gone, you would have nobody to help you to make the embankment for the little tortoise pool in the Green Court! We’ll go and start it this morning, Appthis.”
But the young lady displayed an entire, and, indeed, ostentatious indifference for the time being to embankments and tortoises alike, a fact which had the a effect of arousing in Lyphra considerable irritation.
“Don’t ask me again to make embankments for you!” she observed with heat and intense scorn. “I ought to know better than play with children like you, who can’t keep interested in one thing from one day to another!”
She flew off in just the same palpitating, bird-like fury that, on one memorable occasion, I had noticed seize on Ilex. I did not follow her, for she had probably gone to the best place for her — bed. And Appthis was so much affected by her strictures that she was in danger of becoming hysterical. I gradually got her calmer, and took her to my own room. It was so very early that most of us turned in for a little further rest.
“I do really care about the engineering work and the tortoises,” pathetically remarked my little companion, “but I can’t think about them. Will I ever be able to think about them again, or will my head always be too sore?”
“You are a silly little darling!” I told her. “After breakfast your head and your eyes will feel alright and Lyphra will have forgotten all she said this morning, and you a will get a lot done. And I’ll come and bring a cushion, and sit and watch you — if you keep yourselves very clean.”
She began to smile a little.
“Lyphra does say some horrid things somethings. You never do, Mêrê.”
“No, it would be simply awful if I did. I am a visitor here, you see, and on my best behaviour. And — don’t tell Lyphra this! — I think she is very nervous and easily upset, and then she must just say what occurs to her, without having time to think how other people may feel it. People like that are generally vexed most of all with themselves. Try to think it is really herself she is scolding when she does that!”
“I’ll think it over,” conceded Appthis, in an old-fashioned way.
“Mêrê,” she began again hurriedly, “are there many people killed when there is a war?”
“It depends,” I said, trying to speak as if there were not an insistent lump in my throat. “They say weapons of precision haven’t improved matters much. It depends — I can’t really tell. I don’t know how they fight here. In Italy, I believe, people were rather shocked at one time if anybody was killed at the end of day’s battle.”
“I think it can’t be like that here,’ said Appthis. “Do you know how many people get killed, hunting? Hunting lions and things like that? Because I once heard Arix say, war, as we make it, is very like hunting; you get round the wild beast in tremendous numbers, and then, if it does fly out with its claws, there is no chance for it.”
“I couldn’t tell you, Appthis!”
She got rather restless after this unsatisfactory questioning. Finally she said straight out: “I do hope Ilex and Kâra and Mara and Darûna will come back.”
“Well, why not?” I asked. “Isn’t Ilex a lovely fencer? Do you suppose anybody will have a chance against her, with that damasked sword, with the golden handle?”
“No: but five or six might!” she replied. So seriously that I was forced to laugh.
“But she would have sense not to go near five or six. You have far more sense than those clumsy Uras people! Haven’t you?”
“Well —” admitted Appthis, with due modesty. “And Darûna is a better fencer than Ilex. And Kâra is very sharp. I’m afraid Mira will be the worst off. She well always be pushing into places that other people don’t care to go to. And she hasn’t the least idea of taking care of herself.”
The grown-up way in which she uttered this observation was again rather laughable.
“But then, you see,” I said, “everybody will be wanting to take care of her. So I think we may leave all our people in the hands of —” Really I did not know how to fill up the blank.
“Yes, I know — of course,” said Appthis. After which she dropped off to sleep.
In the course of the morning, Athroës, by invitation, looked in, sardonically genial as usual. She gave me, I must say, considerable ground for hopefulness as to the result of the conflict. The Uras troops were, according to her, a special class, practically untrained in the use of the sword or in strategy, or, indeed, in anything except idleness and self-conceit. The real strength of the enemy lay in their raw levies; equally unskilled, but not without strength and address.
“And they have this civilised quality,” said the doctor, “they know when they are beaten. Show them strongly superior forces surrounding them, and they admit handsomely that they are done for. Some troops would try to do a lot of ineffective damage, and get themselves cut to pieces before giving in. But not they! The only drawback is that they are sometimes too stupid to take in the fact that they are out-manœuvered.”
She proceeded to remark that she had watched our friend’s regiment leave, and added as many details as she could remember, as she saw that it pleased us to know them.
“There were twenty or thirty of us,” she said, “standing by the Atalian gate, on the marble platform just inside. Let me see — there was Tirassaphë, Mythë — who else? —Oh, of course, Phanaras! She arrived in Alzôna last night, and she was bound not to miss her one opportunity of seeing Ilex. Indeed, she wants to go on to the camp — but that lies in the hands of the gods, — that is, the Government; and whether she gets permission is more than doubtful, I expect. Well, we waited, and ate a good many more mulberries than were good for us —”
So Phanaras had seen Ilex off — and I hadn’t! Certainly she herself had dissuaded me from going to the armoury. But what was there to hinder me from going to the gates? None of the rest of the household had gone. It was surely not necessary for me to model my conduct on theirs! Phanaras! — Beautiful, so they said; assiduous, so it appeared her anxious, affectionate glance and the wave of her hand would be the last memory Ilex would take with her. Why not?
Well, in the first place, Phanaras was not fit for her — if what I heard was true. In the second, she must think so little of me in comparison! It was simple jealousy, I admitted, — and I did not see why I should be so anxious to stand well with Ilex. The fact remained that I did — intensely: and the vexation I experienced was not the less acute for my inability to understand it. Only I was beginning to recognise that Ilex meant everything to me — that I had come to consider myself and her as especially appropriated to each other — that any interruption for good and all to our constant companionship would be heartbreaking — in short, that she was indispensable to me. I did not in the least think myself indispensable to her: and so I had been content to let matters go on as they had, without thinking of taking advantage of the custom of the country to establish a permanent relationship.
Besides, I never quite got rid of the idea of returning to Europe. So I had taken her friendship as it came, thinking — if I thought at all — that I could let it go if occasion demanded. But now I suddenly found that I could not — not this way, at all events. She was so very charming.
Athroës’s voice rang through the chamber (she did not often speak loudly; when she did it was when trying to describe events):
“Then we saw a cloud of dust along the road, and Eronâl — she was there, Arix; I thought you said she had gone to Kytôna? — Eronâl turned to me and said, ‘Send to your apothecary for some rose water to settle dust with, or else we can’t see them.’ But I told her that would be a trifle too expensive for my resources, and she said: ‘Oh, we would all subscribe!’ So then I said people would remark that I was making a good thing out of patriotism selling rose water by the barrel. And I hardly thought I had enough in stock to produce a very effective improvement. Of course, there was nothing in the way of water needed; there is a good big piece of lawn before you come to the gate…’
“Enschîna,” I said, under my breath to the beautiful old lady to whom I had learnt to apply in difficulties, “is there any way of sending letters to the camp? suppose there is communication?”
“Not except by special messenger,” she returned. “We will send one of the slaves every week so long as the camp is fixed. When the regiment begins moving about, we must just trust to luck.”
“I forgot something I wanted to tell Ilex,’ I said. “I suppose I can’t send after her?”
“Is it anything very urgent? Because you can have one of the slaves and a horse; and she will do her best to overtake them.”
“No, thanks,” I answered, rather dismally; reflecting that no explanations would have much chance of being well received if they involved the exhaustion of a horse and slave of the recipient.
The trodden track, with the departing cavalry upon it, kept rising before my mind. Was it not possible to follow them? To see Ilex again and explain? But I saw that it was not possible. I should have to take a horse and guides. She would only be embarrassed — vexed, most likely. There was nothing for it but to cultivate patience; with indifferent success. Fortunately Cydonia was brought in by Pathis, from the morning theatre, and she helped to enliven us. Through her manner, from time to time, verged upon bluntness: So that one would have said that she was irritated at something, — only that she was generally so indifferent to irritations.
“Did you see Chloris away this morning?” I asked, with a little trepidation.
She looked keenly at me, and said shortly: “No; I saw her last night.”
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
I did not like to say more. But evidently Cydonia did not care for Chloris as I thought, or else there was a prejudice against leave-takings of any kind coram publico. It was not easy to see which. And I did not like to seem a complete barbarian by inquiring.
The weeks dragged slowly on. Everybody was very nice and kind. I was never at a loss for someone to accompany me anywhere I chose. But I missed Ilex’s constant devotion, and her glance that used to seem to flash her very heart unwaveringly into mine. The weeks passed on — two strained, anxious weeks — at the end of which the thunderclap came.
At break of day one morning the queen sent for me to the palace. She seemed brighter and more active that I had lately seen her.
“I have a small piece of work for you,” she said. “Yes, sit down and let me tell you. Perhaps you know — of course you do — that we have a camp near the frontier, where our massed troops are facing a similar camp of the Urassites? It’s a quite easy frontier to cross at any point; except far away, where it passes along a mountainous country, and there it can only be traversed by one difficult pass.
“Now, we have purposely left this pass unguarded. We have posts, none of them very strong, all the way along the line, not for defence, but for observation. But the pass is absolutely denuded. The reason is, that I want to induce them to attack us by that line — as I have cause to think they, in fact, contemplate doing. If they did so without our expecting them, a rapid march on their part would bring them down on our flank like a thunderbolt. But, as we shall be prepared for them, we shall be able to take them at a great disadvantage. It won’t do to move off too soon, or they will take alarm, and I am afraid to occupy the pass. My plan will be to push troops as far in its direction as I dare; and to hurry them forward by every earthly method as soon as it is safe.
“You’ll see the tremendous importance,” she went on, sitting straight up as she spoke, and looking past me out at the window, “in this scheme, of delaying the enemy by making every effort to hold as long as possible the towns that they will come across when they debouch from the pass. Pyramôna is the first of these, and the most important —”
“Pyramôna! — What a pity it is not a stronger place!” I interrupted with uncourtier-like eagerness. “It must be only a fifth-rate town, because it was there that your majesty send Brytas as governor.”
Beatrice smiled a little.
“Do you really suppose, then, that I would send my good Brytas to command an insignificant town because of a little trifle that she wasn’t to be blamed for? I put Brytas in Pyramôna in order to have a high officer there without attracting suspicion. Did you not watch the Uras Agent? She sent a messenger that very night, I have no doubt, to tell her government that we thought Pyramôna of no importance. But I have secretly sent as many soldiers there as can safely be pushed so far: and the same has been done for nearer towns.
“I want you,” she proceeded, “to go to the camp with a word for the Arch- Marshal that the ambassador has handed me a declaration of war. I have not received it yet, but I am certain to do so in the course of the day. You need not press on at any extra speed, because the actual declaration is not of so much moment. What is my real object is sending you, is to put you at the disposition of the Marshal as a messenger to Pyramôna. As a stranger, and one who might well be kept out of harm’s way, your desptach will excite less comment than if we sent one of our own officers. The Marshal will send you on when there is a certain intelligence of the enemy’s movements. Then, of course, I rely on your celerity!”
She ended by asking me, in very handsome way, whether I liked to undertake such a responsible and risky business. There was only one answer possible.
“Then my Secretary will see about guides for you. That’s all! By the way, Ilex’s regiment has gone to Pyramôna. It has had to be moved up by cautious stages and under various blinds and screens. But there it is. You may like to know.”
I left the queen with dancing footsteps. Whatever might happen, at Pyramôna, I should again see Ilex. That was enough to make the mission a pleasure excursion!
“Let me see!” observed the Secretary, “about guides. You want somebody, if possible, who knows you can be trusted. It’s difficult to give you a good one. Most of our people who know the country well are engaged otherwise.”
“I wonder,” I said, “if Nîa, my friend, Ilex’s slave, would do? I understand she knows the frontier well; she has been with Darûna through one or two mock campaigns there, and I can answer for her trustworthiness.”
“Can you?” said the official dubiously, pressing the point of her reed pen against her chin — “Can you? Recollect, the slaves are honeycombed with disaffection. I must say, I dislike —”
“I will put it that Ilex’s safety and mine depend upon her, and she’s sure not to fail us,’ I said. “Quite sure. I understand your objections: I quite appreciate them. But they don’t apply to Nia.”
“Everybody thinks their own slaves reliable!” murmured the Secretary, with some reason. And I had hard work to convince her that Nia might safely accompany me. At last I succeeded, SO far as to secure her permission to take Nîa if no one else was at liberty by the time of my departure.
“I would rather,” she said candidly, “take someone off her other service, and send her with you. But you ought to have some choice in the matter, so I won’t stick out. Take care of yourself! And be ready to start a minutes notice.”
I went straight home, arranged to have the services of Nia, and began to prepare for the journey.
“You will want a decent sword apiece, and a stiletto or two —” said Vera.
“Is that all?” I exclaimed. “I was thinking of changes of clothes, and a kettle, and forks, and things like that.”
Arix looked at me in pitying bewilderment, and Calêna explained that an Armerian never carried more than could be helped.
“You can always get bananas anywhere,” she said, “or something, — and a drink of water. That’s enough. One doesn’t need to boil a kettle. My advice is — live by the way; the less you have to carry the better. And don’t carry any clothes, on any account.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, more than half-doubtfully.
“Perfectly,” she responded with convincing candour. “An Armerian never carries encumbrances on a journey. You only need to try it!”
“But, Calêna,” said Arix, “if she does not start till later, she had better take something to eat with her, because you can’t get anything at the first stage.”
“That’s true,” added Vera, “but it’s the exception that proves the rule. And it strikes me I’d better go and make a practical application of it by choosing out some extra good things for Mêrê’s supper. What will you have, Mêrê? Come with me and choose!”
We departed into the distant recesses of the store chambers. Whilst there, among the fragrant heaps of preserves and spices and the orderly rows of big jars, such as the bandit merchant of Arabian story might have envied, we heard the sound of strange voices talking in the entrance hall. The store chamber, though not easily accessible from the hall, had a long opening near its roof which looked directly into it. Vera climbed up tier of vats, and peeped through. I felt rather a excited. Was it the message for me to leave?
In a moment or two Vera reported: “It’s Cydonia: I forgot she was coming this morning. I asked her to come and see that bird of ours that has such a cough. Well, we’ll have to go see her — at least, I will. I think we’ve picked out everything we want?”
“Far too much,” I replied; to which she answered lightly:
“Oh no! I wouldn’t give you too much. You may be sure of that. Shall you tell Cydonia you are going to the camp?” she continued, as we proceeded along the dark, cool passages.
“I think the less said the better,” I answered. “I shall just go out with Nia this evening without telling more people than is absolutely necessary.”
“You’re wise,” observed Vera emphatically.
We turned into the entrance hall; but it was empty. The party had moved into the room adjoining, where we found them. Vera at once took Cydonia off to see the invalid, and Cydonia pulled my sash, as she passed me, as an invitation to accompany them. While Vera, assisted, or perhaps rather hindered, by one of the children, was trying to perform some mysterious operation about the cage, Cydonia remarked in a low tone:
“The queen tells me you are going to the camp.”
I assented.
“Have you a guide?” she said.
“I’m taking Nîa, I expect.”
“Oh, thank you very much,” she answered gratefully, — indeed, with quite inexplicable gratitude. And then she applied herself with feverish energy to the diagnosis of the feathered thing’s complaint. It looked mopish and fretful enough, poor animal, and Cydonia could not but begin to feel a conscientious interest in advising on its treatment. Gradually she grew more methodical and cool.
But when she said the last word on the subject, she suddenly declared that she must go.
“Cydonia, you’ll stay and have your midday meal with us now that you’re here,’ invited Vera. “You never will stay with us”— (which was hospitable, but not strictly true) — “Mêrê may be away ever so long; you won’t have a meal with her for ages. Do stop!”
“I can’t indeed,” said Cydonia, with a charmingly apologetic look in my direction. “I really have some very important business to see after; and I must get home this very second. So don’t keep me.”
She was not usually affected with an excess of shyness, and the soupçon of embarrassment which she showed for the moment became her. I never thought her so sympathetic as just then.
“Well,” returned Vera with real disappointment, “surely you must have your dinner? Ours will be ready in five minutes.”
“No,” persisted Cydonia, laughing, a little too loudly, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll come over again this afternoon and say goodbye to Mêrê. Now I’m off!”
And we saw that she really wanted to go, so we desisted from pressing her.
“I wonder what she wants,” observed Vera. “The queen often gets her to do bits of state business — and it might be something of that kind, that she would not care to explain to us.”
“Very likely it might,” I agreed.
But, notwithstanding her promise to return, Cydonia did not make her appearance until the last moment. Meanwhile, there was a good deal to do, in spite of the scanty preparations that I was unanimously instructed to make. For one thing, Arix spent an hour in teaching me a sword stroke which she told me had saved her for life time and again in her travels. She gave me, besides, a good deal of information about the country and the best modes of foraging. Then there were maps to study, and rough plans to draw; in the midst of this employment there came a slave of Thekla’s with a sudden rumour that the avant-guard of the Uras army had been seen eight miles off. She was wildly excited and hysterical; and we could make no connected story of it not trace her authority. And she would not stop to much be questions, but rushed off to take the pleasing intelligence somewhere else.
“Do you think it safe for Mêrê to go?” inquired Calêna.
“Pî!” said Enschîna. “If the queen thinks it safe, she ought to know better than a silly slave.”
“Sometimes the mouse knows what the mistress doesn’t!” returned Calêna.
“Beatrice has her cats,” was the elderly lady’s response. “I wish,” broke in Cyasterix, “that somebody would lay hold of that slave of Thekla’s — what do they call her? Cola? — And teach her not to go shivering round the town, terrifying everybody with her stories.”
“You couldn’t do that,” said Pathis. “Look how dangerous it would be. Suppose it were really true! Nobody would dare to say so, for fear of being accused as panic- manufacturers. If there was really a serious crisis, what is there so inspiring and exciting as a few words, broken and wild, from a half-terrified person who had just heard the news? Are we to suppress all that, and say that people must always wait to be certain, and then go quietly and make the announcement as if they were saying, ‘Dinner’s ready!'”
“Not at all,” said Cyasterix. “But it’s intolerable that on every flimsy rumour these creatures should think themselves licensed to scour the city like comets with a train of terrifying stories.”
“It would be, perhaps,” Arix said, “if we were very easily frightened.”
“You don’t allow,” said Cyasterix, “for the wearing effect of this on the nerves. Once is nothing; you wait till you’ve had a crop of the same sort of visit for breakfast and lunch, with a stampede through the streets by way of dessert, for a fortnight or so. Then talk.”
The rest were too polite to draw her attention to the fact that she herself had no personal experience of the alarming state of affairs she depicted. Pathis, however, inquired:
“You don’t mean to say that if I heard that Alipôras” — a redoubtable Uras leader of horse — “was at the gates, I shouldn’t fly out and tell Celôra, and Loutas, and all my neighbors?”
“Certainly, I do,” answered Cyasterix. “Where would be the good?”
“Hm!” said Pathis, and the discussion dropped.
“Well,” remarked Calêna, “is it quite safe to let Mêrê go? Should someone see the queen?”
“Is it the least likely,” said Arix, “that any foreign troops could have got within the distance without our people seeing them? It would be a simple insult to the intelligence of the Intelligence Department! Don’t you let stories of this kind matter, Mêrê! I’ve heard too many such-like!”
“As far as I am concerned, they will not,” I said. “Where I’m told to go, I will try to get to.”
“Yes, but don’t think it isn’t perfectly safe,’ persisted she. “I know just how this kind of nonsensical tale springs up. And those slaves —”
“Those slaves ” echoes Cyasterix.
“— like nothing better than to rush about repeating them.”
“Now, wouldn’t you,” said Cyasterix appealingly — “wouldn’t you do something to a slave who spread false news like that, out of just mere liking for excitement and vanity and —? Wouldn’t you?”
“I should make a good deal of allowance for people whose nerves are overstrained at our anxious time. I should not blame them too much for giving way to feelings of excitement and wildness. That is my own personal opinion a very insignificant little one!” answered Enschîna.
All this argument kept me from thinking much about my journey. And, indeed, it did not trouble me much to leave Alzôna, for was not Ilex to be found elsewhere? Appthis, however, followed me about wistfully, and I felt sorry to leave her.
“Don’t go, Mêrê,” she said, when we were alone for a minute.
“But I must, sweet one! We must do a little work when we can, you know.”
“Somebody else might do it!”
“No, nobody else could do this. Isn’t it nice for me to think that nobody else quite can?”
“I wish you couldn’t — I don’t mind your going,’ she added frankly, “so much as I did the others: because you’re not going to fight! Only I do mind.” And she nestled her head in my dress.
“Suppose I had a chance,” I said, “of seeing Darûna and Mira — and Ilex — and getting messages from them, and looking after them — how would that be?”
“Yes! You might,” said Appthis, her eyes sparkling. “And Kâra — you forgot Kâra, and she tells such lovely stories! She told me one just the day before she went away, about a deer; and there was a forest, where it lived; and every morning, when the sun shone, it went and heard the birds chirp, and it came to a pool and drank like our little antelope in the garden — only this was much bigger. And Artemis was very fond of it — only it never knew; and —”
The bronze gates clashed against the side of the portico. In the doorway stood the queen’s messenger — the golden sphinx glittering across the dark hall. The porter preceded her towards me; she smiled her recognition, and told me, in a word, that the formal declaration had been received.
“You will take this note to the Arch-Marshal,” she added. “If you should be attacked, it is of no consequence, and you need not get rid of it.”
“Is that a likely occurrence?” I asked. “Because I have just heard that the enemy is no more than eight miles off.”
“I did not mean an attack by horse, foot, and artillery,” the messenger responded dryly. “It was private treachery that I was referring to. As for such an absurd report, I need not tell you it is utterly ridiculous.”
“Are you absolutely certain?” I said. “It is the unexpected that happens!”
“If it were in the least likely,” she repeated, “the Secretary would see that you had a captain’s escort.”
With which assurance I was satisfied, and, as it proved, rightly. The messenger had not gone ten minutes before I was in the saddle, equipped for the start.
“Where’s Nia?” I said impatiently, and spied her in a close conversation with Cydonia, who said a word or two to me as Nia mounted her horse. Our departure was a much more imposing affair than the military ones of a fortnight before had been; most of the family gathered in the doorway, and, with Cydonia, nodded their adieux as we rode off.
Through the streets and gates — across an open, heathy common — then a plunge into a dark forest, into which the rays of the evening sun scarcely penetrated.
RADIUM AGE PROTO-SF: “Radium Age” is Josh Glenn’s name for the nascent sf genre’s c. 1900–1935 era, a period which saw the discovery of radioactivity, i.e., the revelation that matter itself is constantly in movement — a fitting metaphor for the first decades of the 20th century, during which old scientific, religious, political, and social certainties were shattered. More info here.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague | Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”) | Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt | H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook | Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins | William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land | J.D. Beresford’s Goslings | E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man | Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage | Muriel Jaeger’s The Man With Six Senses | & many others.