Authors: Lloyd Alexander
The Foundling (3 page)
“You!” shouted Maibon, shaking his fist. “Cheat! Villain! Trickster! I did you a good turn, and see how you've repaid it!”
The dwarf blinked at the furious Maibon. “You mortals are an ungrateful crew. I gave you what you wanted.”
“You should have warned me!” burst out Maibon.
“I did,” Doli snapped back. “You wouldn't listen. No, you yapped and yammered, bound to have your way. I told you we didn't like to give away those stones. When you mortals get hold of one, you stay just as you areâbut so does everything around you. Before you know it, you're mired in time like a rock in the mud. You take my advice. Get rid of that stone as fast as you can.”
“What do you think I've been trying to do?” blurted Maibon. “I've buried it, thrown it down the well, pounded it with a hammerâit keeps coming back to me!”
“That's because you really didn't want to give it up,” Doli said. “In the back of your mind and the bottom of your heart, you didn't want to change along with the rest of the world. So long as you feel that way, the stone is yours.”
“No, no!” cried Maibon. “I want no more of it. Whatever may happen, let it happen. That's better than nothing happening at all. I've had my share of being young, I'll take my share of being old. And when I come to the end of my days, at least I can say I've lived each one of them.”
“If you mean that,” answered Doli, “toss the stone onto the ground, right there at the stump. Then get home and be about your business.”
Maibon flung down the stone, spun around, and set off as fast as he could. When he dared at last to glance back over his shoulder, fearful the stone might be bouncing along at his heels, he saw no sign of it, nor of the redheaded dwarf.
Maibon gave a joyful cry, for at that same instant the fallow field was covered with green blades of wheat, the branches of the apple tree bent to the ground, so laden they were with fruit. He ran to the
cottage, threw his arms around his wife and children, and told them the good news. The hen hatched her chicks, the cow bore her calf. And Maibon laughed with glee when he saw the first tooth in the baby's mouth.
cottage, threw his arms around his wife and children, and told them the good news. The hen hatched her chicks, the cow bore her calf. And Maibon laughed with glee when he saw the first tooth in the baby's mouth.
Never again did Maibon meet any of the Fair Folk, and he was just as glad of it. He and his wife and children and grandchildren lived many years, and Maibon was proud of his white hair and long beard as he had been of his sturdy arms and legs.
“Stones are all right, in their way,” said Maibon. “But the trouble with them is, they don't grow.”
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hen Princess Angharad of the Royal House of Llyr came of an age to be married, her mother, Queen Regat, sent throughout the kingdom to find suitors for her daughter's hand. With red-gold hair and sea-green eyes, Angharad was the most beautiful of all the princesses of Llyr; and there were many who would have courted her. However, because Angharad was an enchantress of long and lofty lineage, it was forbidden her to wed any but an enchanter.
hen Princess Angharad of the Royal House of Llyr came of an age to be married, her mother, Queen Regat, sent throughout the kingdom to find suitors for her daughter's hand. With red-gold hair and sea-green eyes, Angharad was the most beautiful of all the princesses of Llyr; and there were many who would have courted her. However, because Angharad was an enchantress of long and lofty lineage, it was forbidden her to wed any but an enchanter.
“That,” said Angharad, “is the most ridiculous rule I've ever heard of. It's vexing enough, having to curtsy here, curtsy there, smile when you'd rather frown, frown when you'd rather laugh, and look interested when you're actually bored to tears. And now, is my husband to be chosen for me?”
“Rules are to be obeyed, not questioned,” answered Queen Regat. “You may wed the one your heart desires, and choose your husband freelyâamong those, naturally, with suitable qualifications.”
“It seems to me,” said Angharad, “one of the qualifications should be that we love each other.”
“Desirable,” said Queen Regat, “but in matters of state, not always practical.”
And so Queen Regat commanded that only enchanters of the highest skill should present themselves in turn at the Great Hall of the Castle of Llyr.
First came the enchanter Gildas. He was paunchy, with fleshy cheeks shining as if buttered. His garments were embroidered with gold thread and crusted with jewels. The host of servants following in his train were garbed almost as splendidly as their master; and, at the sight, murmurs of admiration rose from all the courtiers. Nose in the air, looking neither right nor left, Gildas bustled through the Great Hall to stand before the thrones of Angharad and her mother, and curtly nodded his balding head.
“Noblest ladies,” Gildas began, “allow me to dispense with the formalities. You appreciate the demands upon my time. Only with greatest difficulty have I been able to spare a few moments from an especially busy morning. Therefore, I trust we may promptly negotiate, determine, and settle upon the nuptial agreements; and, of primary consideration and concern, the question of dowry, the pecuniary contribution, the treasure the Princess brings as her marriage portion.”
“What?” burst out Angharad, before her mother could reply. “Prompt? Pecuniary? Settlement? You're a good step ahead of yourself, Master Gildas. If I'm obliged to marry an enchanter, I'd first like to see some enchantments. Then I'll make up my own mind.”
“My dear young girl,” Gildas haughtily replied, “there is no reason to waste time in trivial details. Surely my reputation has preceded me. My skill is beyond question, I have impeccable recommendations.”
“And a wonderful opinion of yourselfâwell earned, no doubt,” Angharad said sweetly. “Do allow us to share it. Favor us with a demonstration.”
Sniffing and sputtering, Gildas could only do as he was requested. Impatiently, he snapped his fingers, commanding a servant to bring a long cloak, even more dazzling than his other garments, and to
drape it over his shoulders. Gildas then commanded another to bring a tall, pointed headpiece covered with magical signs; and a third to fetch a long golden staff.
drape it over his shoulders. Gildas then commanded another to bring a tall, pointed headpiece covered with magical signs; and a third to fetch a long golden staff.
Thus arrayed, Gildas began mumbling and muttering, and with his staff, tracing patterns on the flagstones. Puffing from his exertions, the enchanter circled first in one direction, then another, droning spells, waving his arms, and waggling his fingers.
Through all this, Princess Angharad tapped her foot, drummed her fingers on the arm of the throne, and stared out the casement. Even Queen Regat could not hide the frown that shadowed her usually composed features.
Gildas kept on with his laborious incantations for some time, until his brow glistened and he was out of breath. At last a small gray cloud began taking shape in the air. The enchanter doubled his efforts, flapping his arms and gesturing as if he were kneading a basin of dough. Little by little the cloud grew bigger and blacker until it filled the Great Hall. The shadows deepened and thickened, blotting out the sunlight from the casements, and the Great Hall was dark as midnight.
The courtiers and royal retainers whispered their amazement at such a feat. Gildas clapped his hands sharply; the cloud broke into fragments, the blackness seeped away, and the Great Hall was bright as it had been before.
The enchanter mopped his streaming brow. His cheeks flushed as he smiled with self-satisfaction. Queen Regat nodded in recognition of his prowess. Princess Angharad stifled a yawn.
“Well?” said Angharad.
Gildas blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Is that all there is to it?” Angharad asked. “Is this the enchantment you offer us?”
“All there is?” exclaimed Gildas. “One of my finest effects! My dear Princessâ”
“My dear enchanter,” Angharad replied, “I don't doubt for a moment you've gone to a great deal of work and strain. I only hope you haven't done yourself harm. Not to say anything against your spells, you understand, but frankly, I don't see the point of going to such trouble for the sake of turning day into night. All anybody needs to do is be patient a little while and night will come along very nicely by itself, with a far better quality of darkness than yoursâmuch more velvety. Not to mention the moon and a whole skyful of stars for good measure.”
“Then, Princess,” returned Gildas, taken aback, “allow me to produce something a little more spectacular. I suggest a snowstorm. My blizzards never fail to please, they have always been received with approbation.”
Angharad sighed and shrugged. “There again, Master Gildas, why bother? When the proper season comes round, we'll have snow enough; each flake different, too. Can you do as well?”
Sputtering and stammering, Gildas admitted he could not. “Butâbut, perhaps, a culinary manifestation, a full-course feast? Roast goose? Wine? Sweetmeats?”
“We're quite satisfied with our own cook,” said Angharad. “Thank you, no.”
Scowling in wounded dignity, grumbling at the disrespect of young princesses, Gildas seated himself beside Queen Regat, awaiting the next suitor.
“It is against my principles to criticize my colleagues,” he muttered to the Queen. “But I can assure Your Majesty in advance: No enchantments can rival mine.”
Queen Regat nevertheless beckoned for the second suitor to enter the Great Hall. This was the enchanter Grimgower, lean, gaunt-faced, with knotted brows and a square black beard twining around his thin lips. His iron-shod boots rang as he strode toward the thrones, and his black cloak streamed behind him. In his train marched dark-robed, hooded servants, and the courtiers drew back uneasily as they passed.
Grimgower halted before Angharad, folded his arms, and threw back his head.
“Princess,” he said, “I come to claim your hand and declare myself willing to accept you as my wife.”
“At least,” replied Angharad, “that settles half the question.”
“Let us understand each other,” said Grimgower. “The House of Llyr is known for the powers of enchantresses. And the willfulness of its daughters. You shall have all you wish, and more. No luxury will be denied you. But in my household, I am the only master.”
“You make it sound delightful,” said Angharad.
“Think more of your duty and less of your pleasure,” Grimgower answered. “The sons born of our marriage will have powers beyond all others and will rule supreme throughout the land. The joining of our two housesâ”
“It's not houses getting married, it's me,” said Angharad. “And if you can tell ahead of time that you'll have sons instead of daughters you're a prophet, indeed! Meanwhile, I suggest that you demonstrate your skill in some other way.”
Grimgower stepped back a pace and raised his arms. In a harsh voice he called out the words of a mighty enchantment. The courtiers gasped in terror. For now, out of thin air, suddenly sprang monstrous creatures that snarled, bared sharp fangs, and snapped
their jaws. Some, covered with scales, breathed fire through their nostrils; others lashed tails as sharp as swords. The beasts crouched beside the enchanter and glared with blazing eyes at Angharad.
their jaws. Some, covered with scales, breathed fire through their nostrils; others lashed tails as sharp as swords. The beasts crouched beside the enchanter and glared with blazing eyes at Angharad.
Queen Regat paled, though she sat stiff and straight and tried to conceal her alarm.
Angharad, however, glanced unperturbed at the monsters.
“Poor things, they looked starved for their dinner,” she said to Grimgower. “You should really take better care of them. They need a good brushing and combing, too. I daresay they're all flea-ridden.”
“These are no common enchantments,” cried Grimgower, his face twisting angrily, “but creatures shaped of my own dreams. I alone can summon them. You shall not see their like in all the realm.”
“Happily,” said Angharad. “Yes, I suppose they would be the sort of things you, Master Grimgower, would dream of, and no doubt you're proud of them. I hope you won't be offended if I tell you honestly I prefer the animals we have in our forest. The deer are much handsomer than that dismal-looking whatever-it-is next to you. So are the rabbits, the badgers, and all the others. And I'm sure they have better tempers.”
Frowning darkly, Grimgower spread his cloak, spat an incantation through his clenched teeth, and the monstrous beings disappeared as quickly as they had come. At a sign from Queen Regat, the enchanter took his place beside Gildas, and the two rivals looked daggers at each other.
“So far,” Angharad whispered to her mother, “the choice is easy. Neither! Are there no other suitors? It's not that I expect a crowd, all jostling and clamoring to marry me, but I'd really hate to think only two were interested, especially those two.”
“Alas, daughter, there are none,” Queen Regat began, but
stopped as the Chief Steward came to murmur a few words in her ear. Queen Regat turned to Angharad and said:
stopped as the Chief Steward came to murmur a few words in her ear. Queen Regat turned to Angharad and said:
“One more awaits. Geraint is his name. He is unknown to me, but he asks admittance to seek your hand.”
Angharad shrugged and sighed wearily. “I've put up with this pair. I doubt a third could be more tiresome.”
But the Princess caught her breath as the enchanter Geraint made his way through the Great Hall and stood before her. He came with no servants or attendants; he bore no magic wand or golden staff; his garments were plain and unadorned. Yet this youth was the fairest Angharad had ever seen. Nevertheless, despite her quickening heart and the color rising to her cheeks, she tossed her head and said lightly:
“Now, Master Geraint, by what enchantments do you mean to court us?”
Geraint smiled as he replied.
“Why, Princess, by none at all. Does a man court a woman with sorcery? It seems to me he must court her with love.”
“Boldly spoken,” said Angharad, “but how shall you do so?”
“As a man to a woman,” answered Geraint. “And may you answer me freely, as a woman to a man.”
As their eyes met, Angharad knew her heart could be given only to him. However, before she could reply, the enchanter Gildas stepped forward, sputtering and protesting. And the enchanter Grimgower sprang from his seat and angrily insisted that Geraint prove his skill, as they had been obliged to do.
And so Geraint began. However, unlike the others, he drew no magical patterns, pronounced no magical spells. Instead, in common, quiet words he spoke of waters and woodlands, of sea and sky, of men and women, of childhood and old age; of the wonder and
beauty of living things, all closely woven one with the other as threads on the same loom.
beauty of living things, all closely woven one with the other as threads on the same loom.
As he spoke, he stretched out his open hands, and all in the court fell silent, marveling. For now, born of his simple gesture, appeared flights of doves, fluttering and circling around him. Flowers blossomed at each motion of his fingers. He raised his arms and above his head stars glittered in a sparkling cloud and a shower of lights was scattered through the Great Hall.
Then Geraint lowered his arms to his sides, and the enchantments vanished. He stood waiting, saying nothing more, while his glance and the glance of Angharad touched and held each other. Smiling, the Princess rose from her throne.
“My choice is made,” she said. “The enchanter Geraint has sought my hand and won my heart. And so shall we be wed.”
Shouts of joy filled the Great Hall as Angharad and Geraint stepped forward to embrace.
But Grimgower thrust himself between them. His face was livid with rage as he cried out to Queen Regat and all the company:
“What trickery is this? He used no sorcery known to me or to any magician. He is an impostor! A false enchanter! Cast him out!”
“He has tried to dupe us,” fumed Gildas, his jowls shaking with indignation. “My colleague is correct. I heard no proper spells or charms. This upstart has no true power. A hoaxer! A mere juggler!”
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