Penelope Delta - A Tale Without a Name

MISERLIX HAD BEEN FIGHTING at the other end of the enemy camp, and had been busy for some time chasing away a good few of the enemy; not seeing the Prince as he came back, he asked where he was.

No one knew.

Deeply alarmed, he sought him here and there; as he was doing so, some soldiers near the tent of the King the Royal Uncle cried out to him.

“Come here, Master Miserlix, we have something we want to show you,” they said.

And they all burst out laughing.

Between them they were holding up a man from under his arms. His head was sunk on his chest, his hair was dishevelled, his plush, wine-red velvet tabard all white from the dust. And as soon as the soldiers loosened their support, he slid to the ground.

“What is the matter with this poor soul?” asked Miserlix. “Is he wounded or ill?”

The soldiers again burst out laughing.

“Neither the one nor the other,” they replied. “It’s just that he is shaking all over from fear.”

Miserlix approached, with the intention of sending the soldiers away and of setting the man free. When he had a closer look at him, however, he stopped short.

“The Judge!” he cried out.

As soon as Master Faintheart heard Miserlix’s voice, his knees buckled entirely under him, and, slipping through the soldiers’ hands, he collapsed spread-eagled onto the dusty ground.

“Where was he?” asked Miserlix. “How come he did not escape with the others?”

“Do not ask how we found him!” said one of the soldiers. “We entered the tent of the King to gather up his things and take them to the Prince, when we saw there a seat covered with a rug. A friend of mine sat on it to rest, and suddenly the seat crumbled down and my friend fell on his back. We were frightened that perhaps we had broken something valuable and precious, and so we lifted up the rug hastily. And what did we see then? His lordship, half-dead with fright!”

Miserlix gazed at him with disgust.

“Gather him up and bring him to the Prince,” he ordered. “His Highness will himself decide his fate.”

And again he went looking for the Prince.

He found him sitting by a tree trunk, his head bandaged with a scarf. A soldier, who happened to be a doctor, was washing and dressing the wound on his shoulder.

At his feet lay the bloodied body of the youth, and the Prince pointed him out to Miserlix.

“He let himself be killed to save me,” he said hoarsely.

“He did what anyone amongst us would have done,” replied Miserlix.

Sweet daybreak was approaching fast.

The men, tired and hungry, were garnering from the enemy tents anything they could find to eat, and were preparing to lie down and sleep.

At that moment, some soldiers arrived, dragging Master Faintheart behind them.

“Not now,” Miserlix said to them. “His Highness is exhausted.”

The Prince heard him, however, and wanted to know what the matter was.

When he saw and recognized the Judge, he ordered that he be brought before him.

“Master Faintheart, what explanation can you give for your own presence here?” he asked him.

The unperturbed manner of the Prince soothed Master Faintheart’s fears, and immediately he grew bold.

“Oh, my lord!” he moaned. “If only you knew what miseries I have been through since I last saw you. I had to go away, poor man that I am, to save myself from Cunningson, who would most surely have killed me if he ever found out what I told you! Only, from one single fright I found myself in a thrice-worse predicament ! I crossed to the neighbouring kingdom, and before I knew what had happened, they had seized me and dragged me, against my will, to the King your Royal Uncle.”

He paused for a moment, and cast a foxy glance around him, to make sure everyone believed him.

“Well, then?” asked the Prince quietly.

“Well then, the King your Royal Uncle told me that he intended to conquer the kingdom of the King your father, and offered me great honours and riches if I were to guide him here. But of course I would not hear of such a thing! ”

And again he looked around him, although with less self-assurance this time. Everyone’s profound silence seemed unpleasant to him.

“And so?” the Prince said.

“I replied to him that I would rather die a thousand times than accept such an offer,” Master Faintheart went on. “And the King your Royal Uncle became furious, and he tied me to a horse, and brought me hither shackled in chains. God has shown me his mercy by granting you victory, and you have released me from the hands of that cruel monarch!”

He crossed himself, wiped his eyes, and repeated in a quavering voice:

“God has shown me his mercy!”

The Prince then took out of his pocket a crumpled and bloodstained piece of paper, unfolded it, and laid it in front of the Judge.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked.

As Master Faintheart took a look and recognized the letter that he had written to Cunningson, he turned green and collapsed on his knees.

“Forgive me, my lord, spare me!” he cried, trembling and shaking all over.

“Master Faintheart,” said the Prince, articulating each word slowly, “you have been a traitor to your country. In the name of our country, I sentence you to a traitor’s death: you are to die by hanging.”

“Spare me!” cried the traitor. “ Forgiveness! ”

And pitiful, his face distorted by fear, he rolled himself on the ground at the Prince’s feet, seeking to kiss them.

The Prince stood up in disgust.

“It is your country that condemns you,” he said.

And turning towards his soldiers, he added gravely:

“Do your duty.”

With that, he turned to leave. One of the soldiers cast a rope around the branch of the nearby tree.

“Not here!” said the Prince, pointing at the dead youth. “This is hallowed ground.”

The soldiers dragged Master Faintheart to the riverbank, to the roots of a mighty oak.

And before the sun had come out, the traitor had paid for his crime.

THE SOLDIERS had very little time to rest that day.

The enemy had left, yet there was much to be done. The master builder with his apprentices secured the bridge back into place, the soldiers buried the dead, foes and friends alike, and Miserlix returned to the mine and to the smithy with his brother, in order to make new arms and in sufficient numbers so that they might resume the fighting and drive the enemy far beyond the borders.

The Prince, after setting up his camp and posting guards all around, sent out scouts to see where his enemies were, and how many were left. Then he went up the mountain to the palace.

The windows were flung wide open, and he was greatly astonished not to hear the usual shrieks of Jealousia and Spitefulnia. He went straight to the scullery, hoping to see first Little Irene.

The scullery was neat and tidy. Some wild greens were simmering gently in a copper pot on the fire, but his sister was not to be found there, so he went to look for her in the great dining hall.

The door was open.

The King, hands in his pockets, was pacing up and down, pensive and nervous.

The Queen was sitting by the table, striving with infinite perseverance to fashion a crown out of strips of lead foil and odd bits of tin. Only the crown kept breaking up, and the Queen had to start over and over, again and yet again.