Steven Millhauser - Little Kingdoms

THE KEEPER OF THE DUNGEON. The keeper of the dungeon, whom no one has ever seen, is said to dwell in a dark cave or cell beside the winding lower stair, twenty-two steps above the dungeon. The keeper is said to have thick, matted hair so stiff that it is brittle as straw, a flat nose, and a single tooth, shaped like the head of a crossbow arrow; he is so stooped that his face is pressed against his knees. In one hand he clutches, even when asleep, the heavy key to the dungeon, which over the years has impressed its shape in the flesh of his palm like a brand burned into the flesh of a criminal. His sole duty is to open the iron door of the dungeon and to push in the iron bowl of gruel and the iron cup of brackish water delivered from above. The keeper, whom some describe as an ogre, a one-eyed giant, or a three-headed beast, is said to have a single weakness: he is fond of small, bright objects, like glass beads, gold buttons, and pieces of colored foil bound between disks of clear glass, all of which he places in an iron box concealed behind a loose stone in the wall beside his bed of straw. It is by manipulating this weakness that the dwarf is able to work his will upon the keeper, who in all other respects is ruthless and inflexible.

THE MARGRAVE’S BEDCHAMBER. The Princess, who not only loved the Prince deeply but had been raised in the habit of unquestioning obedience to a husband’s slightest wish, did not for a moment think of disobeying him. Instead she thought only of persuading him to take back a request that had been born of some unpleasant rumor in the court, and could lead only to unhappiness for her, for his friend, and for himself. When the Prince proved adamant, the Princess lowered her eyes, rose naked from the bed, and sorrowfully, in the chill night air, drew on her long chemise ornamented with gold, her close-fitting underrobe, and her high-waisted tunic with wide sleeves, all the while hoping to be commanded to stop; and over her tight-bound hair she drew her thick-jeweled net of gold wire, so that not a single hair was visible. Then with a beseeching look at her lord, who would not meet her eyes, she betook herself to the margrave’s bedchamber, where by the trembling light of her candle she crept fearfully to the curtained bed, parted the curtains no more than a finger’s breadth, and looked in. The margrave lay fast asleep on his back with his head turned to one side. The Princess extinguished the candle and, offering up a silent prayer, slipped into the bed between the margrave and the curtain. Anxiously she lay awake, with wide-open eyes, starting whenever the margrave stirred in his sleep, yet hoping that he might not wake and find her there. But as she lay thinking of the change in the Prince, and his cold words beside the pear tree, her heart misgave her and she fell to weeping. The margrave, wakened by the noise, was startled to find a woman in his bed; and feeling sharp desire, he asked who it was that so honored him in his bedchamber, meanwhile reaching out his hand to touch her. But when he heard the voice of the Princess, he drew back his hand, which had grazed her shoulder, as if he had felt the blade of a sword. She said in a strained voice that she had come to offer him companionship in the night; she hoped she had not disturbed his sleep by her visit. Now the margrave loved the Prince, and revered the noble Princess above all women; and a sorrow came over him, even as he felt desire in the dark. He replied that he was more honored by her visit than by a gift of gold; and because he honored her above all women, he would remember this night until his dying day. Yet he thought it most fitting that she should return to the Prince, her lord and husband, and not trouble herself about one who longed only to serve the Prince and do her honor. The Princess was well pleased with this speech; but mindful of the Prince’s cruel command, that she test the margrave in the night, she said that she hoped he did not find her so foul that he would wish to banish her from his bed. The margrave replied that far from finding her foul, he found her of all women the most fair; and so far was he from wishing to banish her from his bed, that he would abandon the bed to her and lie down on the floor of his chamber, in order to keep watch over her rest. The Princess thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but said she could not dispossess him of his bed, and urged him to remain; whereupon the margrave graciously agreed, saying only that he revered her rest as much as he revered the Princess herself; and drawing forth the sharp sword that he kept always beside him, he placed it between them on the bed, pledging to protect her from all harm in the night. With that he wished her a good night, and drew himself down under the coverlet, and feigned sleep. The Princess, well pleased with his answer, tested him no more, but lay anxiously beside him until the first graying of the dark, when she returned to the Prince, who lay restlessly awaiting her. She reported all that had passed in the night, praising the delicacy of the margrave, who had not wished to injure her feelings even as he revealed his devotion to the Prince, and assuring her lord that his friend had been slandered by evil tongues. The Prince, although soothed by her account, was troubled that his wife had lain all night by the side of the margrave, even at the Prince’s own bidding; and whereas before this he had been haunted by the image of his wife in the window recess, now he was tormented by the image of his wife in the bed of the margrave, offering her breasts to his greedy fingers, rubbing her legs against him, and crying out in pleasure. For the Prince so desired his wife that he could not believe any man capable of resisting her, if she offered herself in the night. Wherefore he thought she was deceiving him in either of two ways: for either she had lain with the margrave and pleasured him in the dark, or else she had not gone to him as she had said. Therefore the Prince replied harshly that though the margrave had not betrayed him, yet he could not be certain whether it was from loyalty or sheer surprise, to find the wife of his friend beside him in the dark; and now that the Princess had shown a willingness to deceive her husband, it was necessary for her to pay a second visit to the margrave and test him in his full knowledge. To this the Princess replied coldly that she would do all that her lord demanded; only, she would sooner plunge a dagger into her heart than return to the bed of the margrave.

THE REFLECTION. During three days a year, at the height of summer, the position of the sun and the position of the cliff combine to permit the castle to be reflected in the river. It is said that by staring at the reflection one can see inside the castle, which reveals the precise disposition of its arched doorways, high halls, and secret chambers, the pattern of hidden stairways, the shadows cast by flagons and bunches of grapes on abandoned banquet tables, and there, high in the tower, the Princess pacing wearily, while far below, in the depths of the immaculate reflection, so deep that it is beneath the river itself, a shadow stirs in the corner of the dungeon.

TOWN AND CASTLE. Long ago, in the darkness of an uncertain and perhaps legendary past, a Prince dwelt within our walls, in a fortress where the merchants’ hall now stands. One day he decided to build a great castle on the cliff on the far side of the river. The decision of the Prince to move outside our walls has sometimes been interpreted as the desire of an ambitious lord to build an impregnable fortress in an unstable world, but a respected school of historians has argued that the change of residence occurred precisely when the power of the patricians was growing at the expense of the Prince, who after his move was expressly forbidden by the Council to build a fortified home within the town walls, although he continued to receive an increasingly ritual homage as lord of the town. A second school, while accepting the historical explanation, sees in the move a deeper stratagem. The Prince, so the argument goes, sensing the loss of his power, removed himself from the town and placed himself above it in order to exercise over our people the power of imagination and dream: remote but visible, no longer subject to patrician pressure, the Prince and his castle would enter into the deepest recesses of the people’s spirit and become ineradicable, immortal. A minor branch of this school accepts the dream explanation but attributes it to a different cause. They argue that our ancestors first settled on the far side of the river, in the shadow of the castle, and only gradually withdrew to our side, in order to be able to look across the river and dream continually of nobler, more passionate lives.