“As you will,” replied Guyal. “Perhaps you will instruct me …” He caught his tongue. Before inquiring for the Museum of Man, it would be wise to learn in what regard the Saponids held it, lest, learning his interest, they seek to prevent him from knowledge.
“Yes?” inquired the Saponid. “What is your lack?”
Guyal indicated the seared area behind the fence of stone and timber. “What is the portent of this devastation?”
The Saponid stared across the area with a blank expression and shrugged. “It is one of the ancient places; so much is known, no more. Death lingers here, and no creature may venture across the place without succumbing to a most malicious magic which raises virulence and angry sores. Here is where those whom we kill are sent … But away. You will desire to rest and refresh yourself at Saponce. Come; we will guide you.”
He turned down the trail toward the town, and Guyal, finding neither words nor reasons to reject the idea, urged his horse forward.
As they approached the tree-shrouded hill the trail widened to a road. To the right hand the lake drew close, behind low banks of purple reeds. Here were docks built of heavy black baulks and boats rocked to the wind-feathered ripples. They were built in the shape of sickles, with bow and stern curving high from the water.
Up into the town, and the houses were hewn timber, ranging in tone from golden brown to weathered black. The construction was intricate and ornate, the walls rising three stories to steep gables overhanging front and back. Pillars and piers were carved with complex designs: meshing ribbons, tendrils, leaves, lizards, and the like. The screens which guarded the windows were likewise carved, with foliage patterns, animal faces, radiant stars: rich textures in the mellow wood. It was clear that much expressiveness had been expended on the carving.
Up the steep lane, under the gloom cast by the trees, past the houses half-hidden by the foliage, and the Saponids of Saponce came forth to stare. They moved quietly and spoke in low voices, and their garments were of an elegance Guyal had not expected to see on the northern steppe.
His guide halted and turned to Guyal. “Will you oblige me by waiting till I report to the Voyevode, that he may prepare a suitable reception?”
The request was framed in candid words and with guileless eyes. Guyal thought to perceive ambiguity in the phrasing, but since the hooves of his horse were planted in the center of the road, and since he did not propose leaving the road, Guyal assented with an open face. The Saponid disappeared and Guyal sat musing on the pleasant town perched so high above the plain.
A group of girls approached to glance at Guyal with curious eyes. Guyal returned the inspection, and now found a puzzling lack about their persons, a discrepancy which he could not instantly identify. They wore graceful garments of woven wool, striped and dyed various colors; they were supple and slender, and seemed not lacking in coquetry. And yet …
The Saponid returned. “Now, Sir Guyal, may we proceed?”
Guyal, endeavoring to remove any flavor of suspicion from his words, said, “You will understand, Sir Saponid, that by the very nature of my father’s blessing I dare not leave the delineated course of the trail; for then, instantly, I would become liable to any curse, which, placed on me along the way, might be seeking just such occasion for leeching close on my soul.”
The Saponid made an understanding gesture. “Naturally; you follow a sound principle. Let me reassure you. I but conduct you to a reception by the Voyevode who even now hastens to the plaza to greet a stranger from the far south.”
Guyal bowed in gratification, and they continued up the road.
A hundred paces and the road levelled, crossing a common planted with small, fluttering, heart shaped leaves, colored in all shades of purple, red, green and black.
The Saponid turned to Guyal. “As a stranger I must caution you never to set foot on the common. It is one of our sacred places, and tradition requires that a severe penalty be exacted for transgressions and sacrilege.”
“I note your warning,” said Guyal. “I will respectfully obey your law.”
They passed a dense thicket; with hideous clamor a bestial shape sprang from concealment, a creature staring-eyed with tremendous fanged jaws. Guyal’s horse shied, bolted, sprang out on to the sacred common and trampled the fluttering leaves.
A number of Saponid men rushed forth, grasped the horse, seized Guyal and dragged him from the saddle.
“Ho!” cried Guyal. “What means this? Release me!”
The Saponid who had been his guide advanced, shaking his head in reproach. “Indeed, and only had I just impressed upon you the gravity of such an offense!”
“But the monster frightened my horse!” said Guyal. “I am no wise responsible for this trespass; release me, let us proceed to the reception.”
The Saponid said, “I fear that the penalties prescribed by tradition must come into effect. Your protests, though of superficial plausibility, will not bear serious examination. For instance, the creature you term a monster is in reality a harmless domesticated beast. Secondly, I observe the animal you bestride; he will not make a turn or twist without the twitch of the reins. Thirdly, even if your postulates were conceded, you thereby admit to guilt by virtue of negligence and omission. You should have secured a mount less apt to unpredictable action, or upon learning of the sanctitude of the common, you should have considered such a contingency as even now occurred, and therefore dismounted, leading your beast. Therefore, Sir Guyal, though loath, I am forced to believe you guilty of impertinence, impiety, disregard and impudicity. Therefore, as Castellan and Sergeant-Reader of the Litany, so responsible for the detention of law-breakers, I must order you secured, contained, pent, incarcerated and confined until such time as the penalties will be exacted.”
“The entire episode is mockery!” raged Guyal. “Are you savages, then, thus to mistreat a lone wayfarer?”
“By no means,” replied the Castellan. “We are a highly civilized people, with customs bequeathed us by the past. Since the past was more glorious than the present, what presumption we would show by questioning these laws!”
Guyal fell quiet. “And what are the usual penalties for my act?”
The Castellan made a reassuring motion. “The rote prescribes three acts of penance, which in your case, I am sure will be nominal. But — the forms must be observed, and it is necessary that you be constrained in the Felon’s Caseboard.” He motioned to the men who held Guyal’s arm. “Away with him; cross neither track nor trail, for then your grasp will be nerveless and he will be delivered from justice.”
Guyal was pent in a well-aired but poorly lighted cellar of stone. The floor he found dry, the ceiling free of crawling insects. He had not been searched, nor had his Scintillant Dagger been removed from his sash. With suspicions crowding his brain he lay on the rush bed and, after a period, slept.
Now ensued the passing of a day. He was given food and drink; and at last the Castellan came to visit him.
“You are indeed fortunate,” said the Saponid, “in that, as a witness, I was able to suggest your delinquencies to be more the result of negligence than malice. The last penalties exacted for the crime were stringent; the felon was ordered to perform the following three acts: first, to cut off his toes and sew the severed members into the skin at his neck; second, to revile his forbears for three hours, commencing with a Common Bill of Anathema, including feigned madness and hereditary disease, and at last defiling the hearth of his clan with ordure; and third, walking a mile under the lake with leaded shoes in search of the Lost Book of Qualls.” And the Castellan regarded Guyal with complacency.
“What deeds must I perform?” inquired Guyal drily.
The Castellan joined the tips of his fingers together. “As I say, the penances are nominal, by decree of the Voyevode. First you must swear never again to repeat your crime.”
“That I gladly do,” said Guyal, and so bound himself.
“Second,” said the Castellan with a slight smile, “you must adjudicate at a Grand Pageant of Pulchritude among the maids of the village and select her whom you deem the most beautiful.”
“Scarcely an arduous task,” commented Guyal. “Why does it fall to my lot?”
The Castellan looked vaguely to the ceiling. “There are a number of concomitants to victory in this contest … Every person in the town would find relations among the participants — a daughter, a sister, a niece — and so would hardly be considered unprejudiced. The charge of favoritism could never be levelled against you; therefore you make an ideal selection for this important post.”
Guyal seemed to hear the ring of sincerity in the Saponid’s voice; still he wondered why the selection of the town’s loveliest was a matter of such import.
“And third?” he inquired.
“That will be revealed after the contest, which occurs this afternoon.”
