Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc by Jack Vance Page B

tall and loosely muscular, Aillas, less tall by an inch, seemed spare and taut. Their hair alike was light golden brown and cut square at ear-level; Tristano’s features were blunt where those of Aillas were crisp. Standing together and smiling in the pleasure of each other’s company, they seemed like boys.
    At Aillas’ suggestion they seated themselves on a couch. Aillas said: “Before all else, let me mention that I am on my way to Watershade; why not join me?”
    “I will be happy to do so.”
    “We shall leave in two hours. Have you had your breakfast?”
    “Only a dish of bread and curds.”
    “We shall repair that.” Aillas called the footman and presently they were served a pan of fried hake, with new loaves and butter, stewed cherries and bitter ale. Meanwhile Aillas had asked: “How went your expedition?”
    “Certainly it has included interesting episodes,” said Sir Tristano. “I debarked from the ship at Dun Cruighre, and rode to Cluggach where I was granted an audience with King Dartweg. Dartweg is a Celt, true, but not all Celts are red-faced louts smelling of cheese. Dartweg, for instance, smells of ale, mead, and bacon. I learned nothing of profit from King Dartweg; the Celts think only of drinking mead and stealing each other’s cattle: this is the basis of their economy. I firmly believe that they place higher value upon a brindle cow with large udders than upon an equally buxom woman. Still, I cannot fault King Dartweg’s hospitality; in fact, you can insult a Celt only by calling him mean. They are too excitable to make truly good warriors, and, while obstreperous, they are as unpredictable as virgins. At a moot-place near Cluggach I saw fifty men at loggerheads, shouting each other down, and often laying hands to their swords. I thought that they must be debating between peace and war, but, so I found, the dispute concerned the largest salmon caught during a season three years back, and Dartweg was in the midst, bawling the loudest of all. Then a druid appeared in a brown robe with a sprig of mistletoe pinned to his hood. He uttered a single word; all fell silent, then slunk away and hid in the shadows.
    “Later I spoke of the incident to Dartweg and commended the druid’s counsel of moderation. Dartweg told me that the druid cared not a fig for moderation, and objected only because the noise offended a flock of sacred crows in a nearby grove.
    “Despite the Christian churches which are now appearing everywhere, the druids still hold power.”
    “Very well!” said Aillas. “You have told me enough of Godelia. To gain influence I must either ride down from the sky on a white bull holding the disk of Lug, or catch the largest salmon of the season. What next?”
    “I crossed the Skyre by ferry and entered Xounges. This is the only access, since the Ska control the approaches by land. Gax lives in a monstrous stone palace named Jehaundel, under ceilings lost in the high shadows. The halls are like caverns, and afford little comfort to visitors, courtiers or Gax himself.”
    “But you were able to meet with Gax?”
    “Only with difficulty. Gax is now something of an invalid, and his nephew, a certain Sir Kreim, apparently tries to insulate Gax from visitors, claiming that Gax’s health can not suffer excitement. I paid a gold crown to ensure that Gax knew of my presence, and was called to an audience despite the disapproval of Sir Kreim.
    “Gax in his prime must have been a most impressive man. Even now he overlooks me by two inches. He is lean and spare, and talks in a voice like the north wind. His sons and daughters are dead; he does not know his own age but reckons it to exceed seventy years. No one brings him news; he thought that Oriante still reigned in South Ulfland. I assured him that Aillas, the new king of South Ulfland, was a sworn enemy of the Ska, and already had sunk their ships and barred them from South Ulfland.
    “At this news King Gax clapped his hands in joy. Sir