A Tale Without a Name (9 page)

T
HE KING
was pacing up and down with nervous, uneven strides, while fat tears trickled down his fleshy, rosy cheeks.

When he saw his son, he let out a cry:

“My boy! The storm is upon us!”

At that, he collapsed on a chair, hiding his face in his hands and crying with heavy sobs.

By his side, placid and indifferent, stood Master Cartwheeler, his arms resting crossed upon his belly, awaiting the orders of his lord with his usual impassivity.

The Prince approached the King.

“Father,” he said, trying to conceal the emotional whirlwind in his heart, “father, weep not. We have need of all our courage and all our strength. Tell me, what is the matter? I know nothing yet!”

The King beckoned to the Lord Chamberlain to relate the news.

“A few hours ago terrified peasants came to the palace,”
Master Cartwheeler began, “and they told us that the enemy had crossed the borders and was invading our kingdom—”

“What enemy is that?” interrupted the Prince.

“The King your Royal Uncle,” replied Master Cartwheeler.

“I expected this to happen sooner or later. Speak further.”

“…and the enemies have now halted their advance, as though afraid to proceed. With them is also Faintheart the Judge, who is leading them, and is trying to convince them that the road is clear, that they can go as far as the river. They are frightened, however, and for the time being they have set up camp instead. They have sent some scouts ahead towards the river, to make sure that the area is truly free, so that they may then immediately move in and occupy the entire valley. These are the tidings,” added Master Cartwheeler, resuming his usual impassivity.

The King raised himself up a little.

“Now do you understand, my son? You have heard it all?” he said, weary and spent.

“I have heard. And now, father, the time has come to act. What do you advise?”

“It is I who must ask you that question, my son. What advice do
you
have? I have already told you that in the future you and I shall rule together.”

“Well, then, father, and my king, my advice is that I should leave immediately and go from one end of the kingdom to the other, to rouse every youth or old man, or boy even, who may bear a lance or hold a sword, and bring them here, so
we may give them any piece of iron which may be found in our towns and villages; then send them at once across the river, where I will lead them against the enemy. I also advise one other thing. Your crown, father: you must give it now to be sold abroad.”

Aghast, the King seized his crown with his two hands.

“No, my son, do not take it away from me,” he cried out, genuinely distressed. “Do not sell it!
I want it!
”

“It is most necessary, father,” insisted the Prince. “Our first need is for florins, and your crown is the only thing of value left in the palace. The time has come when all of us must make sacrifices. Let this one be yours. Give me the crown, father, I ask it in the name of our homeland.”

The King was now sobbing heavily.

“But I, how
can
I be left without my crown?” he said. “You deprive me of my power and authority by taking away the insignia of my office!”

“On the contrary, I give them and restore them back to you,” replied the Prince. “By giving away your crown so that arms may be bought, you acquire the right to ask for sacrifices from those who shall use these arms to liberate our land. Hand me your crown, father, I beg you on my knees, give it to me!”

The King removed his golden crown; and, turning his face away in order to hide the tears that ran fast down his cheeks, he delivered it into the hands of his kneeling son.

The Prince sprang briskly to his feet.

“And now,” he cried out, “now I seek a valiant man—someone who will make every sacrifice of himself, will cross our country's border as fast as lightning, sell it, and bring me back its worth in florins.”

From the door where he stood, Polydorus had watched the entire scene, his heart bursting with emotion. His earlier excitement had now turned into unbridled fervour.

He took a step forward and fell on his knees before the Prince.

“As an inestimable favour, I ask you, my lord, to entrust the crown to me,” he said, “and allow me to go abroad, sell it, and bring back its value in florins, or lose my life in the attempt.”

“Go, then,” said the Prince, “fly away and come back swiftly! And may God be with you!”

Polydorus took the crown, kissed the hand that handed it to him, and left the palace running.

Straight to the river he headed, the precious crown hidden away in the folds of his surcoat; he ran without halting to the place where the two shabby old feluccas were moored, still joined by the plank nailed across their middle.

“Fellow countryman!” he cried out. “Ahoy!… Fellow countryman!…”

The one-armed man, who was enjoying the morning sunshine flat on his back, his one arm under his head, stood up.

“Present and correct!” he cried out.

“What do you ask to ferry me across?” asked Polydorus. “Only do not ask me for florins, for I have none.”

“What do you want to go across for?” asked the
one-armed
man.

“Secret mission of the State,” replied the equerry.

Unhurriedly, the one-armed man took his long punt pole and, thrusting it all the way to the riverbed, he pushed his feluccas to the bank.

“Get in,” he said, and the equerry jumped into the boat. “Where to?”

“The opposite bank. Put me ashore wherever you want, or wherever you can, only get me across the river fast.”

The one-armed man untied the rope, took again his punt pole and dug it into the riverbed; walking slowly from stern to starboard and pushing on his punt pole, he manoeuvred his boats away from the bank.

“And you go far?” he asked.

“Yes, very far!”

The one-armed man reached the end of the felucca he stood in, and came back to the stern, trailing his punt pole behind him. He thrust it into the water again, and resumed his stroll to starboard.

“You are here to serve the whim of the State, then, so to speak, which is to say the whimsy of Sire Witless? Just so you can test how well they prick those lances of the King our Royal Uncle? Or don't you know, mayhap, that our Very Royal Uncle has disembarked himself on our land, without even asking our leave?”

“I do know it,” replied Polydorus calmly.

“And knowing that, you do not turn to go back?” asked
the one-armed man in a lilting, sing-song voice, always continuing his stroll. “You are quite something, aren't you, my good lad?”

For some time neither of them spoke.

The one-armed man dragged his punt pole once again from the water, and returned to the stern.

“And what might he be paying you, his lordship, to make you willing to go and catch your death over yonder?” he asked.

“I did not ask for payment.”

“Is that so, now? You have certainly fallen from a strange star, my lad. And you go just like that, you say? For the sake of those black eyes of Sire Witless?”

“No, rather for the brown ones of his son.”

“Is that so? Is that so, indeed?” said the one-armed man, and his broad smile split his face from ear to ear.

It was some time before they spoke again. The one-armed man continued to push his feluccas onwards.

“And so then, how did he kindle such a fire in you, this fine son of his?” he asked after a while.

“Just so! With what he said. I heard him… I saw him…” replied the equerry. “And he shook me all over, he seized my whole being, and made me his. And were he to say to me, ‘Throw yourself into the fire,' I should throw myself into the fire.”

“And now he has told you, ‘Throw yourself at the lances', and you are throwing yourself at the lances,” said the one-armed man in his customary imperturbable manner.

“Yes,” Polydorus replied simply.

They did not speak again until they had reached the opposite side, and had drawn the boats nearer to the shore.

The equerry leapt out and onto the dry land. “So what do you ask, then, for your trouble?” he asked.

“Your good love,” replied the one-armed man, pulling his punt pole back up again.

“At least tell me your name. I do not want to forget you.”

“Onearm.”

“Thank you.”

The equerry turned to go.

“Ahoy, there, countryman, and what's yours?” cried the one-armed man.

“What's mine what?”

“Your name!”

“Polydorus.”

“All right, then. Listen to one more thing. When you return… for you shall return, of course…”

“Yes!”

“You will find me, in that case, standing before you if you go to the right place; otherwise”—and with his hand he made the gesture of a dive—“
splosh
, into the river.”

The equerry, who had moved away, approached again.

“Which is the right place?”

“Not here, of course!” said the one-armed man. “For by that time, our guests will have arrived as well, and your body would have as many holes as a colander before you ever reached
Fright
and
Turmoil.
You will find me,
however”—and with his hand he pointed up the river—“there, where the Fool's Eddy meets the river.”

“But that's a terrible, nasty spot, how will you go there? The currents of the eddy are far too strong,” said Polydorus.

“And that's just why our guests will never think of coming there to greet us,” replied the one-armed man quietly, and with one thrust he pushed his boats away. “Godspeed to you, countryman!”

“Godspeed to you too!”

Shifting his punt pole with slow, steady steps, the
one-armed
man once again headed for the opposite bank, singing softly:

I
N THE MEANTIME
, the Prince had asked for the Great Ledger of the Royal Army, where all the officers and soldiers were registered.

The King turned to the Lord Chamberlain.

“Fetch it at once,” he commanded.

The Lord Chamberlain left the dining hall unhurriedly, and went to the back kitchen, where Polycarpus was wiping a serving platter with exemplary zeal for Little Irene, who was herself engaged in browning the game.

“Fetch it at once,” commanded Master Cartwheeler.

“Fetch what at once?” asked the equerry.

“The ledger with the lists for the Royal Army.”

“Where is it?”

“I know no more than you do. Find it and get it.”

The equerry looked at Little Irene with baffled eyes.

“Who is asking for it?” asked Little Irene.

“His Highness your brother, Your Royal Ladyship,” replied the Lord Chamberlain.

“Oh, Polycarpus! You simply
must
find it!” pleaded Little Irene.

Her words had hardly been spoken before Polycarpus had abandoned serving platter and dishcloth, and was dashing off to the cellar.

He looked closely into everything, ferreted about, turned upside down every single thing there was to be found in the cellar; he discovered nothing. Running like mad, and covered with dust, he scurried up to the first floor, opened every cupboard, drawer, chest and hamper there was in the palace tower, and still he found nothing. Like a cat, he crawled up the steep ladder leading to the attic, and there, at long last, after rummaging in every corner, having opened every storeroom, having plunged almost bodily into every old chest and coffer that lay there dilapidated, each a mouldy old relic eaten by woodworm and maggots, he pulled out, from under a pile of old, yellowed and crumpled papers, a tattered, oblong book, its covers half-devoured by mice, and so impregnated with dust that the gilded lettering on the jacket could barely be deciphered any longer.

He loaded it onto his back, and triumphantly he took it down to the dining hall, where the King and the Prince were still discussing things, while a cross-armed Master Cartwheeler yearned for them to conclude their talk, so that he might have leave to return home (where he knew that a mouth-watering mash of garlic and walnuts awaited him).

The equerry placed the book on the table.

“What is this miserable rag?” asked the Prince.

“I do not know,” said the equerry, “but it is the only book in the palace.”

The King opened it and leafed through it.

“Of course, this is it,” he said. “I can see both names and titles.”

And he began to read at random:

“Axer, commander of the corps; Terrorman, general; Fearless, marshal; Thunderson, centurion.”

He turned to the Lord Chamberlain, and ordered:

“Summon at once General Terrorman!”

Master Cartwheeler strove hard to bow.

“He is dead, my lord, he's been dead and gone eight years now.”

“Ah… Hmm…” grunted the King. “Then summon Axer, Commander of the Corps.”

“Passed away, my lord, twelve years ago.”

“Then surely this must be his son. Summon his son,” ordered the King nervously.

“His son was not in the army, my lord. He spent all his money, and then went into service with Master Rogue, the Supreme Commander of the Army; he too has left to go abroad.”

“So why on earth have you brought me this age-old register, which lists only the names of dead men!” the King broke out peevishly.

He turned over some more pages towards the end.

“Ah, here are some more entries,” he said, pleased with himself. “Here are also the names of soldiers. Cuckoo,
Cuckoobird, Cuckoochick, Cuckooclock, Cuckoonest, Cuckooson… Here are soldiers aplenty! Who says I have no army?”

And turning to the equerry Polycarpus:

“Command someone to go at once and summon… and summon all of these soldiers,” he ordered.

But Polycarpus just stood, fixed to the ground, his mouth agape.

“Who is to go? And where?” he asked, befuddled.

“No! No!” said the Prince. “If it is at all possible to find them, we shall find them ourselves. Let us go to town, father.”

“Now?” protested the King. “But we are just about to eat lunch! It is noon!”

“We shall eat more heartily later,” replied the Prince.

And so the King followed him, sulking and muttering, while Master Cartwheeler was slipping away quietly, to go to his mash of walnuts and garlic.

In front of the barracks, they found the one-legged man, who was eating water-soaked broad beans with great relish.

As he saw them he stood up erect and, holding his wooden porringer, he saluted in military fashion.

“Go and fetch the garrison commander,” ordered the King.

“He is bedridden with the snuffles, drinking infusions of lime-flowers,” replied the one-legged man with telegraphic brevity.

“Listen here,” said the Prince slowly, “do you know where I might find the soldiers who are on the army lists?”

“There are no soldiers.”

“Where is Cuckoo?” asked again the Prince.

“Apprentice to the cobbler,” the one-legged man replied hastily.

“What's that you say?” the King asked crossly. “With whose permission did he leave the barracks to become an apprentice? And Cuckoobird…”

“Undercook to Cuckoochick, who killed Cuckooclock in order to take from him the purse he had found in Cuckooson's shooting knapsack, the man who won three five-florin coins at the tavern; he has since left to go abroad,” came the reply of the one-legged man, all in a single breath.

The King pulled at the few hairs on his head, and took flight towards the mountain.

The Prince continued his examination with blackened heart.

“And the other soldiers, where are they?”

“They are not,” replied the one-legged man.

“But what became of them?”

“Nothing became of them, for they were not.”

“Since when has the army ceased to exist?” asked the Prince without losing patience.

“It never ceased,” answered proudly the one-legged man. “The army is me, and as the army shall I die.”

The Prince understood that he was wasting his time. With head bowed low, with heart heavy as lead, he headed for Miserlix's house.

He did not know where to go. He knew no one in town of whom he might seek counsel, or help. And yet he had to find men and arms at once!

“The King paid for an army,” he thought bitterly to himself, “and the soldiers became cooks, or undercooks, or thieves and cut-throats. And the florins found their way into the pockets of the numerous Cunningsons, and the army's supreme commanders sold the weapons, the chiefs of the royal fleet ransacked the naval base and dismantled the navy's ships to steal a few fistfuls of iron!”

He made every effort to understand and somehow explain the cause of all this wickedness.

He recalled the words of the master builder regarding the brawls and acts of retaliation taking place everywhere, in the villages and in the cities. He remembered the schoolmaster's words too, that there were times when it was necessary for one to be truly heroic in order to do one's duty.

Was there then no one amongst his people who had the dignity to do his duty heroically?

He could not help remembering the thefts and the villainies, petty or significant, that he witnessed everywhere, and he thought: “Is it then only in times of happiness that my people will be honourable and honest?”

Black despair seized him. He went into the woods, wandered and lost himself amidst the thick trees, and lay down on the cool grass, closing his eyes with great weariness.

“Is it worth it, putting up a fight for such people, to ache for such a land?” he murmured to himself.

“
Yes!
” said a female voice softly. “
It's worth it
.”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, startled.

Before him stood Knowledge.

“How did
you
get here?” he asked her.

“You no longer came to my hut, and I knew that you were alone. I imagined you feeling dejected and discouraged, and I came to see you. I saw you from the road entering the woods, and I followed you. Yes, it's worth struggling for your country.”

The Prince hid his face away in his hands.

“If
only you knew
what sort of people they were!” he said wearily.

“Well then, do you want to become yourself like them?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that you scorn these people who are your people, because they are thieves or cowards, or simply because they do not have life enough to fight against misery and the general lethargy. So then, do you want to become like them, forsake the state at the first sign of difficulty, abandon your post, show yourself a coward in the face of toil and responsibility? Your people are like all others, neither better nor worse. They need, however, governance. Could it be perhaps that it is
you yourself
who are not strong enough to be a leader?”

Knowledge gazed at him, her eyes thoughtful.

“Where fate has seen fit to place us,” she went on, “there must we stay. Fate chose for you the place of a leader. In your place you must stay, and, if need be, there die with
dignity and pride. And then, but only then, shall you stand higher than those you scorn. But to leave? Never that, no! That would be desertion!”

The Prince felt a shock run through him.

“I shall stay,” he said with vehement yearning. “I shall work! Yes, I shall save them, even if they themselves don't want to be saved. My land, I shall make it great again, I shall give it back life, or I shall perish with it. Farewell, Knowledge, and thank you for the courage that your words have stirred up inside me.”

And with great strides he left the woods, without once looking behind him.