Madouc, with wary glances to right and left, crossed Old Street into Fanship Way. She continued south, and presently arrived at Sarris. In a mournful mood she took the horses around to the stables, and at last the mystery in regard to Pymfyd's disappearance was clarified. Sitting disconsolately beside the dungheap was Pymfyd himself.

At the sight of Madouc, Pymfyd jumped to his feet. "At last you trouble to show yourself!" he cried out. "Why have you dallied so long?"

Madouc responded with dignity: "I was delayed by events beyond my control."

"All very well!" growled Pymfyd. "Meanwhile I have been sitting here on tenterhooks! If King Casmir had come before your return, I would now be crouching deep in a dungeon."

"Your worries seem far less for me than for yourself," said Madouc with a sniff.

"Not so! I made several guesses as to your probable fate, and was not cheered. Exactly what happened to you?"

Madouc saw no need to report the full scope of her adventures. "The robbers chased me deep into the forest. After I eluded them I circled back to Old Street and rode home. That, in general, is what happened." She dismounted from Tyfer, and examined Pymfyd from head to toe. "You seem in adequately good health. I feared that you were dead, from the effect of so many cruel blows."

"Hah!" said Pymfyd scornfully. "I am not so easily daunted! My head is thick."

"On the whole, and taking all with all, your conduct cannot be faulted," said Madouc. "You fought your best."

"True! Still, I am not a fool! When I saw how events were going I feigned death."

"Have you bruises? Do you hurt?"

"I cannot deny a few aches and as many pains. My head throbs like a great bell!"

"Approach me, Pymfyd! I will try to allay your suffering."

Pymfyd asked suspiciously: "What do you plan to do?"

"You need ask no questions."

"I tend to be cautious in the matter of cures. I want neither cathartics nor clysters."

Madouc paid no heed to the remark. "Come here and show me where you hurt."

Pymfyd approached and gingerly indicated his bruises. Madouc applied the poultice she had received from Twisk, and Pymfyd's pain instantly disappeared.

"That was well done," said Pymfyd grudgingly. "Where did you learn such a trick?"

"It is a natural art," said Madouc. "I also wish to commend your bravery. You fought hard and well, and deserve recognition." She looked here and there, but discovered no implement suitable to her needs save the manure fork. "Pymfyd, kneel before me!"

Once again Pymfyd stared in perplexity. "Now what?"

"Do as I say! It is my royal command!"

Pymfyd gave a fatalistic shrug. "I suppose I must humor you, though I see no reason for such humility."

"Cease grumbling, as well!"

"Then be quick with whatever game you are playing! Already I feel a fool."

Madouc took up the manure fork and raised it on high. Pymfyd dodged and threw his arm over his head. "What are you up to?"

"Patience, Pymfyd! This tool symbolizes a sword of fine steel!" Madouc touched the fork to Pymfyd's head. "For notable valor on the field of combat, I dub you Sir Pom-Pom, and by this title shall you be known henceforth. Arise, Sir Pom-Pom! In my eyes, at least, you have proved your mettle!"

Pymfyd rose to his feet, grinning and scowling at the same time. "The stablemen will not care a fig one way or the other."

"No matter! In my opinion you are now ‘Sir Pom-Pom'."

The newly knighted Sir Pom-Pom shrugged. "It is at least a start."

CHAPTER FOUR

Lady Desdea, upon receiving word from the stable of Madouc's return to Sarris, posted herself in the entry hail, where she could be sure to intercept the miscreant princess.

Five minutes passed. Lady Desdea waited with eyes glittering and arms crossed, fingers tap-tapping against her elbow. Madouc, listless and weary, pushed open the door and entered the hall. She crossed to the side passage, looking neither right nor left as if absorbed in her private thoughts, ignoring Lady Desdea as if she were not there.

Smiling a small grim smile, Lady Desdea called out: "Princess Madouc! If you please, I would like a word with you!"

Madouc stopped short, shoulders sagging. Reluctantly she turned. "Yes, Lady Desdea? What do you wish?"

Lady Desdea spoke with restraint. "First, I wish to comment upon your conduct, which has caused us all a distraction. Next, I wish to inform you of certain plans which have been made."

"If you are tired," said Madouc in a voice of forlorn hope, "you need not trouble with the comment. As for the plans, we can discuss them another time."

Lady Desdea's small smile seemed frozen on her face. "As you wish, though the comment is most pertinent and the plans concern you both directly and indirectly."

Madouc started to turn away. "One moment," said Lady Desdea. "I will mention only this: Their Majesties will celebrate Prince Cassander's birthday with a grand fête. Many important persons will be on hand. There will be a formal reception, at which you will sit with the rest of the royal family."

"Ah well, I suppose it is no great matter," said Madouc, and again started to turn away, and again Lady Desdea's voice gave her pause. "In the interim you must school yourself in the customary social graces, that you may appear at your best advantage."

Madouc spoke over her shoulder: "There is little for me to learn, since all I need do is sit quietly and nod my head from time to time."

"Ha, there is more to it than that," said Lady Desdea. "You will learn the details tomorrow."

Madouc pretended not to hear and went off down the passage to her chambers. She went directly to her bed and looked down at the pillow. What would she find beneath? Slowly, and fearful that she would find nothing, she lifted the pillow, and saw a small silver comb.

Madouc gave a quiet little cry of joy. Twisk was not a totally adequate mother, but at least she was alive and not dead, like the Princess Suldrun; and Madouc was not alone in the world, after all.

On the wall beside her dressing table was a mirror of Byzantine glass, rejected by Queen Sollace for reason of flaws and distortions, but which had been considered good enough for the use of Princess Madouc, who, in any case, seldom used the mirror.

Madouc went to stand before the mirror. She looked at her reflection, and blue eyes looked back at her, under a careless tumble of copper-gold curls. "My hair is not such a frightful vision as they like to make out," Madouc told herself bravely. "It is perhaps not constrained in an even bundle, but I would not have it so. Let us see what happens."

Madouc pulled the comb through her hair. It slid easily through the strands, with none of the usual jerks and snags; the comb was a pleasure to use. Madouc stopped to appraise her reflection. The change, while not startling, was definite. The curls seemed to fall into locks, and arranged themselves of their own accord around her face. "No doubt it is an improvement," Madouc told herself. "Especially if it helps me escape ridicule and criticism. Today has been most eventful!"

In the morning Madouc took her breakfast of porridge and boiled bacon in a sunny little alcove to the side of the kitchen, where she knew she would not be likely to encounter either Devonet or Chlodys. Madouc decided to consume a peach, then loitered over a bunch of grapes. She was not surprised when Lady Desdea looked through the door. "So this is where you are hiding."

"I am not hiding," said Madouc coldly. "I am taking my breakfast."

"I see. Are you finished?"

"Not quite. I am still eating grapes."

"When you have finally eaten your fill, please come to the morning room. I will await you there."

Madouc resignedly rose to her feet. "I will come now."