The fire had burned low. Melancthe said in a husky voice: "Shimrod, I am frightened."

"How so?"

"When I looked into the mirror, I saw nothing."

VI

THE DAYS GLIDED BY, easy and quiet, without untoward incident to mark one day from the next. Shimrod occasionally thought that Melancthe attempted to tease and provoke him, but he maintained at all times a manner of imperturbable composure, and in the main all went smoothly. Melancthe seemed at least passively content, and was at all times accessible, or even more than accessible, to Shimrod's erotic inclinations. With dour amusement Shimrod recalled events of the past: her distrait conduct as she walked through his dreams; her boredom during his visits to her villa; her barring of the door against him—and now! His most far-fetched amorous fantasies had become real!

Why? The question constantly came to perplex him. Somewhere there was mystery. Shimrod could not understand how Tamurello profited from the arrangement; according to the blue glint, he never strayed from Faroli.

Melancthe herself volunteered no information, and pride prevented Shimrod from putting aside his pose of urbane equanimity and placing sharp questions.

Now and then, during the course of conversation, Shimrod made an idle inquiry or two, but Melancthe commonly returned only a blank stare, or sometimes an evasion or at worst accused him of overintellectualization. "When something needs to be done I do it! When my nose itches, I scratch it, without an agonizing analysis of the situation."

"Scratch at will, so long as it pleases you," said Shimrod in a voice of austere courtesy.

As time passed, the novelty of Melancthe's presence diminished, but not so her amorousness, which, perhaps through boredom, actually increased until it quite exceeded Shimrod's competence, causing him guilt and sheepishness. Remedies were available, had he chosen to use them: for instance, an elixir known as "The Bear', in jocular reference to the constellation Ursa Major, always aloft by night and by day. Shimrod also knew of a magical spell which worked to the same effect, known popularly as "The Phoenix'.

Shimrod refused to consider such adjuncts, for several reasons. First, Melancthe already took up more of his time than he cared to reckon, and absorbed a large fraction of his energies in the process, leaving him often in a state of lasstitude, so that his surveillance over Tamurello was at times desultory. Secondly—and here was a contingency which Shimrod could never have anticipated—the unadorned copulations, lacking humour, sympathy and grace, gradually came to lose much of their charm. Finally, a suspicion occasionally seeped into Shimrod's mind that Melancthe found him wanting, in quality as well as quantity. Shimrod at all times pridefully dismissed the idea; what had sufficed for his other partners in dalliance must do equally well for Melancthe.

A month passed and another. Each morning, after one or more erotic episodes, Shimrod and Melancthe took a leisurely breakfast of porridge with cream and fresh red currants, or perhaps griddle-cakes, butter, cherry conserve or honey, with ham, water-cress and boiled eggs, and usually either a half-dozen broiled quail or a brace of fresh trout, or poached salmon in dill sauce, along with new bread, fresh milk and berries. A pair of pale falloys* prepared and served the meal, and cleared away the soiled plates, cups and trenchers.

*falloy: a variety of halfling. much like a fairy, but larger and far more gentle of disposition.

After breakfast Shimrod might take himself to his workroom, though more often he dozed for an hour or two on the couch, while Melancthe wandered about the meadow. Sometimes she sat in the garden plucking the strings of a lute, contriving sounds in which Shimrod discovered no pattern but which nonetheless seemed to please Melancthe.

After two months Shimrod found her moods as enigmatic as on the day of her arrival. He fell into the habit of squinting at her sidelong, in wonder and speculation. The mannerism evidently vexed her, so that one morning she gave a sudden grimace and demanded: "You watch me as a bird watches an insect: why do you do so?"

Shimrod finally gathered his wits and said: "For the most part I watch you out of sheer pleasure! You are certainly the most beautiful creature alive!"

Melancthe muttered, as much to herself as to Shimrod: "Am I alive? I may not even be real."

Shimrod responded in that whimsical manner which also annoyed Melancthe, though not as much as an alternative style of logical exposition: "You are alive; otherwise you would be dead and I would be a necrophile. This is not so; hence you are alive. If you were not real, your clothes—" Melancthe now wore pale buff peasant breeches and a peasant smock "—would find no support and would fall into a heap on the ground. Are you satisfied?"

"Then why did not the mirror show my image?"

"Have you looked into it recently?"

"No. I dread what I might see. Or might not see."

"The mirror gives you back your self-assessment. You have no personal image because Tamurello has denied it to you, to keep you subservient. That, at least, is my guess. Since you refuse to confide in me, I cannot help you."

Melancthe looked away across the meadow, and caught unawares, perhaps said more than she wanted: "The advice of a man would only weaken me."

Shimrod frowned. "Why should that be?"

"Because that is how things are."

Shimrod said nothing and presently Melancthe cried out: "You are looking at me again!"

"Yes. In wonder. But now at last I am beginning to guess what you will not tell me, and I wonder not so much any more; in fact I think I know."

"Do you ever do aught but think? You keep the whole world under your forehead: a queer dead Shimrod-shaped illusion! But what do you truly know?"

"For convenience, let us restrict our remarks to your presence at Trilda. Tamurello sent you here to distract me. This is so clear as to be rudimentary. Am I wrong?"

"You would never believe otherwise, no matter what I told you."

"You are clever. Of course I am wrong. You evade my question in order to fool me. Why should I be surprised? You have fooled me before; now I know you well."

"You know me by not so much as an inkling! By not even the inkling of an inkling! You think, you ponder, even while we lie engaged I hear your thoughts clicking together!"

Astonished by Melancthe's vehemence, Shimrod could only say: "Nevertheless, I understand you at last!"

"You are a prodigy of pure reason."

"Your ideas are absolutely wrong! It is proper that you should realize your error. I have not the heart to tell you the whole of it, especially now, while you are angry. You have won the erotic war; the Female Principle has defeated the Male! You are welcome to the victory; it is empty. I will say no more."

"No!" cried Melancthe. "You have gone too far; you must say more!"

Shimrod shrugged. "You decided to sing no longer with the outcasts; you chose to join the human society, but here, willy-nilly, you were forced to obey the function Desmei imprinted upon you. I had come to your villa and there aroused your hostility. I suspect that it was a queer bittersweet emotion: you both liked and disliked me. In any event I became your first antagonist. Did you defeat me? Think as you like. And now I will say no more, except only this: you can tolerate Tamurello because he is not truly masculine; hence he is not an antagonist." Shimrod rose to his feet. "Excuse me; I have neglected much of late, and I must see to my duties."

Shimrod went to his work-room. The tables had been ordered; again the room was a pleasant place in which to work, though Shimrod had done precious little of this during the last two months.

Today his first business concerned the wizard Baibalides, who lived in a house of black rock on Lamneth Isle, a hundred yards off the coast of Wysrod.