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The World in the Wave Function
 The World in the
Wave Function
A Metaphysics for Quantum Physics

A LYS S A N EY

1
 3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
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by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
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Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data

Names: Ney, Alyssa, author.
Title: The world in the wave function : a metaphysics
for quantum physics /​Alyssa Ney.
Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2021] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020024392 (print) | LCCN 2020024393 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780190097714 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190097738 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Wave functions. | Quantum theory.
Classification: LCC QC174.26.W3 N49 2020 (print) | LCC QC174.26.W3 (ebook)
| DDC 530.12/​4—​dc23
LC record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020024392
LC ebook record available at https://​lccn.loc.gov/​2020024393

DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190097714.001.0001

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America
On this day, however, the listener saw something odd
when he glanced at the waveform display. Even experts
had a hard time telling with the naked eye whether a wave-
form carried information. But the listener was so familiar
with the noise of the universe that he could tell that the
wave that now moved in front of his eyes had something
extra. The thin curve, rising and falling, seemed to possess
a soul.
—​Liu Cixin, The Three-Body Problem (2006)
 Preface

If quantum theories are true, what kind of truth do they suggest?

What are their ontological implications, that is, what do they tell us
about the fundamental objects that make up our world? How should
quantum theories make us reevaluate our classical conceptions of
the basic constitution of material objects and ourselves? And what
lessons do they carry for the way objects may interact with one an-
other? A century after the development of quantum theories, there
is still nothing like a consensus answer to any of these questions,
nor even a received view. And yet it is natural to wonder what these
theories that have been so remarkably empirically successful may
be telling us about ourselves and the world that surrounds us.
The goal of this book is to develop and defend one framework for
understanding the kind of world described by quantum theories.
This is a framework initially suggested by the wave representa-
tion for quantum theories developed by Erwin Schrödinger in
the 1920s, but only much later explicitly proposed and defended
as an account of reality in the work of the philosophers of physics
David Albert and Barry Loewer in the 1990s. Albert characterized
it as the necessary point of view for those purporting to be realists
about quantum theories (1996, p. 277), that is, for those who re-
gard quantum theories as approximately correct and objective
representations of our world, rather than merely useful math-
ematical tools to predict the results of future experiments. This
framework is what Albert and Loewer have called wave function
realism. It is a way of interpreting quantum theories so that the
central object they describe is the quantum wave function, an ob-
ject they view as a field on an extremely high-​dimensional space.
x Preface

According to wave function realism, we and all of the objects

around us are ultimately constituted out of the wave function and
although we may seem to occupy a three-​dimensional space of the
kind described by classical physics, the more fundamental spatial
framework of quantum worlds like ours is instead quite different,
one of very many dimensions, with no three of these dimensions
corresponding to the heights, widths, and depths of our ordinary
experience.
In this book, I will not try to make the case that wave function
realism is a necessary framework one must adopt if one is to be a
realist about quantum theories.1 In the past few decades, several re-
alist frameworks have been proposed, each presenting us with an
interesting way of understanding the world described by quantum
theories that is worthy of development. As we will see, each of these
alternative frameworks has its own advocates who have made com-
pelling cases in defense of their preferred interpretations. Actually,
because the more common attitude about quantum theories for a
very long time was that one could not or should not understand
them realistically, and because such attitudes are still very much en-
trenched in large pockets of the physics community, we are still at
an early stage of the conversation about what might be the correct
understanding of the ontological implications of quantum theories.
For this reason, there is still much work to be done, in spelling out
the details of these frameworks, and what may be said in their de-
fense. And so, while my main task here will be to make it clear that
wave function realism is worth taking seriously as a framework for

1 Although the debate between realists and anti-​realists will sometimes come up in

the chapters that follow, my main task in this book will not be to argue for realism about
quantum theories. Instead, my approach will be to take realism as a starting point and
see what can be said for this one way of developing a realist approach, wave function
realism. The work of defending realism about quantum theories has already been sat-
isfactorily addressed by others, in my view. If one is not yet convinced, I especially rec-
ommend the first chapter of David Wallace’s 2012 The Emergent Multiverse as well as the
second chapter of Peter Lewis’s 2016 Quantum Ontology. Adam Becker’s 2018 What Is
Real? provides useful historical background for the debates about realism in quantum
mechanics.
 Preface xi

understanding the worlds described by our best quantum theories,

my stance in this book will be one of humility and tolerance for
other approaches.2
While wave function realism has been defended for more than
twenty years now, it is still a rather minority position among those
working in physics and philosophy of physics.3 Even among those
who would be realists about quantum theories, the view has met
a variety of criticisms that have struck many working in the field
as decisive. Wave function realism has been variously criticized as
philosophically naïve and unmotivated, as applicable only as an
understanding of the most basic and idealized quantum systems,
and as empirically incoherent for its failure to allow a plausible ac-
count of how low-​dimensional material objects, of the kind we per-
ceive around us and in which the experimental results confirming
quantum theories have been recorded, may ultimately be
constituted out of a wave function inhabiting a high-​dimensional
space. And so, wave function realism is a position whose advocates

2 Here I follow Rudolf Carnap:

The acceptance or rejection of abstract linguistic forms, just as the accept-
ance or rejection of any other linguistic forms in any branch of science, will
finally be decided by their efficiency as instruments, the ratio of the results
achieved to the amount and complexity of the efforts required. To decree
dogmatic prohibitions of certain linguistic forms instead of testing them by
their success or failure in practical use, is worse than futile; it is positively
harmful because it may obstruct scientific progress. . . . Let us grant to those
who work in any special field of investigation the freedom to use any form of
expression which seems useful to them; the work in the field will sooner or
later lead to the elimination of those forms which have no useful function.
Let us be cautious in making assertions and critical in examining them, but
tolerant in permitting linguistic forms. (1947, p. 221)
as well as some of my main interlocutors:
While we argue for the adoption of spacetime state realism over wave-​
function realism, we wish to remain neutral on whether one of these (or
perhaps some third) really does provide the One True Interpretation of the
quantum state, or whether one is merely a more perspicuous description
than the other, a description of something that we are ultimately unable to
render unequivocally in intuitive terms. (Wallace and Timpson 2010, p. 701)
3 Although perhaps due to the influence of some its main proponents, it has had some-

thing of an outsized acceptance in metaphysical circles.

xii Preface

within physics and the philosophy of physics can be counted on a

single hand. It is my contention that this is because the best case for
wave function realism has until now not been clearly stated, nor has
it been shown how the framework is to be applied to anything other
than the formalism of the most simple nonrelativistic quantum
mechanics. In the pages that follow, I present what I regard as the
best case that can be made for wave function realism. I also develop
the framework so that it may be applied to more sophisticated rel-
ativistic quantum theories, including quantum field theories. In
the final chapters, I develop an account of how we may ultimately
see ourselves and other material objects as constituted out of wave
function stuff.
Throughout the book, I make an effort to avoid mathematical
and technical jargon beyond basic calculus where possible. Where
it is necessary, such jargon is explained. Although I expect the main
audience for this book will comprise physicists and philosophers
working on the interpretation of quantum theories, I intend this
book to be accessible to the intelligent layperson. For, as we will see,
in addition to being surprising and fascinating, one of the virtues of
wave function realism is that it is a framework for understanding
quantum theories that, while reflecting the inescapable weird-
ness of quantum theories, is particularly intelligible. Indeed, this
is one of the chief lessons that Albert and Loewer wished to put
forward in presenting wave function realism in the first place, that
early interpreters were simply wrong to think one couldn’t gain a
clear understanding of the world or worlds presented by quantum
theories. As we will see, there are many ways to understand the
worlds our best quantum theories describe, and each competitor
framework for interpretation accommodates quantum weirdness
in its own way, including wave function realism with its higher
dimensions. To say something is weird is not to say that it cannot be
understood. Wave function realism affords one accessible, intelli-
gible, even visualizable way of doing so.
 Acknowledgments

This work was made possible due to the support of the National
Science Foundation under Grant No. 1632546. I thank the
University of California, Davis for allowing me the sabbatical years
2016–​17 and 2018–​19 to complete this project under that grant and
an Academic Cross-​Training Fellowship from the John Templeton
Foundation. I also thank the University of Rochester for a research
leave that allowed me to visit Columbia University in the Fall of
2008. I owe immense gratitude to my two dear mentors, David
Albert and Barry Loewer, for many discussions and for the inspira-
tion to take up this project. Thanks also to Valia Allori, Peter Lewis,
Wayne Myrvold, Jill North, Chip Sebens, Paul Teller, and David
Wallace for reading my work and providing invaluable feedback
over the years. I would also like to thank my editor, Peter Ohlin, for
his support and guidance.
Some of the arguments below have appeared in previously
published work:
Ney, Alyssa and Kathryn Phillips. 2013. Does an Adequate
Physical Theory Demand a Primitive Ontology? Philosophy of
Science. 80: 454–​474.
Ney, Alyssa. 2015. Fundamental Physical Ontologies and the
Constraint of Empirical Coherence: A Defense of Wave Function
Realism. Synthese. 192(10): 3105–​3124.
Ney, Alyssa. 2017 (Online first). Finding the World in the Wave
Function: Some Strategies for Solving the Macro-​object Problem.
Synthese. doi:10.1007/​s11229-​017-​1349-​4.
Ney, Alyssa. 2019. Locality and Wave Function Realism. Quantum
Worlds: Perspectives on the Ontology of Quantum Mechanics. O.
xiv Acknowledgments

Lombardi, S. Fortin, C. López, and F. Holik, eds. Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 164–​182.
Ney, Alyssa. 2020. Wave Function Realism in a Relativistic
Setting. The Foundation of Reality. G. Darby, D. Glick, and A.
Marmodoro, eds. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 154–​168.
Ney, Alyssa. 2020. Separability, Locality, and Higher Dimensions
in Quantum Mechanics. Current Controversies in Philosophy of
Science. S. Dasgupta and B. Weslake, eds. London: Routledge, 75–90.
 1
A Preliminary Case for Wave
Function Realism

1.1 Wave Function Representations

in Quantum Mechanics

The central question to which this book is addressed is the question

of what may be seen as the ontological implications of quantum
theories. Questions about ontology are questions about the kinds
of things that exist according to one theory or other. And so, here
we will ask: what is the character of our world if quantum theories
are true, what fundamentally exists according to these theories, and
what sorts of things do these fundamental objects constitute?
Sometimes these questions get conflated with another question
that has been the subject of far more debate in the foundations of
physics. This is the question of the correct solution to the meas-
urement problem. Both the ontological questions and the meas-
urement problem concern the proper interpretation of quantum
theories. But the measurement problem is not primarily a ques-
tion about ontology. Rather it concerns what may be seen as a
prior issue of the best way to characterize the quantum theory
or theories for which we are trying to draw out the ontological
implications.
In this chapter, I will focus, as is standard and to keep the dis-
cussion manageable, on the interpretation of nonrelativistic
quantum mechanics. In later chapters, we will extend our reach
to relativistic quantum theories. To see the measurement problem
and the ontological issues with which we will be primarily
The World in the Wave Function. Alyssa Ney, Oxford University Press (2021). © Oxford University Press.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780190097714.003.0001
2 The World in the Wave Function

concerned as clearly as possible, let’s start with some basic facts

about the mathematical tools used to represent simple as well as
complex quantum systems.
One common such tool is the quantum wave function, ψ.1 As
Eugene Wigner put it, “Given any object, all the possible knowledge
concerning that object can be given as its wave function” (1962,
p. 173). The simplest wave functions describe states of a single par-
ticle in terms of a single attribute, for example, spin with respect to
some particular axis, or momentum or position along a single di-
mension in physical space.
For example, we might consider the location of a single particle
confined to move back and forth along one dimension (call it the
x-​axis) of a box of length a. We may then associate locations in
the box with real numbers and represent possible position states
of the particle using wave functions that take position values in,
and yield numerical values out. Such wave functions may then
be represented in the form ψ (x), since they are functions of the
particle’s position along the single x dimension of the box.
In general, wave functions may take a variety of forms. The par-
ticle in a box of length a has a wave function with the form:
…
2  nπ 
ψ (x) = sin x ,
a a

where n may take on any positive integer value.2 These values of n

represent possible states the particle may be in, corresponding to
different energy levels. The wave function of a particle in a box thus
varies, depending on its energy state. But in all cases it is spread
throughout the box, with different outputs at different locations

1 For now, we will consider wave functions simply as mathematical tools used for

representing quantum states. Later in the chapter, we will return to the question of what
we should take the usefulness of these tools to suggest about the ontology of quantum
theories.
2 See, e.g., Griffiths (2005), p. 32.
 A Preliminary Case 3

n=1 n=2 n=3

(x) (x) (x)

a x a x a x

Figure 1.1. Wave Functions for the Particle in a Box

and can be graphed as shown in Figure 1.1 for the first three energy
levels.
For the kind of idealized setup we are considering, in which a
particle is truly confined, the wave functions will take on the value 0
at all locations outside of the box. In other words, ψ (x < 0) = 0 and
ψ (x > a) = 0 .
Noting that wave functions may be thought of as functions
taking in precise values of some variable or other, such as position,
raises the question of the significance of these values that are the
outputs of wave functions. This is one of the main topics that will
occupy us in this book: what in reality corresponds to these values
that are the outputs of wave functions? These values are generally
regarded as representing the amplitude of some kind of wave at
various points in a space. This is indeed what is naturally suggested
by the plots in Figure 1.1. But what is this wave? A genuine phys-
ical wave, one that is spread throughout the box in this example, or
something else?
One rule built into quantum mechanics that is widely accepted
and may guide us in discussion of these ontological issues concerns
the connection between these values of the wave function and the
results we should expect from measurements made on a system.
It is commonly taken as a postulate of quantum mechanics3 that

3 See, e.g., Shankar (2012), p. 116.

4 The World in the Wave Function

the integral of the wave function squared over all locations (from
negative to positive infinity) must add up to 1. In other words,
in physics, we are primarily interested in wave functions that are
normalized:
∞

∫
2
|ψ(x)| dx = 1.
−∞

This then allows us to associate the values of |ψ (x)|2 with

probabilities that upon measuring our system, we will find the par-
ticle at a given location. This is the Born rule. If we consider the
region between any two specified locations x1 and x2, the Born rule
states that we can calculate the probability that the system will be
x2

found in that region as ∫ |ψ(x)| dx . We might then ask whether

2

x1
the proper way to interpret the wave function is not as a physical
wave, but instead as something epistemic, as something related to
the probabilities one ought to assign to measurement results. We
will return to this question momentarily, however first let’s note a
few more important mathematical facts about wave functions.
From time to time in what follows, it will be useful to consider
idealized situations in which a particle is known to be localized at
one region or point in space. There are ways of using wave functions
to represent states like this. For example, we could use the Dirac
delta function, δ (x − a), where:

ß ™ ∞

∫
0, if x = 0
δ(x) = , and δ(x)dx = 1.
∞, if x = 0
−∞

The Dirac delta function δ(x − a) then represents the state of a par-
ticle using a wave function with an infinite output at point a and an
output of 0 at all other locations.
Other documents randomly have
different content
“Soh!” said the captain, laughing at that which he considered to be
the Count of Nullepart’s simplicity, “the bag contains grasses all the
way from Esparto, does it? I suppose it does not, by any chance,”
and the captain winked at his troopers, “contain the person of the
King’s majesty?”
“The person of the King’s majesty!” cried the Count of Nullepart,
opening his eyes very wide. “Oh no, gracious excellency! it contains
grasses all the way from Esparto. Perhaps your excellency would like
to see them?”
So finely did the Count of Nullepart feign bewilderment that the
soldiers began to laugh heartily at what they took for his simplicity.
As if to convince them of the truth of his statement he made a
pretence of trying to open the wrong end of the bag.
“You thick-witted clown,” said the captain, “we will take your word
for it that your precious bag holds not the King’s majesty.”
“Wherefore should it hold the King’s majesty, excellency?” asked the
Count of Nullepart in a very tolerable provincial Spanish.
“Have you not heard,” said the captain, “that his blessed majesty has
been murdered during the night, and three of his guard also; that
the royal body has been stolen, and that we are scouring all the
countryside to find it?”
“Gentle saints in heaven!” cried the Count of Nullepart, settling
himself more firmly upon the bag, while its royal occupant refrained
scrupulously from making the least motion.
“Why then, brother Juan,” said I to the Count of Nullepart, “surely
that is what all this blowing of trumpets and horns and beating of
drums and strange pillaloo that we have heard all the forenoon has
been concerned with. The gracious King murdered! His body stolen!
Good Virgin Mary, what an age in which to live!”
“God save us all!” said the Count of Nullepart. “The gracious King
murdered during the dark hours of the night! Did I not say to you,
brother Pedro, that something was bound to occur? For did I not
remark the sky last evening was blood red? And was I not so
afeared at the sight of it that I crossed myself three times?”
“Well, at all events,” said the captain of the soldiers contemptuously,
“the wisdom of you clodhoppers will not help us much. I have never
seen a pair of stupider gabies outside the madhouse at Zaragoza.”
“O excellency,” said the Count of Nullepart, counterfeiting the accent
of tears very skilfully, “I pray you not to say that! Our virtuous
mother was mightily proud of us in our infancy. We were bred
together, and right nobly did we suck. But was it a foray, do you
suppose, from the duke’s castle that killed the King’s majesty?”
“Likely enough, you zany,” said the captain. “Although for that
matter some there are who say it was the devil. For myself I can
hardly credit it.”
“Who is there else to compass such a deed?” said the Count of
Nullepart in a hushed voice.
“Yes, who else, brother Juan?” said I, solemnly removing my hat.
Divers of the King’s soldiers, witnessing our grave concern, appeared
to come to the same mind. Several of them followed our example.
“Well, talking of the Devil,” said the captain uneasily, “he was
certainly seen last night by many in this neighbourhood.”
“Good Virgin Mary!” exclaimed the Count of Nullepart, “how poor
Juan would have screamed had he seen his horns!”
“Yes, brother Juan, and poor Pedro also,” said I; and in the depth of
our feigning I felt myself to be turning pale.
“Some say he was without horns,” said the captain.
“Then it can’t have been the Devil, excellency,” said the Count of
Nullepart. “All the world knows the Devil by his horns and his tail.”
“It is said he came into our camp in the guise of a water-seller,” said
the captain. “And they say his voice was so dreadful that it could be
heard at a distance of two leagues. In stature he was near to three
yards; his face was so red that you could warm your hands at it, and
he himself was seen to boil a kettle by holding it next to his nose.”
“O Jesu!” said the Count of Nullepart. “Had Juan met him he must
have perished.”
“It is easy to understand the redness of the setting sun,” said I.
“That’s true enough,” said the captain of the soldiers, sighing heavily.
“The sun was certainly red now you come to mention it. How sad it
is that the King’s courtiers did not heed such an omen! The right
virtuous Duke of Manares is a wise and venerable minister; he at
least should have known what was toward. By my soul, we of Castile
ought never to forgive him! But come, boobies.” The captain, who
owing to the heat of his own imagination was now perspiring freely,
turned to his men, the majority of whom were standing bareheaded.
“All the talking in the world will not recover the corpse of our noble
sovereign. Let us help them to drag the stream. But I for one do not
think we shall find anything there, because any child will tell you
that the Devil will have nothing to do with cold water if he can
possibly avoid it.”
Without further parley the captain and his soldiers relieved us of
their unwelcome presence. They went to join a company a short
distance off, that was dragging large hooks along the bed of the
stream.
Thereupon we turned the bag over and placed the royal occupant in
as much ease of person as we could devise. We paid this true prince
all the homage of which we were capable, for could anything have
been more regal than his devotion to his simple word of honour? But
his Majesty could only reply to our humble yet heartfelt flatteries
with a shake of the head and a sombre smile.
“Oh, you fools, you fools, you fools!” the King exclaimed. “Did ever
monarch have such a parcel of boobies to serve him since the
beginning of the world?”
Indeed, the King seemed to be truly distressed. Less, however, for
his own indignities, which he could have terminated so easily had he
not so regarded his honour, but because his followers were so
unskilful.
As we continued in our hiding-place we were constantly threatened
with further visits from the numerous parties of soldiers that were
prowling around. Happily they did not come up to us. As the day
advanced the Count of Nullepart declared he was growing hungry,
which was a feeling that I shared. I am afraid our captive must also
have lain under this affliction, but there was no remedy for our
strait. To obtain food was impossible without exposing ourselves to a
danger we must not venture to incur.
In the course of the afternoon, the King, whose comfort had been
consulted as far as ever the case would permit, and who had been
plied freely with water, for which he seemed grateful, fell asleep and
so forgot his pains. Thereupon the Count of Nullepart and myself
were fain to ask one another what had befallen our leader. And
further, what must be the ultimate issue of our extraordinary pass.
Certes, Sir Richard Pendragon’s entrance into the castle would be
fraught with every difficulty and with the gravest peril. First, this
broad and deep ditch beside which we lay would have to be crossed,
and the only bridge that spanned it was held by the troops of
Castile. Doubtless this bold man would take to the water rather than
expose himself to his foes, who would be extremely unwilling to let
anyone pass to the castle, no matter what the cunning of his
pretexts.
Upon the assumption that Sir Richard Pendragon was able to swim
the foss, his next course would be to climb the steep rocks until he
came to the foot of these high and insurmountable walls that offered
so stern a barrier to the forces of Castile. In what manner he would
overcome these we could only conjecture. For the drawbridge to be
lowered it would be necessary for him to recommend himself to the
notice of those within the castle without attracting the attention of
the besiegers. Verily, the problem was a sore one. Yet so bold,
cunning, and ingenious was the English giant that no array of perils
was likely to daunt him. However, as we awaited events which we
hardly dared to believe could come to pass, we were heartened by
the knowledge of a singular and masterful genius. Had it at last met
its overthrow? To such a question we had not the courage to foretell
the answer.
 CHAPTER XXXIII
A SORTIE FROM THE CASTLE

As evening came on these speculations grew more grave. It was not

pleasant to think of spending the night in the open meadow. And we
were very hungry. There was also our captive to consider. Ease his
bonds as we might, and render to him all the consideration that was
within our power, he was yet in sore case.
Towards sundown, while we were still wondering in what sort we
could bear the rigours to which we were like to be exposed, a
furious clamour was heard proceeding from the direction of the
castle. Far and away the meadows had suddenly begun to echo with
the beating of drums and the call to arms. We came out of our
hiding-place, and going forth into the open fields, were able to
discern that the drawbridge of the castle had been lowered and that
a body of mounted soldiers from the garrison was making a foray.
The purport of this was so plain to us that we could have cast our
hats into the air for joy. It was clear that the English giant had found
his way within those four walls, and now by a bold raid was about to
bring us and our prize also within them.
Even as we stood at gaze, we thought we could detect far away
through the mists of the evening the plumed bonnets of madam’s
defenders. Close by us straggling companies of the King’s soldiery,
unconnected twos and threes, were running in no sort of order
towards the lower bridge. This was but carelessly held by the arms
of Castile, and now that an assault was to be delivered upon it, it
was little likely to be repelled. Our enemies, having lost their King,
seemed to lack discipline and leadership; and we did not doubt that
the bold and masterful Sir Richard Pendragon, swollen with great
achievement as he was, and a most cunning and accomplished
warrior, would prevail in his design.
Such proved to be the case. We had not long to abide the issue. The
oncoming darkness had not time to envelop us ere the meadows
began to shake under a mighty thunder of hoofs; and Sir Richard
Pendragon, mounted upon a splendid war-horse, the choicest in the
stable of our mistress, and accompanied by a body of horsemen
riding in admirable close order, came straight for our little clump of
alder trees.
“A Pendragon! A Pendragon!” arose the great baying voice of our
formidable captain. His bare sword, seeking occupation, cut at the
tall grasses as he rode through them.
“Where are you, you good souls?” he cried as he drew rein before
the place in which we held the King.
He needed not to call again, for the Count of Nullepart and I came
out at once, carrying our royal prize, which, for the reason that it
was habited in a night-gown only, was still covered by the bag. Two
led horses had been brought for our use; and Sir Richard Pendragon
had the captive lifted on to the front of his own saddle. The chief
part of the design being then accomplished, the whole company
galloped back to the bridge, which was no longer held by the arms
of Castile. Our enemies had been beaten off with some loss by this
sudden and totally unexpected foray.
No sooner had we crossed this bridge and had come again into
safety, with the upper path leading to the drawbridge lying before us
free of all our foes, than our formidable leader declared that not the
capture of the King alone would content him. He had the royal
prisoner transferred from his own saddle to that of the Count of
Nullepart; and then he bade us both take the captive behind the
walls of the castle into security, whilst he with a following of two
hundred horsemen would proceed to inflict a further stroke upon the
disorganized army in the plain below.
The Count of Nullepart and myself were loth to assent to this
proposal. For our blood being roused by this martial brilliancy, we
also could have wished to go forward upon this enterprise. Yet it is
the business of a soldier to obey his commander, and Sir Richard
Pendragon had come to stand towards us in that relation. Besides, it
was necessary that responsible persons should hold the custody of
the royal captive.
Regretfully, therefore, we continued along the upper path with our
great prize. And Sir Richard Pendragon riding down the hill, we could
hear him marshalling with voice and with trumpet the two hundred
horsemen that were gathered about the lower bridge to await his
commands. And the last thing we heard of him as we took a turn in
the path was an admonishment of these troopers in his mighty voice
upon their discipline. With his own right hand he threatened to cut
down each mother’s son that dared to forsake his duty for private
rapine.
“By my soul,” said the Count of Nullepart, laughing softly, “I believe
that mad English fellow is the first captain of the age.”
 CHAPTER XXXIV
OF MADAM’S RENCOUNTER WITH THE
FROWARD PRINCE

It was with no little relief, and yet with curiosity, that we crossed the
drawbridge and entered the precincts of the castle. By now it was
dark, but the light of the stars shed their soft lustre upon the sombre
walls and the eager groups of soldiers that awaited us. It was clear
that our exploit had become known in the castle, for no sooner had
we crossed the threshold with our royal burden than loud cries of
triumph were proclaimed from a hundred throats.
The first to greet us was Don Luiz, the opprobrious fat man. He was
accompanied by a number of persons bearing lanterns. By their light
we were able to remark that although the dignity of Don Luiz was
now waxing so great that it would seem that he alone was the
author of this fortunate pass, his bulk was yet sensibly diminished by
the rigours it had recently sustained.
It was not easy for us to forbear from open laughter at the airs the
fat man gave himself, the more especially when we recollected the
indignities to which so lately he had been subjected.
“It will please the noble countess,” said he, “to give an audience to
the gracious King after he has taken some little refreshment and
otherwise eased the royal personality of those discomforts that have
recently encompassed it.”
We crossed the outer patio and dismounted before the doors of the
castle. The Count of Nullepart and I lifted the King from the saddle.
Yet no sooner had we done this than we made the discovery that
the royal prisoner had suffered so sorely in his durance that by now
he was fallen insensible.
Thereupon we bore the unfortunate prince into an apartment that
had been set for his reception. Meats and wine were laid in it, also
burning faggots and lighted candles. With our own hands we chafed
the limbs of the King, and it gave us some concern to find, so close
had his bonds been drawn, that in places the skin had been broken.
Having administered a powerful cordial to the King, having invested
his nakedness in a furred gown and slippers, and having placed him
in cushions next to the warmth, he was presently restored to
something of his true mind. Thereupon we dressed him in the
choicest silk raiment that could be found to fit him, and this was
chiefly from the duke’s own wardrobe.
The King then partook of food and wine, of which he could never
have been in such sore need. More than twenty hours had passed
since the Count of Nullepart and I had eaten, but before assuaging
our necessity we were able to do ourselves the honour of ministering
to the royal wants.
By these means the blood was restored to the King’s countenance
and animation to his eyes, and it was plain to see that rumour had
not belied this ambitious prince. His features were those of an eagle,
with a noble fire in the glance and a proud disdain. And in spite of
his recent distresses and this present pass, that must have irked him
to the soul, he bore himself most scrupulously in accordance with his
lineage. With the frank courtesy of the high-born, he thanked the
Count of Nullepart and myself for our services; and, with a
somewhat rueful smile, he was good enough to say that had it been
known to him that his aged Uncle Roldan was able to gather such
skilful minds about him, he would have conducted his campaign with
a less degree of levity.
The King then asked of the English robber. He asked whether we
were the countrymen and good friends of that formidable
adventurer. And when we had answered the King that although we
were far from being the countrymen of the redoubtable Sir Richard
Pendragon, yet were his good servants in all that he pleased to
command us, the King laughed.
“Ods blood!” said the King, “that English thief is the most
accomplished villain in Spain. I wonder he did not cut my throat
while he was upon his work; yet doubtless the rascal is wise to bait
his hook with a live fish.”
“By your gracious leave and forgiveness, sire,” said the Count of
Nullepart, in his charming manner, “doubtless he was fain to believe
that a bag full of live royalty is of better account when it comes to
the terms of a treaty than a bag full of dead bones.”
“Yes, sir,” said the King, with sombre eyes, “that was doubtless his
argument.”
When the King had supped he reposed for an hour; and in that
period the Count of Nullepart and I were able to doff our peasants’
disguise and to satisfy our hunger. Then came Don Luiz to inform us
that his lordship’s grace and the Countess Sylvia would receive the
royal prisoner.
The King’s limbs were still so sore and constrained that he could not
walk without a great deal of assistance. Thus he entered the
audience-chamber leaning heavily upon the Count of Nullepart and
myself.
We found our mistress seated, in the fashion of a royal queen, upon
the daïs at the end of the apartment. By her side, yet in a sensibly
lower place, was his lordship’s grace, who was fast asleep with a
backgammon board before him. He had been engaged in a game
with the dwarf, who was now mumping and mowing from a corner,
for he durst not show himself much to the Lady Sylvia.
In my travels through all parts of the world I have looked much
upon female beauty. My gaze has been ensnared by the fair of many
lands, yet never, I think, has it beheld a figure to compare with that
of noble fire and queenly splendour that now greeted us.
“I give you no greeting, John of Castile,” she said in her clear
speech, that was so loud and ringing. “I make you no service,
infamous cousin. I would not soil my lips with your name, you
bloody and covetous villain, had they not long been accustomed to
bespeak dogs and horses. But we would have you kneel for pardon,
treacherous caitiff, whose blood smokes black in your heart like that
of the evil fiend. For it is our intention, you paltry knave, first to cut
off your ears, as we would those of a cheat and a pickpocket; and
then we will devise in what further manner to deal with one who
would rob his poor relations.”
To this terrific speech that was delivered with an insolent scorn that
could not have been surpassed, the King of Castile replied with a
gesture of most kingly disdain. And I think the little Countess Sylvia,
meeting the full power of that sombre and fearless glance, was in
some measure given to pause. She had not looked for it that an
enemy brought captive into her hands should venture thus to
outface the full torrent of her fury.
A minute of silence passed, in which each of these creatures
exchanged their regal gestures. The meeting of their disdainful eyes
was like that of a pair of true blades. It was as though each must
overbear the other in the shock of their contention.
“It is my intention to ask no pardon, madam,” said the King
composedly. “I am a young man, but I am learned enough to ask
pardon of none. I do not fear death.”
“You do not fear death, base thief and murderer that you are!” said
the Countess Sylvia, while her eyes spat at him. “Why should you
fear death, you unready slave, when death shall come to you as the
softest clemency of heaven?”
“Whatever indignity you are pleased to place upon this flesh,
madam,” said the King coldly, “it will be less than its merit for having
permitted itself to fall into such hands.”
At this speech, and the demeanour by which it was accompanied,
the Countess Sylvia quivered all over with passion; and had the King
been near to her, and a sword been ready to her hand, I think he
had been spared that which was to befall him, for there and then he
must have breathed his last.
You will not need to be told, gentle reader, that while these passages
were toward, the Count of Nullepart and I preserved a demeanour of
the gravest propriety. Yet, could we have forgotten that the actors in
this play were two of the most considerable persons of their age,
and that their interview was like to have an extremely tragic issue, I
think we must have yielded a little to mirth. For could anything have
been more wanton than the addresses they paid to one another
when the life of each might be said to depend on the other’s
clemency.
The Countess Sylvia had only to speak the word for the life of the
King to be forfeit; while on his part, whether he lived or whether he
perished, he was so sure of her castle falling into the hands of his
soldiers, for he was a most powerful prince, and his resources were
very great, that it was equally clear that her life also was in his
power.
Now, this side of the matter was very plain to the Count of Nullepart.
And in the very height of their bitter enmity he sought to render it to
his mistress. After the most searching abuse to which the tongue of
woman was ever applied had been met by the most open contempt
—not very princely bearing on the side of either, yet the sublimity of
their anger seemed to make it so—they were brought to such a pass
that rage tied up their very mouths, so that they were fain to
conduct their warfare with their eyes. Then it was, after they had
been thus outfacing one another for I know not how long a period,
that the Count of Nullepart, greatly daring, made the first of his
recommendations to madam. In his subtlest manner he disclosed to
her the case in which she stood.
“Peace, Sir Count,” she said scornfully. “You are an honest good
fellow, and you have well served the grace of his lordship, but you
must know I can make no abatement of my resolve. The bloody-
minded prince shall perish like a felon. He shall suffer every rigour
that can be devised by the outraged gentle mind and nature of a
daughter. It is not for naught that this uncivil wolf of the forest is
come into the sheep-fold.”
“I pray you, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, “graciously to
permit me to remind you that, should the life of the King’s majesty
be forfeit, his great host will raze your father’s castle to the earth.
And personally I have no doubt that if a hair of this prince’s head
sustains an injury, you and all its other contents will be put to the
sword.”
“You speak truly, Sirrah Count,” said madam. “But I myself will raze
this castle to the earth, and all of us who are within it shall die upon
our swords.”
With his rare address the Count of Nullepart continued long to urge
the more humane aspect of the matter, but the heart of his mistress
was not to be moved. It was in vain that he exerted all those powers
of wise enchantment in the use of which he was without a peer. His
entreaties had no happier result than that the Countess Sylvia
consented to postpone her measures upon the royal person of
Castile against the return of her redoubtable captain, Sir Richard
Pendragon, the English barbarian robber, than whom this unlucky
prince had no more relentless and bitter foe.
“I am indeed between the vulture and the kite,” said the King with a
wry smile, while we were leading him away from this unfortunate
audience. “My amiable, gentle, and dove-like cousin is desirous to
cut off my ears, and proposes to slay me an inch at a time. I shall
therefore be curious to learn the measures that are proposed by my
friend of England. He will, doubtless, ordain that I am cooked in a
pot.”
We conducted the royal captive to the apartment in which he had
supped. In this comfortable place we laid him that he might abide
the return of not the least of his enemies. In so doing, however, we
ventured to disobey the explicit will of our mistress. As we had left
her presence she had enjoined us strictly that “the vile spawn of
darkness be thrown among rats into the deepest and slimiest of the
dungeons underground.”
The King slept soundly after his late fatigues, but there was no
repose that night for any others within the castle. The minds of all,
from that of madam herself to that of the meanest scullion, were
filled by a single theme. What had befallen Sir Richard Pendragon?
Already the exploits of the English giant had given to his name and
personality something of a supernatural cast. Nor was this merely
the view of the commonalty; it was shared by our mistress and the
highly sagacious Count of Nullepart. Under the direction of such a
leader we knew that great haps were toward in the darkness. And so
lively and profound were our speculations of their nature, that
excitement and anxiety reigned through all the long hours of the
night.
 CHAPTER XXXV
OF SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON’S RETURN

The dawn came, yet Sir Richard Pendragon came not. I then made a
proposal to our mistress, who had spent the night like a veritable
captain walking upon her battlements. It was that I should be
permitted to sally out into the plain with the hundred men remaining
in our hands, in order that I might seek for our good friends, and if
they were in need of succour to bear it to them.
To this proposal madam assented. The Count of Nullepart, however,
was greatly averse from it. He declared it to be the height of
impolicy to withdraw from the castle the whole of its defence. It was
in vain that I pointed out that as far as the eye could scan none of
our enemy was visible. It would seem that the Castilian host had
withdrawn in the night. Yet, greatly to my chagrin, it was given to
the Count of Nullepart to prevail in his contention. It was doubtless
due to the weight of his years that madam saw fit to revoke her
permission.
The hours passed, however, and still Sir Richard Pendragon came
not. Then it was that some sort of consternation began to fall upon
us. Yet, as our high hopes began to wane a little, and anxious faces
were to be seen on every hand, the Countess Sylvia refused stoutly
to believe that misfortune had overtaken her arms.
Never could a demeanour have been more steadfast than hers in the
face of an ever-growing dismay. All through the blazing heat of the
forenoon the Count of Nullepart and I remained with her upon the
battlements, regarding that fair and wide-stretching plain below. Full
many leagues were unrolled before us. Here were the dotted points
of the spires and clustered houses of the imperial city of Toledo;
there was the flashing silver ribbon of the Tagus curling in and out
among the hills and meadows. Yet, strain our eyes as we might,
there was never a sign of the Castilian host, nor of the redoubtable
Sir Richard Pendragon and his mounted company.
In the face of this mystery we knew not what to believe. A great
army had vanished from before our eyes. The white tents, hundreds
in number, that were spread over the broad plain, were still exposed
to the glare of the pitiless sun, yet all that day not a solitary soldier
was to be seen about them. Such a remarkable circumstance
encouraged even stout minds to attribute the whole matter to the
exercise of the dark powers. For some were only too ready to
believe that they were wielded by the Englishman. Indeed, it was
recalled by many that he had more than once been heard to confess
himself as a wizard.
Night fell again, yet still Sir Richard Pendragon came not. And as far
as the most distant horizon no sign of an armed host was visible.
The Countess Sylvia refused her food that evening, and summoned
the chaplain of his lordship’s grace, a holy father of the Cistercians.
She spent the night upon her knees in the chapel.
When the morning dawned she came out again to the battlements
to resume her watch. Although her cheeks were wan and her looks
were sad, they had lost nothing of their noble ardour. It seemed that
foreboding had fallen upon her. And then in the lowest depths of her
distress, she summoned the Count of Nullepart to her harshly, and
bade him go immediately and cut off the ears of the spawn of
darkness.
It was in vain that the Count of Nullepart urged his mistress to
relent. Yet I must tell you, good reader, that in her present humour
he durst not enforce her too much, lest he also were shorn. So,
finding that his reluctance did but inflame her instancy, he had no
other course save to go forth to obey.
The King of Castile was indeed a bitter enemy, and he had the name
of a merciless prince. Therefore in the fortunes of war he was
entitled to small consideration, yet the worshipful Count of Nullepart,
as tardily enough he went forth to do the bidding of his mistress,
was yet a person of civility and of a philosophical enlightenment
which was only possible to one of the foremost minds of the age.
Thus, upon taking counsel with myself upon the subject, the
worshipful Count of Nullepart had recourse to a subterfuge, which,
however, must have placed his own ears, if not his life, in jeopardy.
Instead of obeying this severe ordination, he went and hid himself
against the time when madam should have forgot her resolve.
How far this expedient served the Count of Nullepart will presently
be shown. At noon, as madam still watched from the battlements,
refusing all food, and suffering none to come near her, she
summoned the Count of Nullepart again. As he was not to be found,
she had me brought to her, and with much sternness bade me “go
immediately and cut off the head of the bloody-minded prince.”
Now, though the peril of the act was so great, I was fully determined
to follow the course I had enjoined upon the Count of Nullepart. But
suddenly the Countess Sylvia uttered a shrill cry, and then it was
seen she had already ceased to regard her recent order.
Calling me back to her side, she bade me look out over the
battlements, and tell her what I saw. And that which I had to inform
her was that a mounted company was approaching through the
plain.
For more than an hour we stood at gaze, seeking to discern who this
might be. Howbeit, so slowly, and, as it seemed, so wearily, did the
cavalcade come towards us, that at the end of that period it
appeared hardly to have made a league. Yet, as we stood with our
eyes forever strained upon the bright sunlight, and with I know not
what wild speculations in our brains, I think I never saw our noble
mistress with such a signal beauty in her mien.
None dared speak to her as the tardy minutes passed. At gaze upon
the topmost pinnacle of the conning-tower, with her small and
slender woman’s form tense as an arrow upon a bow, so that it
seemed to poise itself midway between the green plain and the blue
sky, all the ardour of her soul seemed to merge in her glance. It was
as though her proud heart was overmounted in the yearning for
victory.
It was from the lips of our mistress, and by the agency of her two
thought-wingèd eyes, that the glad news proclaimed itself.
“’Tis he,” she said softly; “’tis him of England. It is Sirrah Red
Dragon, the sweet giant, the valiant foreigner!”
As our mistress spoke these words, she placed her small white hand
on my sleeve that was near to her, and it was like that of a small
child that is fit only to grasp a toy. Yet when I felt the hot flame of
passion that was burning in it, and its gentle trembling that was like
the autumn willow, the hot blood of my youth surmounted me, and
had I dared—and yet, reader, I must declare to you that I dared not
—I would have paid half the course of nature to enfold this regal
form to my breast.
I was waked from the trance of my desire by a profound sigh. It was
of a melodious yet half mirthful bitterness. Without turning about I
knew it to proceed from the Count of Nullepart. Yet, such was its
delicacy that it lured me to turn my eyes to meet his own. And as
they came together, we found within the gaze of one another the
high yearning of our souls an hundred times reflected.
“Ah, my dear friend,” he lisped in the gentle and charming melody of
his speech, which yet could not still the tumult of my soul, “have you
forgot the Princess, she whom we serve yet see not, she whom we
clasp yet cannot retain?”
“I curse that English robber!” I hissed in his ears. “I ask you, Sir
Count, why does not the devil claim his own?”
“The better to plague an honest community, my dear friend,” said
the Count of Nullepart, with a soft laugh. “Yet, on his part, this
gigantic and monstrous Maximus Homo is a profligate, happy and
careless son of the earth, who forever disdains the caresses that our
Princess Fortune casts upon him. To her he is the prince who mocks
her with the valiant insolency of his prodigal nature.”
And, as if to show that the worshipful Count of Nullepart had truly
rendered his philosophy, at this moment a high yearning cry, like
that of a soul in durance, was proclaimed in our ears. And we saw a
crystal tear within each of the orbs of our mistress, within each of
those orbs that were wont to look proud at the sun.
 CHAPTER XXXVI
OF SOLPESIUS MUS, THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL
OF THE JOGALONES

Madam sat in council to receive Sir Richard Pendragon, her valiant

captain. The afternoon sky burst through the western windows of
the great chamber in the glory of crimson and gold. It clothed in the
frank nobility of heaven the form of our mistress, seated in her
jewels and in her robes of state upon the daïs, with none near to her
save his lordship’s grace, who slept lustily. When the doors were
flung back her eyes sparkled like the beautiful Tagus when its fair
face is all dimpled in smiling to the princely sun, and her proud lips
were wide-parted as with the entranced speech of the heart’s poetry.
A fanfare was sounded upon trumpets; and then Sir Richard
Pendragon, leading nine captive noblemen, some with silver hairs,
with their hands bound and halters about their necks, came into the
presence of his mistress.
“I give you greeting, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said the Countess Sylvia, in
speech of clear and round simplicity. “You are a true captain. You
have done well.”
With the gesture of a queen she extended her beautiful hand.
“I kiss your feet, madam and ladyship,” said the English giant,
sweeping off his bonnet, and his was the gesture of princes.
As he knelt to her, and touched the small hand that was all lily-white
delicacy with his own enormous paw that was begrimed with travel
and foul with the use of the sword, my two eyes sought the spot in
which to place the poniard between his mighty shoulders. Yet was I
fain to dismiss this thought as inconsistent with the sangre azul of
my nation.
For the English giant had done well. Like a great and redoubtable
captain—and some there were to believe that this product of a
barbarous land was the first of his age—he had seized the hour
when panic had descended upon the Castilian host. When they were
as sheep without a shepherd, owing to their belief that the Prince of
Darkness had spirited away the father of the flock, he had fallen
upon them under the cover of night. He had dealt with them
ruthlessly, killing many, despoiling their treasuries, abusing their
arms, pursuing them off the plains full many a league, and
dispersing a proud army to the four winds of God.
All this had the Englishman performed under the cover of night, at
the instance of no more than two hundred well-mounted men. So
had their fears at the mysterious loss of their king wrought upon the
soldiers of the army of Castile that they had fled hot-foot in all
directions before the onfall of Sir Richard Pendragon. For they were
fain to believe that the Prince of Darkness had returned to claim
them as well as their royal master.
In the very act of pursuit the Englishman had indulged his masterful
skill to the full. He had singled out those of our foes it would profit
him best to destroy. He had cut down all of the King’s captains and
ministers he could come at, overriding them full many a league, yet
sparing nine of the foremost in order that their presence in captivity
might pleasure our mistress and promote the terms of the peace.
In this also Sir Richard Pendragon had counted well. The presence of
these nine noble Castilians with halters about their necks gave
credence to the wonderful story that he had to tell. When his great
exploit had been unfolded in its fulness, it appeared that the power
of Castile was broken. And when madam understood so much, and
further, that her great captain had not only delivered her of famine
and the sword, but had also returned with great loot of treasure, she
said with a proud yet gentle instancy that her good Sirrah Red
Dragon might command her anything.
Now, in the fire of that imperious yet chaste and lovely glance the
Count of Nullepart and myself read the invitation for which our veins
were hungry. Yet I think it must be allowed to the Count of Nullepart
that he had the gift of prophecy. For as the Countess Sylvia again
extended her slender fingers that were all lily-white daintiness, the
English barbarian robber, as he bore them to his bearded chops in
his bloodstained gripe, caused the very roof to re-echo with his
laughter.
“By my good mother’s soul!” he roared, “if it were not that old
honest Dickon durst not marry out of the English nobility, sweet
madam and ladyship, you might easily have the best husband in
Spain.”
Again the eyes of the Countess Sylvia sparkled like the beautiful
Tagus.
“What words are these, Sirrah Red Dragon?” said she with a proud
instancy. “Do you reject the gracious dignity of a woman’s heart? Is
it, Sirrah Red Dragon, that you disdain the royal gratitude of an
hundred descents?”
“It is that I neither disdain nor reject them, madam,” said the
English giant, speaking as though his soul was an empire, yet with a
whimsical humour in his great red eyes. “But this old jack bully must
reck his rede, as we English say. He can never marry, good madam
and ladyship, although there is the blood of kings under his doublet.
He must reck his rede. He is the offspring of fantasy; he was born in
a mild and sweet season under the bright moon. He is of the seed of
Merlin; the sap of Arthur is in his bones; and although he had a
good mother, and he is the natural son of Henry Plantagenet, yet
from his natal hour a bend sinister hath twisted his sweet soul.
Therefore he can wed no woman, dear little Spanish butterfly, for, let
me whisper it in thy pretty ears, that good Dickon, honest fellow, is
none other than the veritable Solpesius Mus, the Captain-General of
the Jogalones.”
Having thus spoke our mistress in this strange mad wise, the English
giant, for all the world as though his soul was a wide dominion, bent
to her his grinning visage and bussed her soundly upon the lips in
the presence of the whole company. No sooner had she suffered this
bold caress than she withdrew her face swiftly, as though it had
been stung by the venom of bees. Her cheek was like a crimson
flower and her eyes brimmed with their passionate tears.
“Sirrah giant,” said this delectable thing, as if she too had a wide
dominion in her soul, “I would have the whole of thee, the whole of
thy great capacity and thy wide-wingèd fantasy, or I would have
thee not at all.”
“Alack, alack!” said the Englishman with a whimsical sigh, “that poor
Dickon, old honest fellow, should be none other than the veritable
Solpesius Mus, the Captain-General of the Jogalones!”
And in my ears came the soft enchanting laughter of the worshipful
Count of Nullepart.
 CHAPTER XXXVII
OF THE RIGOURS TO BE SUFFERED BY THE
INFAMOUS KING

The proud tears were still in the eyes of our mistress, when she
looked all about her swiftly with the features of a hawk. In ringing
tones she cried, “Bring forth the spawn of darkness. We will now
arrange his fate.”
When the Count of Nullepart and myself made to obey this
command, as you will believe, gentle reader, we had grave concern
lest madam should observe the presence of the captive’s ears. And
such was her present humour that I think we did well to have
apprehension of the penalty that might overtake us. Greatly
doubtful, we led forth the Castilian from his durance and brought
him into the room.
The King of Castile entered the presence of his victorious adversaries
with a calm and noble smile. Yet no sooner did his gaze fall upon the
grey-bearded noblemen with halters about their necks than his eyes
drooped, and a great anguish seemed to cloud them.
The relentless eyes of madam were fixed upon her foe.
“Dost thou see them, bloody-minded one?” said she. “These old
bears shall have the fangs drawn out of their chaps so that they
shall bite no more.”
Then, like a veritable sovereign princess, she turned to Sir Richard
Pendragon, to whom all the success of her arms was due.
“Avise us, Sirrah Red Dragon. Avise us in what manner we shall cast
out these several parcels of beastliness that encumber the earth.”
“By our lady!” said the English giant, rubbing the palm of one hand
slowly round that of the other, “if that is not my honest gossip, John
Castilian, I am a poor mad soul! English Richard gives a greeting to
you, John Castilian, a greeting to your most excellent King’s
majesty.”
Upon this speaking, Sir Richard Pendragon was like to crack his head
on the ground with his lowly obeisance.
Although the King of Castile seemed all broken by the disaster that
had overtaken his arms, upon hearing the voice of Sir Richard
Pendragon he looked up and received his mockery with an
unflinching glance.
“Foreign robber,” he said simply, “you have borne yourself as a true
captain. I make you my service. And as the life of myself and the
lives of my honourable friends are forfeit to your cunning I hope that
they may profit you.”
These words, spoken only as a King could deliver them, brought a
sort of whimsical pity to the mocking face of the English barbarian.
“Dost thou remember, John Castilian,” he said, with that softness
which the Count of Nullepart and I knew was wont to accompany his
most ferocious designs, “that summer’s morning a twelvemonth
since, when thou flungest one of a gentle and kindly nurture, a good
mother’s son, into the deepest dungeon of your Spanish palace, and
chained him by the leg, with foul straws for his pillow, and with lean
rats and large beetles for his only familiar company?”
“Yes, foreign robber, I remember it to my sorrow,” said the King of
Castile coldly. “And had I broke you upon the wheel and thrown your
corpse to the dogs a day before my reckoning, I should not now be
mourning for not having done so.”
“John Castilian,” said the Englishman, “you speak in the wise of an
unfortunate famous ancestor of mine own. He was called Sir
Procrastinatus, owing to the unlucky habit of his mind that he
continually put off till the morrow that which he should have done
the day; a habit that in the process of nature grew upon the unlucky
wight in such a measure that upon the last day of his life he failed to
die until after his friends had buried him. Can it be, John Castilian,
that yourself is a victim to a like preoccupancy? For I understand
from madam’s gracious ladyship that your trench hath been dug the
last three days in the kitchen midden.”
“No, no, Sirrah Red Dragon, that is not so,” said madam ruthlessly.
“The spawn of darkness is entitled to no burial. We will hang it upon
a fork on the outer barbican to poison the crows and the vultures
and the unclean fowls of the air.”
“A thousand pardons, ladyship,” said Sir Richard Pendragon. “It
appears I am the victim of a misinformation.”
“Do you avise us, Sirrah Red Dragon, so that the bloody-minded
prince shall begin his dying immediately. But we would have him
take not less than one-and-twenty days to the consummation of it,
for we would have him drain the dregs of the cup he hath prepared
for others.”
It was here, however, that Sir Richard Pendragon began to stroke his
beard. Mad he was, and whimsical, yet beyond all things he had a
mind for affairs. Therefore he was fain to speak aside with the Count
of Nullepart and myself.
“By my troth,” he said, “it would be a happy deliverance of a bad
man if John Castilian was hung on the gate with a spike through his
neck. But grievously do I doubt me of the wisdom of the policy. We
are but three hundred men-at-arms, and Castile is a broad dominion.
If we put out the life of this prince, the queen-mother will gather
new forces and come again to the gate. And honest Dickon is fain to
observe that the old bitch wolf will be found with a longer tooth than
the whelp.”
That this was the voice of wisdom we had no thought to deny.
Therefore it behoved us to spread the light of statecraft before our
mistress. Yet, as you will readily believe, such a task was no light
one. Still, accomplished it must be, although he who would turn a
woman aside from her vengeance may be said to take his life in his
hand.
Sir Richard Pendragon, however, was the last man in the world to
blench before the face of danger. And so, with a most humble civility
that rendered the sinister laughter of his eyes the more formidable,
he addressed the Countess Sylvia.
“Madam,” said he, “was old honest Dickon dreaming o’ nights when
he heard the grace of your ladyship’s nobility declare that he might
command her anything?”
The fair damask cheek of our mistress grew again like that of a
carnation; again were her eyes filled with proud shining.
“You heard aright, Sirrah Red Dragon,” she said softly. “It is my
desire that you command me anything.”
“Then old honest Dickon, a good fellow, kisses your small feet and
makes you a leg, peerless rose of the south, and he asks for the life
of John Castilian.”
The bosom of our mistress heaved rebelliously. Tears of mortified
caprice crept into her eyes. With contempt and bitterness she cast a
glance at the King, who stood in mournful converse with his
ministers. She then confronted her great captain.
“Sirrah Red Dragon,” she said in accents that were choked by a rage
of tears, “do you take the life of the spawn of darkness. Use it as
you will, sirrah. It was you that gave it to me; it is meet that you
should receive it back again. I do not ask upon what pretext you
would hold it; but—but, sirrah,” and her whole form quivered
strangely, “I do ask—I do ask, sirrah, is this the whole of your good
pleasure?”
Yet no sooner had she spoke those last unlucky words, and, as it
were, laid bare her proud bosom, than she averted her beautiful
cheeks that were like a scarlet rose, and in the sudden wild rage of
her own weakness, that she whom kings must woo in vain had come
herself to woo, she hid her eyes.
“Nay, by the soul of a nice mother,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, “this
is but a moiety of what her good son would ask you. Having
received the life of John Castilian, he would ask your permission,
madam, that in some sort he may punish him, for you need not to
be told that his crimes are many and abominable.”
“As you say, Sirrah Red Dragon, his crimes are many and
abominable,” said the Countess Sylvia. “I would indeed have you
punish him. I would have you punish him with all possible rigour.”
Speaking thus, she gazed at the unfortunate prince with a power of
resentment that he, who was true to his degree, met with a calm
indifferency.
“All possible rigour,” said Sir Richard Pendragon softly, “is indeed the
best part of the design of your old honest servant. And to that end,
madam, I would ask to deliver John Castilian to you again in order
that you may bestow this dreadful rigor upon him.”
“It is well, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said his mistress. “In this you are
wise. We shall know in what sort to visit the spawn of darkness and
bloody-minded prince.”
“And yet, madam,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, “by the grace of your
ladyship is it not left to old honest Dickon to nominate the weapons
of your severity?”
“Pray do so, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said madam with a courteous
indulgence. “But perhaps you will not omit to weigh the efficacy
upon delicate flesh of hot sharp-pointed nails? And also of hard
pieces of rock upon the sensitive limb bones?”
“Nay, madam,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, “a good mother’s son
forgets not the efficacy of these honest things; yet, under the favour
of your ladyship, if he is minded to speak out of his ripe observation,
this elderly seeker after virtue would venture to recommend an even
more dreadful rigour, a rigour even more salutary.”
“By every manner of means, Sirrah Red Dragon, I would have you
recommend it.”
As the Countess Sylvia spoke she fixed another remorseless glance
upon the unhappy prince.
“That which one who is old, madam,” said the English giant in his
softest voice, “and one who hath been accustomed all his years to
grope for the light of the truth is fain to recommend to the grace of
your ladyship, is the most excessive rigour known to mankind; a
greater rigour which contains all the lesser rigours within itself; a
rigour which poor unlucky manhood, be it that of prince or of
peasant, is wont to regard with the same abhorrence as a sea-coal
fire is regarded by a gib cat with a singed tail. The barbarous and
excessive rigour to which your old honest servant refers, madam, is
that which is profanely called holy matrimony. English Dickon humbly
submits, madam, that you should receive John Castilian in the bonds
of wedlock, and so visit the royal rascal according to his merit.”
Upon the enunciation of this project, which had only been possible
to one of Sir Richard Pendragon’s surpassing boldness, the Count of
Nullepart and myself had a lively fear that madam would drive her
poinard into the heart of her over-presumptuous captain. For when
he spoke in this wise her slender fingers trembled on the jewelled
hilt of her dagger, and she cried out with flaming eyes,—
“Wed the spawn of darkness, sirrah! Wed the bloody-minded prince!”
“Even so, madam,” said the English giant, withdrawing a pace from
her striking hand. “Under your gracious favour, that is the rigour that
is humbly proposed by one who hath grown old in the love of
virtue.”
As the Englishman spoke, a change was wrought in the demeanour
of the Countess Sylvia. Like a very woman or a small child, or
perchance like them both (for the worshipful Count of Nullepart
assures me that they are one and the same), she peered into the
eyes of her captain. And the manner of this action, which was one of
a furtive modesty, seemed to imply that she dared hardly to look lest
she should discover that which she feared to see.
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