Nothing moved in the Outer Courtyard now. All was silent as the grave. The entertainers, even the blue-clad tightrope-walker high above on his rope, were all forgotten. Resa had told Meggie exactly what the Adderhead's emblem looked like; she had seen it often enough at close quarters. Envoys from the Castle of Night had been welcome guests in Capricorn's fortress. Many of the farms set on fire by Capricorn's men, so rumor said at the time, had been burned down on the Adderhead's orders.
Meggie held Despina close as the men-at-arms rode by them. Their breastplates glinted in the sun. It looked as if not even a bolt from a crossbow could pierce that armor, let alone a poor man's arrow. Two men rode at their head: one was a redhead, in armor like the soldiers following him but resplendent in a cloak of foxtails, while the other was wearing a green robe shot with silver that was fine enough for any prince. However, what everyone noticed about him first was not that robe but his nose; unlike ordinary noses of flesh and blood, it was made of silver.
"Look at that couple! What a team!" Fenoglio whispered to Meggie, as the two men rode side by side through the silent crowd. "Both of them my creations, and both once Capricorn's men. Your mother may have told you about them. Firefox was Capricorn's deputy, the Piper was his minstrel. But the silver nose wasn't my idea. Nor the fact that they escaped Cosimo's soldiers when he attacked Capricorn's fortress and now serve the Adderhead."
It was still eerily silent in the courtyard. There was no sound but the clatter of hooves, the snorting horses, the clank of armor, weapons, and spears – curiously loud, as if the sounds were caught between the high walls like birds.
The Adderhead himself was one of the last to ride in. There was no mistaking him. "He looks like a butcher," Resa had said. "A butcher in princely clothes, with his love of killing written all over his coarse face." The horse he rode was white, heavily built like its master, and almost entirely hidden by a caparison patterned with the snake emblem. The Adderhead himself wore a black robe embroidered with silver flowers. His skin was tanned by the sun, his sparse hair was gray, his mouth curiously small – a lipless slit in his coarse, clean-shaven face. Everything about him seemed heavy and fleshy: his arms and legs, his thick neck, his broad nose. Unlike those richer subjects of the Laughing Prince who were now standing in the courtyard, he wore no jewelry, no heavy chains around his neck, no rings set with precious stones on his fat fingers. But gems sparkled in the corners of his nostrils, red as drops of blood, and on the middle finger of his left hand, over his glove, he wore the silver ring he used for sealing death warrants. His eyes, narrow under lids folded like a salamander's, darted restlessly around the courtyard. They seemed to linger for a split second, like a lizard's sticky tongue, on everything they saw: the strolling players, the tightrope-walker overhead, the rich merchants waiting beside the empty, flower-decked platform, submissively bowing their heads when his glance rested on them. Nothing seemed to escape those salamander eyes, nothing at alclass="underline" no child pressing his face into his mother's apron in alarm, no beautiful woman, no man glaring up at him with hostility. Yet he reined in his horse in front of only one person in the crowd.
"Well, well, so here's the king of the strolling players! Last time I saw you, your head was in the pillory in my castle courtyard. And when are you going to honor us with another visit?" The Adderhead's voice rang out through the silent courtyard. It sounded very deep, as if it came from the black interior of his stout body. Meggie instinctively moved closer to Fenoglio's side. But the Black Prince bowed, so deeply that the bow turned to mockery. "I'm sorry," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "but I'm afraid my bear didn't care for your hospitality. He says the pillory was rather tight for his neck."
Meggie saw the Adderhead's mouth twist into an unpleasant smile. "Well, I could keep a rope ready for your next visit – a rope that will fit perfectly, and a gallows of oak strong enough even for such a fat old bear as yours," he said.
The Black Prince turned to his bear and pretended to discuss it with him. "Sorry again," he said, as the bear threw its paws around his neck, grunting, "the bear says he likes the south, but your shadow lies too dark over it. He won't come until the Bluejay pays you the honor of a visit, too."
A soft whisper ran through the crowd – and was silenced when the Adderhead turned in his saddle and let his lizardlike gaze move over those standing around him.
"And furthermore," the Prince continued in a loud voice, "the bear would like to know why you don't make the Piper trot along behind your horse on a silver chain, as such a good, tame minstrel should?"
The Piper wrenched his horse around, but before he could urge it toward the Black Prince the Adderhead raised a hand. "I will let you know just as soon as the Bluejay is my guest!" he said, while the silver-nosed man reluctantly rode back to his place. "And believe me, that will be before long. I've already ordered the gallows to be built." Then he spurred his horse, and the men-at-arms rode on again. It seemed an eternity before the last of them had disappeared through the gateway.
"Yes, off you ride!" whispered Fenoglio, as the castle courtyard gradually filled with carefree noise again. "Viewing this place as if it would all soon be his, thinking he can spread his power through my world like a running sore and play a part I never wrote for him…"
The guard's spear abruptly silenced him. "Very well, poet!" said Anselmo. "You can go in now. Off with you!"
"Off with you?" thundered Fenoglio. "Is that any way to speak to the prince's poet? Listen," he told the two children, "you'd better stay here. Don't eat too much cake. And don't go too close to the fire-eater, because he's useless at his job, and leave the Black Prince's bear alone. Understand?"
The two of them nodded and ran straight to the nearest cake stall. But Fenoglio took Meggie's hand and strode past the guards with her, his head held high.
"Fenoglio," she asked in a low voice as the gate closed behind them and the noise of the Outer Courtyard died away, "who is the Bluejay?"
It was cool behind the great gate, as if winter had built itself a nest here. Trees shaded a wide courtyard, the air was fragrant with the scent of roses and other flowers whose names Meggie didn't know, and a stone basin of water, round as the moon, reflected the part of the castle in which the Laughing Prince lived.
"Oh, he doesn't exist!" was all Fenoglio would say, as he impatiently beckoned her on. "But I'll explain all that later. Come along now. We must take the Laughing Prince my verses at last, or I won't be his court poet anymore."
21. THE PRINCE OF SIGHS
The man couldn't very well tell the king, "No, I won't go," for he had to earn his bread.
Italo Calvino, "The King in the Basket," Italian Folk Tales
The windows of the hall where the Prince of Sighs, once the Laughing Prince, received Fenoglio were hung with black draperies. The place smelled like a crypt, of dried flowers and soot from the candles. The candles were burning in front of statues that all had the same face, sometimes a good likeness, sometimes less good. Cosimo the Fair, thought Meggie. He stared down at her from countless pairs of marble eyes as she walked toward his father with Fenoglio.
The throne in which the Prince of Sighs sat enthroned stood between two other high-backed chairs. The dark green upholstery of the chair on his left was occupied only by a helmet with a plume of peacock feathers, its metal brightly polished as if it were waiting for its owner. A boy of about five or six sat in the chair on his right. He wore a black brocade doublet embroidered all over with pearls as if it were covered in tears. This must be the birthday boy: Jacopo, grandson of the Prince of Sighs, but the Adderhead's grandson, too.