"It is a sound philosophy," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I have occasionally thought along similar lines. However, while toiling at the royal stables I could not put such theories into effect. If I find the Holy Grail and earn a boon, I will take pains to live a more glorious life."
The three had now arrived at Little Saffield. The time was halfway through the afternoon: too late to proceed farther. The three repaired to the Black Ox Inn, to find all rooms occupied. They were given a choice of straw pallets in the garret among the rats, or the loft above the bar, where they might sleep in the hay, which option they selected.
In the morning the three set off to the north up Timble Lane. They passed first through the village Tawn Timble, then the hamlet Glymwode, with the Forest of Tantrevalles a brooding dark line close ahead.
In a field they found a peasant digging turnips, who gave directions to Thripsey Shee on Madling Meadow. "It is not so far as the dog runs, but the lane winds and crooks, all the while taking you more deeply into the forest, meanwhile becoming no more than a track. You will come at last to a woodcutter's hut; thereafter the track becomes a trace, but you must proceed farther still, until the forest breaks, and before you will be Madling Meadow."
"That seems simple enough," said Travante.
"So it is, but beware of the fairies of the shee! Above all, do not loiter after dusk or the imps will do you a mischief. They put donkey's ears and a donkey's utensil on poor Fottem, all because he made water on the meadow."
"We will surely be more mannerly," said Madouc.
The three went forward; the forest loomed dark and quiet ahead. The lane, now a track, veered to the east, then turned to plunge into the forest. Branches arched overhead; foliage blocked out the sky; the open country was gone and lost to view.
The track led deep into the forest. The air became cool and carried a hundred herbal scents. In the forest all colors were altered. Greens were various: greens of moss and fern, of wort, mallow, dock and tree-leaves in the sunlight. The browns were heavy and rich: black-brown and umber of the oak tree bole, russet and tan of forest floor. In the coverts, where the trees grew close and the foliage hung heavy, the shadows were deep, and tinged with maroon, indigo, black-green.
The three passed the woodcutter's hut; the track dwindled to a trail, winding between boles, across dim dells, over outcrops of black rock, finally a break in the trees and beyond: Madling Meadow. Madouc halted and told her companions: "You two must wait here for a time, while I go to find my mother. This will cause the least disturbance."
Sir Pom-Pom spoke in dissatisfaction. "That may not be the best idea! I want to put my questions as soon as possible-to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak!"
"That is not the way to deal with fairies," said Madouc. "If you try to guide them, or work them to your will, they only laugh and dodge and curvet off slantwise, and may refuse to speak at all."
"At least I can ask politely if they know anything whatever of the Grail. If not, we are only wasting our time and should hasten on to Weamish Isle."
"Be patient, Sir Pom-Pom! Remember, we are dealing with fairies! You must control your anxieties until I discover how the land lies."
Sir Pom-Pom said stiffly: "I am not a bumpkin, after all; I too know how to deal with fairies."
Madouc became vexed. "Remain here, or go back to Lyonesse Town and ask questions of your own mother!"
Sir Pom-Pom muttered: "I do not dare; she would laugh herself ill for my part in this expedition, then send me out for a bucket of moonbeams." He went to settle himself on a fallen log, where he was joined by Travante. "Be quick, if you please; and if chance allows, ask after the Holy Grail."
"You might also allude to my quest," said Travante, "if a gap opens in the conversation."
"I will do what I can."
Madouc went warily to the edge of the forest, pausing only to remove her cap and fluff out her curls. She halted in the shade of a wide-spreading beech tree, and looked out over the meadow: a roughly circular area three hundred yards in diameter. At the center rose a hummock to which a dwarfed and contorted oak clung with sprawling roots. Madouc scanned the meadow, but saw only flowers nodding in the breeze. Nothing could be heard but a soft murmur which might have been the sound of bees and singing insects; still Madouc knew that she was not alone, especially after a mischievous hand pinched first one cheek of her round little rump, then the other. A voice giggled; another whispered: "Green apples, green apples!"
The first voice whispered: "When will she learn?"
Madouc indignantly called out: "Trouble me not, by fairy law!"
The voices became scornful. "Hoity-toity to boot, apart from all else!" sneered the first.
"She is a hard one to know!" said the other.
Madouc ignored the remarks. She looked up at the sky, and decided that the time was near upon noon. In a soft voice she called: "Twisk! Twisk! Twisk!"
A moment passed. Out on the meadow, as if her eyes had come into focus, Madouc saw a hundred filmy shapes moving about their unfathomable affairs. Above the central hummock a wisp of fog swirled high into the air.
Madouc waited and watched, nerves tingling. Where was Twisk? One of the shapes strolled at a languid pace across the meadow, taking on substance as it came, finally to show the charming lineaments of the fairy Twisk. She wore a knee-length gown of near-impalpable gauze which enhanced the effect of her supple and fascinating contours. Today she had selected pale lavender as a suitable color for her hair; as before it floated in a soft cloud behind her head and around her face. Madouc scanned the face anxiously, hoping for indications of maternal benevolence. Twisk's expression was impassive.
"Mother!" cried Madouc. "I am happy to see you again!"
Twisk halted and looked Madouc up and down. "Your hair is a jackdaw's nest," said Twisk. "Where is the comb I gave you?"
Madouc said hurriedly: "Some clowns from the fair stole my horse Juno, along with saddle, saddlebag and comb."
"Clowns and entertainers are an untrustworthy lot; this should be your lesson. In any case you must make yourself tidy, especially if you plan to join the merriment at our grand festival! As you can see, the frolics are already underway."
"I know nothing of the festival, Mother dear. I had not planned merriment."
"Oh? It is to be a grand gala! Notice all the pretty arrangements!"
Madouc looked across the meadow and now everything had changed. The swirl of fog above the hummock had become a tall castle of twenty towers with long banderoles streaming from each spire. In front of the castle stanchions of twisted silver and iron were linked by festoons of flowers; they surrounded a long table heaped with delicacies and liquors in tall bottles.
The festival apparently had not yet started, although fairies were already promenading and dancing about the meadow in great high spirits-all save one, who sat perched on a post scratching himself with great industry.
"I seem to have arrived at a happy time," said Madouc. "What is the occasion?"
"We celebrate a notable event," said Twisk. "It is the emancipation of Falael from seven long years of itch; King Throbius so punished him for malice and mischief. The curse will soon have run its course; in the meantime Falael sits yonder on the post, scratching as earnestly as ever. And now, I will bid you farewell once again, and wish you a fortunate future."
"Wait!" cried Madouc. "Are you not pleased to see me, your own dear daughter?"
"Not altogether, if truth be told. Your birth was travail, most unsavory, and your presence reminds me of the entire revolting circumstance."
Madouc pursed her lips. "I will put it out of my mind if you will do the same."
Twisk laughed: a gay tinkle. "Well spoken! My mood is slightly alleviated! Why are you here?"