"Most odd," mused Sir Pom-Pom. "I suspect that the ‘philosopher' from whose beard she plucked the six hairs was not truly wise, or possibly he deceived her with a display of false credentials."
"Possibly true," said Madouc.
"In such a lonely place, an innocent maiden might easily be deceived," said Travante. "Even by a philosopher."
Madouc returned to the booklet. "Here is another recipe. It is called ‘Infallible Means for Instilling Full Constancy and Amatory Love in One Whom You Love.'
"That should be interesting," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Read the recipe, if you will, and with exact accuracy."
Madouc read: " ‘When the dying moon wanders distrait and, moving low in the sky, rides the clouds like a ghostly boat, then is the time to prepare, for a vapor often condenses and seeps down the shining rind, to hang as a droplet from the lower horn. It slowly, slowly, swells and sags and falls, and if a person, running below, can catch the droplet in a silver basin, he will have gained an elixir of many merits. For me there is scope for much dreaming here, since, if a drop of this syrup is mixed into a goblet of pale wine and, if two drink together from the goblet, a sweet love is infallibly induced between the two. So I have made my resolve. One night when the moon rides low I will run from this place with my basin and never pause until I stand below the horn of the moon, and there I will wait to catch the wonderful droplet.'
Travante asked: "Are there further notations?"
"That is all to the recipe."
"I wonder if the maiden did so run through the night, and whether, in the end, she caught her precious droplet!"
Madouc turned the parchment pages. "There is nothing more; the rain has blurred what remains."
Sir Pom-Pom rubbed his chin. He glanced toward the sacred chalice, where it reposed on a cushion; then he rose to his feet and, going to the front of the pavilion, looked out across the glade. After a moment he returned to the table.
Travante asked: "How goes the night, Sir Pom-Pom?"
"The moon is near the full and the sky is clear."
"Aha! Then there will be no seepage of moon syrup tonight!" Madouc asked Sir Pom-Pom: "Were you planning to run through the forest carrying a basin at the ready?"
Sir Pom-Pom responded with dignity: "Why not? A drop or two of the moon elixir might someday come in useful." He turned a quick glance toward Madouc. "I am still uncertain as to the boon I will ask."
"I thought that you had decided to become a baron and wed Devonet."
"Espousing a royal princess might be more prestigious, if you take my meaning."
Madouc laughed. "I take your meaning, Sir Pom-Pom, and henceforth I will be wary of your pale wine, though you offer it by the gallon on your bended knee."
"Bah!" muttered Sir Pom-Pom. "You are absolutely unreasonable."
"No doubt," sighed Madouc. "You must make do with Devonet."
"I will think on the matter."
In the morning the three continued along Munkins Road, under great trees which filtered the morning sunlight. They travelled an hour, when suddenly Travante gave a startled cry. Madouc turned to find him staring into the forest.
"I saw it!" cried Travante. "I am sure of it! Look yonder; see for yourself!" He pointed, and Madouc looked to barely see a flash of movement under the trees. Travante cried out: "Hold! Do not go away! It is I, Travante!" He raced off into the forest, shouting: "Do not flee from me now! I see you plain! Will you not slow your pace; why are you so fleet of foot?"
Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom followed for a space, then stopped to listen, hoping that Travante would return, but the cries grew fainter and ever fainter and at last could be heard no more.
The two returned slowly to the road, pausing often to look and listen, but the forest had become still. In the road, they waited an hour, walking slowly back and forth, but at last they reluctantly set off into the west.
At noon they arrived at the Great North-South Road. The two turned south, Sir Pom-Pom as usual in the lead.
Finally Sir Pom-Pom halted in exasperation and looked over his shoulder. "I have had enough forest! The open country lies ahead; why do you tarry and loiter?"
"It happens without my knowing," said Madouc. "The reason I suppose is this: each step brings me closer to Haidion and I have decided that I am a better vagabond than princess."
Sir Pom-Pom gave a scornful grunt. "As for me, I am bored with this constant trudging through the dust! The roads never end; they simply join into another road, so that a wanderer never comes to his journey's end."
"That is the nature of the vagabond."
"Bah! It is not for me! The scenery shifts with every ten steps; before one can start to enjoy the view it is gone!"
Madouc sighed. "I understand your impatience! it is reasonable! You want to present the Holy Grail to the church and win grand honours for yourself."
"The honours need not be so grand," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I would like the rank of baron or knight, a small estate with a manor house, stables, barn, sty, stock, poultry and hives, a patch of quiet woodland and a stream of good fishing."
"So it may be," said Madouc. "As for me, if I did not want Spargoy the Chief Herald to identify Sir Pellinore, I might not go back to Haidion at all."
"That is folly," said Sir Pom-Pom.
"So it may be," said Madouc once again.
"In any event, since we have decided to return, let us not delay."
IV
At Old Street Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom turned west until they arrived at the village Frogmarsh and the road south, sometimes known as ‘the Lower Way', which led to Lyonesse Town.
During the afternoon clouds began to loom in the west; toward evening trails of rain brushed the landscape. In a convenient meadow, behind a copse of olive trees, Madouc raised the pavilion, and the two rested warm and secure while the rain drummed on the fabric. For much of the night lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, but in the morning the clouds had broken and the sun rose bright to shine upon a world fresh and wet.
Madouc reduced the pavilion; the two continued down the road: into a region of pinnacles and gorges, between the twin crags Maegher and Yax-known as the Arqueers-then out under the open sky and down a long rolling slope, with the Lir visible in the distance.
From behind came the rumble of galloping hooves. The two moved to the side of the road, and the riders passed by: three rakehelly young noblemen, with three equerries riding at their backs. Madouc looked up at the same moment Prince Cassander glanced aside and into her face. For a fleeting instant their eyes met, and in that time Cassander's face sagged into a mask of ack Vance disbelief. With a flapping arm he waved his comrades to a halt, then wheeled his horse and trotted back, to learn whether or not his eyes had deceived him.
Cassander reined up his horse near Madouc and his expression changed to half-scornful half-pitying amusement. He looked Madouc up and down, darted a glinting blue glance at Sir Pom-Pom, then gave a chuckle of incredulous laughter. "Either I am hallucinating or this unkempt little ragamuffin lurking beside the ditch is the Princess Madouc! Sometimes known as Madouc of the Hundred Follies and the Fifty Crimes!"
Madouc said stiffly: "You may put aside that tone of voice, since I am neither fool nor criminal, nor yet do I lurk."
Cassander jumped down from his horse. The years had changed him, thought Madouc, and not for the better. His amiability had disappeared under a crust of vanity; his self-conscious airs made him seem pompous; with his highly colored face, tight brassy curls, petulant mouth and hard blue eyes, he seemed a callow replica of his father. In measured tones he answered Madouc: "Your condition lacks dignity; you bring ridicule upon us all."