‘I am very afraid,’ said one of them. ‘I am sure that there is an army inside the belly of this beast, waiting to destroy this city. Why can’t we find out? Why can’t we know?’
‘He’s quite wrong,’ another whispered softly to his companion. ‘This is an apparition shaped by magic, just like the illusions created by conjurors at great feasts.’
So the company was besieged by various doubts and fears. This is the way of common people when confronted by something beyond their experience or understanding. They come to the wrong conclusion. They panic.
Others among them were wondering out loud about the mirror that had already been carried into the principal tower of the palace. They wanted to know how it worked. How could all these things be seen within it? One of them said that it might be a natural phenomenon. It was a question of perspectives and angles and reflections. There was one just like it in Rome. Then they all started talking about Alhazen and Vitello and Aristotle, who had written on the subject of mirrors and optics; they had heard of these authors, even if they had not actually read them.
And then again they wondered at the magic sword that could cut through anything. They talked about King Telephus, who was wounded and then healed by the wonderful spear of Achilles. It had exactly the same miraculous properties as this sword, as you have just heard. So the company talked about the ways in which metal could be hardened. They spoke of the especial solutions that could be used to temper steel. They debated all the whys and wherefores. I myself know nothing about them.
When they had satisfied themselves on that matter, they turned their attention to the gold ring given to Canacee. They all said that they had never heard of a ring like it. In all the history of rings they had never known one – except perhaps from the hand of Moses or Solomon, who were supposed to be masters of magic. They gathered in little groups and muttered to each other. Wasn’t it queer to learn that glass was made from the ashes of fern? Glass doesn’t look a bit like fern, does it? Or like ashes? Since it is a matter of fact that glass is made from the ashes of fern, they soon stopped asking stupid questions. They were like people who wonder all the time about the origins of thunder, or the causes of tides, or the webs of spiders, or the gathering of mist. They want to get to the bottom of everything. And so they questioned and debated and puzzled until the time that Genghis Khan rose from the high table.
The sun had left its meridian, and the lion was ascending, when the great king left the hall. It was two o’clock on 15 March, in other words. The minstrels walked before him, playing loudly on the gitern and the harp, as he made his way to the presence chamber. The music was so sweet and solemn that it might have issued from the halls of heaven. Venus was sitting in majesty, exalted in Pisces, and all her children on earth were dancing. She looked down at the revellers in the palace with a very friendly eye.
So the noble king is set upon his throne. Very soon the strange knight is brought before him. And, look, he is dancing with Canacee. All is joy. All is harmony. A dull-witted man like myself cannot describe the scene. It would need a love-struck genius, filled with the spirit of spring, to do justice to the occasion.
Who could explain to you the intricacies of the native dances, the subtle rhythms, the smiles, the devious looks and glances passing between the maids and the young men? Only Lancelot, the knight of love. And he is dead. So I pass over all the playfulness. They danced and flirted until it was time to dine.
Then, as the music played, the steward of the household called for the wine and spiced cakes to be brought in quickly. The ushers and the squires left the hall, while the revellers feasted on the food and drink. When they had finished they all trooped into the temple for a service. Once that was over, they fell upon their suppers. Why say any more about it? Every man knows that, at a king’s banquet, there is enough and more than enough. No one goes hungry. There were more dainties there than I can describe. When the feast was complete, the king and his entourage walked out into the courtyard in order to view the miraculous horse.
There was more amazement at this animal than at any time since the siege of Troy. The Trojans were astonished at the appearance of a wooden horse; the lords and ladies at the court of Genghis Khan were even more astounded by a metallic one. Eventually the king asked the knight to explain the properties of this horse. He wanted to know how strong it was, and the best way to ride it. As soon as the knight put his hand upon the reins, the horse began to frisk and dance. ‘Sir,’ the knight said, ‘there is nothing more to tell you. When you want to ride anywhere, you just twist this pin behind the ear. When we are alone, I will tell you how to do it. You simply mention to the horse the city or the country you wish to visit, and it will take you there. When you wish to stop and walk around, just twist this other pin. That is all there is to do. It will descend and wait for you until your return. Nothing in the world will move it. Or, if you want the horse to disappear, use this pin here. Then it will vanish out of men’s sight, and will reappear only when you call him. I will give you the secret signal later on. So travel where you like. Ride the wind.’
The king listened carefully to everything the knight told him; as soon as he had understood the instructions, and the method of riding, he was delighted. He went back to the feast, and the horse’s bridle was taken up to the tower. Thereupon the horse itself vanished. I don’t know how. I can say no more about it. I know only that Genghis Khan stayed at the revels with his nobles until the following dawn.
PART TWO
The kind nurse of digestion and appetite, sleep, began to descend upon the party. Hypnos, the son of Night, let it be known that after much toil, and after much drink, it was time to rest. So he kissed them all. He yawned, and bid them all to lie down. Their blood was thick and heavy. ‘Cherish your blood,’ he said. ‘It is nature’s friend.’ By now they were all yawning, too. They thanked him for his advice, and laid themselves down to rest. It was the best thing to do.
I shall not describe their dreams. They were filled with drink and, in that state, dreams have no meaning. They all slept until prime, nine o’clock – all of them, that is, except Canacee. She had been very sensible, as women are, and had gone to bed early after thanking and blessing her father. She did not want to look ill or pale on the following day; she wanted to look fresh and gay. So she slept a moderate amount, and then awoke. On opening her eyes she thought once more of the ring, and the magic mirror; she was so excited that she must have changed colour twenty times. Even in her sleep she had dreamed of that mirror. It had made such an impression on her. So just before the sun began to rise she called her governess to her bedside, telling her that she wanted to dress and get ready for the day. The old crone, who considered herself to be as wise as her mistress, readily answered. ‘Where will you go, ma dame,’ she asked her, ‘when everyone else is still in bed?’
‘I want to get up. I have had enough sleep. I want to walk about and take the air.’
So the governess clapped her hands and summoned the maidservants, a dozen or more, to attend their mistress. Then up rose Canacee, as bright and rosy as the sun itself. It was already warm, the sun having risen into Aries, and so the princess walked out blithely into the light. She was gaily dressed for the season and, with five or six of her attendants, she enjoyed the fragrance of the early morning. Together they made their way down a green avenue in the park.