Mandricardo, page 16
Both Callipygia and Marid looked up.
Standing up to his ankles in the gliding floods of the silvery Thermodon stood another stupendous figure—this one being somewhat more stupendous than that of the green-skinned Marid, the Amazon girl quickly noted—and this one enormously less ugly and ferocious-looking.
Where Akhdar’s shoulders sprouted with the black and stinking wings of a monstrous vulture, the wings that grew from the broad shoulders of the stranger (which shoulders, by the way, were clad in glittering steel armor picked out with several thousand quite excellent blue-white diamonds of the finest water)—from the shoulders of the stranger, as I was saying, grew wings whose feathers were the indigo and emerald and bronze plumes of a peacock’s tail.
Instead of the black-browed and scowling visage of Akhdar, crowned with horrible antlers and glaring about with its burning three-eyed gaze, the stranger’s features were of Classical, even superhuman beauty, not unlike those of an Archangel; golden curls crowned his noble brow, as white as alabaster, and his gaze fell from calm, pellucid eyes as blue as sapphires.
Instead of a horrid spiked iron mace, he held the hilt of a mighty sword whose blade was nothing less than a crackling bolt of lightning.
The Marid wilted, gaped, faltered. Three eyes like globes of sanguine fire rolled in terror. It was more than obvious to Callipygia that the newcomer held either superior rank or superior prowess to the Marid, or, quite likely, both.
“O Ithuriel, Great Prince of the Genii,” said the Marid sullenly, “I but visit my rightful vengeance upon treacherous and boastful mortals who have made my name a synonym for cowardice and, also, somewhat of a laughing-stock in the Spirit World—”
“Where, prior to these events, it, of course, enjoyed the highest esteem,” commented the great Genie, with more than a touch of sarcasm in his even tones.
Akhdar the Green flushed under the sting in this mild rebuke, and Callipygia was interested to learn, when someone who is green-skinned blushes, his or her skin turns an even deeper shade of green. In Akhdar’s case, the shade was a particularly pretty one of olive-green.
“Well, well, and be that as it may,” said the Marid hastily, and slightly ill-temperedly, “but it does not alter the fact that I am within my rights in visiting my vengeance upon the—”
“Don’t be silly, you contentious Marid, you have neither right nor authority nor power in these parts of the world,” said the great Genie in solemn tones … and we shall delay until the next (and last, at least in this history) chapter the full measure of his judgment.
24
Across the Thermodon
“Don’t be silly, you contentious Marid,” Prince Ithuriel was saying just then, “you have neither right nor authority nor any particular power at all in these parts of the world. For these, you must know, are not the Mountains of the Moon, but the realms adjacent to and coterminous with the famous Empire of the Persians, and, in other words, you find yourself in those regions of the world which Her Majesty Getiafrose, Queen of All the Genii, had placed under my jurisdiction and sway.”
“But—” said Akhdar.
“There are no huts,” said Ithuriel severely. “Therefore, begone from these parts, O Akhdar the Green, and visit your vaunted vengeance*—if visit it you really must—upon that despicable and prevaricatious enchanter, Gorgonzola, who has tricked you, deceived you, and played you for a fool … not that Nature has not already cast you in that precise role!”
With a howl of fury that split the welkin, whatever a welkin is, the Marid stamped one tremendous foot. The earth shuddered and broke asunder; a fountain of roaring fire thundered skyward; Akhdar turned and dove into the flaming cleft in the earth, which swallowed him as the Whale did Jonah: the earthen lips closed together again and left all more or less as it had been only a moment or two before.
Callipygia said nothing, but thought to herself that it was certainly dramatic, the way the Genii kept appearing and disappearing with such extraordinary effects.
“Great Prince Ithuriel,” she said—for Mandricardo was still lurching around with his back to what was going on and his cloak over his head, swinging his broadsword lustily, but cleaving empty air—“Great Prince Ithuriel, how very fortunate we are that you just happened along in the very moment to prevent the murderous Marid from—”
But he was shaking his huge head, golden locks stirring beneath his great helm of polished steel.
“It was,” said Ithuriel gravely, making her a gentle courtesy, “neither luck nor accident that I came by, and chance played no part in the matter. No, it was my good and respected friend, the Old Man Who Looks After Cockaigne, who happened to bring to my attention only a few minutes ago that one of the Marids of sultry Afric was loose in those dominions which are under my protection; I resolved to look into the matter without further delay. As for Akhdar the Green, I assure you, madame, that you need fear no more this temperish and overly gullible Marid, who will bother you and your betrothed no longer. And now, if you will forgive me, I must depart, for the nations under my demesne are many and quarrelsome, and even as we speak, I perceive a border skirmish between the Medes and the Scythians which demands my earliest attention—”
And with another deep courtesy, the enormous Genie faded away in a blaze of light and was gone.
Whereupon Mandricardo, having picked himself up, dusted himself off, retrieved both sword and helm, and having also and at length managed to pull that dashed cloak of his off of his head so that he could see clearly again, was staring sternly about him, saying, “Have at you now, by my halidom! Where are you, sirrah?”
And he simply could not understand why, at the sight of him, Callipygia burst out laughing and sat down on a conveniently placed boulder to have her laughter out in relative comfort.
They rounded up the horses without any particular difficulties and flew over the broad river by means of the Magic Flying Carpet, but then dismounted, rolled up the handy conveyance, and tucked it away among the luggage which was packed on Minerva’s broad and capable back, for, as Mandricardo phrased it—
“I say, Gaily, what, let’s not Carpet to the capital, but ride there. Like to see a bit of the countryside, you know. Never been in Amazonia, meself. Dashed Carpet gives one a spectacular view, I’d be the first to admit it, what—but I do like just ridin’ along, you know the road or whatever.”
So they proceeded by horseback from that point across the green and fertile plains of Amazonia, and they had not gone very far before they noticed a sizable body of horsemen (well, to be precise, it was horsewomen, this being Amazonia) who seemed to be approaching them. When they got near enough for you to be able to discern their features, Callipygia gave a whoop! and the other riders also gave a whoop! and in no time to speak of, everybody was out of the saddle and hugging and kissing each other, leaving Mandricardo alone still mounted and looking rather bewildered and saying “What, what?” to himself vaguely.
Then his lady-love turned and beckoned him and he dismounted and strode over to be introduced.
“Well, what do you think, dear? But these are all of my sisters, can you believe it?” said Callipygia, looking both happy and flustered all at the same time. “How fortuitous that you girls should come riding along at this time, I mean, really!”
And then she presented to her fiancé a bewildering succession of very pretty faces. There was a splendid tall girl with red hair and green eyes and freckles, rather boyish and hardly more than in her teens, who was named Antiope; and a very fair-skinned lass with shining black tresses and huge dark eyes, whom Callipygia addressed as Penthesileia; and a striking blonde girl with a lovely golden tan and clear blue eyes like twin sapphires, whose name was Hippolyta; and, well, there were sixteen of them in all, and I am not going to take up so much of your time as it would take to introduce them all to you.
I will remark on this, though, that from the bewildering differences among each of her sisters—for, really, when you examined it fairly, there were no two of them that looked anything much like one of the others—well, Sir Mandricardo rather got the impression (but was very much too polite to ask) that each of Callipygia’s sisters had had a different father. This may or may not have been the case, but even Herodotus has little or nothing to say about the marriage customs of the Amazons, so I’m afraid that we must leave this interesting question unresolved.
Now the sixteen girls whispered and giggled amongst themselves, as sisters will do the world over, and stole little bright-eves sidewise glances at the tall and stalwart Tartar knight, as he stood even taller than usual and sucked his tummy in and twirled his drooping black moustachios rather self-consciously, and it became at length more than obvious that, as far as they were concerned, Callipygia had certainly had good luck in her husband-hunting. …
“Oh, Callipygia,” said Antiope, the teen-aged sister with the red hair, “just wait until Mother shows you her newest tapestry!”
“And the new curtains in the upstairs sitting-room,” added Hippolyta.
“And did you know Hera—that’s one of our cows, Sir Mandricardo; Cally virtually raised her from birth, you know—has three calves by now?” said Penthesileia.
And, all chattering away like so many magpies—thought Mandricardo, rather indulgently, bending a fond glance on his lady-love, who, pink and flustered and excited to be home again, was chattering away every bit as magpie-ish as any of them—they turned and began to wend their way across the verdant plain.
In the distance—as you followed the silvery and meandering course of the broad and shallow river Thermodon, wandering on its leisurely way to mingle its waters with those of the Euxine Sea which you could just barely glimpse, glinting pewter-like on the horizon—the rich shafts of the sun, which by now was westering, twinkled, flashed, and glittered in the thousand windows of Themiscyra, and gleamed from the burnished helms and the polished spearheads of the girl sentinels who stood here and there about the great wall of the city, and sparkled from the facets of the perfectly enormous red carbuncles and yellow topazes and blue alexandrines that were set into the greenish copper domes that lifted, together with a veritable forest of towers and turrets, from the purpling earth into the luminous and yet darkling skies which arched over Amazonia in particular and Pontus and these parts of the earth in general.
And, still chattering away a mile a minute with her sixteen sisters, Callipygia touched her spurs—but lightly—to the sides of her splendid roan mare, Blondel; and they picked up their pace just a little, for she thought that with a little bit of luck, they should come riding through the great granite gates into the courtyard of her mother’s palace just in time for dinner. …
And there let us leave them for a while, riding through the late afternoon sunshine toward that pleasant and splendid goal.
EXPLICIT
The Notes
to Mandricardo
CHAPTER ONE
Mandricardo, son of King, Agricane. This is not the same Mandricardo, son of King Agricane of Tartary, who fought against Roland and Oliver at Roncesvalles in the Song of Roland, that Mandricardo was one of the ancestors of our Mandricardo. Suffice it to say that, such was his admiration for the heroes of chivalry, had our Mandricardo been present in the Pyrenees that famous day, he would have been fighting on Roland’s side along with the Twelve Peers. All of the Tartarian kings bear the name of Agricane, you see, and all of their firstborn sons are named Mandricardo. Don’t ask me why.
Trolls. We have it on the authority of the historian Ibsen, in his admirable treatise Peer Gynt, that Trolls fear Cold Steel; and Keightley, in The Fairy Mythology, informs us that they distinctly dislike the sound of church bells ringing. (I just thought I’d put that in; it has nothing to do with our story.)
Bronze ring, inscription upon. An illustration in my copy of the Chronicle Narrative displays the characters cut into the bronze ring; they are unquestionably in the “Crossing the River” script, an alphabet used only by magicians. You can find this alphabet in most books on ceremonial magic, as it is no particular secret.
CHAPTER TWO
Five Magicians. The history of the Five Magicians is, as I said, too long to be related here, and, also, it is too good a yarn to ruin with a mere synopsis. So you go and hunt it up yourself. You will find it in Frank R. Stockton’s delightful little gem of a book Ting-a-Ling Tales (1882). The magicians are named Akbeck, Zamcar, Ormanduz, Mahalla, and Alcahazar. Alcahazar is the oldest of them.
Pyramids. The ancient Egyptians (who, after all, ought to know) called them by their names as given here, “Divine is Myceliums,” and so on. They were built by the rulers of the Old Kingdom (2780-2100 B.C.), and as their glistening limestone facings are long since stripped from them in the Lands We Know, it is pleasant to know they are still kept in decent repair in Terra Magica.
The first pyramid was built by Khufu (whom the Greeks called Cheops), the first pharaoh of the IV Dynasty, the second by Khephren (Chephren), and the third by Menkaure (Mycerinius). The Greeks were always messing up everybody’s name, calling Ramses “Rhampsinitus,” for instance. I don’t know just why. As for the Greek writers who dealt with the pyramids and their histories, we know of Aristogoras, Demoteles, Apion, Duris of Samos, Euhemerus, and Antisthenes. Unfortunately—for us as for them—all of their works are lost.
Besides the “Big Three” of the Gizeh group, given above, there are many more pyramids of some size and distinction, like the four that stand in a row south of Gizeh, called the Abusir group, which were built by pharaohs of the V Dynasty. Incidentally, reluctant as I am to spoil a good juicy story, there is no truth to the old legend that the courtesan Rhodopis built the little pyramid near Mycerinius’ as her tomb, which she financed out of her illicit earnings. That is pure legend, as if the story that the mummy of King Harmais is sepulchred in a secret burial chamber somewhere inside the Sphinx. That tail-tale got into Pliny, even; but Pliny was too hard-headed to swallow it.
I’m kind of sorry the Rhodopis story is just a myth; she had quite a history (in her early days, before she hit the big time, Rhodopis was a fellow-slave of the philosopher—fabulist, really—Aesop).
I don’t think anyone knows for sure whether or not the pyramids of Gizeh had Guardian Idols like the one I have described in this chapter, but even if they did, I doubt if they were animated by magic to kill or scare off burglars and other unwelcome visitors. The story, as well as the description of this Idol of black and white onyx, comes from an Arab writer named Masoudi, who died about 967 AD; it was the Islamic legend-mongers like Masoudi who are responsible for attributing the pyramids to Soliman Djinn-Ben-Djinn and so on, and for the notion that they were built before the Flood.
You can read all about this stuff in Leonard Cottrell’s admirable book, The Mountains of Pharaoh (1956). Oh, incidentally, the names of the other pyramids are like “Pure are the Places of Userkhaf,” “Enduring is the Beauty of Pepi,” “Beautiful are the Places of Unis,” and like that. Read Cottrell.
CHAPTER THREE
Mother Gothel. According to the Brothers Grimm, this was the name of the witch who locked Rapunzel up in that tower. As related to my novel Kesrick, she later obtained possession of Baba Yaga’s hut on chicken legs, and was melted by water like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.
Callipygia F. I am indebted to the historian Milne, in his Once Upon a Time, for instructing me in the manner in which princesses in magical countries sign their names. (The “F” stands for Fecit.)
“By Theseus’ Toenails!” The Princess here gives voice to a typical Amazon curse, swearing, in fact, by one of her ancestors (or by a portion of his anatomy, at least), for Duke Theseus of Athens was wed to her ancestress, Hippolyta II, Queen of Amazonia. You can read all about their nuptials in a treatise called A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by the historian Shakespeare.
“By Hercules’ Hangnail!” Here Callipygia swears by the appendage of another ancestor, for the celebrated Hercules was, however briefly, wed to the Amazonian Queen Hippolyta I. (I don’t know how many Hippolytas there were in all; these are the only two I have any information about.)
CHAPTER FOUR
Prince Camaralzaman. The proper nouns here are as given by the historian Lang in his excellent redaction of the tale, which you will find in his version of The Arabian Nights Entertainments. (See the story “Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura”.)
“Fly, Carpet!” This is the correct and proper command to give a Magic Flying Carpet, as everyone knows who has ever seen Sabu use the same phrase in Sir Alexander Korda’s admirable film, The Thief of Bagdad (1940). 1 am nothing if not scrupulous in my research.
CHAPTER FIVE
King Solomon. Whether or not this particular specimen had once belonged to the famous King Solomon or not, the Chronicle Narrative leaves uncertain; it was, however, certainly not the same one which Prince Houssain, the eldest of the three sons of the Sultan of the Indies, bought in the marketplace of Bisnagar, as related in “Prince Achmed and the Fairy Paribanou,” in the Arabian Nights. That particular carpet, you may recall, was among the christening gifts bestowed by the fairies upon the infant Prigio, in Prince Prigio, an historical work by the scholarly Mr. Lang: there is no reason not to believe it still to be found among the most treasured heirlooms of the Royal Family of Pantouflia.
Pamphyllia. A country in Asia Minor, once a province of the Homan Empire, and long since vanished from the atlases of Terra Cognita, the Lands We Know.
The Enchanter Gorgonzola. This is not the Gorgonzola who appears in Count de Caylus’ story, “Heart of Ice,” which you will find in the Green Fairy Book; That one was a fairy. No, this is the same enchanter Gorgonzola later dispatched by King Prigio’s son, Prince Ricardo, as told in another work by the historian Lang called (rather appropriately) Prince Ricardo. The historian Lang seems to crop up rather often in these Notes, doesn’t he?
CHAPTER SIX
“By Memnons Moustache!” Again, Callipygia swears by a portion of one of her ancestors; this one is Memnon, King of Ethiopia and one of the heroes of the Trojan War, who enjoyed a brief romance with the Amazonian Queen, Penthesilea, during that celebrated unpleasantness. You can read about it in an epic poem called The Fall of Troy by Quintus Smyrnaeus, rendered into English by Arthur S. Way and published in the Loeb classical Library.
