Epilogue
Every morning Malva dressed like a peasant girl: a plain dress, a cotton scarf over her hair and rope-soled shoes, and then she slipped out of her bedroom. She looked discreetly in at the kitchens and put a few delicacies into her pockets: marzipan cakes, swallow and aniseed pies, or liquorice shortbread. Once out of the Citadel she set off along the avenue of sycamores, passed through the gates in the wall, and made her way along the alleys of the Lower Town.
The place would be teeming with activity like an anthill from the early hours of the day. Pedlars pushed their handcarts along the newly paved roads, bricklayers and carpenters climbed scaffolding, groups of children made their way to the schools that had just reopened, blacksmiths worked at their forges, water-carriers swayed along between the stalls, bakers set out batches of rolls, old people put chairs in their doorways, and they all greeted each other, calling out, haranguing and chattering.
Malva particularly liked to watch the washerwomen perched on the flat roofs of adjoining houses where they spread out sheets and shirts, arguing with each other the whole time about one thing or another. Both young and old had opinions of their own on everything. Their gossip told her a great deal about the people of Galnicia and their present state of mind.
‘They say the Coronador has lost his marbles!’
‘That’s right – my cousin says she saw him standing in front of an olive tree for hours, talking to himself.’
‘Oh well, your cousin would say anything to make herself look interesting!’
‘You want to know what my cousin would say about you?’
‘Never mind, the old fellow has nothing to worry about. Even if the Princess isn’t married, she’s well up to governing the country.’
‘You’re right there! We can all be grateful to her. But for her, we’d still be living on the road like beggars.’
‘Poor thing, though. They say she wept her eyes out over the body of Captain Orpheus.’
‘I’m not surprised. So brave and handsome he was! You don’t find a man like that around every street corner.’
‘Meaning your husband isn’t like that?’
‘You want to know what my husband would say about you?’
‘All the same, I’m sorry for our Princess. So young, and so unhappy in love!’
‘It was all the Archont’s fault. That man …’
‘I remember the days when the country was in mourning … just seeing him go down the street with his soldiers gave me nightmares.’
‘It’s a pity he died instantly when the Princess fired on him. A toad like that deserves to suffer!’
‘Well, he ended like the dog he was – thrown into a mass grave, no Holy Diafron, no Ritual.’
‘Oh, do stop saying such things, it turns my stomach.’
‘Here, speaking of stomachs, who’s going to the fish auction in a little while? They say there’s been a miraculous catch.’
And the washerwomen continued in this vein, laughing and chuckling, paying no attention to the young peasant girl listening to them in the street below. They spread their white sheets out in the sun, and their plump pink arms dipped from one laundry basket to another in a complex, fascinating dance. It was the same every morning. When she had heard enough, Malva would heave a sigh and walk on.
She went down to the River Gdavir to watch the paddle boats coming up from the harbour with their cargoes of fish or barrels of Rioro. They went upstream towards the northern provinces. A treaty had recently been signed between Galnicia and its neighbours. Babilas, appointed ambassador by Malva, had undertaken to negotiate with Dunbraven, and had worked diplomatic miracles. The country had certainly lost a good deal of territory, but the main thing was the restoration of peace. The people in the provinces had food again, famine no longer threatened them, and they were beginning to live as prosperously as they had once before.
As she crossed the bridge, Malva always glanced at the paghul crops that now grew all along the river banks. She thought wistfully of Hob and Lei. She hadn’t had news of them for months.
At last she began the climb to the Upper Town. The shutters of the shops were open, there was hustle and bustle on the terraces outside the taverns. Noble Dons shared tables with tattooed sailors, Donias in silk skirts sat beside old fortunetellers from Tildesia. Small children played around the fountains, and sometimes foreign visitors arrived with exotic pet animals on leashes: allicaitors, Aremican carcayotes or kangustis from Frigia. Malva wondered if a tourist might arrive some day mounted on a nuba-nuba or a celestial-charioteer … or even an enlil, the creature domesticated and ridden by the Amoyeds! A shudder ran down her spine. She had seen so many strange things during her journey to the outer confines of the Known World!
Arriving at the Campanile, Malva went to the door of the McBott house. She knocked three times and waited. Berthilde walked with difficulty now. It took her a little while to come and open the door.
‘Ah, it’s you, Princess!’ she smiled.
Malva hurried inside, took off her scarf and shook her hair free. Then she let Berthilde lead her to the sitting room.
‘I’ve brought you some rhubarb macaroons today,’ she said, sitting on the sofa.
Berthilde gave her lemonade, and they spent several hours together talking quietly. Their favourite subject was Orpheus. Malva questioned the old woman constantly. She wanted to know everything about him as a child and a young man, about Merixel and Hannibal, and Galnicia in the old days.
Berthilde told her stories, repeated herself, scratched her head as she sought for memories. What fascinated Malva most was the story of the last meeting between Orpheus and his father. She trembled every time Berthilde told her the details of their conversation, but she never tired of living through the scene.
‘But I wonder what good it does for me to tell you all this,’ sighed Berthilde. ‘These are memories. You’re so young – it troubles me to see you always looking back at the past. What are you going to do with these details?’
Malva smiled mysteriously. She knew exactly what she was going to do with them.
Around midday she left Berthilde and went back to the Citadel. The throne needed her presence: she had people to receive, ambassadors to send into the provinces, many important decisions to take.
One of those decisions concerned Finopico.
Malva summoned the new directors of the Maritime Institute and told them to send a scientific expedition to prove that the Ghoom of the Deeps really existed.
The scientists protested: the creature was only a mythical being, they said.
‘I like mythical beings,’ retorted the Princess. ‘Without them we’d have no dreams to pursue.’
She spread the sea chart out on the large table in the Hall of Delicacies, picked up a pen and drew a line round the place where the Estafador had sunk. Then she showed the scar on her leg. Much impressed, the scientists stopped objecting. It was decided that the expedition would set out a month later.
Another of Malva’s decisions involved the map-makers. She summoned them too, and showed them the piece of paper on which Orpheus had drawn his map of the Archipelago.
‘You must throw away the old maps and sea charts,’ she said. ‘I want you to make new ones mentioning those islands to the south of the Known World.’
The map-makers turned pale. Pushing back the limits of the Known World was impossible! But Malva would not take no for an answer. Above the drawing, she wrote in large letters The Archipelago of Orpheus.
‘That will be the official name of the region from this day on. Now get to work!’
The map-makers nodded and went away with the drawing. Malva sighed. She had wondered for a moment whether to ask for Elgolia to be added to the new maps. In the end, she decided against it. Elgolia should remain secret, hidden. A dream, in fact.
Some time later the Coronador died.
The next to go was Berthilde.
Malva founded an orphanage for street children in the McBott house: The Peppe Institute. There would be no dark cells or harsh treatment in the orphanage; she would see to that in person.
Later still, the scientific expedition came back from the Sea of Ypree. After months of research work, the holds of the ships were full of specimens of entirely unknown and extremely strange fish. Not one of them looked anything like the Ghoom of the Deeps.
To the despair of the Institute scientists, Malva sent out a second expedition. She had decided to go on sending them until the Finopicuum de profundis took its place in the official books.
Winter came again. Philomena and Uzmir had their horses saddled and set off for the steppes. It was time for them to rejoin their people and go hunting oryak. Philomena shed some tears, and Hainur, standing on his horse’s back, did a farewell dance for Malva.
They promised to come back next summer to see her.
At last Malva received a letter from the kingdom of Balmun. It was signed by Lei and Hob.
They told her about their many adventures, the welcome they had found in Lei’s family, and the days of festivities that followed. Both were very well, they said. At the bottom of the letter, Lei had drawn the plans of the house that they were building together beside a lake.
The twin stars shine every night here too, Hob wrote, and I believe the fortune-teller was right … for here I am as happy as a prince!
They ended their letter by asking Malva to give Babilas and Orpheus a hug from them. Malva decided to write and tell them how Orpheus, in trying to save her life, had lost his own.
That day she went to the graveyard again. Standing in front of the silent slab on the grave of Orpheus, she talked and wept for a long time. Then she knelt down, placed the palms of her hands flat on the ground before her and kissed it.
After that she went back to the Citadel. Babilas was receiving dignitaries from Polvakia and Sperta in the Hall of Delicacies. He was getting on very well by himself, so Malva discreetly disappeared.
She went to shut herself in the alcove, drew the curtains, lit a candle, opened a notebook and sat down at her dressing table. For a moment she dreamed in front of her own reflection, once again remembering the day when she had decided to run away. The words of the letter she had hidden there behind the mirror came back to her. But her rebellion, her anger and disgust no longer tormented her. She had shaken off that painful past. So the time had come …
She dipped her pen in the ink.
On the first page she wrote the title of the story she was going to tell. It was called The Princess and the Captain.
Then, writing feverishly, she began: To the north, the walls of the Citadel dropped straight to a sheer precipice. Perched there on its rock, it looked like a watchful bird of prey, unfolding its towers and wings above the valley and casting its imposing shadow on the calm waters of the River Gdavir.
She wrote all night, her words reviving the distant days when she still knew nothing of the joys and sorrows of the world, and bringing back to life all who had accompanied her on her fabulous journey.