The Fox was so trusted by now that when my father did not need him he was allowed to take us anywhere, even miles from the palace. We were often out all day in summer on the hill- top to the south-west, looking down on all Glome and across to the Grey Mountain. We stared our eyes out on that jagged ridge till we knew every tooth and notch of it, for none of us had ever gone there or seen what was on the other side. Psyche, almost from the beginning (for she was a very quick, thinking child), was half in love with the Mountain. She made herself stories about it. “When I’m big,” she said, “I will be a great, great queen, married to the greatest king of all, and he will build me a castle of gold and amber up there on the very top.”
The Fox clapped his hands and sang, “Prettier than Andromeda, prettier than Helen, prettier than Aphrodite herself.”
“Speak words of better omen, Grandfather,” I said, though I knew he would scold and mock me for saying it. For at his words, though on that summer day the rocks were too hot to touch, it was as if a soft, cold hand had been laid on my left side, and I shivered.
“Babai!” said the Fox. “It is your words that are ill omened. The divine nature is not like that. It has no envy.”
But whatever he said, I knew it is not good to talk that way about Ungit.
Chapter Three
It was Redival who ended the good time. She had always been feather-headed and now grew wanton, and what must she do but stand kissing and whispering love-talk with a young officer of the guard (one Tarin) right under Batta’s window an hour after midnight. Batta had slept off her wine in the earlier part of the night and was now wakeful. Being a busybody and tattler in grain, she went off straight and woke the King, who cursed her roundly but believed her. He was up, and had a few armed men with him, and was out into the garden and surprised the lovers before they knew that anything was amiss. The whole house was raised by the noise of it. The King had the barber to make a eunuch of Tarin there and then (as soon as he was healed, they sold him down at Ringal). The boy’s screams had hardly sunk to a whimper before the King turned on the Fox and me, and made us to blame for the whole thing. Why had the Fox not looked to his pupil? Why had I not looked to my sister? The end of it was a strict command that we were never to let her out of our sight. “Go where you will and do what you will,” said my father. “But the salt bitch must be with you. I tell you, Fox, if she loses her maidenhead before I find her a husband, you’ll yell louder for it than she. Look to your hide. And you, goblin daughter, do what you’re good for, you’d best. Name of Ungit! if you with that face can’t frighten the men away, it’s a wonder.”
Redival was utterly cowed by the King’s anger and obeyed him. She was always with us. And that soon cooled any love she had for Psyche or me. She yawned and she quarrelled and she mocked. Psyche, who was a child so merry, so truthful, so obedient that in her (the Fox said) Virtue herself had put on a human form, could do no right in Redival’s eyes. One day Redival hit her. Then I hardly knew myself again till I found that I was astride of Redival, she on the ground with her face a lather of blood, and my hands about her throat. It was the Fox who pulled me off and, in the end, some kind of peace was made between us.
Thus all the comfort we three had had was destroyed when Redival joined us. And after that, little by little, one by one, came the first knocks of the hammer that finally destroyed us all.
That year after I fought Redival was the first of the bad harvests. That same year my father tried to marry himself (as the Fox told me) into two royal houses among the neighbouring kings, and they would have none of him. The world was changing, the great alliance with Caphad had proved a snare. The tide was against Glome.
The same year, too, a small thing happened which cost me many a shuddering. The Fox and I, up behind the pear trees, were deep in his philosophy. Psyche had wandered off, singing to herself, among the trees, to the edge of the royal gardens where they overlook the lane. Redival went after her. I had one eye on the pair of them, and one ear for the Fox. Then it seemed they were talking to someone in the lane, and shortly after that they came back.
Redival, sneering, bowed double before Psyche and went through the actions of pouring dust on her head. “Why don’t you honour the goddess?” she said to us.
“What do you mean, Redival?” asked I, wearily, for I knew she meant some new spite.
“Did you not know our step-sister had become a goddess?”
“What does she mean, Istra?” said I. (I never called her Psyche now that Redival had joined us.)
“Come on, step-sister goddess, speak up,” said Redival. “I’m sure I’ve been told often enough how truthful you are, so you’ll not deny that you have been worshipped.”
“It’s not true,” said Psyche. “All that happened was that a woman with child asked me to kiss her.”
“Ah, but why?” said Redival.
“Because — because she said her baby would be beautiful if I did.”
“Because you are so beautiful yourself. — Don’t forget that. She said that.”
“And what did you do, Istra?” asked I.
“I kissed her. She was a nice woman. I liked her.”
“And don’t forget that she then laid down a branch of myrtle at your feet and bowed and put dust on her head,” said Redival.
“Has this happened before, Istra?” said I.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
“Twice before?”
“More than that.”
“Well, ten times?”
“No, more. I don’t know. I can’t remember. What are you looking at me like that for? Is it wrong?”
“Oh, it’s dangerous, dangerous,” said I. “The gods are jealous. They can’t bear — “
“Daughter, it doesn’t matter a straw,” said the Fox. “The divine nature is without jealousy. Those gods — the sort of gods you are always thinking about — are all folly and lies of poets. We have discussed this a hundred times.”
“Heigh-ho,” yawns Redival, lying flat on her back in the grass and kicking her legs in the air till you could see all there was of her (which she did purely to put the Fox out of countenance, for the old man was very modest). “Heigh-ho, a step-sister for goddess and a slave for counsellor. Who’d be a princess in Glome? I wonder what Ungit thinks of our new goddess.”
“It is not very easy to find out what Ungit thinks,” said the Fox.
Redival rolled round and laid her cheek on the grass. Then, looking up at him, she said softly, “But it would be easy to find out what the Priest of Ungit thinks. Shall I try?”
All my old fear of the Priest, and more fears for the future than I could put a name to, stabbed into me.
“Sister,” said Redival to me, “give me your necklace with the blue stones, the one our mother gave you.”
“Take it,” said I. “I’ll give it to you when we go in.”
“And you, slave,” she said to the Fox. “Mend your manners. And get my father to give me to some king in marriage; and it must be a young king, brave, yellow-bearded, and lusty. You can do what you like with my father when you’re shut up with him in the Pillar Room. Everyone knows that you are the real King of Glome.”
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