The Mouse That Roared (23 page)

“From me? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t.”

“You must. It is for your people and your country,” the Count replied. He rose solemnly, bowed and left Gloriana with a dish of pomegranates for which she now had no appetite at all.

The Duchess Gloriana got on her bicycle and sailed down the mountainside from the castle along the road which led to the Forest of Grand Fenwick and the cottage of Tully Bascomb. She had always enjoyed the excitement of speeding down the mountain road to the valley before, but now she wished she wasn’t going so fast. She wished she could hold the bicycle down to the pace of a snail, and she tried to do so. But the brakes weren’t very good and the road was steep and however hard she tried, the bicycle still picked up speed. Then she thought maybe she would hit a stone or a rut and be thrown and have to go to bed for a few weeks. But there were no stones and no ruts and the bicycle continued inexorably on its way.

There were a lot of things worrying the Duchess, but foremost among them was how to propose. She had tried a hundred combinations of phrases since her interview with the Count of Mountjoy a week ago, ranging from, “We command you as a loyal subject to marry us,” to a humble, “Will you please marry me?” But they all made her sound like a hussy. So she had given up trying. Then she was worried about how she should wear her hair so as to make the proper impression. Should she let it fall loose around her shoulders as she normally did, or should she put it in a roll at the back of her neck, or should she pile it high on the top of her head? There were a great variety of hair styles in the magazines, but none designed specifically for such an occasion as this. She wondered whether men had the same troubles, worrying about how they should comb their hair before calling on their girlfriends to propose to them.

Another thing was her face. Normally she didn’t wear make-up. But she supposed that she really ought to on this particular day. She had put some on, and there was too much. Then she had tried to take it off and it looked worse. She’d got the face rouge and lipstick off, but the eye shadow wouldn’t come off. Instead it spread around her eyelids and made her look as though she had not slept for nights. Which was not far from the truth.

Clothes were another worry--a cotton print, a tweed suit, or an afternoon frock? Again there was no source of advice, so she had settled on a tweed skirt and turtleneck sweater. It was hot, but at least it went with the bicycle. But she was deeply aware as the road slipped by and the cottage drew nearer that she was as hopelessly unready for the occasion as she had been when the Count of Mountjoy first confronted her with the necessity for marrying Tully Bascomb. And when she finally got to the cottage, she was so nervous she could hardly get off the bicycle and knock at the door. Her heart beat so wildly before the door was opened that it was quite difficult for her to breathe. But some of her panic went when the door was opened not by Tully, but by Pierce Bascomb, his father.

“Come in, Your Grace,” he said, in his deep gentle voice. “We have hardly had a glimpse of you since the Tiny Twenty conference. Have they been keeping you very busy at the castle?”

“A little,” said Gloriana.

“Well, don’t let them put too much on you,” Pierce advised. “Rulers must learn to let others do the ruling. That is the only way they can get out among their subjects, which is one of the most important aspects of government. Sit down while I pour you a glass of Pinot.”

He brought a bottle and two wine-glasses and poured a little wine into each glass. There was an awkward silence. Gloriana contemplated the stem of her wine-glass and Pierce looked at her with the same straight inquiring look which his son had inherited.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, at length, “and if that is the reason you came here, why not tell me about it and get it over with?”

“Well,” said Gloriana, “I was expecting to see Tully.”

“Tully? He’s in the forest, but will be back in about twenty minutes.”

“I have something to say to him.”

“Would you like me to leave when he comes?”

“I don’t think so. It really concerns you too, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

There was another silence.

“Mr. Bascomb,” said Gloriana suddenly. “How did my father propose to my mother?”

“Well,” said Pierce, surprised, “I wasn’t there, but that doesn’t make much difference because plenty of other people were. It was at the annual archery contest, and your mother, who came, as you know, from the southern end of the duchy, was a competitor. She did so well that in the mixed finals she was matched against your father. Your father knew your mother by sight, as everybody is known in Grand Fenwick, though they had not been formally introduced until the day of the contest. Your father was to shoot first for the grand prize, and his arrow pierced the butt in the dead centre of the bull’s eye. Your mother’s arrow, however, was so well aimed that it split his, and according to the rules of the contest, she was awarded the prize of the silver bow. When it was presented to her, he came down from his chair, picked her up and holding her aloft before all the people, cried out, ‘Gloriana has won one prize, but I claim two. I vow before you all that I shall marry her.’ That was the way it was.”

“But I couldn’t possibly lift Tully,” Gloriana said, half to herself. If Pierce heard, he made no comment, but there was the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes.

“Mr. Bascomb, please don’t think me rude, but how did you propose to Mrs. Bascomb?”

“To tell you the truth,” Pierce replied with a smile, “I never did. She proposed to me.”

“How did she do it?” Gloriana asked, eagerly.

“I’m not quite sure of the details. I was busy writing my first book at the time. I loved her, of course, but I didn’t realize that I loved her. I had got to a chapter on robins and was having some difficulty because I was not sure of the incubation period of the eggs. I have always found with writing that when I get to a difficult part, it is better to just walk away for a while and the difficulty will resolve itself. I decided to call on Elizabeth’s father, and went over to his house. We talked about a few trifling things and then he said, ‘By the way, Pierce, I have been asked by my daughter whether I would consent to become your father-in-law. I welcome the proposal myself provided it coincides with your desires.’ I did not quite grasp what he was saying and the poor man had to repeat the phrase two or three times before I caught his meaning. Then, of course, I was delighted--so delighted indeed that I kissed him, as I recall it, and shook his daughter’s hand.”

He laughed so heartily that he had to wipe his eyes and while he was still laughing Tully came in. He hesitated, stooping in the doorway which he filled with his bulk, on seeing Gloriana.

“Come in, son,” said Pierce. “Gloriana has called to see you.”

“Oh,” said Tully. He entered and went over to the fireplace, where he stood with an arm upon the mantelpiece.

Gloriana had a feeling of panic. She did not know what to say, how to begin, what conversational route to follow to lead up to the important object of her visit. She wanted to fly from the room, and was almost on the verge of doing so, when Tully said gently, “If there is any way I can be of service, Your Grace, I am yours to command.”

“I have an important matter to discuss with you,” Gloriana whispered, feeling completely wretched. “It’s a matter of State. But it’s something personal, too. It’s more personal really than it is a matter of State.”

“Whatever it may be,” said Tully, “I will do all in my power to help.”

“It’s not really a matter of helping. It’s a matter of cooperating--of working with me.”

“Working with you?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly that.” She looked appealingly at the older Bascomb.

“You say it,” she pleaded. “You say it, like they said it for you.”

Pierce looked from her to his son. “Gloriana wants me to become her father-in-law--that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gloriana whispered.

“Her what?” asked Tully.

“Her father-in-law.”

“Father-in-law! But you’re my father.”

“Precisely, and you are my only son.”

Tully looked for a second from one to the other and then walked over to Gloriana and, taking her two hands, raised her to her feet.

“My father accepts proudly,” he said, “his son humbly.”

The wedding was the greatest social event of the year. It was international in scope, for not only the representatives of the Tiny Twenty, but also those of the Big Three were there to attend the ceremony. The President of the United States, breaking all precedents, announced that he would attend in person, and hardly had the news been given out than the Premier of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics stated that nothing would prevent him also from seeing the pair united.

This announcement was received with rejoicing in all the Western nations, for it was interpreted as a promise of greater tolerance towards religious worship in Russia. The Prime Minister of Great Britain informed a cheering House of Commons on the following day that Her Majesty the Queen had expressed her intention also of being present at the ceremony, and taking their cue from this, the Tiny Twenty one by one decided to send, not merely ambassadors, but the heads of their nations to Grand Fenwick for the marriage of the Duchess Gloriana to her chosen consort, Tully Bascomb.

Indeed, so many people of such exalted position all accepted invitations to the wedding that Tully was gravely concerned about holding it in the castle, deep in whose bowels still lay the malignant and terrible Q-bomb.

“If anything were to happen to the bomb,” Tully said, “hardly a country in the world would be left with a leader.”

‘That is the strongest guarantee there is that nothing will happen to the bomb,” Gloriana said, serenely.

There were many difficulties of a diplomatic nature attached to the limiting of the wedding guests. As a security measure, it was ruled that only the heads of the different countries, without any attendants, would be allowed into the duchy. But the President of the United States, it was discovered, was accompanied wherever he went by Secret Service men, and these could on no account be left at the border. An agreement was reached whereby the Presidential guard was permitted to accompany the President, but were dressed in chain mail to make them less outstanding among the forces of Grand Fenwick who filled the church. Apart from the fact that they carried pistols in their scabbards instead of the traditional broadsword, they were not too noticeable.

The Premier of the Soviet Union was also accustomed to being accompanied by a bodyguard, and these too were compelled to don mail. The Queen of Great Britain arrived with her bodyguard already in chain mail--scoring something of a triumph from the point of view both of diplomacy and etiquette.

The wedding was to take place in a small chapel which gave off the great hall of the castle. There was room in the chapel only for the principals at the ceremony. The rest had to remain in the great hall, where they could catch a glimpse of what was going on, for the chapel was at the top of a flight of six stone steps. The ceremony was held in the evening, timed to start just as the sun commenced to slip behind the rim of mountains which formed the western wall of Grand Fenwick. Gloriana and Tully were both dressed in the garments of the fourteenth century, in keeping with the traditions of the duchy. The Duchess wore a mitre-shaped hat, from which a gossamer veil of finest lace draped loosely over her back to fall upon the ground as a train. Her outer gown was of azure, being in the form of a cloak pinned across her breast by a massy chain of gold. Below, her kirtle, which came to her ankles, was of ivory satin into which had been worked the Fenwick double-eagle crest in silver thread. Tully, towering over her, wore the loose bonnet drooped to one side, the embroidered jacket and cloak with fanciful jagged edges, the trunk hose and pointed shoes of the days of Chaucer.

In the matter of fashion, Dr. Kokintz was perhaps the most strangely garbed. He had been selected as best man, and had agreed to wear the striped trousers and cutaway coat becoming the occasion. But he would not be parted from the sports jacket of his own design, without the lapels, but with the multitude of pockets. So he had this under his formal cutaway instead of a waistcoat, and it could be plainly seen, though he had been parted from the batteries of pencil stubs and pens which he normally carried in it.

There was no instrumental music of any kind. Instead, when the bride entered the great hall of the castle to walk, on the arm of the Count of Mountjoy, up an aisle formed in the centre, a chorus of men, in a gallery at the rear, commenced singing an ancient hymn in Latin, to be answered by a chorus of boys, the deep notes of the one splendidly contrasted with the high piping of the other.

Gloriana walked slowly, two pretty pages, their hair appropriately bobbed, and themselves clad in white satin, carrying her train. Behind came six ladies in waiting, in costumes similar to the bride’s, though all of yellow. And when the Duchess reached the altar rail, so nicely timed was the procession, it was to stand in a shaft of gold from the setting sun which flooded through a lancet window above. She was joined at the altar by Tully, and as the two knelt on faldstools together, the voices ceased and all in the great hall and the chapel at the end of it was silent. Some said that was the most touching moment of the ceremony; others that it was Gloriana’s gentle but firm promise to love and cherish her husband, and his parallel pledge which contained the word “obey,” making a nice distinction between ruler and consort.

When it was done and the benediction given, a great shout went up from all sides, and the Count of Mountjoy, the first to kiss the bride’s hand, felt that this was truly his moment of triumph--that he had brought this union about.

Before the Duchess and her consort went away for a honeymoon, which was to include visits to all the capitals of the Western world, Dr. Kokintz had a private word with Gloriana and secured from her permission to enter the dungeon where the Q-bomb was kept. But no one else was to be allowed to enter with him.