The wagon halted suddenly and Rauwenna was awoken by a touch, and then more and more touches, as of hands fingering her feet and then beginning to feel their way up her legs. She screamed and opened her eyes, thinking to see one of the guards molesting her, but no one was near her in the wagon; instead there was a kind of grey mist full of shapes like hands and eyeless heads all around her. She screamed again, and there was a shout and a sharp noise — the guards banging on the ground with their staves — and the loathsome feeling instantly stopped, the mist dissipated, and she sank back, almost choking with misery, on the sacks.
The voice of the chief Netáwa spoke in her ear:
That was an unfortunate accident, my lady. The libingri are commanded to examine only those leaving Magíraz Urlan-fin. Sometimes they overstep their orders.
Rauwenna made no response. She desired no further knowledge of the hateful beings, whatever they were. But she couldn’t help noticing how he said Magíraz Urlan-fin. Why?
As the wagon started to move again she looked about her. It seemed now to be morning. If this was the edge of the great city it was not at all like Tídris, with its walls and gates, and the two bridges connecting its island to the riverbanks. The road at first was like a well-made farm track bounded by hedgerows and fields. Every now and then they passed a house, and at every field’s end they turned into another road, much the same as the one before. They passed other turnings on either side. It was quite bewildering. They seemed to be travelling uphill all the time, and as they progressed more and more houses lined the roads, or could be glimpsed behind high walls or hedges. Everwhere there were trees.
The city seemed very beautiful, with its ancient stone houses, flowery gardens, and grassy verges. But no people were to be seen. No children playing. No one going to labour or to leisure.
And then Rauwenna raised her head and saw, high up on the crest of the hill, rising above the roofs, the two towers: Galúd, the nearer one, round which this part of the city was spread, and Guláz, further away, taller, overshadowing the inner city, Ongulâz, which could not be seen from where Rauwenna was. In the sunshine of the morning they were quite handsome. But they were built to look like two bent horns.
As the wagon continued its zigzag course along the haphazard streets of Magéraz Urlanfen, Rauwenna noticed that it was travelling more sharply uphill, and suddenly a dark shadow fell across them. She looked up, and Galúd, the lesser of the crooked towers, reared its great bulk before her.
The wagon drove straight in at the mouth of the tower — it could only be called a mouth, for it was a wide arch, grinning in the tower’s base. They drew up in a wide vaulted space, dimly lit with torches. To one side a narrow incline projected from the wall, and rose spiralwise around the chamber, vanishing out of sight through its roof. As soon as Rauwenna alighted, women came forward, richly attired, and conducted her, in silence, up this slope. There were no steps — it simply continued gently upwards around the inside of the tower’s wall. As they ascended, they passed one or two doors on the inside of the tower. The ground plan of the tower was not round, but elliptical, so that the chambers on the inside were of great length in comparison with their width. Then they came to an open door, and the women led Rauwenna inside.
She was in a wide room that must have taken up half the width of the tower. It was dimly lit by candles and scented with musky incense. Much of the space was filled by a great bed, covered with fine bedding and strewn with many pillows. One of the attendant ladies now at last spoke.
‘Welcome to the Tower of Galúd, Lady Rauwenna.’ (But Rauwenna noticed that she spoke it ‘Rauwinna’.) ‘The Prince awaits you. My name is Azurba, and we are all your servants, ready to bathe and dress and adorn you worthily to meet him.’
And as the ladies gently helped her out of the clothes she had worn to the crowning of Dayamuna, all crumpled, torn, and dirty as they were, after her flight through the forest, Rauwenna said,
‘But what is to happen? It is so sudden!’
‘Why, your wedding to the Prince! Is that not why he sent for you, my lady?’
That she had been sent for was a new notion, but Rauwenna felt a little flattered. So she ventured:
‘I heard that the Prince had a consort before, but she sadly died. Is that the truth?’
‘Indeed it is, my lady, a lovely princess by the name of Gildimun, so young! And she not the first, for there was Kastubilla before, and Nayadúri, and Vizíkuma.’
This rather alarmed Rauwenna, who said:
‘Has the Prince truly had all these wives who have died? What did they die of?’
‘That I can’t say for sure, my lady, but they say that one at least died in childbed, so sad, and the child with her; and one in the pestilence — you know even here in Magíraz Urlan-fin, that is so healthy, we had it; and one was a very sickly lady for sure; and one they say did something passing wicked, but I can’t stand to that, so let no one say I said so.’
Rauwenna thought to herself, I am strong and healthy, there is no pestilence, I shall make sure that my child lives, and I shall certainly do nothing wicked, so I shall please the Prince and become an empress, and the child his heir and the heir of Dúmiel into the bargain.
So intently did she think about success in the eyes of the Prince that Rauwenna scarcely noticed the richness and lavishness of the robes that were put upon her, so many and various that she could hardly move, and all of dark, sombre colours. ThenAzurba said:
‘Now, my lady, we shall bring you to the Hall of Ungubith, where the Prince awaits, and the nuptials will be performed.’
With that, they brought her out of the bedchamber and up another curve of the incline. A much wider doorway opened before them, and a long hall could dimly be seen in the light of torches and candles. A tall man in dark grey robes stepped forward to meet Rauwenna. His eyes were very deep and penetrating and his mouth was thin and forceful. But he spoke softly as he took her hand gently in his.
‘Welcome, Rauwinna (for that is how we speak it here). I have keenly awaited your coming, and now that I see you all my waiting seems worthwhile.’
Rauwenna was too overcome to say a word, but made him a deep curtsey.
A second figure stepped forward out of the shadows of the hall, a woman robed in black with a staff in her hand.
‘I am Murungyaldi, Weaver of the Rites of Ungubith. Now we shall join together Prince Nagbith and the Lady Rauwinna, and let all here bear witness.’
Then Rauwenna saw that a company was assembled in the further parts of the hall, and that her attendant ladies now left her and joined this throng of onlookers.
‘Do you, Prince Nagbith, take the Lady Rauwinna as your bride?’ said Murungyaldi.
‘I do.’
‘Do you, Lady Rauwinna, take Prince Nagbith as your master?’
Rauwenna was a little alarmed at the word ‘master’, but she managed to whisper,
‘I do.’
And to her surprise, Murungyaldi continued:
‘Then you must assent to undergo the Three Tests. The first shall be administered forthwith: to receive without flinching the Yoke of Ungubith. The second, in due course, to kiss the Hand of Glory. The third, lifelong, never to open that which is closed to you. Do you assent?’
‘I know not what is the Yoke of Ungubith, nor what is the Hand of Glory, nor that which is closed to me!’
And the Prince replied, not unkindly:
‘My Lady, all these things are simple. First, we are all servants of Ungubith, the mighty lord of Aumbrus, my forefather, our benefactor. You see that you need to receive his yoke as we all have, in order to enjoy all his benefits. And in second place, the Hand of Glory is the visible presence of Lord Ungubith in our midst, of which the Prince is privileged to be guardian; it wields the great coldsword Gantzor, and through it the Lord exercises his power in the world; to kiss it is to receive his goodwill. And the third thing is the lightest of all: as Princess, you know, nearly everything will be open to you to go in and out, to send and receive, to see and to hear; but those few that are not open to you must remain closed.’
‘My lord, I understand. I can stand these tests.’
At once Murungyaldi took her staff by one end and brought its tip down upon each of Rauwenna’s shoulders in turn, declaiming:
Kagdar-kî kathû-mikhan-dâ ikhtafis-kûr bridzatungubith! (Receive the yoke of Ungubith till the Night release you!)
The blows were light, but their effect was like the burning of a fiery branding iron. Yet Rauwenna stood firm: her body did not flinch, nor her face change, nor her tongue cry out. Under her rich robes she felt the mark ripple over her skin — the purple mark of the Yoke, which she was able to see later when she was at leisure and unrobed.
The crowd of witnesses murmured their approbation, and the Prince bowed his felicitations.
Then the Prince took her hand and placed a golden ring upon her finger, and Murungyaldi said:
‘You are now joined in marriage.’
After that, Rauwenna was led to a place at the head of the table that filled the rear part of the great hall, and seated next to the Prince. A rich banquet was served, with many choice wines. Rauwenna’s fears drained away and her whole being became drowsy. Finally, the Prince took her from the hall and back to the bedchamber. And there she spent the night in the Prince’s arms, contented enough.
When Rauwenna awoke in the morning the Prince was not there, and the attendant ladies came and bathed and dressed her. And each day that followed was alike in this. They dined richly, they retired to the bedchamber, Rauwenna arose in the morning and did not see Prince Nagbith all day, but everything pleasant was laid before her. She could walk in the gardens or sit at embroidery or tapestry, at which she was greatly skilled — much more so than her sister, who spent the years when she should have mastered these skills in the guise of a boy. There was at her disposal a mount, if she wished to go riding with her ladies — none other than Sûwikka’s mare Gragadam, now well fed and richly caparisoned. As the Prince had promised, everything opened to her.
But on the eighth evening, the night was very dark. There was no moon. Rauwenna waited alone at the table in the great hall. Suddenly, a great shadow seemed to blot out the light of the candles. In the midst of the shadow a pale white light shone. The light came from a long object — a great white sword, whose hilt was grasped by a ghastly white hand. The hand was attached to no arm, no body. It seemed to float in the air. Rauwenna, mindful of her promise, held her breath and neither cried out nor spoke. The hand moved towards her face.
Then a voice seemed to speak in her mind.
This is the Hand of Glory, the presence of Ungubith above the ground. Kiss the Master’s Hand, and receive his goodwill.
Rauwenna shut her eyes, then pursed her lips and let them touch the glowing white skin. A freezing sensation, colder than ice, took hold of her mouth, her face, her head. But she endured it. The cold seemed to sink down into her heart and settle there, even as her face became warm again. She felt a lump of ill will growing in her heart: ill will to everyone in her former life, ill will to the enemies of Fíbur. She felt Night enter, and her will embraced it: the darkness was now her realm.
She opened her eyes. The ghastly apparition was gone. Instead, Prince Nagbith stood there. He stepped forward and embraced her, saying:
You have done well. You have passed the second test. You have pledged yourself to the Hand of Glory.
My lord, now that I have made my homage to the Hand of Glory, I would know what is the sword Gantzor that he wields.
The sword Gantzor was wrought by the ancient giant Dreygan from the spittle of the coldworm Firungwáfi. Whomever Gantzor smites is at once stricken with firungamlas or frozen sleep: its grip is grimmer than death, and there is no remedy for it in the Midworld.
And whom does Gantzor smite, my lord?
He smites the enemies of the Lord Ungubith, all those who oppose or transgress the Yoke of Ungubith. But we are his chosen servants, so have no fear of him! Now come, let us leave this empty hall, and take wine together, and eat some morsels, by the fireside in the bedchamber.
And so they did, and afterwards the nights and days went by as before, and Rauwenna was content. This life was better than all her days in Tídris, spoilt by the hated brother or sister who had stolen her pleasures. One thing only irked her for many days, until she had fully learnt the lesson: whenever she said ‘e’ or ‘o’ they corrected her. If she said ‘Fíbor’:
‘My lady, we say here “Fíbur”’
or,
‘Your pardon, my lady: “Rauwinna” is how we say it.’
And then one day Rauwenna knew in herself that she was with child. When the Prince next came to her, he already knew this too: how, she could not guess.
I am pleased with you, Princess Rauwinna. You are carrying the little Prince, the heir to this realm of Fíbur. When he is born, you are to name him Hirgul. Through him this realm will triumph and the realm of Dúmiyildi will make submission to Fíbur!
At the end of her time, she was brought to bed, and the child was born. On the eighth day, he was named Hirgul. He grew strong and thrived and was never sick and rarely fretful. An almost perfect young Prince, thought Rauwenna with pride.
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