Of backstops.¹

Master Xerox adjusted the fringe on his coat and sniffed with impatience.

‘This had better be entertaining. Deipnons² in antiquity had better follow-through than some of these tales.’

‘Must you constantly be so irritating? The girl has yet to take her place and you’re already assuming her tale will be too boring for you,’ Father Bunion replied.

‘Forgive me, Father. A philosopher and scholar such as I must necessarily have some interesting and edifying intellectual discourse³ from time to time. If not, I have a tendency to fall into less amiable Greek habits⁴.’

‘Which ones? Surely not those involving adolescent boys? Or those touching—or rather fondling—the utterly impractical and useless local government?’ Persiflage said.

‘As if yours is any better? A country whose national hero is an attempted child murderer? Ever bother to think that land disputes don’t involve having to wager your future on whether an arrow can cleave an apple perched on your kid’s head⁵?’

‘That’s an apocryphal story⁶ and you know it.’

‘Of course I do. Because my people—the boy-loving, slow-government kind? They invented the term. Half of all the Romance languages have Greek roots⁷, dummy.’

‘Gentlemen, we must have peace—the beautiful shepherdess Sinema approaches⁸ us to tell us a most edifying story,’ Lady Ouiser said.

The youngest and most charming of all the company bowed and swept down her large, round, stiff shepherd’s hat adorned with ribbons and flowers.

‘This story, thankfully, is short and pithy enough for everyone to be entertained. It comes from Japan.’

At this, no one spoke until finally Messer Cayenne cleared⁹ his throat:

‘Shepherd lass… don’t you think we should ask Her Royal Highness the Princess to at least verify the particulars ere you proceed¹⁰?’

‘And how should I be able to do that, Cayenne? The girl has said the story’s setting is in Japan, and you of all people should know that Cathay is no Japan¹¹. And before you respond, sir, no, our cuisines are not identical. Not in the slightest.’

Sinema smiled softly.

‘I read it. In a church bulletin, of all places. In the Duomo of San Cristoforo¹².’

Again, no one spoke until Messer Cayenne rose and gently folded his coat closed.

‘Come, Your Highness. Our time is wasted.’

Father Bunion leaned forward with an incredulous look.

‘They let girls into the Duomo of San Cristoforo?’

‘Of course they do! Just because she herds sheep doesn’t mean she sleeps with them… as far as we know,’ replied Master Xerox.

‘Gentlemen!’ Lady Ouiser said.

‘You guys, let Sinema talk,’ Canva then said.

When everyone had quieted down, she began her tale.

Yes, I can read, and furthermore, I’ve been reading from a young age. The other shepherds have relied on me since we were little girls to know what’s up. Well, then. I guess I should say that even though this was a church bulletin, it was written in Italian. Do you know that the vernacular tongue¹³ of Italy really and truly is written in italics¹⁴? Depending on context, of course. I’ve seen it used more than a few times to distinguish what’s being whispered or emphasized and what’s not.

But my story is short, and I promise I won’t waste time. In the town called Obama¹⁵, not so very long ago, there lived a prince whom either everyone or no one liked. He was handsome, courtly, kind, educated and cordial. If you liked him, he was the most gallant man alive. If you didn’t, he was low-born, grasping, pretentious, worldly and ill-advised. The man who wrote this story in the church bulletin is a man named Fr Frusius¹⁶, who either was there or heard it from someone who was.

One very hot summer, the assembly came to him with some complaints from the local people. At the time, the assembly was rather tiresome, consisting mostly of old men, and you know how old men like to get things done—behind schedule and over budget. This Prince was commissioned to restore a bridge and was planning the work.

In one of his talks to the assembly, he said to the astonished populace that the local government had helped build the bridge, which the locals maintained they had built with their own hands. Wishing to clarify his position and reprove their arrogance, he said: ‘But you did not build such a bridge alone.’ Some found this utterly scandalous. They thought the Prince had attained his post illegally because of his birthplace and the circumstances of his father, who resided in another land.

During the assembly, he made the mistake of emerging onto the princely dais¹⁷ attired in an unfashionable color¹⁸. This, out of all of the foregoing controversies, was so utterly displeasing to the assembly and the populace that they whispered behind their doors about the impropriety of the color and the man who wore it.

I believe, dear folks, that the color was tan. In any case, and for whatever reason, this color seemed to have the same effect that red has on bulls¹⁹. And some men, thinking this an insult against their gods and their religion, made much commentary upon it.

Yet the Prince and his retinue²⁰ were unmoved by these whisperings, and he emerged when the heat broke, shaved ice in hand²¹—a notable Japanese delicacy, I am told—and joked about it later. Fr Frusius does not mention what happened afterward, but only that a number of his compatriots—Portuguese and Spanish, and two Italians—were put on crosses²² not too long afterward, for an entirely different, and perhaps more upright, cause.

People lose confidence in their governments all the time, but, I will add, they often do so for the stupidest reasons.

Sinema bowed and took her seat.

Master Xerox rose and huffed.

‘So that’s it? A story about a prince who dressed inappropriately for an address before the people? No long, drawn-out twists and turns? No myriad confessions alleging injustice from persons either dead, imprisoned or under inquiry by the Church?’

‘—And with a pithy moral, as promised,’ Lady Ouiser said, unfolding her fan. ‘Sinema, you will write a book of moral tales if only to put Master Xerox here a shade more purple²³ than that of his ancient forebears.’

‘I will confess the Prince’s thoughts bear some shade of reason. Tan, indeed, is a fitting color for a hot summer. Japan must be a terribly hot place,’ Persiflage said.

‘It is no hotter, Ser Persiflage, than Venice. But it is quite humid.’

‘I thought you said just a minute ago that you were not an authority on Japan, Your Highness. Furthermore, I have visited Venice in the summertime and noted its tremendously insupportable heat and humidity. It stands to reason that Japan is precisely as intemperate as Sinema’s story suggests—perhaps intemperate enough to allow the wearing of beige.’

‘How do the Japanese crucify their malefactors²⁴? I hope they’re doing it right,’ Father Bunion said.

Master Xerox stroked his beard and sighed:

‘I will concede that crucifixion is in and of itself one of the less technically fluent methods. Just a few days ago, the Martyrology²⁵ had a line-item about ten thousand martyrs crucified in Armenia²⁶. On Mount Ararat, no less. Imagine, Father Bunion. A cold, windless, great Olympus²⁷ of a mountain like that. Ten thousand innocent Christians, shivering barefoot in the very snows where once the Ark of Noah rested²⁸. One must wonder at the ingenuity of Roman innovation in procuring crossbeams for as spectacular a show execution as that one surely must have been.’

‘Good God, Master Xerox! You speak of one of the worst ways to die, to say nothing of the instrument of torture used to put Our Lord to death!’ Boulevardier said.

‘You assume, soldier, that I have not visited the capitals of the various realms. I have visited far more than you would think and for less amiable reasons than my female sex would have you believe,’ said the Princess.

‘I don’t doubt Her Highness’s claim in the slightest. I just mean to point out the incongruity in disavowing Japan while having some familiarity with it, that is all.’

‘You forget I also read,’ the Princess replied.

‘He did not eat or sleep well last night, Your Highness,’ Boulevardier said.

Princess Calamondin’s expression changed. And just as she was about to respond, there came a voice from the opposite end of the forecourt²⁹.

‘Ah, there you all are.’

It was Hercules of Brussels³⁰, attired most handsomely and with his épée³¹ at his side. He took up a few walnuts from the silver tray on a side table at the entrance of the forecourt and chuckled to himself.

‘Once more, the brigade repairs³² to the place where suspicions may not alight. How very fortunate for me—and the dastardly killer of the well-endowed youth, de’ Civigni.’

‘None of us would have anything to do with such a black deed,’ Boulevardier said, rising to his feet.

‘But I have not supposed that question formally. It is a rumeur³³. A rumeur, mesdames et messieurs, that either all of you or none of you are aware of. Tell me what stories you tell to pass the time and ease your consciences. I presume they are erotic ones, non? Fitting given the circumstances.’

‘The shepherdess Sinema has just told us of Japan and of princely attire. She can read, and as if that were not surprising enough, the attire’s color was a shocking shade of tan. Her story is meant to illustrate—’

‘I know what the moral is. Perhaps the bergère³⁴ is correct in deducing that power can be reckoned by the way the light falls,’ said the constable.

‘What is your purpose in calling upon us, Monsieur?’ Lady Ouiser said.

‘Merely to ask where you all were prior to Midsummer’s Eve³⁵—and what, if anything, you had to do with de’ Civigni.’

‘What a ridiculous question. Did you not read the Prologue?’ Abraham of Babka said.

But then, the Lord Swiffer rose.

‘I believe, Monsieur, that your questions would more properly be put to me.’

Master Xerox stood with a furious look on his face.

‘Fiend! I hope, Monsieur Constable, you have not arrived here to entrap the perspicacious Lord Swiffer in some disgusting and trivial matter involving the magnificent Mister Clean! When will these patent abuses of law and order attain a reasonable end?’

Monsieur Hercules brushed the objection aside.

‘Parlez, milord³⁶. I know your eyes betray sin, yet your voice quivers as if to hold back a secret you do not wish to divulge.’

Lady Ouiser then stood.

‘Milord, if something is touching the late Matteo de’ Civigni³⁷, you must speak to it.’

‘Speak to it?’ replied Canva. ‘Given all we now know, don’t you think he’d have shown us?’

‘The youth indeed wished to entrap me, Monsieur. But I did not kill him. He claimed his lord possessed a thing I have wanted for some time.’

Father Bunion’s brow furrowed.

‘But I thought you said you and Mister Clean shared a car in Dorsetshire,’ he said.

‘I presume you speak of… the holy image in His Lordship’s private chapel³⁸,’ Hercules then said.

Everyone gasped.

‘The young man had been extorting me and Mister Clean for some years. I have asked to visit the chapel to look upon the image, but I am told no one can find it. Lord Cazzo, I fear, may have taken the thing with him.’

‘That is the opinion of the household, who have confirmed that his coffer of holy relics³⁹ went with him and the venerable Lady Sephora. Did any of you happen to hear where milord was hurrying off to?’

Everyone shook their heads save Lady Ouiser.

‘Madame is quiet… too quiet.’

‘Some detective you are! We had a very filling lunch—something you could have enjoyed if you hadn’t been taken with the ridiculous notion of convoking a murder investigation in the middle of a storytelling party,’ Master Xerox said.

‘He had intimated to me that he intended to take a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Nivelles⁴⁰.’

‘Ha!’ Master Xerox then said. ‘In your own backyard!’

‘And why would he sojourn there, Madame? You must think very carefully so as not to commingle my suspicions of his behavior with upright considerations of your piety.’

But Lady Ouiser then said: ‘I know not. If he means to visit Our Lady there, it is in and of itself for a most strange reason.’

This answer seemed to satisfy Hercules of Brussels, who then sniffed. Without saying a word, he nodded to all of us, briskly clicked his heels together, and walked off.

When he had left, the company let out a sigh of relief. Only Lord Swiffer remained standing—thoroughly red-cheeked with fright and embarrassment.

‘I bet you ten florins⁴¹ His Lordship went to Nivelles for some cat-related purpose. I hope it’s not to sell off anything belonging to the Lord Swiffer! I should very much hate to be the young man at the charity shop tasked with slapping a buy-one-get-one-free tag on the cult image⁴² attached to a princely state,’ Father Bunion said.

‘Gentlemen, peace—’ Lady Ouiser said.

‘Hey, if I were in his position I’d be trying to bank as quickly as possible. A defense team is no light thing to take on for an Italian noble,’ replied Abraham of Babka.

‘Gentlemen, Lord Swiffer has risen—’

‘In my lands relics were traded like Yiayia’s silver⁴³ just to get the Venetians off our necks. A Crusader custom of great antiquity, I’m told. If the Lord Cazzo sold off something valuable to the Church, he’s only himself to blame for the ensuing controversy. Just ask that thief Baldwin⁴⁴.’

‘Sir, do not bring the Crown of Thorns⁴⁵ into this.’

‘Can’t, Father. Nobody knows which knockoff it is these days.’

The learned men devolved into argument.

‘Gentlemen!’ Lady Ouiser shouted.

Lord Swiffer chuckled at this and gently raised his hands to calm the miniature tumult before him.

‘This all reminds me of a rather interesting political situation that happened in England very long ago. Since I have interrupted this day’s events, I humbly beg you to at least repair my honor by letting me tell a similarly short tale.’

‘Are you going to do it in iambic pentameter again⁴⁶?’ asked Master Xerox.

Lord Swiffer wavered and then said, with much reserve:

‘…No.’

Lady Ouiser sat down, and with a wave of her hand, let Swiffer tell his tale.

There was once an English king of great renown, who had lived for a long while ruling his realm in peace and harmony. He had a great council of state⁴⁷ of various ministers who obeyed his every command. The people had begun to whisper somewhat against it after some years, complaining that England’s affairs with the Continent were not to their satisfaction, and went to the Councillors to have their voices heard. These Councillors then put forth to His Majesty that he should change his commerce with the Continent. His Majesty consented, but there was much dissent.

At that time, Ireland was contending with the realm, and the King wished not to inflame the situation any further, knowing the Irish people were fierce and would tolerate nothing that would harden their hearts against the King. The subject of the Irish borders in particular was such that the King’s head beat sorely for it. The council of state also wrestled much with it, as did Parliament. It seemed nothing would come from it and other things touching the matter. Finally, the King put forth the feast of St Brice⁴⁸ as a final date for the matter to be resolved, as this date had been of some due consequence at an earlier time.

But Parliament was still undecided, and when one of the Councillors, Froderick of Framingham, put to the King that Parliament be prorogued⁴⁹ on the matter, His Majesty consented if only because he believed it would put the matter to a definitive end. Yet Froderick knew ‘twould not be so, and persisted with considerable ardency to himself.

So my lord went unto Parliament, and said: ‘Go to, His Majesty⁵⁰ hath put thee to flight; go all ye home, and when I call ye up to London, come all ye that we may make a new government as His Majesty commandeth.’

But Parliament, for their own part, knew this not to be true, and kicked ’gainst the goad⁵¹ for it. The Lords seized the House of Parliament and told this Councillor: ‘Either consign thyself to the Feast of St Brice for thy warranting, knave, or be ye damned before the dread judgement of His Majesty.’ But Froderick persisted, and Parliament was indeed prorogued.

The City of London fell into some riot upon hearing of these things, the markets were much affected, and the barristers in the Inns of Court⁵² then said: ‘We must make some remedy of this, for His Majesty hath said the Feast of St Brice is the final determination of this matter that Froderick wisheth to negate.’ Therefore they brought themselves to the Inns, and argued thereto.

The Lords there found that Parliament had been imprecisely and improperly prorogued and that Councillor Froderick had done so to save himself from the impending disgrace of an unbidden finality. They said: ‘This thing in whole is utterly faithless and void, its sole purpose⁵³ being to placate him whose conceit is badly advanced. Therefore we request that His Majesty proceed as he thinketh right by the appointed date.’ And it was done, and my Lord Froderick of Framingham suffered much for it, but he was not put to death, as some have said.

He merely wished, my dear friends, to save himself from the discredit this Irish border matter would bring him among the lords there. For there was much ado regarding trade in those ports, but nothing approaching the totality of trade in London proper. He would not show for a time in London, and many thought him dead thereafter; it is God’s knowledge where that unfortunate gentleman is now.

I do not contend with commoners whose faith in government is shaken: for there are evil men about us who, like Brutus and Cassius⁵⁴ of old, would sink the dagger of perfidy⁵⁵ into their flanks for the rash wastings of Fortune’s feast-table⁵⁶. But all the same, I should not think it light for a commoner to waste his pledge of fealty⁵⁷ on a good man who meaneth to make an end of heavy matters, knowing such a man may indeed do what is asked of him. One wishes that our Belgian friend sees that none here would do the same, regardless of some other imposition before us.

And, having said these things, Lord Swiffer resumed his place.