The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy

Crouching down together, they saw him, ringed by leaves. He was wandering listlessly in the half-darkness and, as they watched, they saw him press his head against the hard bole of a tree. As he pressed his head he whispered passionately to himself, and then he raised his voice and cried out to the whole forest …

‘O traitor! Traitor! What is it all about? Where can I find me? Where is the road home? Who are these people? What are these happenings? Who is this Cheeta, this Muzzlehatch? I don’t belong. All I want is the smell of home, and the breath of the castle in my lungs. Give me some proof of me! Give me the death of Steerpike; the nettles; give me the corridors. Give me my mother! Give me my sister’s grave. Give me the nest; give me my secrets back … for this is foreign soil. O give me back the kingdom in my head.’

EIGHTY-SIX

Juno has left her house by the river. She has left the town once haunted by Muzzlehatch. She is driving in a fast car along the rim of a valley. Her quiet companion sits beside her. He looks like a brigand. A hank of dark red hair blows to and fro across his forehead.

‘It is an odd thing,’ says Juno, ‘that I still don’t know your name. And somehow or other I don’t want to. So I must call you something of my own invention.’

‘You do that,’ says Juno’s companion, in a gentle growl of such depth and cultivation that it is hard to believe that it could ever issue from so piratical a head.

‘What shall it be?’

‘Ah, there I can’t help you.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Then I must help myself. I think I will call you my “Anchor”,’ says Juno. ‘You give me so deep a sense of safety.’

Turning to look at him she takes a corner at unnecessary speed, all but overturning the car.

‘Your driving is unique,’ says Anchor. ‘But I cannot say it gives me confidence. We will change places.’

Juno draws in to the side of the road. The car is like a swordfish. Beyond it the long erratic line of the amethyst-coloured mountains. The sky overhanging everything is cloudless save for a wisp way down in the far south.

‘How glad I am that you waited for me,’ says Juno. ‘All those long years in the cedar grove.’

‘Ah,’ says the Anchor.

‘You saved me from being a sentimental old bore. I can just see myself with my tear-stained face pressed against the window-panes … weeping for the days long gone. Thank you, Mr Anchor, for showing me the way. The past is over. My home is a memory. I will never see it again. For look, I have these sunbeams and these colours. A new life lies ahead.’

‘Do not expect too much,’ says the Anchor. ‘The sun can be snuffed without warning.’

‘I know, I know. Perhaps I am being too simple.’

‘No,’ says the Anchor. ‘That is hardly the word for an uprooting. Shall we go on?’

‘Let us stay a little longer. It is so lovely here. Then drive. Drive like the wind … into another country.’

There is a long silence. They are completely relaxed; their heads thrown back. Around them lies the coloured country. The golden cornfields; the amethyst mountains.

‘Anchor, my friend,’ says Juno in a whisper.

‘Yes, what is it?’

His face is in profile. Juno has never seen a face so completely relaxed, and without strain.

‘I am so happy,’ says Juno, ‘although there is so much to be sad about. It will take its turn, I suppose … the sadness. But now … in this very now

. I am floating with love.’

‘Love?’

‘Love. Love for everything. Love for those purple hills; love for your rusty forelock.’

She sinks back against the cushions and closes her eyes, and as she does so the Anchor turns his lolling head in her direction. She is indeed handsome with a handsomeness beyond the scope of her wisdom. Majestic beyond the range of her knowledge.

‘The world goes by,’ says Juno, ‘and we go with it. Yet I feel young today; young in spite of everything. In spite of my mistakes. In spite of my age.’ She turns to the Anchor … ‘I’m over forty,’ she whispers. ‘Oh my dear friend, I’m over forty!’

‘So am I,’ says the Anchor.

‘What shall we do?’ says Juno. She clutches his forearm with her jewelled hands, and squeezes him.

‘There is nothing we can do, except live.’

‘Is that why you thought I should leave my home? My possessions? My memories? Everything? Is that why?’

‘I have told you so.’

‘Yes, yes. Tell me again.’

‘We are beginning. Incongruous as we are. You with your mellow beauty that out-glows a hundred damsels, and me with …’

‘With what?’

‘With a kind of happiness.’

Juno turns to him but she says nothing. The only movement comes from the black silk at her bosom where a great ruby rises and sinks like a buoy on a midnight bay.

At last Juno says, ‘The sunlight’s lovelier than it’s ever been, because we have decided to begin. We will pass the days together as they pass. But … Oh …’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s Titus.’

‘What about him?’

‘He is gone. Gone. I disappointed him.’

The Anchor moving with a kind of slow, lazy deliberation takes his place at the wheel. But before the swordfish whips away he says …

‘I thought it was the future we were after.’