grey eyes peering out through a hanging-down shock of dark hair stepped forth and bowed low. “This is Renaud, my lady,” said Blanche, “blacksmith and farrier.”
“Smith I may be, Blanche, or at least I think so, for in these last several years, I have learned much about the blending and heating and hammering and shaping and molding and quenching of metals, bronze and brass in particular.”
“Bronze and brass and not iron?” said Camille.
“Oh, no, my lady, not iron,” answered Renaud. “There are those in Faery who cannot abide iron, and so we keep it out.”
“No iron whatsoever? Not even for nails or horseshoes?”
“Wooden pegs make splendid nails… likewise brass. Brass for shoeing horses, too-shoes and nails alike-not that I am much of a farrier these days, for there are no horses at all in the stables.”
Camille laughed and said, “Horses or no, it matters not, for I know not how to ride.”
Renaud grinned and thrust out a hand of negation, saying, “Not true, my lady, for did I not see you riding to the great house yon on the back of the”-Renaud frowned-“on the back of the-”
“The Bear,” supplied Blanche.
“Yes, the Bear,” agreed Renaud, nodding at Blanche.
“Ah, but, Master Farrier,” said Camille, “I would think that quite different from riding a horse.”
Renaud smiled and said, “And so would I, my lady. And so would I. Still, I think you’ll not get a chance to learn, for, ever since the Bear came, the horses are all gone away.”
“Bear? My Bear? Why would that ever make a difference? He’s quite gentle, you know.”
“Aye. We know-you and I and Blanche and all folk here at Summerwood Manor-however, try telling that to a horse.” Renaud sighed. “We simply had to send them away.” He glanced over his shoulder to the red coals in the forge. “But now if you will excuse me, I have fittings in the fire.”
Camille nodded, and Renaud rushed back into the smithy, leaving the ladies to go on.
At the noontide, in one of the many gazebos, servants provided Camille with a lunch of peeled cucumber slices served on a white, crusty bread. Too, there was golden honey and pale yellow butter, if my lady did so prefer; and all was enhanced by a sweet, tangy drink made of a yellow fruit from across the seas, or so did the handmaid believe. Camille did manage to have Blanche join her in this fine midday repast, though the black-haired girl barely ate a bite, belying her hale manner and her ample size.
After lunch, they came to the entrance of the tall hedge maze, and, in spite of Camille’s importuning, here did Blanche balk. “Oh, my lady, I dare not enter. ’Tis a puzzle I must not essay, else I would be lost forever.”
“Pish, tush,” responded Camille. “The maze is here for the fun of it. Besides, in Fra Galanni’s library I read about such labyrinths, and I’ve always wanted to experience one.” Laughing, she took Blanche’s hand and tugged, yet Blanche burst into tears and pulled loose and fled away.
Puzzled, Camille followed, coming upon Blanche sitting on the grass beside one of the many ponds.
Camille sat on the sward at her lady’s maid’s side. Calico-fish lazily gathered in the water nigh, as if waiting to be fed. “What is it, Blanche, that frightens you so?”
“I don’t know,” replied Blanche. “It’s just that I can never go in there.”
“Well, then, we shan’t,” said Camille.
Timidly, Blanche smiled at her mistress.
“Come,” said Camille, standing and holding out her hand, “there is much more to see.”
Blanche reached up and took the offered grip and stood and brushed herself off, brushing off Camille’s white dress as well.
Through shaded arbors they strolled, the summer air mild within. In one of the arbors they came across an elderly gardener upon his knees in a freshly tilled plot, where he carefully worked seeds into the dark soil.
“What is it you are planting, Andre?” asked Blanche, stepping past the turned-over earth to stand in front of the man.
Concentrating upon getting the placement just right, Andre glanced up and then back to the soil, replying, “White camellias, Blanche, a tribute to the prince’s most beautiful young mademoiselle.”
“Oh, my,” said Camille.
Andre looked back to where Camille stood, then scrambled to his feet and touched the brim of his cap, saying, “Beg pardon, my lady, but I didn’t see-”
“Oh, Andre,” said Camille, “there’s no need to apologize. May I help with the planting?”
A look of doubt crossed Andre’s face. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my lady, for ’tis but common labor I do. Besides, the seeds must be put just so, and-”
“Trust me, Andre,” said Camille, “for common labor I do quite well, especially planting, for I am a crofter’s daughter.”
“I mean not to gainsay you, my lady, but a crofter’s daughter you no longer are. Instead, you are the mistress of this great estate and all the holdings beyond.”
At these words, Blanche nodded in affirmation, but Camille said, “Nevertheless, I would aid.”
“Oh, my lady,” said Blanche, “you would soil your dress and-”
“Then I shall change,” said Camille, “into one which has seen many a spring sowing.”
A short while later, dressed in the shift she had brought from the stone cottage-her very best dress back there, though she did not say such to Blanche-Camille grubbed in the soil next to Andre, planting camellias in those places where he did direct.
After a pleasing afternoon of work, and a bath and another solitary dinner, that night Camille fell asleep while reading a book of poetry and sitting in one of the soft leather chairs in her small library.
When she awoke she was in her bed. How she had gotten there she did not know, but ’twas in her bed she awoke.
Past the silk canopy, through the unshaded skylight Camille saw night fading to dawn. Sliding out from under her light cover, Camille padded to her closet and quickly dressed, donning her travelling clothes, for they were suitable for what she had in mind. She stepped from her chambers and quietly slipped down the stairs and out the main door and ran lightly across the dew-wet grass, morning mist swirling in her wake, the sun not yet risen.
To the hedge maze she went and ’round to the entry, then, taking a deep breath, she stepped within. Along the shadowed path she trod, keeping track of twists and turns, noting openings left and right, and using the trick of which Fra Galanni had spoken-that of keeping her right hand always brushing along the right-side hedge-wall. She knew that in some mazes this was the key to finding the center… but this maze was not one of those, for she found herself back at the entrance.
Ah, then, another strategy is needed.
Camille once again followed the right-hand way, but at the first opening into another row on the left, she stepped across and entered, and moments later came to a dead end.
Back to the first row she went, and to the second leftward opening.
Again and again she repeated her tactic, exploring more and more of the maze.
Now rightwards she tended from leftwards, and the layout became clearer to her, and then she was quite certain where the center must lie, and toward this end she went.
As she came nigh the last of her journey, she thought she heard what seemed to be the soft sound of weeping.
Oh, my, it would not do to come upon a saddened someone unawares.
“Allo!” she called. “Is anyone there?”
Abruptly, silence fell.
Hesitantly, as the sun beyond the hedges lipped the horizon and day came upon the land, Camille stepped forward and ’round the last turn, to see “Oh, Bear, I have missed you so!”
10
