another’s gaze…
… If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, as Fra Galanni said, then here is a soul in dire torment…
… Camille came back to what he was saying, noting that his entire body had become quite taut, as if bracing for some onslaught, or a defeat…
“… and since this was unknown to you, as well as to me, at the time of my proposal and your consent, though I will keep my pledge to your parents, I release you from your pledge to me.”
Alain paused, waiting for a response, which did not come. And his body seemed to ease, and he said, “Nevertheless, I would have you stay awhile and see whether or no”-he reached up and touched the mask-“this presents a barrier we neither one can breach.”
Camille took a deep breath and exhaled it, trying to calm her racing heart. And then she curtseyed and murmured, “My lord.”
Alain bowed, and then stepped forward and offered her his arm. “Would you sup with me?”
Yet trembling slightly, Camille slipped her arm in his, and together they strolled along white stone pathways through blossoming gardens and to the great chateau, though neither said aught on that fleeting journey ’neath endless deep indigo skies.
They sat at opposite ends of a very long table, he at the head, she at the foot, and the distance between seemed uncrossable. When the manifold attendants had served the first course, a fragrant split-pea soup, with white bread and pale yellow butter at hand, at a gesture from the prince, the servers retired from the room.
Oh, my. Would that I had known that gesture. I wouldn’t have had all those eyes watching me eat. Even so, how-?
“My lady”-Alain looked down the length of the long oaken board-“I would have come to you sooner, but I had just returned from an arduous journey, one where I did not sleep, and I fell into my bed and failed to awaken for two days, it seems, and spent the third merely shaking off the effects of such a trial. Else we would have met ere now.”
“There is no need to apologize, my lord, for Steward Lanval said as much,” replied Camille. “The Bear-is it your Bear? — regardless, the Bear and I had quite a journey as well, and he took the best care of me.”
“I had known he would, for him I do well comprehend. Yet I am told that you were beset upon by Goblins within the Winterwood.”
“Redcaps, my lord, the worst of the lot, or so I am told. And a Troll as well. Your brother, Prince Borel, and his Wolves came to our aid, rescued me, in fact, from a rather wretched end.”
“If it does not distress you, I would hear of this rescue,” said Alain.
“Would that I were a bard, my lord, for it is a tale well worth the telling, quite dreadful in the doing, but splendid in recount. Yet a bard I am not, but I will try my best to do it justice.”
Alain canted his head and gestured for her to go on.
“We had stopped for the night, the Bear and I, there in the Winterwood, and, in spite of the bitter cold, I had fallen quite asleep…”
Camille’s retelling lasted awhile, and when she came to the end, so did they come to the end of the delectable soup. Alain took up a small bell at hand and rang it once, and attendants appeared to whisk away the bowls and used utensils, and to serve the next course.
So that’s what the bell is for. Lessons Mistress Agnes neglected to teach: the gesture and the bell.
Artichoke hearts came next, and Camille watched Alain down the full length of the table to see how, in sweet Mithras’s name, this yellow-green thing could possibly be eaten. She managed to muddle through the consumption of the artichoke, though she felt she did it quite badly. That dish was followed by honeyed pheasant, with a fine sauce over a vegetable Camille did not recognize. Served with the course was a dry white wine, the first wine Camille had ever tasted, and it made a frisson run up her spine, and Alain smiled at her shiver.
Lastly, they were served a cherry tart, accompanied by a small glass of sherry, amber and sweet to offset the tart’s sharp tang. And even though Camille was quite stuffed, she did manage a bite or two, as well as several sips.
And all through the meal, and after, they did talk-about her journey and the wondrous beings she saw: the Unicorn, the Lynx Riders, the meals waiting in camps, the Waterfolk, though here Camille omitted the telling of her encounter with the shapeshifting male Waterfolk otters. She spoke of the Bear and of finding him just this day in the maze. Through it all, Alain offered comments on the Springwood, Winterwood, Autumnwood, and the Summerwood, and he spoke of other parts of Faery, telling of various creatures dwelling therein: of Ice Sprites and Twig Men, of Spriggens and Cluricauns and Pwca and Pysks, of Bogles and Selkies, and of many more, some gentle, some harmless, some vile, some dangerous, some deadly, some ready to lend a hand, but all quite amazing to Camille.
It was quite late when they stood up at last, well past the mid of night. Even so, Camille was filled with excitement, with energy, though she had risen at dawn.
It was not until Alain came to her end of the table to escort her to her chamber, that she again became aware of the mask, and how tall he was-a full head above her own five-foot-three.
As they strolled along the corridors, he said, “On the morrow, what would you do, my lady? With me, that is.”
Camille smiled. “My lord, the morrow is already here.”
Alain laughed. “True. Even so, would you-? Ah, I have it, I will play the harpsichord and I would have you sing.”
“Oh, my lord, I would not ruin your playing with-”
“Tush. Recall, I have heard you sing.”
“You have?”
“Did I not say so in my letter?”
“Oh, but I thought that someone had simply told you I sang in the field.”
Alain stopped and she as well, and he faced her. “My lady, you may think this forward of me but…”
Camille waited, yet the prince said no more. “My lord?”
Alain took a deep breath. “ ’Twas in the twilight I first saw you, gathering the last of the harvest from a meager field. I sat in the wood at the edge of Faery and watched and listened to you sing; I was thunderstruck. And that day afield your brother fell ill, and you were the first to his side, and you aided him to breathe, and you wept over his distress. And then I knew that not only had you golden hair and a golden voice and beauty of face and form, but that you had a golden heart as well. And when I came back to Summerwood Manor, I could not think of aught but you.”
Camille’s heart raced at these words, and yet by no outward sign did she betray the inner chaos hammering at her emotions.
“I sat in my chambers for days,” said Alain, “and you occupied my every thought. I wrote a paean to you, one I had not the daring to deliver, though I did spend more days at the edge of Faery hoping for a glimpse. Finally, Lanval told me that I was neglecting the demesne, and that I had better propose to you ere all fell to ruin. Yet it took me until the wintertime to gain the courage to ask for your hand.”
Camille’s emotions roiled, and she felt her blood rush to her face. To cover her confusion, she said, “You wrote an ode to me?”
Alain’s fists clenched, and then opened, and he softly said:
“I ne’er was struck before that day,
With love so sudden, so rare.
How it happened, I cannot say.
… Ah, golden was her hair.
“My heart did pound, my blood did thunder,
My stunning so complete.
What spell was this I’d fallen under?
… Her face and form so sweet.
“I heard her sing, and then I knew
I would ne’er be the same,
A voice so pure, a song so true,
She put the larks to shame.
