harpsichord.
Alain sat on the bench and ran his fingers along the keyboard, plucked strings sounding in response.
“Now, my lady, what would you have me play for you, and you can sing for me.”
Camille sighed. “Do you know ‘The Sparrow in the Tree’?”
Alain laughed and clapped his hands. “Indeed I do, Camille. A splendid choice. How came you to know it, for it is quite obscure?”
“A votary of Mithras taught it to me. She said she learned it at court.”
Alain grinned. “I think I recall from your singing in the field, but is this a proper pitch for you?” He struck a single key, sounding a note.
Camille nodded, and Alain played an introductory phrase, and when he looked to Camille, she began to sing:
“Tiny brown sparrow, sitting in the tree,
Scruffy little soul, just like me,
Would you be an eagle, would you be a hawk,
Or would you wish instead to sing like a lark?
Or would you have plumage bright and gay,
Or would you wish…”
Camille sang verse upon verse, chorus after chorus, the song telling of a maiden who wished a different lot in life, yet who found comfort in familiar things, and she finally discovered love, which set her free to fly as the transformed sparrow she then was. And all throughout the aria, Camille’s voice soared to unrestrained heights and dropped to whispering depths, with tones so pure, so clear, so true, that tears ran down Alain’s face from the sheer perfection and joy of it.
And as the song came toward an end, Alain’s clear tenor voice joined with hers, and he caroled in flawless harmony and in melodic counterpoint to her ascendant soprano tones, he singing of the sparrow, she singing of the girl.
At last the song ended, and Alain sat long moments in silence, Camille not daring to say even a single word. Finally he looked up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “My lady, you take my breath away.”
All the tension fled from Camille, and she expelled a trembling sigh and said, “My lord, I am giddy with relief that you find my singing to your like. Even so, now it is your turn to sing unto me.”
Alain wiped his eyes with his fingers and then said, “Giddy? You are giddy?” He grinned, then sobered and struck a chord and said, “ ‘The Giddy Sea.’ ” He then played an introductory phrase, and lifted his clear tenor in song, all the while looking at Camille:
“What is this thunderbolt stop’d my heart
And shook the breath from me
And set my soul a-sailing
’Pon a giddy sea?
“What is this pounding in my chest
When you come into seeing,
This wondrous surge from head to toe
That floods my entire being?
“What is this burning in my blood
That spins my head around
And stuns me trembling helplessly
As in your eyes I drown?
“Oh, should I ask the answer
From all the gods above,
When every eye can see
That I’ve been whelmed by love?
“ ’Tis you, my heart, my dearest heart,
To me this thing hast done,
And left me yearning for the days
Our two hearts become but one.
“Oh, leave me not alone, my love,
Upon this giddy sea.
Instead let’s make it giddier:
Come sail away with me.
“Leave me not alone, my love,
Come sail away with me.
Oh, my love, my sweet, sweet love,
Let us sail the giddy sea.”
As the notes faded into silence, Alain looked into Camille’s eyes and whispered, “Leave me not alone, my love, come sail away with me.”
Camille slid onto the bench and said, “I think I shall go entirely mad if you do not kiss me now.”
Alain took her in his arms and gently kissed her, and she answered with an urgency. Pent need broke free, his fire matching hers. Yet kissing, they stood, the bench toppling over, but they paid it no heed, so hot now the flames of desire. And then Alain swept her up and bore her through a doorway and into his bedchamber as Camille kissed his neck, his shoulder, his ear, as well as his cheek, silk caressing her lips.
He set Camille to her feet, and then slowly undressed her, kissing her mouth, her shoulders, her hands, her breasts.
He threw back the covers and lifted her up and laid her on silken sheets, and she watched as he undressed, all but the mask, and Camille’s breath shuddered with confusion and desire, for his slender body was beautiful, and his need was plain to see. At this last she was somewhat frightened, yet wanting.
Then he blew out the candle, saying, “I’ll not make love wearing this.”
In the darkness, he lay down beside her, his hands caressing as she clasped him to her, her lips clinging to his, their tongues exploring. And though she didn’t quite know what to do, she opened her legs when he gently moved between. There was but an instant of pain as he entered into her. And then for a moment he remained quite still, and she did not understand, but then he began slowly moving, slowly, slowly, gently. Joy, delight, desire, love: all thrilled through Camille, and she embraced Alain and began responding, her own tentative movements meeting his.
And still he moved slowly, ever so.
A joyous tension began to build, Camille’s breath coming in gasps, though Alain remained silent.
And gradually, ever so gradually, the pace of his thrusts increased, hers matching, Camille completely lost in a closeness so total, a commitment absolute, in the wonder of two being one, and the joy of being complete.
And then-“Oh, my. I never. Oh, Alain. Oh, Love. I… I…”
Moaning, gasping, wild with desire, she wrapped her legs ’round and began kissing him frantically, finding no mask to interfere, her responses frenzied, urgent, needing, wanting, matching. “Oh, Mithras.
… Oh, sweet Mithras… Oh… Oh… Oh…”
12
Drenched in perspiration, at last they disentangled and fell away from one another, each lying back in the softness of the bed in the absolute darkness of the chamber. But then Alain rolled onto his side toward Camille and reached out and touched her shoulder and slid his finger down her arm to find her hand and enlace his fingers in hers. “Oh, my love, I had not meant for this to happen until we were wed, yet I am quite glad it did.” Camille squeezed his hand in silent agreement. Alain turned her hand over in his and kissed her palm, but then took a deep
