The Black Swan

by Mercedes Lackey

  Tonight Benno, clad in a sumptuously embroidered linen doublet of rich blue left open at the throat to show his lace-trimmed cambric shirt, sprawled at his ease on the bench. Siegfried's tutor Wolfgang, in his usual rusty black, rested an elbow on the arm of the chair he occupied next to the cold fireplace. Siegfried, attired more casually in a fine lawn shirt and brown leather trews had appropriated Wolfgang's bed; he, too, sprawled comfortably propped up on a pile of cushions, wineglass in one hand as he listened to Benno and Wolfgang continue the debate that had begun well over an hour ago. A sultry breeze coming in at the window, heavy with the scent of roses, made him feel indolent and lazy.

  He listened in a pleasantly detached frame of mind, drunk enough so that his vague dissatisfaction with life had receded into a mellow haze.

  Wolfgang and Benno had consumed their share of wine, so at least the debate was on an equal footing. For the moment, Siegfried preferred to listen; Wolfgang was a good talker, and wine freed Benno from the diffidence he otherwise showed for the old man's level of knowledge.

  Wolfgang's learning wasn't much help in this case though, and he shook his gray head. "I am confused; more than confused with all of this," he said. "I think that you have me at a disadvantage. Start at the beginning; explain this new fashion of love to me. You say it has rules? How can an emotion be governed by rules?"

  Benno, who had been fostered in a French court, was only too ready to impart his knowledge. "The complete knight must have a lady to whom he is devoted. For her honor and glory he fights, it is to her beauty he composes and performs songs, she is the first thing he thinks of on arising and the last on sleeping."

  "And this woman is not his wife?" Wolfgang said, puzzled.

  "No—love has nothing to do with marriage," Benno replied with authority. "Marriage is about property, lineage, continuing the family line. Love doesn't enter into it—oh, Wolfgang, think! Look at Dorian; he's going to be married to a woman with a face like a cow and a body like a sack of turnips, and how could he be expected to feel anything for her? Marriage is a contract, much like the contract of liege to lord. One needn't love one's lord in order to fulfill that contract. One needn't love one's wife to fulfill the contract of marriage—which is to impart to her the use of one's goods, one's name, one's property, in exchange for children and service."

  "Well enough, I can see that," Wolfgang agreed. "That was the same sort of contract that the Greeks and Romans recognized. Indeed, the ancient philosophers say very little about love for one's wife."

  Benno shrugged. "In fact—well, it's generally considered rather common and ill-bred to be in love with your wife."

  "And the woman you love isn't your leman either—you don't necessarily lie with her." That was Siegfried's contribution. He felt very sorry for Wolfgang; all the logic in the world wasn't going to make sense of the rules of courtly love—but it wasn't about logic, it was about the heart, after all, which knew no logic.

  "No—well, sometimes you might have her carnally, if she's nobly born, but it's best if she isn't actually your leman. God's breath, Wolfgang, how could anyone make songs to the beauty of a little peasant girl's hands? If you've got a serf girl or three tucked away, that's all very well, but you don't elevate her to lover. That would be sordid, demeaning." Benno sounded very sure of himself.

  "Sordid for you, or her?" Wolfgang muttered under his breath. Then he raised his voice. "All right, then, couldn't your lover be a maiden you aspire to?"

  Benno shook his head. "Well, she can, but it's better if she's already married if you're going to lie with her—and really, it's better even if you aren't going to lie with her. You don't want to ruin a maiden's honor with your attentions."

  Wolfgang sat straight up. "You mean to tell me that the fashionable thing is to make love to another man's wife?" he yelped, actually shocked. This from the man who has translated the poems of Sappho!

  "You still don't understand," Benno complained. "You're not supposed to make love to her, you're supposed to adore her from afar, do everything for her. This is Courtly Love, Wolfgang. It hasn't anything to do with lust, or marriage, it's supposed to be utterly pure and above all that. It's supposed to be all-consuming, overpowering, like Lancelot, or Tristan—"

  "Lancelot bedded Guinevere, and Tristan ran off with Isolde," Wolfgang pointed out with complete truth. "That sounds like making love to another man's wife to me."

  "Well, Lancelot and Tristan failed to reach the ideal, and that was why they came to tragic ends," Benno explained earnestly. "They weren't supposed to let lust get into it, you see? When Courtly Love is pure, it's perfect, and you don't get into situations like that. Don't you see how liberating and glorious it is? You don't have to be in love with that doughball you're wedded to, and you don't have to be in love with the pretty peasant you're futtering in the barn. Love gives another person power over you—being in love with your wife could be trouble, because she could rule you, and being in love with your leman is degrading—how could gentleman and a knight allow a peasant to have power over him? The proper person to give that power to is the kind of person who's either your equal or your superior, don't you see? That's why you love a lady above your stature, and preferably a married one with a husband who's conveniently on pilgrimage, or at least disinclined to take exception to your attention."

  Wolfgang took a long pull off his wineglass and sighed. "There's no logic to this!" he complained plaintively.

  Siegfried decided to put his own bit in. "It's not supposed to be logical, Wolfgang, and the rules aren't logical, either. It's an escape from logic, I suppose."

  "Exactly!" Benno beamed on his friend. "Exactly! We have to be logical in our marriages, and although politics is very far from logical, you still can't give free vent to your emotions when you deal with political matters. Courtly Love allows us to give our hearts freedom without compromising our duty or our honor."

  "Unless you have the poor taste to follow Lancelot's example," Siegfried snickered. "Bad luck for you, then."

  "You're not supposed to follow Lancelot's example," Benno countered, flushing.

  "Well, what are the women supposed to do?" Wolfgang persisted. "Collect young knights like so many pretty baubles?"

  Benno sputtered at that, but Siegfried, who didn't take the rules of this newly-fashionable Courtly Love so seriously, nodded agreement. "More or less, the beautiful ones, anyway. It isn't done to be in love with your husband, but then, most beauties have been shackled to a drooling old man anyway, so there's no fear of being in love with someone like that. If you're a beauty, I gather the idea is to inspire as many handsome fellows as possible to be in love with you. You're supposed to be gracious, kind, accomplished, and learned, so you can properly appreciate all the songs that are made for you, you can hold your own in conversation, and you can understand the privilege of having someone fighting in tournaments in your honor. But you're also supposed to be distant, a little cool, so that you don't encourage them to do something stupid—like Lancelot."

  "And are women supposed to have a single distant—or maybe not-so-distant—love as well?" Wolfgang mocked. "After all, as the peasants say, sauce for the gander should serve for the goose."

  "Actually, I'm rather curious about that myself," Siegfried admitted, turning to Benno. "You hadn't said anything about the women picking out someone particular."

  "Well—" Benno frowned. "Yes and no. One school of thought says that she should remain aloof from all that; another that she should secretly pick one of her admirers to fall in love with, but never allow him to know for certain that he is her chosen. That's the ideal, of course, but women have been known to take a carnal lover . . . the Church says that they're more fleshly and carnal than men, after all, so it's not surprising."

  "The Greek philosophers would say that since a woman's soul is so much simpler than a man's, what she feels could not be love as you are describing in any case," Wolfgang replied ponderously. ' The Romans would agree that woman's primary instincts a
re so primitive that they couldn't even imagine something as sophisticated as this Courtly Love—"

  "Oh, hang your Greek and Roman philosophers!" Benno snapped, offended at Wolfgang's tone. "What could they have to say that was relevant here? They're old and dead, and when they were alive, they were as stuffy as an unaired closet!"

  Wolfgang bridled, and sat straight up, his face going red with fury. Siegfried decided to put an end to the debate.

  "Here now, none of that!" he ordered sharply. "Benno, you're drunk."

  "So are you!" Benno retorted, "And so is he!"

  Siegfried laughed. "Yes, I am, but I know it, and I'm not picking quarrels. You are drunk and trying to pretend you're not—when you know you'll be very sorry for some of the things you said tomorrow. Apologize to Wolfgang. When you sober up, you'll be glad you did."

  Benno growled an apology, but had the grace to look embarrassed at his behavior.

  Siegfried wasn't letting his tutor off, either. "As for you, my tutor, the Greek and Roman philosophers don't even agree with each other, so don't say things you know will prick Benno to snap at you," the prince continued, getting a gratified glance from his friend. "Besides, the Greek philosophers say that women don't have souls, either, and what do you think the Church would have to say about that? Would you be suggesting that the Blessed Virgin didn't have a soul? I wouldn't do that if I were you, the priest already suspects that you're half pagan and all heretic. Your favorite philosophers aren't always right, so I wouldn't rely too heavily on them to win my arguments if I were you."

  That came out rather jumbled, but it seemed to make sense enough to Wolfgang, who in his turn graciously apologized to Benno, so that in a moment they were all friends again.

  "Anyway," Benno sighed, checking the bottle of wine under his bench to see if there was anything left in it, "It's all one to you, Siegfried. Courtly Love doesn't apply to you."

  "What do you mean?" Siegfried pushed a full bottle across the floor to him.

  "I mean there isn't anyone for you to fall in love with, in that sense," Benno explained earnestly. "You've got the highest rank here so there aren't any ladies superior to you except the queen, and you can't exactly fall in love with the Emperor's daughter, because he doesn't have one. So you don't have to go to all the trouble of finding a worthy object and all the rest. And you aren't likely to get married off to a lump of dough, either; you have your pick of the prettiest beauties, any one of whom would be deliriously happy to marry you. So you can be in love with a wife a mistress or both, and you won't be breaking the rules of Courtly Love because they don't apply to you."

  "Ah!" Siegfried countered, raising his index finger wisely. "But I don't intend to, you see!"

  "What? Fall in love, or marry?" Wolfgang asked.

  "Both." Siegfried smiled, having just come up with what seemed to be a perfect plan to him. "I'm certainly not going to fall in love, because I don't intend to wind up so besotted that a woman can order me about—I've had enough of that with my beloved mother, thank you very much. And I'm not going to marry, because I'm tired to death of fetters and restrictions. At least, I'm not going to marry now," he amended. "I'm going to go right on tumbling the chambermaids and peasant wenches, then when I'm very old and all the maidens have been making doe eyes at me forever, I'll condescend to marry one. She can bear my sons, and then nurse me." He laughed. "By then I'll be too old to run after pretty women, so it will be nice to have one that has to come to me."

  "And if she plays you Guinevere's trick," Benno asked, not quite mocking him, "Then what will you do?"

  "I shall magnanimously forgive her and send Lancelot packing to a monastery, probably singing soprano so he won't be tempted by the sin of lust again," he replied, feeling too pleasantly fuddled to be annoyed. "She should be grateful at being forgiven and grateful that I didn't murder her lover, so she'll be even nicer to me. We don't have stupid laws about burning errant wives at the stake here. Or if we do, I'll take care to have them changed before I'm old."

  "A wise choice, O Solomon!" Wolfgang applauded. "I feel sure that the Greek philosophers would approve, even if the Romans wouldn't. The Romans were very stuffy about marital matters, anyway. Have another bottle of wine."

  "Thank you," Siegfried said, bowing graciously to his tutor, and stretching out his arm to take the bottle Wolfgang held out unsteadily. "I believe I shall."

  As he took the bottle, he thought he heard a nasty, soft chuckle coming from the window, and when he glanced in that direction, he could have sworn he saw a shadow drop across it for a moment—but he reminded himself that he was drunk, and he'd seen and heard things before when he was in that dubious state that proved not to be there.

  The next morning he woke without even a moderate headache, thanks to his foresight in taking a good walk around the battlements until his head cleared. Actually, the first part of it was more of a stagger than a walk, but he'd taken care to avoid the parts of the castle that were patrolled by sentries until he'd gotten his feet under him and could give at least a good imitation of sobriety, each time taking a good, long drink of water. He'd taken to doing this ever since the Captain of the Queen's Guards had given him the trick to avoiding morning misery altogether. Wolfgang and Benno had gone straight to bed—actually, he and Benno had lifted Wolfgang into his bed, then Benno had staggered off with another bottle tucked under his arm, so he could well imagine what their heads felt like this morning.

  He pulled back the heavy linen bed curtains, and his servants, who had been waiting patiently just outside his bedchamber door for the first signs of life from the bed, sprang to their feet and bustled into the chamber with entirely too much energy. He climbed out of bed—literally, for the bed was so tall that it had its own set of steps—and the servants swarmed all over him.

  So the day began in the usual way, with servants presenting garments for his approval while he stood there in his singlet and hose making up his mind. He rejected the first few garments they offered him, finally approving a leather doublet, silk shirt, and moleskin trews; clothing that would do for paying court to the queen or going out riding. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do today, but it was as sure as there were angels in heaven that neither Benno nor Wolfgang would be fit company until late afternoon, if then.

  I could always have one of the girls sent up. . . . The thought stirred neither his heart nor his loins, the sign that told him that he'd gotten bored with all three of them. It always happened, sooner or later; these three had hung on several months longer than anyone had expected, including, probably the women themselves.

  Bother. I've been bedding them out of habit more than anything. He sighed, for he knew very well that nothing any of them did was interesting or exciting anymore, and not a single one of the three had gotten with child, which would have given him the excuse to pension her off and replace her. I need something. . . different. A new woman. Or women. Make a clean sweep and start with a new lot.

  Now that thought sparked interest, and he wondered if his current state of ennui had anything to do with the boredom he felt with his women. Definitely, he decided. It's time to pension them all off and go hunting. And with that decision came a lifting of spirits that he hadn't felt in weeks.

  "Arno, stop fussing with those point-laces, they'll do," he said snappishly to his manservant, a fellow who had been with him for as long as he'd had personal servants. "The rest of you can go. I'm not my mother that I need three people to comb out my hair."

  The other three servants fled, leaving Siegfried alone with Arno, who chuckled at his ill temper. The older man began picking up the discarded garments and restoring them to chests and wardrobes, waiting for Siegfried's next orders.

  "Arno, I want you to pension off the girls; tell them I won't want their company anymore," Siegfried said abruptly as soon as the other servants were out of earshot.

  Arno chuckled again; long service with Siegfried gave him a certain amount of freedom. "So the rooster tires of old hen and i
s going looking for spring chicken, hmm? Or were you minded to join the Church and have decided to try a life of virtue?" His sly expression showed just how likely he thought that was.

  "No vestments for me, old man," Siegfried replied, his temper already improving. "And the quarry I plan to chase today has two legs, not four, if you're curious, which you are."

  "Very good, sire," Arno said with satisfaction. "I'll have things tidied up for you by suppertime."

  Siegfried left his rooms and descended the ancient stone stair with a sense of relief as well as anticipation. Trust Arno; I'll never have to deal with them again. One thing he'd never been able to manage was telling a girl that he'd lost interest in her—she would always start to weep or rail at him, and he couldn't cope with either reaction. Arno, however, was blithely immune to either ranting or tears, and as a third party, could afford to be indifferent. Of course, if any of Siegfried's current girls had been of higher rank than a manservant to the prince, Siegfried would have had to get someone else to bear the bad news, Benno or Wolfgang for instance—but one was a chambermaid, one was a dairy maid, and one worked in the kitchen, so there was no problem. Arno knew to a groat the size of the appropriate gift for any girl being cast off, and he also knew that Siegfried would want to be generous. With a purse the size Siegfried would give them, they could expect to dower themselves into a good marriage with no questions asked on the part of the husband-to-be. If they made no fuss at all and departed graciously, there would be a fine wedding gift coming, and an equally generous christening gift for the first son. So the girls really had nothing to complain about, once their terms in Siegfried's bed were at an end; a servant's maidenhead (assuming she had one) wasn't worth much unless a noble desired to take it, and a serf's was worth rather less than that.