Benno frowned and fidgeted in agitation. "Siegfried, we have to do something!" he whispered. "Wolfgang is making a fool of himself!"
"And the queen is in the mood for a fool right now," Siegfried whispered back. "Don't bother; she won't let Wolfgang get hurt physically, and his reputation isn't so clean that he's doing any damage to it,"
And chances were, Wolfgang would remember this as his great conquest of the pretty little village wench, and not as the moment when he played the court buffoon. Queen Clothilde did not have a court jester; she didn't much care for buffoonery or the coarse jibes and mime that passed for humor with most professional fools. But she did take full advantage of moments when people were willing to make a mockery of themselves, and her courtiers were alert for opportunities to amuse her.
So when the girl managed to coax Wolfgang into another stumbling repetition of the dance, and parodied him yet again, Siegfried simply shook his head at Benno and signaled patience.
This time it was Wolfgang who insisted on doing the steps a third rime, insisting that she still hadn't gotten them right. He tried to grasp her wrist to lead her through the right paces; she evaded him, much to the open hilarity of the rest of the court.
Then she capped her insolent performance by briskly skipping through the pavane three times perfectly, but at twice the speed that Wolfgang had managed—forcing Uwe to make his fingers fly to keep up with her. At the conclusion, she whirled Wolfgang around and around in a circle as if she were playing blind-man's bluff with him. Then when he was quite dizzy, she let him go, to stagger back to the table where Siegfried and Benno caught him and got him to sit down, out of breath and quite bewildered, while everyone else howled with laughter.
"By Jove!" the old man managed, holding his head with one hand and panting, completely out of breath. "By Jove! Bright little wench, isn't she! Lively! By Jove!"
Since it was obvious to both of them that Wolfgang hadn't the least notion what a fool he'd been made to look, Siegfried just sighed, and surreptitiously hid the last of the wine bottles, waving the innkeeper away when he would have brought more.
Now that the entertainment—both planned and impromptu—was at an end, the queen rose from her seat to signal to the rest that it was time to return to their camp. Siegfried left Benno in charge of Wolfgang, and hurried to her side when she beckoned to him.
Are you certain I cannot persuade you to come back with us, my son?" she asked, with a little pout. "The ladies are all desirous to see more of you, not less."
"Not if I am to fulfill the request of the lady nearest my heart, me queen," he replied with hollow gallantry, more for the sake of the listening courtiers than for his mother's, since he was severely annoyed with her at this point. "You specifically requested swans for your feast, and I specifically pledged that you would have them."
The queen sighed; it was, or so it seemed to Siegfried, a rather theatrical sigh. She didn't get a chance to say anything, however, for Benno suddenly shouted, pointing to the sky behind Siegfried.
"There!" the young man cried, voice rising with excitement. "Look, Siegfried! Just as they promised us! Swans!"
Siegfried whirled, to see the welcome vee of white birds just above the trees, shining in the last light of the sun against the darkening eastern sky, heading in the direction of the lake. There was no doubt of their identity, either-, they were too large and too white to be geese; white domestic geese were usually too fat to fly, anyway.
Siegfried forgot about playing the courtier to his mother, and joined Benno, the two of them shading their eyes against the westering sun and trying to count the flock. The queen gave a peculiar, silvery laugh, and called out to both of them.
"Ah, you are entirely too like your father, silly boy! Once the scent of the hunt was in his nostrils, he was not to be distracted by anything else! Come, friends," She gestured to the rest of the court and her guests. "Let us leave the young men to the sport of pursuit, and perhaps when they have had enough, we can persuade them to pursue other quarry!"
With the heralds leading the way, and the rest of the nobles trailing obediently behind, the queen made good her word.
"ARE there plans for this hunt, Uwe?" the queen asked casually- as Uwe stationed himself beside her horse with his lute slung across his back and one hand on the palfrey's neck "to steady it." "I am a little worried; shots in the darkness are so dangerous."
She knew that Uwe could only reply obliquely here in public, and took cruel pleasure in forcing him to come up with unexceptional ways to speak of things they dared not say in plain speech. "With Benno at his side, Siegfried should come to no harm, my queen," he replied smoothly, thus telling her that there would be no "accident" tonight. "But there is a plan being carried out—so to speak. An ambush of sorts." He smiled, as if at a joke. "An ambush of love, or so one father hopes. Our friend the baron is arranging for Siegfried to meet his daughter tonight at the lake, in advance of the feast and fete. Presumably he believes that such a meeting will be more conducive to a romance than a public meeting surrounded by strangers."
"What, in the woods? Alone? Without a chaperone?" She allowed her eyebrows to rise a trifle. "With a man of Siegfried's reputation?"
Uwe shrugged. "No doubt the baron will be present. His daughter is much sheltered, and probably unsure in company,"
He left unsaid things that they had already discussed; Clothilde's lips curved upward. Should Siegfried take advantage or insult the girl, the sorcerer might Well take care of their problem altogether,
"It is very kind of him to give a shy girl the opportunity to meet with my son out of the reach of wagging tongues and spying eyes," she said lightly. "But that shows how much he dotes on her, I expect."
She will certainly be able to display herself to advantage without having to trouble her little head about what might be said about her," Uwe agreed, his face a mask of genial good humor, "If she is as shy and fragile as you think, it were best Siegfried sees her in a place where she feels more sure of herself."
A jewel sparkles brighter in a setting of black velvet than in a cluster of other gems," Clothilde pointed out unnecessarily.
Uwe laughed. "My queen, soon it will be you who turns poet leaving me without employment in your household!"
"Never, Uwe," she mock-assured him, leaning down from her seat and patting his shoulder as if he were a small child. "How could I ever manage without you?"
How indeed, she thought complacently, as she straightened up again and gazed up to road to the camp. I would be hard-pressed to find a replacement half so willing to soil his hands for my sake. But it would be a very foolish thing for me to tell you that in earnest.
It also occurred to her that once the problem of Siegfried was taken care of, she might not need him anymore.
Ah, indeed, she reflected, with another tiny smile. And I will have no such difficulties in removing Uwe; I simply command, and it will be so. If Uwe begins to forget his place, perhaps I should do just that. It is so much easier to be rid of a mere minstrel than a prince.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Siegfried and Benno organized their hunt, the sun was down and the stars had started to appear overhead, brilliant and clear in the cloudless sky. It was going to be a wonderful night, cool, but not cold, with hints of fallen leaves and smoke on the breeze. The moon would rise at three quarters, granting plenty of illumination to hunt by, particularly when one was hunting snow-white quarry. The hunting party trooped off onto one of the many regular paths that led through the forest to the lake: a half-dozen servants with torches, Benno and Siegfried, and no more. The prince and his friend were the only two who were armed. Perhaps if the swans proved too difficult to kill, he would bring along some of the expert huntsmen on his next attempt, but for the moment, he preferred things as they were. He wouldn't have taken the torch bearers if he hadn't needed extra help but someone would have to carry out the dead birds, and swans were beastly heavy. The servants wouldn't stay waiting in the forest
without the torches, fearful of ghosts and night-walking spirits.
Besides—there was the dark forest to get through before he made it to the lake; torch bearers would be welcome for that. He could have carried his own torch, but that would not have been "fitting," and his mother would surely have fussed when she learned about it.
The small procession set out, with waves and cheers from some of the villagers. They hadn't gotten more than a hundred feet into the forest before he was very glad of the presence of the torch bearers. The forest seemed to swallow them up; when he looked back along the path, he couldn't see the least sign of the village. The dense, tall trees cut off starlight—he got only the merest glimpses of an occasional star through the thick branches that met above the path. It was so dark beneath the trees on either side of the path that the darkness itself absorbed the torchlight. He had forgotten that most of the trees in these woods were black pines—tall, with thick, heavy branches and dense needles.
From the darkness came sounds—but not the dreaded howls of werewolves and tortured spirits that the torch bearers feared. Nothing more sinister emerged than the far-off call of an eagle- owl, vague rustlings in the dry leaves, the cracking of small twigs. Those were enough to make the servants' imaginations create uncanny things out there in the dark; their nervousness communicated itself to Siegfried and Benno, and when the death scream of a hare suddenly broke the silence, every man of them jumped, then laughed, shamefaced.
As if we haven't heard all these sounds around the palace, night after night! Of course, then we were all inside four stone walls.
Just when Siegfried had begun to wonder if they were on the wrong path, starlight showed through a break in the trees jus ahead. They picked up their pace at Siegfried's signal, and when they reached the spot where the growth thinned, they found themselves right on the shore of the lake,
Siegfried took a moment to have a good look around. Trees grew right up to the edge of the low cliff on which they stood; he went to the edge and looked down, he saw that they were just about three feet above the surface. Before them stretched the dark still water, as reflective as a mirror; the stars winked back at themselves from the quiet surface. There was no sign of the swans, but from what the prince had learned from the villagers, this place was a veritable maze of little coves and long arms of water, and the swans could be hidden in any of them.
"You men stay here," he directed the servants, much to their obvious relief. "Benno will go to the left, I will go to the right; that way we won't shoot each other by accident."
The poor jest called up the polite laughter of the servants, but put them a bit more at ease. They stuck their torches into the earth at the lake's edge, then went in search of deadfall for a fire, and prepared to while away the time while Siegfried and his friend hunted. Siegfried wasted no more thought on them; hunt- fever was on him, and all he wanted was to have his quarry in sight. Already, in his mind's eye, he centered his bow on a fine, fat bird
He worked his way around the edge of the lake, noting as he did that the height of the shore above the water varied from less than a foot to tall cliffs it would be dangerous to dive from. Presuming one could swim, of course; Siegfried couldn't, at least, not well.
So I had better not fall into the water tonight, he told himself wryly. Or any other night, for that matter. The water looked icy, and it would be no joy to get back to the fire in soaked, freezing clothing.
Sound carried well across the water, so he took care with his own steps, making sure of his position before putting his weight on his foot so that he didn't betray himself with the crack of a breaking twig. At the very edge of the shore, he didn't need to fight his way through the bushes, but there was plenty of debris to pick his way over. It looked, oddly enough, as if very few people hunted or fished here.
Then again, the place has a reputation for being scant of birds and large game, and from all I can tell, it's a deserved reputation I don't think I've ever been in a forest this silent. The villagers said that the lake had another kind of reputation—not an evil reputation, precisely, but known for evoking unease after dark as if there were invisible spirits about. Nevertheless, according to the innkeeper, they fished it regularly and hunted it for rabbits too, so it couldn't have frightened them much.
From across the water came the bark of a fox, then the call of a curlew. As he rounded a point, and saw one of the arms of the lake stretching darkly before him, the splash of a fish near at hand gave him another reassuring sign of ordinary life about him.
Here the cliff was easily twenty feet above the water, and he looked down at it for a moment. Black as the sky above, and not at all inviting, he wondered if daylight would improve it any. Or would it be like a few other tarns he had run across, whose chill, deep water, murky and impossible to see through, turned a sullen gray on a cloudy day, or a dark brown-green in sunlight? Such places seemed to discourage human visitors,
I need to find a beach, or some other spot low enough for the swans to come up out of the water, he reminded himself. They'll have to come out to graze, to dry off, and probably to sleep.
Since the ground sloped away toward the end of the arm, it seemed reasonable to think he might find such a low spot somewhere ahead of him. He hesitated, thinking about the possible terrain and vegetation ahead of him.
The ground is clearer under the trees, not as much underbrush. It would be easier if I worked my way into the woods, so long as I keep the shoreline in sight. Now that the torch bearers weren't surrounding him, his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and it was easier to see that what he had taken for a solid wall of trees was actually more of a forest of trunks. Trees grew so closely together that their lowest branches had long since perished, leaving the area immediately below their boughs fairly dear,
I'll see the swans if they're sleeping on the bank; I can't miss them in all this starlight. But they may not see me under the trees.
He fought his way through the bushes lining the shore with gritted teeth; moving slowly, carefully, and as quietly as a human being could. Only a rabbit would have been able to worm its way through the tangled mess without any noise, but at least he managed to get in under the trees with a minimum of noise and fewer stinging scratches than he had expected.
He took the time to pick bits of branch and leaf out of his clothing; if he had to freeze in place, it was bound to happen that one of those bits would start to itch unbearably. Then he steadied himself with several deep breaths of the pine-perfumed air, before continuing his wary stalking. His caution would have maddened anyone but another hunter with the same patience he had. He would move a few yards, pause to take in everything his senses told him, then move again, step by slow, careful step. His nose and feet told him that he walked on a soft floor of old pine needles; better and quieter footing than the dry leaves and twigs at the shoreline. His ears picked out fewer noises of wildlife than he would have expected, but there were some; none of the sounds he associated with deer, for instance, but the little scutes and scurries that might mean rabbit or other small game. The darkness beneath the trees was not as absolute as he'd feared, though it was so thick he barely made out the trunks of the trees nearest him against the general gloom; they were a dark ashen gray against the black of the deeper forest, or black shadows against the starlight on the lake. By contrast, the shoreline to his was quite bright; it was easy to stay just within the forest with that light to guide him.
He judged that he had gotten very close to the end of the arm of the lake, when regular splashing ahead of him made him freeze for a moment, as he took stock of the sounds.
There was quite a lot of it, and it didn't sound like fish- it sounded like a flock of waterfowl coming ashore.
Now he went into a true stalk, crouching to make his silhouette as small as possible, working his way closer to the splashing noises with such painful slowness that his muscles ached with the strain. He ignored the ache, all of his attention centered ahead as intently as if the onl
y thing of importance in the world was the cause of those sounds before him.
When he reached the bushes, he crouched further; putting his crossbow aside, he parted the branches, twig by twig, leaf by leaf, until he had a spy-hole through to the other side.
Yes! His heart exulted at what he saw; here was the beach he had been searching for, and here were his swans, arrayed so perfectly for him that they might have been following his directions!
There must have been at least two dozen of them, perhaps more—most were out of the water and up on the bank, preening, shaking out their wings, or grazing. The rest, still in the water, waited patiently for their turn to jump up on the bank to join the rest of the flock.
He had never seen birds so huge or so magnificent before; they were so large that if another hunter had told him the size, he would have thought the man a liar. With wingspans of better than six feet, their heads would reach his chest with their necks still curved in a graceful arc.
They must weigh upwards of forty pounds! he thought in awe. And I've never seen plumage so perfect! They would make a fine show on the banquet table, roasted and redressed in their feathers—better, by far, than peacocks, which for all their pretty colors were often scrawny, tough, and not particularly savory.
With great care, he reached for his crossbow, and put a into the slot by feel. It was already pulled and knocked, and he had two more bolts in his belt; he needed only to stand up, aim, and shoot, and he would have at least one in the bag. Given that he was between the swans and the water and that they'd have a hard time getting into the air under the trees, he could get off three shots, and bag three—then he might still get off more shots as they tried to escape, in the air or on the water. That would be chancy, though, without dogs to retrieve the bodies from the lake, and he really ought to be content with what he could take on the land tonight.
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