Now and again they would dismount and lead the horses, though once in a while they raced at breakneck speed across an open dell.
And always behind, but well within a swift gallop, trailed Anton and his warband.
And the lovers rode among groves of wild cherry, their pink blossoms bursting in glory, and a storm of petals swirled about them in a roil of air.
“When will the cherries ripen?” asked Roel.
“For these trees, never,” said Celeste. “And although they lose their petals in the turning breeze, when no one is looking they replenish themselves and begin anew.”
“Anew?”
“Oui. These particular trees are ever petaled, for this is the Foret de Printemps, my love, where spring is never ending.”
“You mean the season is somehow arrested?” Celeste nodded. “Endless, undying, perpetual.”
“How strange,” said Roel, looking about, wonder in his eyes. “Why then isn’t the ground ’neath them piled neck-high in petals?”
Celeste laughed. “No one knows, my love; it is but another mystery of the Springwood.”
“Magic, I would say,” said Roel. “-Is all of the forest like this? Ever caught in the season?”
“Oui, it is.”
“Oh, my,” said Roel. “How marvelous. A woodland ever wakening. ’Tis a unique wonder.” Celeste smiled and said, “Let me tell you of the Winterwood, the Autumnwood, and the Summerwood.” As she spoke of these other domains and their own miraculous attributes, they passed among white-flowering dogwoods and across fields of purple crocuses, and places where mushrooms pushed up through layers of decaying leaves. They forded rushing streams and galloped by new-budding trees, and o’er fields of grasses turning green as they rode among spring everlasting.
Celeste and Roel stopped for a picnic lunch along the banks of a stream running swiftly with snowmelt. And above the burble, Roel frowned and cocked an ear.
“What is it, my love?” asked Celeste.
“I hear a rustling.”
Celeste laughed. “Ah, it is but the wee folk.”
“Wee folk? Fairies you mean? Or Elves?”
“Oh, non. Fairies are quite like you and me, though perhaps a bit smaller in stature. Not Elves either, for they match us in size as well. Non, my love, the wee folk are tiny.” Celeste held a hand some six or so inches above the ground. “Some smaller, some larger, some winged, others not. Perhaps you would call some of them Sprites and others Pixies, though those are but two kinds of wee folk.”
Roel looked about, and now and again he caught a glimpse of furtive movement in the undergrowth. “Are we trespassing in their demesne? Is that why they gather ’round?”
A tiny giggle sounded and more rustling, and something or someone at the edge of Roel’s peripheral vision dashed from behind a rock to behind a tree.
Celeste laughed. “Non, Roel. They gather because I am their nominal liege lord, and they come to pay their respects.”
“You are their liege?”
“Oui. The whole of the Springwood is my demesne.”
“The entire wood?”
“Oui.”
Roel slowly shook his head. “Why, then, Princess, would you choose someone as me-the poor third son of a common knight, and not the prince or the king you deserve?”
Celeste took Roel’s hand. “You are no common knight, Roel, but are the man I have dreamed of.”
“You have nightmares, eh?”
Celeste broke into laughter.
It was late in the day when they returned to the manor, Anton and his men yet trailing, and even as the two handed their horses over to the stable master and his boys, Gerard came and discreetly waited.
As Celeste spoke to the hostler, Gerard stepped to Roel and said, “My lord, it is-”
“Oh, Gerard, I am no lord.”
“Nevertheless, my lord,” said Gerard, stubbornly, “it is time to make ready for dinner this eve. Your bath awaits, and I will dress you.”
“Dress me, Gerard?”
“Oui, my lord,” said the tall, gaunt, bald-headed man.
“I am assigned as your valet de chambre.” Gerard’s smile lit up his face, for he was truly happy at his change of station.
Dinner was held in a large dining hall, Celeste at the head of the lengthy cherrywood table, Roel at the foot.
Others were ranged along the sides, among whom were Vidal, tall and spare and with silver hair, steward of Springwood Manor; Anton, a stocky redhead, captain of the Springwood warband; Theon, brown-haired and wiry and of average height, captain of the houseguard; Gilles, the healer, dark of hair and eye; and brown-haired Henriette, petite and sharp-eyed, chaperone to the princess. Three other ladies were present, but Roel could not place their names.
And all were dressed in finery, the women in satiny gowns of topaz, of emerald, of sienna, and of azure, the men in shades of russet and grey and auburn and deep blue. Celeste wore topaz and white, with matching ribbons loosely entwined in her hair. Roel wore indigo-
trews, hose, his shirt with puffed sleeves inset with pale lavender diamonds. Even his silver-buckled shoes were dark blue.
Marielle, a blonde sitting to Roel’s right cooed, “Oh, Sieur Knight, do tell us of your rescue of our beloved princess.”
Roel smiled and said, “Mayhap you have that backwards, my lady, for I think it was she who rescued me.”
At Marielle’s puzzled frown, Roel said, “You see, I rashly charged in among the brigands and found myself within a seething melee, and it was Princess Celeste who made certain that none came at me from arear. Had she not done so, I likely would not be here tonight.”
“But surely, Sieur,” said Marielle, “you slew nearly all.”
“Oh, non, mademoiselle, ’twas the princess who took many down. In fact I imagine she slew more than did I.” Marielle made a moue, and Anton said, “Of the thirteen slain, seven were by sword, six by arrow.”
“Thirteen?” asked Roel. “But two escaped.”
“No, Sieur Roel. Of the pair who fled, we later found both dead in the woods, one with a missing hand, the other with an arrow in his side. Both bled to death.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roel. “What else did you discover?”
“We searched them thoroughly and, other than their arms and armor and steeds, we found gear for living off the land and a few coppers and some silvers, and little else. Their weapons and such we added to our armory; their steeds and tack are in our stables.” Roel frowned. “Were there no papers? The princess tells me that someone sent those brigands to fetch her-
dead or alive, it mattered not. It seems to me that they might have had perhaps a written description, or at least a map.”
“Non,” replied Anton. “No papers, no map, no orders.
I would be surprised if any of them could read, base outlaws that they were. All we have are the words of the brigand leader that their mistress sent them.”
“Are there any notions as to just who this mistress might be?” asked Roel.
Anton looked at Princess Celeste, and she said,
“There are three sisters, three witches, foe of my family entire. Perhaps it is one of them.”
“Three witches?” asked Roel.
“Oui, though once there were four: Hradian, Rhensibe, Iniqui, and Nefasi. But my brother Borel slew Rhensibe-or rather did his Wolves-and now there are only three.”
“Given the brigand’s words,” said silver-haired Vidal,
“surely this points toward one of that nefarious trio.” Celeste nodded. “Oui, Vidal, I think you are right, for the bird did cry out for revenge.”
“Bird?” asked Amelie, a rather staid woman with chestnut hair, Vidal’s wife. “There was a bird?”
“The leader had a crow or a raven on his shoulder,” said Celeste, “and when I slew that brigand, the bird took to flight and kept crying out for revenge.” Henriette gasped, “Mithras protect us all,” and she and Marielle both made warding signs.
“Perhaps it was
the crow that guided the brigands here,” said Darci, a ginger-haired tall girl to Theon’s left.
“An ensorcelled bird?” Theon asked.
Darci nodded. “Bewitched by one of the sisters.”
“Oh,” said Henriette, fluttering her hands about,
“please let us talk of something other than bewitchments and death.” A silence fell on the gathering, and finally Gilles said,
“I hear you are on a quest, Sieur Roel.”
“Oui. My sister and two brothers are missing, and I go to find them.”
“Missing?” said Marielle. “Oh, how thrilling. Where are you bound?”
“Wherever they are bound is where I am bound,” said Roel.
Marielle frowned. “I don’t understand.” Gilles smiled and said, “ ’Tis a play on words, Marielle. Bound and bound-one means confined or imprisoned; the other means where one is headed. Ah, and there are also the meanings ‘to leap’ and ‘to set a limit,’ but they do not apply to Roel’s words. Only ‘confined’ and ‘going’ are relevant: he is bound where they are bound.”
“Oh, I see,” said Darci, giggling, but Marielle still looked on blankly.
Roel took pity. “When Gilles will let me, I am heading south, for that’s the direction a sage named Geron told me to go, once I entered Faery, that is.”
“South?” asked Marielle.
Roel looked about and took a bearing and then pointed.
“Ah, sunwise,” said Marielle.
Now it was Roel who looked puzzled. “Sunwise?”
“Directions are uncertain in Faery,” said Gilles. “So we name them sunup, sunwise, sundown, and starwise.
Sunup and sundown are self-explanatory as to where they lie; sunwise is in general the direction of the sun at the noontide; starwise is the opposite.”
“The Springwood border you head toward,” said Vidal, “is very tricky-it leads to many different domains. If you cross just a few feet off course, you’ll end up somewhere altogether different from where you intend, and many of those realms are quite perilous to life and limb.”
“That’s why we intend to escort you, Roel,” said Celeste. “Else you’ll not likely reach the port city of Mizon.”
Roel shook his head. “Princess, as I said, I cannot ask you to share my peril, for there are Changelings involved.”
“Changelings!” shrieked Henriette, her spoon clattering to her plate. “Oh, Mithras!” Again she made a warding sign, as did Marielle and Darci.
“The princess and I have conferred,” said Anton, glancing at Vidal, who nodded. “We intend to take the warband and accompany you.”
Roel held up a hand of negation. “I repeat, I would not have the princess in peril.”
“Did you not say that I had saved your life, Roel?” asked Celeste.
All the guests looked at Roel.
“You did, my lady, for you have great skill with the bow.”
Rather like spectators at a badminton match, the guests turned toward Celeste.
“And if I were a man with that skill, would you object to my guiding you?” she asked.
Following the shuttlecock, they looked at Roel. .
“Princess, you are not a man.”
. . and back to Celeste.
“I am well aware that I am not a man, Roel, just as most surely are you. Even so, that does not answer my question; hence I ask it again: if I were a man with that skill, would you object to my guiding you?” The guests waited for Roel’s reply.
“Nay, my lady, a man with your skill would be welcomed.”
“You object only because of my gender?”
“I object because I would not see you in dire straits and because you are my beloved.”
A muttering went ’round the table, the women sighing, the men looking at one another somewhat startled, though they nodded in agreement with Roel’s words, especially Captains Anton and Theon.
“Just as I would not see you in peril either, Roel,” said Celeste. “You need my skill; thus I will go, for you are my very heart.”
Marielle squealed and clapped her hands, and Darci pressed a palm to her own breast and said, “Oh, my.” Henriette glanced about with a smug smile, and Amelie looked across at Vidal, pleasure in her eyes.
Vidal grinned, for he had long wished the princess would find love, while both Anton and Theon looked at one another and then at Roel and grinned. Gilles laughed aloud and stood, goblet in hand. He raised the drink first to Celeste and then to Roel and said, “To the madness of love!”
Madness! shouted Anton and Theon together, standing as well and hoisting their goblets and then downing their wine in one gulp.
Gaiety filled the room, and even dignified Vidal and staid Amelie joined in the many following salutes.
Celeste laughed and Roel smiled, but in the back of his mind, he knew though Celeste would ride with him; into peril they would go.
7
Idyll
“You do not play echecs, my love?”
“Non, Princess. I have often thought I would find the time to learn, but I never did.”
“Then I will teach you, Roel, for it is a splendid pastime.”
“Then let us have at it, Celeste.”
They quickly finished their breakfast, and then hurried to the game room. “Choose the color of your doom, Roel,” said Celeste, gesturing at several tables, the echiquiers arrayed with men.
“Well, if it’s my doom, I suppose black is as good a color as any.”
The princess smiled. “Ah, then, let us sit here. I will play ebon, you the ivory.”
“Ah, I see, then: you are my doom, eh?”
“Ever, my love. Ever.”
After they had taken seats, Celeste said, “These are the names of the pieces: here arrayed in a row along the front are the spearmen, eight altogether; here in the back row, these two on the outside are the towers; next to those are the chevaliers, sometimes known as cavaliers; followed by the hierophants; and then the roi and reine-the king and queen-though the queen is also known as the dame. And this is the way each moves, and how they capture opposing pieces. . ”
“Argh!” exclaimed Roel, “six defeats in a row. I will never master this game.”
“Master echecs in six tries?” Celeste laughed. “I have spent many a candlemark at it, and still I am but a novice.”
Roel frowned. “But all other games I have essayed have come easily to me. This one, though, the possibilities are endless.”
“Ah, but you lasted much longer, my love,” said Celeste.
“Only because you coached me, Princess.” Celeste grinned. “As was I coached by my brother Borel. He’s much better than I.”
“That is hard to believe, Celeste,” said Roel, setting the pieces up for another game.
“Borel defeated the Fairy King at echecs,” said Celeste. “No one had ever done that before. Yet, heed, Borel is not the best of us.”
“Not the best? Then who?”
“Camille, Alain’s beloved. She defeated Borel handily.”
“Remind me to never play against her,” said Roel, grinning and moving his roi’s spearman forward two.
That evening, in the soft light of paper lanterns, they sat in the gazebo out on the front lawn, Celeste with a violin, Roel with a lute. Also under the roof were Marielle with a flute and Laurette, a fair-haired, petite demoiselle, playing a small harp. Gathered about on the lawn were members of the staff of the manor, those who were free of duty, all sitting and sipping wine at this impromptu concert. And they oft applauded over a well-executed, difficult riff, and over the sweet voice of Celeste as she sang ballades, as well as the baritone of Roel as he sang humorous ditties, mostly of knights bettered by wily maidens.
When it came Roel’s turn again to sing of knightly exploits, he set his wineglass aside and announced, “The Crafty Maid.”
Some in the audience laughed, while others looked on puzzled.
Roel struck a chord on his lute, and then began a merry tune, accompanied by
Marielle and her flute, who seemed the only one other than Roel who knew the air:
Come listen awhile and I’ll sing you a song Of three merry chevaliers riding along.
They met a fair maid and one to her did say,
“I fear this cold morning will do you some wrong.”
“Oh no, kind sir,” said the maid, “you are mistaken To think this cold morn some harm will do me.
There’s one thing I crave, and it lies twixt your legs.
If you’ll just give me that, then warm I will be.”
“Since you crave it, my dear, it is yours,” said he,
“If you’ll just come with me to yonder green tree.
Then since you do crave it, my dear you shall have it.
These two chevaliers my witness will be.” The chevalier lighted beneath the green tree, And straightaway she mounted, laughing in glee.
“You knew not my meaning, you wrong understood.” And galloping away she right swiftly did flee.
“Oh. . chevaliers, stop laughing and take me up, That we might ride after her down the long lane.
If we overtake her, I’ll warrant I’ll make her Return unto me my horse back again.” But soon as this fair maiden she saw them acoming, She instantly took her dagger in hand.
Crying, “Doubt not my skill, it’s him I would kill; I’d have you fall back or he’s a dead man.”
Said one, “Oh. . why do we spend time galloping, talking?
Why do we spend time speaking in vain?
He’ll give you a silver; it’s all you deserve; And then you can give him his horse back again.”
“Oh no, kind sir, you are vastly mistaken.
If it is his loss well then, it is my gain, And you did witness that he gave it to me.” And away she went galloping over the plain.
And so my fine gentlemen be wary of maidens, For clever they are, and crafty they be.
If one offers something too good to be true, Then surely too good to be true it does be.
Oh, surely too good to be true it. . does. . be!
With a final twang of the lute strings, Roel broke out in laughter, as did the gathering, Celeste applauding and laughing as well. Roel leaned over and whispered loud enough for her to hear, “Present company excepted.” Celeste feigned a look of innocence. “Your meaning, Sieur?”
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