“Can I not look upon the face of the one who has saved my life?” asked Alexander.
“I choose not to allow it,” the Lady replied.
Alexander bowed, for if it was the Lady’s will, then so it should be.
“Where are your servants?” asked Alexander. “I would like to be sure that my horse is being tended to.”
“I have no servants,” said the Lady. “I have looked to your horse myself. He is well.”
Alexander had so many questions to ask that he was not sure where to begin. He opened his mouth, but the Lady raised a hand to silence him. “I will leave you now,” she said. “Sleep, for I wish you to recover quickly and be gone from this place as soon as you can.”
The mirror shimmered, and the Lady’s image was replaced with Alexander’s own. With nothing else to do, Alexander returned to his bed and slept.
The next morning, he awoke to find fresh bread beside him, and a jug of warm milk. He had heard no one enter during the night. Alexander drank some of the milk, and while he ate the bread he walked to the mirror and gazed upon it. Although the image did not change, he was certain that the Lady was behind the glass, watching him.
Now Alexander, like many of the greatest knights, was not merely a warrior. He could play both the lute and the lyre. He could compose poems, and even paint a little. He had a love of books, for in books was recorded the knowledge of all those who had gone before him. And so, when next the Lady appeared in the glass that night, he asked for some of these things in order to pass the time while he recovered from his injuries. When he woke up the next morning, he was greeted by a pile of old books, a slightly dusty lute, and a canvas, paints, and some brushes. He played the lute, then began to work his way through the books. There were volumes of history and philosophy, astronomy and morals, poetry and religion. As he read them in the days that followed, the Lady began to appear more often behind the glass, questioning him about all that he had read. It was clear to him that she had read them all many times and knew their contents intimately. Alexander was surprised, for in his own land women were not allowed access to such books, yet he was grateful for the conversation. The Lady then asked him to play for her on the lute, and he did so, and it seemed to him that the sounds he made pleased her.
Thus the days turned to weeks, and the Lady spent more and more time on the other side of the glass, talking with Alexander of art and books, listening to him play, and inquiring after what it was that he was painting, for Alexander refused to show it to her and obtained a promise from her that she would not look upon it while he slept, for he did not want her to see it until it was finished. And although Alexander’s wounds had almost healed, the Lady no longer seemed to wish him to leave, and Alexander no longer wanted to leave, for he was falling in love with this strange, veiled woman behind the glass. He spoke to her of the battles he had fought, and the reputation he had gained from his conquests. He wanted her to understand that he was a great knight, a knight worthy of a great lady.
After two months had passed, the Lady came to Alexander and sat in her usual place.
“Why do you look so sad?” she asked, for it was clear to her that the knight was unhappy.
“I cannot finish my painting,” he said.
“Why? Do you not have brushes and paints? What more do you need?”
Alexander turned the canvas away from the wall, so that the Lady might see the image upon it. It was a painting of the Lady herself, yet the face was blank, for Alexander had yet to look upon it.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I am in love with you. In these months we have spent together, I have learned so much about you. I have never met a woman like you, and I fear that if I leave here I may never do so again. Can I hope that you might feel the same way about me?”
The Lady lowered her head. She seemed about to speak, but then the mirror shimmered and she disappeared from view.
Days went by, and the Lady did not reappear. Alexander was left alone to wonder if he had offended her by what he had said and done. Each night he slept soundly, and each morning food appeared, but he never caught sight of the Lady who brought it.
Then, after five days, he heard the key turning in the lock of his door, and the Lady entered. She was still veiled and still dressed all in black, but Alexander sensed something different about her.
“I have thought about what you have said,” she said. “I too have feelings for you. But tell me, and tell me truly: Do you love me? Will you always love me, no matter what may occur?”
Somewhere deep in Alexander the hastiness of youth still lived, for he answered, almost unthinkingly: “Yes, I will always love you.”
Then the Lady raised her veil, and Alexander looked upon her face for the first time. It was the face of a woman crossed with that of a beast, a wild thing of the woods, like a panther or a tigress. Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but he could not, so shocked was he by what he saw.
“My stepmother made me this way,” said the Lady. “I was beautiful, and she envied me my beauty, so she cursed me with the features of an animal and told me that I would never be loved. And I believed her, and I hid myself away in shame, until you came.”
The Lady advanced toward Alexander, her hands outstretched, and her eyes were filled with hope and love and a faint flicker of fear, for she had opened herself to him as she had never before opened herself to another human being, and now her heart lay exposed as it would before a sharp blade.
But Alexander did not come to her. He backed away, and in that moment his fate was sealed.
“Foul man!” cried the Lady. “Fickle creature! You told me that you loved me, but you love only yourself.”
She raised her head and bared her sharp teeth at him. The tips of her gloves split as long claws emerged from her fingers. She roared at the knight, then sprang upon him, biting him, scratching him, ripping him with her claws, the taste of his blood warm in her mouth, the feel of it hot upon her fur.
And she tore him apart in the bedchamber, and she wept as she devoured him.
The two little girls looked rather shocked when Roland finished his tale. He rose, thanked Fletcher and his family for the meal, then indicated to David that they should leave. At the door, Fletcher laid a hand gently on Roland’s arm.
“A word, if you please,” he said. “The elders are worried. They believe that the village has been marked by the Beast of which you spoke, for it is surely nearby.”
“Do you have weapons?” asked Roland.
“We do, but you have seen the best of them. We are farmers and hunters, not soldiers,” said Fletcher.
“Perhaps that is fortunate,” said Roland. “The soldiers did not fare so well against it. You may have better luck.”
Fletcher looked at him quizzically, unable to tell if Roland was being serious or was taunting him. Even David was not sure.
“Are you jesting with me?” asked Fletcher.
Roland laid his hand upon the older man’s shoulder. “Only a little,” he said. “The soldiers approached the Beast’s destruction as they would that of another army. They fought of necessity on unfamiliar ground, against an enemy that they did not understand. They had time to build some defenses, for we saw what was left of them, but they were not strong enough to hold them. They were forced to retreat into the forest, and there they were finished off. Whatever it is, this creature is big, and heavy, for I saw where its bulk had flattened trees and shrubs. I doubt if it can move fast, but it is strong and can withstand the injuries inflicted by spears and swords. Out in the open, the soldiers were no match for it.
“But you and your fellows are in a different position. This is your land, and you know it. You need to look upon this thing as you would a wolf or a fox that is threatening your animals. You must lure it to a place of your own choosing, and there trap it and kill it.”
“You’re suggesting a decoy? Livestock, perhaps?”
Roland nodded. “That might work. It is coming, for it likes the taste of meat, an
d there is little of that between the site of its last meal and this village. You may huddle here and hope that your walls can withstand it, or you can plan for its destruction, but you may have to sacrifice more than some cattle to achieve that end.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fletcher. He looked fearful.
Roland wet his finger in a flask of water, then knelt and drew a circle on the stone floor, leaving a small gap instead of completing it.
“This is your village,” said Roland. “Your walls are built to repel an attack from outside.” He drew arrows pointing away from the circle. “But what if you were to allow your enemy in, and then close the gates upon him?” Roland completed the circle, and this time he drew arrows pointing inward. “Then your walls become a trap.”
Fletcher stared at the drawing, which was already drying upon the stone, fading away to nothing.
“And what do we do once it’s inside?” he asked.
“Then you set fire to the village, and everything within,” said Roland. “You burn it alive.”
That night, as Roland and David slept, a great blizzard arose, and the village and all that surrounded it was blanketed with snow. The snow continued to fall throughout the day, so thickly that it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Roland decided that they would have to stay in the village until the weather improved, but neither he nor David had food left, and the villagers had barely enough for themselves. So Roland asked to meet the elders, and he spent time with them in the church, for that was where the villagers met to discuss matters of great importance. He offered to help them kill the Beast if they would give shelter to him and to David. David sat at the rear of the church as Roland told them of his plan, and the arguments for and against it went back and forth. Some of the villagers were unwilling to sacrifice their houses to the flames, and David didn’t really blame them. They wanted to wait in the hope that the walls and defenses would save them when the Beast came.
“And if they do not hold?” asked Roland. “What then? By the time you realize they have failed you, it will be too late to do anything but die.”
In the end, a compromise was suggested. As soon as the weather cleared, the women, children, and old men would leave the village and take shelter in the caves on the nearby hills. They would bring with them everything of value, even their furniture, leaving only the shells of the houses behind. Barrels of pitch and oil would be stored in the cottages near the heart of the village. If the Beast attacked, the defenders would try to repel it or kill it from behind the walls. If it broke through, they would retreat, drawing it into the center. The fuses would be lit, and the Beast would be trapped and killed, but only as a last resort. The villagers took a vote, and all agreed that this was the best plan.
Roland stormed out of the church. David had to run to catch up with him.
“Why are you so angry?” asked David. “They agreed to most of your plan.”
“Most isn’t enough,” said Roland. “We don’t even know what we’re facing. What we do know is that trained soldiers, armed with hardened steel, couldn’t kill this thing. What hope do farmers have against it? Had they listened to me, then the Beast might have been defeated without any loss of life to them. Now men will die needlessly because of sticks and straw, because of hovels that could be rebuilt in weeks.”
“But it’s their village,” said David. “It’s their choice.”
Roland slowed down, then stopped. His hair was white with snow. It made him look much older than he was.
“Yes,” he said, “it’s their village. But our fortunes are now tied up with theirs, and if this fails, then there is a good chance that we may die alongside them for our troubles.”
The snow fell, and the fires burned in the cottages, and the wind carried the smell of the smoke into the darkest depths of the forest.
And in its lair the Beast smelled the smoke upon the air, and it began to move.
XXI
Of the Coming of the Beast
ALL THAT DAY and the next, preparations were made for the evacuation of the village. The women, children, and old men gathered up everything that they could carry, and every cart and every horse was pressed into service, except for Scylla, for Roland would not let her out of his sight. Instead, he rode beside the wall, both inside and out, checking it for weaknesses. He did not look pleased by what he saw. The snow still fell, numbing fingers and freezing feet. It made the task of reinforcing the village’s defenses harder, and the men grumbled among themselves, asking if all these preparations were really necessary and suggesting that they might have been better off fleeing with the women and children. Even Roland seemed to have his doubts.
“We might as well set splinters and firewood against this creature,” David heard him tell Fletcher. They had no idea from which direction the attack would come, so over and over again Roland instructed the defenders in their lines of retreat if the wall was breached and in their tasks once the Beast was in the village. He did not want the men to panic and flee blindly when the creature broke through—as he was sure it would—or all would be lost, but he had little faith in their willingness to stand and face the Beast if the tide of battle turned against them.
“They are not cowards,” Roland told David while they sat by a fire and rested, drinking milk still warm from the cow. All around them men were sharpening staffs and sword blades, or using oxen and horses to drag tree trunks into the compound in order to support the walls from within. There was little conversation now, for the day was drawing to a close and night was approaching. Everyone was tense and frightened. “Each of these men would lay down his life for his wife and children,” Roland continued. “Faced by bandits or wolves or wild beasts, they would meet the threat, and live or die according to the outcome. But this is different: they don’t know or understand what they are about to confront, and they are not disciplined or experienced enough to fight as one. While they will all stand together, each in his way will face this thing alone. They will be united only when the courage of one falters and he runs, and the others follow after him.”
“You don’t have much faith in people, do you?” said David.
“I don’t have much faith in anything,” Roland replied. “Not even in myself.”
He drank the last of his milk, then cleaned the cup in a bucket of cold water.
“Come now,” he said. “We have sticks to sharpen, and blunt swords to make keen.”
He smiled emptily. David did not smile back.
It had been decided that they would marshal the main part of their little force near the gates, in the hope that this would draw the Beast to them. If it breached the defenses, it would then be lured into the center of the village, where the trap would be sprung. They would then have one chance, and one chance only, to contain it and to kill it.
When not even the barest sliver of pale moon was visible in the sky, a convoy of people and animals quietly left the village, with a small escort of men to make sure that they reached the caves safely. Once the men had returned, a formal watch was placed upon the walls, each man taking it in turn to spend a few hours guarding the approaches. Altogether, they numbered about forty men, and David. Roland had asked David if he wished to enter the caves with the others, but, although he was frightened, David said that he wanted to stay. He was not sure why. Partly he felt safer with Roland, who was the only person he trusted in this place, but also he was curious. David wanted to see the Beast, whatever it was. Roland seemed to know this and, when the villagers asked him why he had allowed David to stay, he told them that David was his squire and was as valuable to him as his sword or his horse. His words made David blush with pride.
They tethered an old cow in the clearing before the gates, hoping that it would lure the Beast, but nothing happened on that first night of the watch, or the second, and the men grew ever more grouchy and tired. The snow kept falling and freezing, falling and freezing. The watchers on the walls found it hard to see the forest because of the blizzard. A few b
egan muttering among themselves.
“This is foolishness.”
“This creature is as cold as we are. It will not attack us in this weather.”
“Perhaps there is no Beast at all. What if Ethan was attacked by a wolf, or a bear? We have only this vagabond’s word that he saw the bodies of soldiers.”
“The blacksmith is right. What if all of this is a trick?”
It was Fletcher who tried to make them see reason. “And what purpose would such a trick serve?” he asked them. “He is one man, with a boy by his side. He cannot murder us in our sleep, and we have nothing worth stealing. If he is doing it for food, then there is poor eating for him here. Have faith, my friends, and be patient and watchful.”
Their grumblings ceased then, but they were still cold and unhappy, and they missed their wives and their families.
David spent all of his time with Roland, sleeping beside him during their periods of rest and walking the perimeter with him when their time came to take the watch. Now that the defenses had been strengthened as well as they could be, Roland took time to talk and joke with the villagers, shaking them awake when they dozed and encouraging them when their spirits grew low. He knew that this was the hardest time for them, for the watch was both dull and hard on their nerves. Watching him move among them, and seeing the way in which he had supervised the defense of the village, David wondered if Roland really was only a soldier, as he claimed. He seemed more like a leader to David, a natural captain of men, yet he was riding alone.
On the second night, they sat in the light of a big fire, huddled beneath thick cloaks. Roland had told David that he was free to sleep in one of the cottages nearby, but none of the others had chosen to do so and David did not want to appear weaker than he already seemed by taking up the offer, even if his refusal meant sleeping outdoors, cold and exposed. Thus he chose to remain with Roland. The flames illuminated the soldier’s features, casting shadows across his skin, enhancing the bones in his cheeks, and deepening the darkness in the sockets of his eyes.
The Book of Lost Things (2006) Page 18
