by Robin Jarvis
Two whole weeks stretched by and the Warden of the Great Book refused to come forth. Then one evening, a messenger came from Greenreach announcing that the new Starwife was to be inaugurated by her subjects. Eagerly, Vesper took the tidings to the new general, who sombrely granted him permission to attend.
The following morning Vesper flew out over the walled city—anxious to see his beloved again. The great river shone beneath him as he sped towards the blessed hill and as he drew nearer he could see that the squirrels had not been idle.
The wreckage of the Hallowed Oak had been completely removed and not a trace of the fierce burning which had so marred the land now remained. Saplings had been planted to replace the trees that had perished in the fury of the fire-eggs and already the hill was covered in new grass and spring flowers speckled the lush expanse of green.
Excitement charged the air as he fluttered round. The banners of the combined squirrel houses flew in the murmuring breeze above hundreds of brightly coloured tents and, not to be outdone, the woodlanders had hastily sewn a standard of their own to set flying alongside those of their allies.
Preparations for the approaching ceremony were nearing completion as Vesper set down, and though the squirrels and mice greeted him warmly, they were too busy to hear the tidings of the great siege. Only Fenny stayed with him and he sensed that the young bat was troubled and agitated about something.
Leading him from the bustling crowds, the mouse captain refrained from asking what ailed his winged friend and told him instead of the progress that they had made in his absence.
“Oh, aye,” he declared, “’twill be a beauteous realm again—though not as fair as it was afore. Still, the folk who remain will deem it pretty enough I’ll warrant.”
Vesper fidgeted and looked over his shoulder, but the mouse made no comment and continued mildly.
“As soon as we can, the woodlanders and me are setting off. This isn’t the place for us. Now the Hobbers are gone, a sweet meadow is what we’ll settle for and nothing else.” They had walked far from the excited noise and Fenny lay his paw on Vesper’s shoulder.
“You will be most welcome to join us,” he said, “you and—whomever you might want to bring.”
Vesper stared at him; it was as if the mouse had read his thoughts.
“Say nothing,” Fenny told him, “stay here and I shall send her to you. Best to speak away from that heady babble.”
The mouse turned and strode briskly back towards the tents. Standing amid the pale lilac flowers, Vesper took a deep breath and waited. He was terribly nervous and gazed at the wondrous display before him, knowing that what he was going to ask would be extremely difficult. Impulsively, he lowered his eyes so that he would not have to look at the merry scene and walked uneasily round in a tight circle.
“Vespertilio!” called a voice.
The bat jumped and his toothy grin lit his face as Ysabelle came regally through the grass towards him.
“I longed for thee to be here this day,” she said, “but dared not raise my hopes. So, the Knights of the Moon have released thee from thy duties—I am glad.”
“I would have come even if they had not!” he answered, running to meet her. “Nothing could keep me from your side.”
The maiden laughed as they embraced. “Oh, there is so much to tell,” she said. “A chamber has been dug beneath the earth by the woodland folk and there they have set the throne salvaged from the ruined oak. Look at the flowers around us, are they not beautiful? I believe the spirit of the Green has blessed this place anew. It is all so joyous that I doubt sometimes whether everything was as dark and grim as I remember. My heart has never been so light and free of care—Griselda is chiding me continuously.”
“But times were dark,” Vesper told her, “never forget that, we lost dear friends upon that desperate road.”
“I know!” she said. “I have not forgotten them. Have you seen thy mother—was she not proud of thee? I knew she would be. If only my parents were here today. Oh, but is it not glorious?”
“Ysabelle,” the bat interrupted, “I have something to say to you.”
“It will be a most wonderful ceremony—such pageantry and pomp. Our cousins, those of the Fir, have brought many fine minstrels and they play the grandest music.”
“Ysabelle!” he cried again.
The squirrel blinked at him in surprise. “What is the matter?” she asked.
“Do you not know?” he replied morosely. “Have you forgotten the time on the mound, and when we danced to humbler tunes than those thy cousins can play?”
The Starwife looked uncomfortable. “Of course not,” she said, “yet that seems long ago to me now.”
“Long ago?” Vesper repeated in misery, “Listen to me Ysabelle! My every breath is thine, you order my waking thoughts and tantalise my dreams. These past weeks without seeing you or hearing your voice have been a desolation to me!”
“Vespertilio,” she said with some reserve, “what game is this?”
“No game!” he wailed. “Hear me now, we must flee this place. Do not take part in the ceremony—relinquish thy high office! Come with me, let us begin a new life far from here! Our devotion can overcome all obstacles, I know it can!”
Ysabelle recoiled in astonishment. The emotions which came flooding from the young bat frightened her and she pulled away from his clinging embrace.
Vesper fell to his knees. “This is what I had hoped and dreamed for!” he wept. “It can be done—long and hard have I thought. If we can only find some lonely spot we can be truly happy. Never has there been a love like ours.”
“Oh, Vespertilio,” she said sorrowfully, “I did not realise how deep thy feelings were. Of course I have affection for thee, but do you not see? You have thrown my mind into confusion—I must have time to think.”
“There is no time—listen! The trumpets are sounding, summoning everyone to the ceremony. You must choose, my beloved—it is our only chance of joy!”
“But where would we go? We are of two different kinds, folk would spurn us at every turn!”
“What does that matter? We will have each other—Fenny has said we may go with him.”
Ysabelle glanced back at the tents and all the banners which flew above them. “But I am the Starwife,” she uttered feebly.
“Let them find another!”
“I cannot! Vespertilio you do not know the grave responsibilities which now burden me. From the day the falcon dropped the silver acorn and it fell into my paws my destiny has lain outside the natural world. It binds me tight and I can never escape it—I must not. Your proposal is rash and ill-considered, it would never succeed and we would grow to despise one another. Our cultures are far too different.”
“Ysabelle! You love me—I know you do, how can you deny the happiness which would be ours?”
“Enough!” she cried, refusing to hear any more. “I am now the Starwife, Handmaiden of Orion, and as such must act with wisdom.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she stroked his hair, murmuring, “A squirrel of the royal blood and a Moonrider; it was a lovely dream, Vespertilio, but such fancies must melt in the harsh glare of day. The dream is ended now. I go to my inauguration and do not think I should see thee again. Come no more to this place. Do not seek me, for I shall not speak with thee again.”
“But we mean so much to one another!” he spluttered.
“I am not permitted to love any mortal,” she answered, “my duty comes above all things. Goodbye.”
With tears streaking down her face, she spun on her heel and raced over the hilltop, to where Griselda was waiting for her.
Vesper uttered an empty cry as she fled from him and he called her name unceasingly until Ysabelle had vanished from his sight.
Surrounded by the swaying flowers, which rustled in the breeze, Vesper wept—desolate and filled with despair.
“What is this?” came a velvet voice. “Sadness on such a glad day of rejoicing?”
Vesper looked sharply b
ehind him. “Who are you?” he asked, wiping his streaming eyes upon his wing.
Through the salty blur of his tears, he saw a cloaked figure rising from the grasses and a mist of lilac petals floated about the folds of the dark material. A deep hood obscured the stranger’s face and no clue to his identity could Vesper glimpse.
“Why were you hiding there?” he sniffed. “Explain yourself.”
“It is a fine morning and the sun, she shines most richly—I am afraid that I was sleeping when thy voices awoke me.”
“What... what did you hear?”
“Enough to know how forlorn thou art. To go through one’s existence so discouraged is not good, my friend.”
The bat frowned and tried to look beneath the hood. “Do I know you?” he asked. “Your voice is vaguely familiar.”
“I am but a fleeting visitor, come to view the crowning of one so great. Is it not pleasing to be present on such a day as this? I am exceedingly grateful to be here.”
Vesper shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “I have nothing to be thankful for. My life is in ruins, no joys are left to me—only dark despair.” He turned to leave but the other called him back.
“Thou hast my sympathies, Moonrider. Yet do not let us part on so bitter a note. My time here is also brief; wilt thou not drink a toast with a passing wayfarer? If not to the future which you see so bleak—then to the past?”
All Vesper wanted to do was to leave Greenreach far behind him, yet the cloaked figure was so insistent that he grudgingly agreed.
“I have about me a certain mixture which is honey to the tongue,” said the stranger, “a fine mead from a distant realm—come drink.”
From a pocket in his cloak, he took a small bottle that flashed and winked in the bright sunshine as he pushed it into Vesper’s grasp.
Politely, he received it and put the phial to his lips.
Abruptly the figure let out a mocking laugh. “Did I not say my curse would hound thee?” hissed the scornful shade of Wendel Maculatum. “Taste now the full bitterness of thy doom!”
Vesper gasped in horror as the empty cloak sank amid the flowers and the malevolent spirit fled back to its cold tomb. Only then, as he stared helplessly around him, did the young bat understand and the curse was finally fulfilled.
Prattling constantly, Griselda led her mistress down to the chamber the woodlanders had prepared The route was lined with members of the squirrel houses and all bowed as their new Sovereign passed.
“Ooh, is it not a delight?” the mouse gabbled. “Such a day I never did see, M’lady, who would have ever thought it? You the queen over all—does my heart proud it does.”
Ysabelle said nothing, and her features seemed frozen. Inside, all was turmoil and she walked down the stairway as one in a trance.
“Oh look, M’lady!” squeaked the oblivious maid. “There is that bold fellow I told you of, the one who asked me to step out with him. The very idea! Still, mighty pleasant and well spoken he is—one of them woodland folk I believe. Says he is of the brownmice and he won’t be leaving with the others to search for that mythical land they are always speaking of. Intends to settle down by the Deep Ford yonder and might he come and visit me with a view to getting better acquainted? In all honesty I don’t know what to make of him.”
But Ysabelle was not listening. She was thinking only of Vesper and as the crowds cheered, it was his remote voice and that alone she could hear.
A host of memories shone in her mind when she stepped woodenly up to the throne and, blazing fiercely in them all, was the young Moonrider.
Solemnly, the minstrels began to play and the maiden sat mechanically upon the elaborately-carved chair.
From the throng that flanked the raised dais, the prince of the Ivy house came. In his paws he bore the silver amulet which had been entrusted to him for this most magnificent occasion and he bowed before the Starwife before ascending to stand in front of her.
Ysabelle hardly noticed him; an image of Vesper flickered before her eyes and she smiled faintly, remembering their times together. A delicious warmth kindled inside her and with it a tremendous ray of hope cleared all shadows from her heart and at last she listened and knew what she must do.
“Sovereign queen,” the prince gravely intoned, “in the might of the Starglass thou hast been tempered.” As he spoke, the squirrel raised his arms and held the amulet above Ysabelle’s head.
“Under the firmament thou wert tested and hath proven worthy, accept now, before we who are gathered here, the symbol of thy peerless office. May the Green bless thee.”
The minstrels grew silent as the prince began to lower the silver acorn, but even as it descended, Ysabelle threw up her paw and pushed it aside.
“No!” she cried. “I will not accept it.”
A startled murmur rippled around the chamber and Griselda’s cap fell from her head in her startled surprise.
“But, most noble monarch,” the prince began, “the acceptance is made, this is a mere formality.”
“I do not care!” Ysabelle replied, rising to her feet, “I have done my duty. What is there for me to look forward to now? A long dismal life stretches before me. I would rather live from day to uncertain day—happy with my beloved, than commit myself to such a cruel and lonely sentence!”
The court was scandalised and uttered shrieks of protest. Only one figure refrained from voicing his displeasure and a great, glad smile split his face from ear to ear.
“That’s right,” Fenny called, “you had me worried for a moment!”
Ysabelle stared at the mouse captain and laughed. “None of this matters now,” she declared, “I must go to him, I must speak with him!”
Pushing past the horrified prince, Ysabelle tore from the throne and raced through the chamber, with Fenny’s shouts ringing above all the clamour and her devotion to Vesper spurring her on.
“Green be with thee both!” the mouse called as she hurtled up the stairs.
Out into the fresh morning air, Ysabelle ran—her long raven hair streaming behind her.
Past the brightly-coloured tents she hurried, her true love’s name always on her lips.
“Vesper!” she sang. “Vesper—forgive me. I did not know what I was doing. Of course I love you. Don’t leave without me, wait! Vesper!”
Up to the place where she had left him, Ysabelle fled and her heart nearly burst with the emotion that swelled inside her.
“Vesper!” she called urgently, scampering through the lilac flowers. “Vesper!”
Then the squirrel maiden juddered to a halt and stared aghast at the terrible sight which met her eyes.
“No,” she whimpered, “oh, please no!”
A slight breeze ruffled through the flowers and upon it she thought she could hear a faint, victorious chuckle. Ysabelle’s knees buckled under her and it was as if a bitter knife had pierced her heart.
There, with the tiny phial of blue glass still in his grasp, and the traces of its contents glistening upon his lips—her one and only love lay dead.
“Vesper,” she wept desperately, “Oh Vesper, forgive me!”
But the only answer came from the delicate bluebells which rustled and swayed around them.
Book 3: Thomas
First published in the UK in 1995
Old Wounds
Gwen Triton put down the little square of cotton which she was attempting to embroider and passed a weary paw over her tired eyes. At her side a stubby candle flickered, painting the small snug space with rich, golden hues. Sighing, the mouse tidied away her reels of coloured thread and gazed wistfully around as she waited for her husband to return.
Situated within a hollow figurehead on board the Cutty Sark, the midshipmouse’s quarters were certainly a great deal more homely than when she had first moved into them. A curtain of lace had been draped across the entrance and with the few odds and ends she had rescued from the wreck of the Skirtings she had virtually transformed the place.
Flowers now garl
anded her husband’s model ship and his rough blankets were replaced by a quilt of patchwork; his lead anchor charm hung alongside Albert Brown’s mousebrass and next to all the maps and charts of exotic places, Gwen had put up a few pictures that her children had drawn when they were very young.
She thought of them now with a mixture of sorrow and pride—how grown up they both were!
Her daughter, Audrey, had occupied the august office of the Starwife for some time and ruled the squirrel colony of Greenwich with as much tenacity as her predecessor ever did, and thinking of this, Gwen could not help but smile. She saw Audrey quite often, when official duties allowed, and it was comforting to be so close to her realm. Arthur, however, was another matter.
Gwen’s son, Arthur Brown, had quickly grown impatient with life on board the Cutty Sark. From the start it was obvious that there was not enough room upon the sailing ship for all those who had fled the old empty house. The lack of space got on everyone’s nerves and tempers had smouldered with the shortest of fuses. Generally it was the younger mice who resented the new life, for they had seen a tiny glimpse of the world outside and were aching to view more.
Finally it had all come to a head one day when Arthur got into a bloody fight with one of the old Landings boys. That was enough for the plump Master Brown; the very next day he bade his mother and stepfather farewell and left the Cutty Sark for good.
Arthur did not go alone however, for the large group of discontented youngsters decided to accompany him and elected him as their leader.
For the first three weeks after his sad departure, or ‘the great abandonment’ as it eventually came to be called, Gwen Triton had very little sleep and spent many troubled nights worrying about her son. Then one evening a water vole crept aboard the ship with a message for her. Arthur was now the new Thane of the city. He had led the others through the sewers to the old mouse tunnels of Holeborn that his late friend Piccadilly once spoke of with so much affection.
