by Ann Benson
“If you do, they will put the hounds on your scent, and you will be discovered before you are out of shouting distance. But no amount of time will keep them from your trail if you do not ride.”
She sank down hard on the bed. “Père may already be at Mother Sarah’s cottage!” she said frantically. “We must get word to him!” She stood again and gripped the lapels of Chaucer’s mantle. “Please,” she begged, “if you have any heart in you at all, help me. Ride out today and tell him that our plan must change!”
“I will gladly do so, lady,” he said, his voice full of frustration. “But before I can tell him of a change in the plan, there must exist a new one! What shall I say, that he should charge up to the gates of Windsor on his horse, slash his way through with a gleaming sword, scoop you up into the saddle with him, and then ride off into the night?”
She stood, wordless, as her mind raced with notions of how she might escape. “I can think of only one other way,” she said. “You and I are of a size, Chaucer; tomorrow at the masque, we can have two identical costumes, both so fully covering that no one will see what stands beneath. If you can keep yourself aside for a while, you can come forward at an opportune moment—perhaps in the May dance—and I can slip off. When I am safely away, you can step into cover and remove the costume that is a twin to mine, underneath which you will wear another!”
Chaucer let out a bitter laugh. “How shall I convince someone that I am a light-footed lady?”
“Use that marvelous imagination of yours to think of how it feels, and then make your body do what your mind tells it to do. You can do this, I know you can!”
He considered her suggestion, and though it was born of desperation, he knew it might work if everything went off without a flaw. “And what of your père? How shall you rendezvous with him after this bold escape?”
She struggled over his question for a few moments, then finally said, “Tell him that he must wait outside with a sturdy horse, and I will find him. When you ride out to speak to him, find a place that we can both easily recognize.”
When Chaucer did not respond immediately, Kate pleaded with him anew. “Please, for the love of all that is good, help me get away! That ogre will take me to God knows where in France and I shall never see my son again!”
It was another very long moment before Chaucer whispered, “All right. We will have need of the costumes and masks as soon as possible. Can your nurse prepare them?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“Then set her to the task, and I shall ride out at dawn.”
Kate threw herself into his arms in gratitude. After a long and desperate embrace, she let him go. “It is not too far,” she said. She described the route to the meadow in detail. “At the southernmost end of it, you will see a pair of tall oaks that have grown together to form an arch. Go through the arch and follow the path to a cottage. If God loves me, you will find my father there.” Then she finished with a warning: “Beware of the passage through the oaks, for there is witchcraft within, and it can play dark tricks on your mind!”
“I shall take that advice to heart,” he said, making light of it. “But I have no fear of witches, for I am a rational man.” He then rose. “I must depart; the hour is far too late for decency.”
He made as if to leave but then turned back again, with a wild and hungry look in his eyes. He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her close and kissed her hard on the lips.
When finally he let go, he said, “By God, Kate, you are everything I have ever dreamed of in a woman and a wife. What a life we could have together!” He stepped backward toward the door. “But it is not to be. I can only beg you to remember me well, wherever you are.”
She reached out for his hand and pulled him back toward her. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “My dearest Geoffrey,” she breathed, “that is one thing in this world you may count on. You will be in every prayer I speak for the rest of my life.”
Sorrow was all over his face. “That will have to suffice, I suppose,” he said quietly. He pulled his hand free and hurried away.
My dearest love,
You are gone now three weeks.
Guillaume has become quite melancholy in the last day or so; I think he has taken on my mood, for I miss you with all my heart. I have spoken with him, hoping to discover the cause of his distress, but he will not confide in me. I will watch him carefully to see that he does not sink too deeply into the pain of your absence.
But now I will speak of joy, not melancholy. I expected my menses several days ago; they have not come.
Chaucer found the clearing with far more ease than Alejandro had the day before. With no knowledge of what lay beneath the soil, he rode hard across the meadow and straight toward the oaken gate.
Witchcraft, indeed, he thought as he approached the passage between the oaks. He slowed his horse but did not stop him completely. No sooner had they plunged through the passageway than the horse reared up, nearly throwing him. When his hooves hit the ground again, the animal pranced about wildly.
“Whoa,” Chaucer said as he pulled in the reins. “Steady!”
But as soon as this command left his lips, he began to feel as if all his normal senses had taken leave of him. The horse’s legs seemed to drift to the ground, ever so slowly, and made no sound when they touched. He got down off the horse and stood on the path with the reins in his hands, though he could not say why he felt compelled to do so at a time when moments were precious. He stared at his forest surroundings as if he were in a daze. Somehow he found the will to move forward, though his steps were slow and measured, and as he progressed through the underbrush, pulling the horse behind him, he glanced from side to side, expecting to see a gremlin or a fairy. Even in the thin and rarefied air, he began to sweat. With each step, his wonder increased, until he finally stopped and stood still.
He had no notion of time having passed until—out of the corner of one eye—he saw a movement. He turned his head in the perceived direction and saw to his great surprise a figure that appeared to be a woman. She approached him with steps so light that he thought she must be floating. The folds of her gossamer gown lifted and fell in the light forest breeze. She was young and quite lovely, with deep-red hair and fine, pale skin.
She stopped a few paces away. When she spoke, her voice was soft and refined; wisps of her remarkable hair blew playfully around her face. “He is within,” she said. She waved with her hand in the direction of the cottage.
“The physician?”
She did not answer his question but said only, “Tell him that he must take care of himself.”
And with that, the woman began to drift backward. After a few seconds, she began to fade, and then she was gone.
Chaucer stood, entranced, in the same spot for some time, though he would not be able to say just how long. Only the horse’s quiet nickering brought him out of what seemed to him an enchantment. He took the reins and led the animal forward again, thanking God with each step for the solid earth under his feet.
Before him, Alejandro saw a meal of plums, cheese, and hard bread. Sarah sat with him, and together they broke their fast, washing down the simple food with an ale of her own brewing. Its taste was bitter, but the fullness it gave was more than welcome; there would be little time for tabling until he and Kate were safely out of England.
All that was left to do was wait. Sometime in the night, if all went according to the code poem, she would come here.
“This day will pass with the speed of a century,” he said.
“You must calm your anxiety, Physician,” Sarah told him. “When you are back out among the English, you will give yourself away.”
“Is my fear so obvious?”
“Obvious enough, at least to me. Now, if you would be useful, go outside and bring in some herbs—nightshade, monkshood, whatever else you find that seems useful.” She pointed to the thatched ceiling. “Hang them to dry up there. You are taller than I; it is not such a
strain for you.”
She handed him a woven willow basket.
He took it from her hand but paid it little notice. In the daylight, the little details he could not have seen in the dim light were plainly visible. He searched the place with his eyes, then said, “I would ask you of something that I left behind when I was here before.”
“In my mother’s time?”
“Yes. I know that it was many years ago, but still, I must ask. I left behind my journal, a leather-bound book. I wrote my observations in it, recorded the paths of my journeys. It was a gift from my father and it means a great deal to me.”
“One wonders, then, why you would leave behind an item of such importance.”
“I have often pondered that question myself. We departed so quickly, I was not thinking clearly…. The plague had taken all my strength and cunning.”
“You were thinking clearly enough to bury your soiled clothing.”
He looked down, as if ashamed, though he should not have been. “That task was driven by my heart, not my intellect. I would not have passed my contagion on—the clothing surely would have been found and taken, for it was quite serviceable.”
“Ah, yes. Then it was a commendable act. But I regret to tell you, Physician, that I am not aware of such a journal being here.”
“What might have become of it, then? You and your mother have been the only occupants of this place.”
“We venture out on occasion, as you know,” she said. Her eyes went to the red shawl hanging on a peg near the door. “And besides that, my mother in her last years was not entirely—competent. She did things that seemed—rash. Even I began to think her mad. God alone knows what she might have done with such a treasure.”
Alejandro took up the basket again, his shoulders sagging with disappointment. “I had hoped you might know something of it.” He tapped the basket idly on the table. “Well, to the herbs, then. I suppose a task will keep me occupied until the time comes.”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes. Until the time comes.”
He went outside into the sun and marveled at its position—he had slept through most of the morning. He walked through the gardens that surrounded the cottage in something of a fog, thinking of how the night ahead might unfold. As possibilities surged through his brain, he knelt down now and then to cut free a handful of herbs, not liking the slight stiffness he felt in his knees on rising again. Soon enough his basket was full of green medicinal marvels, so he stopped for a moment to gaze at the warm pool of water that oozed up out of the ground in the midst of one of the gardens.
My salvation, and Kate’s, he thought. But not Adele’s. The familiar stab of frustration ran through him. Every few moments a bubble drifted slowly to the surface and broke. Insects buzzed lazily above the water, now and then alighting. He set down his basket and knelt again, and touched his finger to the surface of the water, creating a circle of ripples. He put his finger to his tongue, prepared for the foul metallic bitterness he remembered.
Instead, the water tasted completely ordinary. He stared in bewilderment at his fingertip for a moment, then dipped it further into the water. The taste was the same, bland and unremarkable. It was plain water.
“By all the gods…” he whispered to himself. Could the medicinal qualities of this water, which had so approached magic in his eyes, have dissipated since he had last been here?
Once before he had knelt over this very place with an expectation of one thing and had found another. He had leapt off his frothing horse after the furious ride from Canterbury and found only a muddy ooze, not the warm, fragrant water that had saved Kate’s life only a few months before. The desperate frustration he had felt in that dark moment had been beyond description.
Could it be that the magic had served its purpose? Had it lost strength with each use, until its strength could no longer be perceived?
Had he used it properly? There might, he knew, come a time when it would be needed again.
And if it was not there because he had used it up…
Alejandro slapped the surface of the water in anger; it splashed up onto his garments and face. He stood and wiped the drops from his cheeks and chin and watched with a heavy heart as the ripples lapped at the reedy edges of the pool. They had nearly disappeared when he heard a sound that was neither bird nor insect. He grabbed his basket and stepped away from the edge of the water, turning his gaze toward the path that led from the oaks.
Kate.
His heart began to pound. Could it be…had she come already?
Leaves rustled under the horse’s feet, and branches parted as a rider emerged from the shadows of the wooded path. Alejandro saw to his great disappointment that it was not his daughter who emerged from the trees but instead a well-dressed young man, perhaps in his early twenties. He seemed confused and shaded his eyes against the high sun so Alejandro could not see his face clearly. The young man was walking slowly, as if in a daze, and pulling a horse behind him. Though he sensed no real danger from the unknown visitor, Alejandro ducked behind a nearby tree and watched for a moment as the stranger looked around.
Then the stranger spoke. “Physician?” he said.
Alejandro did not respond but peered more closely at the young man.
Dearest God. His eyes would not believe what his brain told them, so he came out from behind the tree and called out, in amazement, “Is that you, Chaucer?”
Chaucer looked in his direction and, seeing him at last, made a wave of his hand. He let go of his horse and came forward in a rush. “Thank God,” he said. “This place…it is uncanny!”
“I hardly think you know the half of that,” Alejandro said quickly. “But—why are you here? What of Kate?”
“Do not fret, she is well, but—she cannot escape as we had originally planned. The fault in the wall has been filled, so—”
“I had thought you more mannerly, Alejandro.”
They turned in unison to see Sarah standing there, smiling broadly. “We so rarely have visitors. Please, invite our guest inside.”
Sarah gave him a tankard of ale, which Chaucer drank in one long pull. He wiped the drips from his face with one hand. “I am in the land of the fairies and elves, and God alone knows what else! What thing of old rules this place?”
“All in due time,” Alejandro said anxiously. He leaned closer. “But what of Kate?”
Chaucer delivered his news. “The masque is tonight,” he told them. “The maidens will dance at a Maypole. We have devised a new plan—Kate and I will trade positions long enough for her to slip away. I must accomplish the task of fooling her guards long enough to allow her to escape.”
Both Sarah and Alejandro stared at him in disbelief.
“We are of a height with each other,” the young man explained. “Her nurse will provide two identical costumes, both with headpieces and masks. She is certain it can be done, though I have less faith than she.”
Sarah spoke first. “’Tis a good fortune that you are already clean-shaven,” she said, “or such an ill-advised plan would have no chance of working.”
“Let me be certain that I understand you,” Alejandro said. “When the exchange is made, she will simply walk out?”
“It is a masque, Physician. No one will know it is she who departs. She plans to leave the castle and meet up with you somewhere outside. Bring a sturdy horse, for there is no way we can bring one around, as I am required by the king in the afternoon.”
“What if she should happen to be discovered as she is leaving the castle?”
“She does not believe she will be noticed.”
Alejandro rubbed his chin as he went over the proposed plan in his own mind.
“I do not care for this scheme. There is no accommodation for the unhappy event of her discovery.” He stood. “We must decide in advance what shall be done if that happens.” He thought for another minute, then said, “I will go to this masque and make certain that she comes out unharmed.”
“That would be
even more ill-advised, for I suspect through my observations that they are seeking you now.”
“As you say, it is a masque! Can I not go in disguise as well? She will stand a much better chance of getting away if she is accompanied by someone who can protect her.”
Chaucer said, “You underestimate her, Physician. I have seen her work a bow, and more than once since she was taken to Windsor, she has handily wielded a knife, when one was within reach.”
With hope in his voice, Alejandro said, “Her spirit remains, then.”
“Stronger than ever, I daresay.” Chaucer glanced downward sadly. “She is a woman of great and wondrous heart, the best of the Plantagenets. It is a pity that she cannot someday be queen, for she of all his progeny is the best suited to rule after him.”
Alejandro understood, when he saw the young man’s expression, that Kate’s departure was not something he wanted. And yet, he seemed a willing participant. “You are a good man, Chaucer, and brave. I know that if you could, you would protect her.” He stood abruptly. “Nevertheless, you can only do one thing at a time, so I will come to Windsor. I have not come this far to leave without her.”
Chaucer made no argument.
“Well, then,” Sarah said, “since that is decided, time is short. We must devise a disguise for you, and Master Chaucer must be off so he can play his part in this intrigue.” She turned to Chaucer. “Before you go, lad—you know the nature of these events; what is expected?”
“Deception, madam,” he said. “One is to make oneself into something that one cannot otherwise be. That is the purpose, to come as what you are not, and to then meet with others who are also similarly antithetical to their true selves.”
He turned to Alejandro. “Regardless of what your costume is, you should cover yourself as fully as possible, as we plan to do. And now I must be off, to do the king’s—” He rose, and then said abruptly, “I nearly forgot!” he said. “An invitation. You will require one to enter the hall.” His brow furrowed as he considered how it might be accomplished. “I have it,” he said. “I shall already be within the castle, so I will have no need of mine; I will secret it outside for you. But where…where…” He thought for a long moment. “Ah! I know. There is an alms box outside the old chapel. I will tuck it behind the box. Now, the chapel is—”
