Once Upon a Winter's Night

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “What is it you are planting, Andre?” asked Blanche, stepping past the turned-over earth to stand in front of the man.

  Concentrating upon getting the placement just right, Andre glanced up and then back to the soil, replying, “White camellias, Blanche, a tribute to the prince’s most beautiful young mademoiselle.”

  “Oh, my,” said Camille.

  Andre looked back to where Camille stood, then scrambled to his feet and touched the brim of his cap, saying, “Beg pardon, my lady, but I didn’t see—”

  “Oh, Andre,” said Camille, “there’s no need to apologize. May I help with the planting?”

  A look of doubt crossed Andre’s face. “Oh, I don’t know about that, my lady, for ’tis but common labor I do. Besides, the seeds must be put just so, and—”

  “Trust me, Andre,” said Camille, “for common labor I do quite well, especially planting, for I am a crofter’s daughter.”

  “I mean not to gainsay you, my lady, but a crofter’s daughter you no longer are. Instead, you are the mistress of this great estate and all the holdings beyond.”

  At these words, Blanche nodded in affirmation, but Camille said, “Nevertheless, I would aid.”

  “Oh, my lady,” said Blanche, “you would soil your dress and—”

  “Then I shall change,” said Camille, “into one which has seen many a spring sowing.”

  A short while later, dressed in the shift she had brought from the stone cottage—her very best dress back there, though she did not say such to Blanche—Camille grubbed in the soil next to Andre, planting camellias in those places where he did direct.

  After a pleasing afternoon of work, and a bath and another solitary dinner, that night Camille fell asleep while reading a book of poetry and sitting in one of the soft leather chairs in her small library.

  When she awoke she was in her bed. How she had gotten there she did not know, but ’twas in her bed she awoke.

  Past the silk canopy, through the unshaded skylight Camille saw night fading to dawn. Sliding out from under her light cover, Camille padded to her closet and quickly dressed, donning her travelling clothes, for they were suitable for what she had in mind. She stepped from her chambers and quietly slipped down the stairs and out the main door and ran lightly across the dew-wet grass, morning mist swirling in her wake, the sun not yet risen.

  To the hedge maze she went and ’round to the entry, then, taking a deep breath, she stepped within. Along the shadowed path she trod, keeping track of twists and turns, noting openings left and right, and using the trick of which Fra Galanni had spoken—that of keeping her right hand always brushing along the right-side hedge-wall. She knew that in some mazes this was the key to finding the center . . . but this maze was not one of those, for she found herself back at the entrance.

  Ah, then, another strategy is needed.

  Camille once again followed the right-hand way, but at the first opening into another row on the left, she stepped across and entered, and moments later came to a dead end.

  Back to the first row she went, and to the second leftward opening.

  Again and again she repeated her tactic, exploring more and more of the maze.

  Now rightwards she tended from leftwards, and the layout became clearer to her, and then she was quite certain where the center must lie, and toward this end she went.

  As she came nigh the last of her journey, she thought she heard what seemed to be the soft sound of weeping.

  Oh, my, it would not do to come upon a saddened someone unawares.

  “Allo!” she called. “Is anyone there?”

  Abruptly, silence fell.

  Hesitantly, as the sun beyond the hedges lipped the horizon and day came upon the land, Camille stepped forward and ’round the last turn, to see—

  “Oh, Bear, I have missed you so!”

  10

  Masque

  With sudden tears springing to her eyes, Camille rushed forward and threw her arms about the neck of the Bear and hugged him fiercely, murmuring, “Oh, Bear, oh, Bear, where have you been?”

  She stood a long while with her face buried in fur, the Bear sitting quite still as she did so. Finally she released him and glanced ’round, scarcely noticing the stone benches placed about the green sward and the statues of a man and woman on a low pedestal in the center. “Oh, Bear, are you lost? Is that why I heard you moaning?”

  The Bear gave a low rumble somewhere between that of a whuff and a deep growl. At this Camille laughed gaily, saying, “Tell me, O Bear, is that rrrumm a yes or a no? Ah, tchaa, but never mind, for I shall set you free of this maze. You see, I know the way out. Come along.”

  With Camille strolling beside the Bear, down the shadowed way between hedgerows they went, Camille chatting gaily of her explorations throughout the manor and surrounding grounds, and her working with Andre to plant camellias, and the terribly lonely dinners she had eaten surrounded by dozens of servants. The Bear made no comment whatsoever, but merely padded along.

  As they neared the exit, Camille heard voices calling, dozens of voices, and they all seemed to be crying her name.

  “Oh, Bear, I wonder whatever could be the matter?”

  Camille hurried forward, the Bear lagging behind, and she exited the maze to see servants scattered throughout the grounds, all calling “Lady Camille!” Nearby, she espied Blanche and Renaud. “Blanche, I am over here!” cried Camille. “Whatever is this clamor all about?”

  “Oh, my lady, my lady,” cried Blanche, as she rushed toward Camille, Renaud following, “we thought you had been kidnapped, or vanished into thin air, just like Lord Valeray and Lady Saissa.”

  “Valeray? Saissa?”

  “Prince Alain’s dam and sire,” said Blanche, puffing up, Renaud right behind, just as the Bear stepped out from the hedge. The handmaid and blacksmith curtseyed and bowed in deference, even as Camille frowned and asked, “Is that the why of this fuss? You thought I had been taken? Stolen away or some such?”

  Blanche gulped and glanced at the Bear and said, “Oh, my lady, when I discovered you gone from your chambers, I didn’t know what might have happened to you, and now I find you at this dreadful maze.”

  “Not dreadful at all, Blanche,” said Camille. “You see, therein I discovered my Bear.” She turned and threw her arms about the Bear’s neck.

  “Not meaning to gainsay you, Lady Camille,” said Renaud, running his hand through the dark shock of his hair, “but there is something terrible about that maze. Just like Blanche, I feel it in my bones, and, like her, I think if I ever went in there, I would lose myself forever. And if you take my advice, you’ll not go in there ever again.”

  “Ah, fie,” said Camille, releasing the Bear. “All is quite splendid within, and it’s a marvelous puzzle to solve. Besides, someone must tend it regularly—a gardener, that is—for it is well trimmed.”

  “Aye, my lady,” replied Blanche, “Andre does go in there, as do other groundskeepers and gardeners, but I think none else of the staff does.”

  Camille sighed and shook her head. Then, looking about, said, “They’re still out there shouting my name.”

  “Blanche, you take care of Lady Camille,” said Renaud. “I’ll call off the hunt.” As Renaud hallooed and went across the grounds to round up searchers, Blanche and Camille and the Bear headed for the mansion, Camille saying, “May I be served a breakfast out here, Blanche? In the gazebo where you and I had lunch? I have much to tell the Bear, and I would not lose him again.”

  “Certainly, my lady,” replied Blanche. “But wouldn’t you like to bathe, and change into something more apropos for dining and chatting with the . . . the Bear?”

  Camille smiled. “Blanche, he has seen me at my worst: grimy and disheveled and exhausted. And we have dined together in quite trying circumstances—digging in dirt for food, eating in a cold nearly beyond enduring, drinking brimstone-tinged water. Nay, I think a meal in the gazebo just as I am and just as he is seems quite genteel to me. Don’t you
think so, Bear?”

  “Whuff.”

  “There you have it, Blanche. He and I agree.”

  “As you wish,” said Blanche, curtseying and then starting toward the manor as Camille and the Bear headed for the chosen gazebo.

  “Oh, Blanche!” called Camille after. “Have them bring plenty for the Bear.”

  In midafternoon, Camille and the Bear strolled toward the manse, she having told him of her explorations in full, and her concerns at not yet having met Prince Alain, and her fears that Alain would be a monster for none of the staff would tell her what he was like. “Of course, I have only spoken at length to Blanche, though Lanval would say nought of the prince, either. The only others to whom I have said more than a word are Andre the gardener and Renaud the smith. Andre talks only about plants and planting, and from Renaud, I’ve heard even less. From something he said I get the impression that, as a smith, he seems to be yet learning his trade, though for the life of me, I cannot recall why. Regardless, there is no one to whom I can pour out my hopes and fears as I can with you, dear Bear, and you’d gone missing these last few days. Where have you been, I wonder. In the maze hiding away? Oh, would that you could talk, I am sure you have many wonderful things to tell.”

  As she came nigh one of the many entrances into the great château, the Bear stopped. “Aren’t you coming with me?” asked Camille.

  The Bear gave a low rumble in his chest.

  “Well, then, I take that as a no.” Camille embraced the Bear and whispered, “Promise me, Bear, that you will not disappear again except in the most dire of needs, and that in some part of the day I will find you to unburden my qualms and to speak of my dreams.”

  A soft whuff was her answer.

  Camille then turned toward Blanche, who stood waiting. “All right, Blanche. All right. I am coming to take that bath you insist I must have, and to change into something more ladylike.”

  Blanche curtseyed in homage, and the Bear watched as Camille moved toward the entry, and when she was gone inside, the Bear stood a moment longer, staring after, but then ambled away.

  After the bath and changing into an elegant pale green gown with cream-hued garniture and trim, and pale green ribbons entwined through her golden hair, and matching green slippers afoot, Camille went looking for her Bear, having now remembered what it was that Renaud had said which caused her to believe he was yet learning his craft. Out into the gardens she went, Blanche standing on one of the balconies and watching after her.

  As the sun sank into the horizon and dusk drew nigh, groundskeepers moved across the landscape, lighting candle-lanterns along the paths within the gardens, and over the bridges, and in the several gazebos. That eve the twilight was quite magical, oranges and pinks in the sky fading into lavenders and indigos.

  It was as she was standing on a lantern-lit bridge over the wide stream and gazing at sleeping black swans huddled on the mossy bank, that she heard a quiet footfall behind, and a soft voice said, “Lady, I am Alain.”

  With her heart racing and blood thundering in her ears, Camille turned to see a tall and slender dark-haired man, his face concealed by a mask.

  11

  Alain

  Camille gasped and drew back, but the man who had called himself Alain made no advance. Instead, somewhat as if he were pleading, palm up, he held out his hand. “Lady Camille, for reasons I cannot explain, I must wear this mask, such that I can never show you my face.” Now he took a tentative step into the full, bright lanternlight, where the mask could wholly be seen. Fitted to the contour of his face, it was, and made of silk layered and stiffened, all but two panels of silk along his cheeks to the corners of his mouth, which gave way with his chin as he spoke. And it was blue, matching the blue of his silken shirt and breeks and hose, and silver-buckled shoes. Held on by a broad silk ribbon tied behind, from hairline to under chin it reached, with only his lips and his somber grey eyes exposed, and here Camille had to suppress a gasp, for ne’er had she e’er seen such a tortured look in another’s gaze . . .

  . . . If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, as Fra Galanni said, then here is a soul in dire torment. . . .

  . . . Camille came back to what he was saying, noting that his entire body had become quite taut, as if bracing for some onslaught, or a defeat. . . .

  “. . . and since this was unknown to you, as well as to me, at the time of my proposal and your consent, though I will keep my pledge to your parents, I release you from your pledge to me.”

  Alain paused, waiting for a response, which did not come. And his body seemed to ease, and he said, “Nevertheless, I would have you stay awhile and see whether or no”—he reached up and touched the mask—“this presents a barrier we neither one can breach.”

  Camille took a deep breath and exhaled it, trying to calm her racing heart. And then she curtseyed and murmured, “My lord.”

  Alain bowed, and then stepped forward and offered her his arm. “Would you sup with me?”

  Yet trembling slightly, Camille slipped her arm in his, and together they strolled along white stone pathways through blossoming gardens and to the great château, though neither said aught on that fleeting journey ’neath endless deep indigo skies.

  They sat at opposite ends of a very long table, he at the head, she at the foot, and the distance between seemed uncrossable. When the manifold attendants had served the first course, a fragrant split-pea soup, with white bread and pale yellow butter at hand, at a gesture from the prince, the servers retired from the room.

  Oh, my. Would that I had known that gesture. I wouldn’t have had all those eyes watching me eat. Even so, how—?

  “My lady”—Alain looked down the length of the long oaken board—“I would have come to you sooner, but I had just returned from an arduous journey, one where I did not sleep, and I fell into my bed and failed to awaken for two days, it seems, and spent the third merely shaking off the effects of such a trial. Else we would have met ere now.”

  “There is no need to apologize, my lord, for Steward Lanval said as much,” replied Camille. “The Bear—is it your Bear?—regardless, the Bear and I had quite a journey as well, and he took the best care of me.”

  “I had known he would, for him I do well comprehend. Yet I am told that you were beset upon by Goblins within the Winterwood.”

  “Redcaps, my lord, the worst of the lot, or so I am told. And a Troll as well. Your brother, Prince Borel, and his Wolves came to our aid, rescued me, in fact, from a rather wretched end.”

  “If it does not distress you, I would hear of this rescue,” said Alain.

  “Would that I were a bard, my lord, for it is a tale well worth the telling, quite dreadful in the doing, but splendid in recount. Yet a bard I am not, but I will try my best to do it justice.”

  Alain canted his head and gestured for her to go on.

  “We had stopped for the night, the Bear and I, there in the Winterwood, and, in spite of the bitter cold, I had fallen quite asleep. . . .”

  Camille’s retelling lasted awhile, and when she came to the end, so did they come to the end of the delectable soup. Alain took up a small bell at hand and rang it once, and attendants appeared to whisk away the bowls and used utensils, and to serve the next course.

  So that’s what the bell is for. Lessons Mistress Agnès neglected to teach: the gesture and the bell.

  Artichoke hearts came next, and Camille watched Alain down the full length of the table to see how, in sweet Mithras’s name, this yellow-green thing could possibly be eaten. She managed to muddle through the consumption of the artichoke, though she felt she did it quite badly. That dish was followed by honeyed pheasant, with a fine sauce over a vegetable Camille did not recognize. Served with the course was a dry white wine, the first wine Camille had ever tasted, and it made a frisson run up her spine, and Alain smiled at her shiver.

  Lastly, they were served a cherry tart, accompanied by a small glass of sherry, amber and sweet to offset the tart’s sharp tang. And even t
hough Camille was quite stuffed, she did manage a bite or two, as well as several sips.

  And all through the meal, and after, they did talk—about her journey and the wondrous beings she saw: the Unicorn, the Lynx Riders, the meals waiting in camps, the Waterfolk, though here Camille omitted the telling of her encounter with the shapeshifting male Waterfolk otters. She spoke of the Bear and of finding him just this day in the maze. Through it all, Alain offered comments on the Springwood, Winterwood, Autumnwood, and the Summerwood, and he spoke of other parts of Faery, telling of various creatures dwelling therein: of Ice Sprites and Twig Men, of Spriggens and Cluricauns and Pwca and Pysks, of Bogles and Selkies, and of many more, some gentle, some harmless, some vile, some dangerous, some deadly, some ready to lend a hand, but all quite amazing to Camille.

  It was quite late when they stood up at last, well past the mid of night. Even so, Camille was filled with excitement, with energy, though she had risen at dawn.

  It was not until Alain came to her end of the table to escort her to her chamber, that she again became aware of the mask, and how tall he was—a full head above her own five-foot-three.

  As they strolled along the corridors, he said, “On the morrow, what would you do, my lady? With me, that is.”

  Camille smiled. “My lord, the morrow is already here.”

  Alain laughed. “True. Even so, would you—? Ah, I have it, I will play the harpsichord and I would have you sing.”

  “Oh, my lord, I would not ruin your playing with—”

  “Tush. Recall, I have heard you sing.”

  “You have?”

  “Did I not say so in my letter?”

  “Oh, but I thought that someone had simply told you I sang in the field.”

  Alain stopped and she as well, and he faced her. “My lady, you may think this forward of me but . . .”