Once Upon a Winter's Night fs-1

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “ 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 chateau, 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 chateau, 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 Agnes 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 though Camille was quite stuffed, she did manage a b
ite 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…”

  Camille waited, yet the prince said no more. “My lord?”

  Alain took a deep breath. “ ’Twas in the twilight I first saw you, gathering the last of the harvest from a meager field. I sat in the wood at the edge of Faery and watched and listened to you sing; I was thunderstruck. And that day afield your brother fell ill, and you were the first to his side, and you aided him to breathe, and you wept over his distress. And then I knew that not only had you golden hair and a golden voice and beauty of face and form, but that you had a golden heart as well. And when I came back to Summerwood Manor, I could not think of aught but you.”

  Camille’s heart raced at these words, and yet by no outward sign did she betray the inner chaos hammering at her emotions.

  “I sat in my chambers for days,” said Alain, “and you occupied my every thought. I wrote a paean to you, one I had not the daring to deliver, though I did spend more days at the edge of Faery hoping for a glimpse. Finally, Lanval told me that I was neglecting the demesne, and that I had better propose to you ere all fell to ruin. Yet it took me until the wintertime to gain the courage to ask for your hand.”

  Camille’s emotions roiled, and she felt her blood rush to her face. To cover her confusion, she said, “You wrote an ode to me?”

  Alain’s fists clenched, and then opened, and he softly said:

  “I ne’er was struck before that day,

  With love so sudden, so rare.

  How it happened, I cannot say.

  … Ah, golden was her hair.

  “My heart did pound, my blood did thunder,

  My stunning so complete.

  What spell was this I’d fallen under?

  … Her face and form so sweet.

  “I heard her sing, and then I knew

  I would ne’er be the same,

  A voice so pure, a song so true,

  She put the larks to shame.

  “Oh, my love, but I will die

  If you come not with me,

  For to my heart, you surely know,

  You have the only key.”

  Alain fell silent.

  Her face flush, blood pounding in her ears, Camille knew not what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Alain, and once again he took her arm and they went onward toward her chambers. As they reached her door, she softly said, “My lord, the ode was lovely.”

  Alain turned her toward him and said, “My lady, it pales to mere doggerel when compared to the truth of you, and I-”

  Camille’s gaze dropped from him, for she was unable to peer into such intensity.

  He backed away a step. “My lady, I did not intend to alarm.”

  “I am not alarmed, my lord,” she quietly replied. “I am instead nonplused, at a loss to know what to say, think, or do, for you are a noble prince, whereas I am but a mere farm girl, and-”

  “Oh, Lady, it is not our station that makes who we are, but rather what we hold in our hearts.”

  “My lord, thou art truly a noble prince.”

  Alain quietly said, “This moment it is I nonplused, and knowing nought else to do…” He opened the door. As candlelight spilled outward, he bowed. “My lady. Your quarters. Sleep well.”

  Camille curtseyed. “My lord.” She stepped into the chamber and closed the door after, and sighed and leaned back against the panel.

  “There you are,” said Blanche, rising up from one of the silken couches.

  “Oh, Blanche,” said Camille, pushing away from the door and twirling ’round and ’round the room, stopping occasionally to curtsey to the chairs and the love seat and couches, “I am quite giddy, for I had the most marvelous time.” Then she rushed to the handmaid and embraced her.

  Blanche grinned and returned the embrace, but then said matter-of-factly, “Come, come. We must get you ready for bed.”

  Camille frowned, for shouldn’t everyone be swept away by her giddiness? “Bed? But, oh, I will never sleep.”

  Yet in spite of these words, a short while later Blanche tucked her in, and ere the handmaid could reach the door and ease out, Camille was fast asleep.

  Midmorn was on the Summerwood when Camille at last awakened. And she sang as she bathed, then dressed for the day-a pale blue gown with pale blue organdy trim.

  The sun was nigh the zenith when she took her breakfast of blackberry crepes in her now-favorite gazebo, the Bear snuffling through a somewhat heavier fare of syrup-doused pancakes and biscuits with butter. All through the meal, she told the Bear of the wondrous time she had had last eve, telling of the menu, of the splendid converse, and going so far as to recite as much of the paean as she could remember, inserting tum-d’lums where she knew not the words.

  She spoke little of the mask, saying only that she wondered why the prince wore such, briefly speculating that mayhap he was disfigured in some manner, or perhaps he had a birthmark he did not wish for anyone to see. “Ah, but Bear, mask or no, birthmark or no, disfigurement or no, he was wonderful, and it was a marvelous eve.”

  All through her commentary, the Bear made no ursine remarks, but he did pause now and again over his breakfast to listen to her words. Finally, the meal was done, and as the Bear padded to a nearby stream to wash it all down with water, Camille sipped her tea and gazed about the estate and wondered where Prince Alain was.

  Perhaps conducting the affairs of the demesne in that great room where sits nought but a wooden desk and chairs. Mayhap I should-Ah, fie, I would not intrude.

  As the Bear came back from the rill, water adrip from his muzzle, so too did Blanche come across the sward. The handmaid waited for the Bear to arrive, then curtseyed and said, “My lady, Andre says that he is planting along the sun-ward wall, and though I think it is somehow not seemly for a lady of your standing to grub in the soil, he says if you would care to join him…”

  “Oh, Blanche, much as I would like to, I would rather wait for Prince Alain.”

  “My lady, I think you’ll not see the prince until late in the day

  … this eve, mayhap.”

  “Oh.” Camille’s face fell. But then-“Very well. Please inform Andre I shall join him as soon as I change.”

  Blanche sighed. “If you must.”

  “Bear, will you like
to grub in the soil with me?” asked Camille.

  “Rrrumm,” rumbled the Bear.

  “Ah, feh. I take that as a no. Oh, well.”

  It was again in the twilight that Camille took herself once more to the lanternlit bridge, and there it was that Prince Alain found her. This eve he wore satins of pale jade green, his silk mask green as well, all in subtle complement to Camille’s cerulean gown.

  “My lady, would you care to sing for your supper? I will play for you.”

  A panic struck Camille, and she flushed. Sing for the prince when he no doubt has heard bards and minstrels? How can I contend with such?

  “My lord, in a chamber, the one with the portraits of your pere and mere, I saw sets for playing echecs. It is a pastime of mine. Is it one of yours?”

  Pleasure sprang into Alain’s eyes, and he grinned. “Indeed, ma’mselle, yet I must warn you, I am no rank beginner.”

  “Well, then, sieur, I must warn you also: neither am I.”

  Arm in arm they entered the mansion, where Alain called on a servant to run ahead and prepare the game room. And soon they came to the chamber wherein sat the echecs sets, the lanterns now lit.

  “Choose a table,” said Alain.

  “This one?” said Camille, pointing to the board midway between the portraits, the board with the carven jade sets, one side translucent green, the other pale yellow.

  Sadness filled Alain’s grey eyes. “Oh, Camille, I did not think…”

  Camille flushed. He called me by my name!

  “… That table is reserved for my sire and dam. Here it was they oft vied with one another, using echecs to settle disputes between, or to contest for a prize of some sort.”

  Gaining control of her breathing, Camille glanced at the portraits and said, “Who had the upper hand?”

  Alain laughed. “Neither, I think.”

  “Then, my lord, what say ye to this table here?”

  “Ah, a splendid choice, my lady: onyx and marble.” Alain took up a white and a black spearman, and held them behind his back, then thrust his clenched hands forward. “Choose.”

  Camille grinned. “I choose sinister,” she said, tapping his left fist.