Once Upon a Winter's Night fs-1

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “What is this problem?” asked Lisette, smugly grinning.

  “I don’t know, Lisette. Only that it is dire.”

  Lisette raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed,” replied Camille, her ire rising.

  Lisette smacked a palm to the table. “Indeed, indeed. Here is a prince who wears a mask he never removes, and there has been no wedding ceremony, for what monk or heirophant would sanctify the wedding of a so-called innocent girl to a man who wears a mask? Why, it is as Maman has said: he may be a well-known pirate or thief or brigand or other kind of foul looter… after all, where does his wealth come from? Perhaps we ought to gather a warband and go after this pirate and haul him to prison.”

  Both Camille and Maman gasped in alarm, and Maman said, “Oh, no, Lisette, we cannot do such a thing.”

  “Why not, Maman? After all, there may be a reward on his head. Perhaps even dead or alive.”

  Even as Camille’s face turned pale, Maman raised an admonishing finger. “No matter what the reward, be he a pirate or no, and no matter the source of his fortune, think on this, Lisette”-she turned to the others-“think on this, all of you: we would be much the poorer should his annual tithe of gold stop. Would you have us lose that ever-running stream of wealth?”

  “Maman,” said Giles, “you think only of riches, when you should treasure Camille instead.”

  Now Aigrette glowered at Giles. “But it is Camille I am thinking of, and-” Abruptly, she stopped, and a calculating look swept into her eyes. “Camille, you should remove his mask.”

  Camille shook her head, remembering what Alain said when she merely ran a finger across his features. “Maman, he said he could not show me his face.”

  “Ah, but did he ever say you could not see it?”

  Camille cast her mind back to that very first evening in the lanternlight on the bridge:

  “Lady Camille, for reasons I cannot explain, I must wear this mask, such that I can never show you my face.”

  “No, Maman. Only that he could not show me his face.”

  “Well,” crowed Maman, leaping up from her chair and stepping to the mantel and pulling the stub of a fat candle from its holder and picking up a small box of matches as well. “Here, Camille, take this candle with these matches, and when he’s asleep in the bed you share, you can light it and see his face. Thus he will not have revealed his visage to you, for you will have seen his face for yourself without him having had the slightest hand in it. After all, once he sees that you love him in spite of his disfigurement or scar or birthmark, or the fact that he is a notorious pirate or such, he will then discard the mask and a proper wedding can take place, thus assuring that you will inherit his wealth if he should die on you. After all, should he fall dead and you not be married, then you would be left without any claim to his riches-be it pirate gold or not-and then what would happen to us?”

  Even as Camille shook her head in refusal, her sisters were stricken pale. Papa’s eyes gazed at the fine things throughout the room, and his lips drew thin. Only Giles seemed unaffected by this potential future, and he looked at Camille and shrugged, saying, “I can live in a cottage again.”

  “Oh, Giles,” whispered Camille, “what of your aversion to thatch?”

  Once more Giles merely shrugged, but this time he said nought.

  Throughout the remainder of the week, Maman never let Camille have respite from the vision of something happening to Alain and she being left without a sou, her family cut off from the annual stipend, and Giles becoming sickly again.

  And yet, every evening there was a ball, with Maman quite haughty in her newfound wealth and position, strutting about like a petty lord, showing her bloodstone ring to any and all who would look, telling them that it was but a trifling bauble sent to her by the prince as a minor show of his regard. And every night Aigrette had Pons announce Camille as the Princess of the Summerwood, though she and the entire family knew it was not yet so. Camille grew quite weary of such-her mother’s harangues and of the balls, and the unwanted attentions of many a would-be lover, including the fat old roue Lord Jaufre, who knocked on her door several nights running, asking if she needed company. The only company she desired was that of her Prince Alain, and oh how she longed to return to Summerwood Manor to share quiet evenings with him.

  And thus did the seemingly interminable round of exhortations during the day and unwelcome dances at night drag on.

  But finally the week of the visit was up, and at the dawning of the following morn, Camille dressed once again in her travelling clothes and made ready to meet the Bear. But even as she slipped down the stairs, Maman stopped her at the door, and she handed Camille the fat candle stub and a full box of matches, saying, “We wouldn’t want the plan to fail should one of the matches not light.”

  Sighing, reluctantly Camille tucked the candle and box into her drawstring purse, and then with a cold embrace from Aigrette, across the field she fled. And even before she reached the twilight border, the Bear stepped into view, and Camille ran crying to him and threw her arms about his great neck and sobbed into his fur, “Oh, Bear, I missed you so. Take me back to Summerwood; take me back to my prince.”

  “ Whuff. ”

  Camille tied on her bundles, and climbed onto the Bear’s broad back, and into Faery they went.

  Hindward, in the mansion-“Loose the dogs! Loose the dogs!” cried Lord Jaufre, ponderously thudding along the halls and hammering on bedroom doors.

  “What? What is it, Lord Jaufre?” cried Aigrette, running up the stairs and meeting him halfway, the fat old roue puffing down to gather the servants, even as Henri came yawning after to stand at the top of the stairs, his negligee-clad daughters behind, as well as three half-dressed young men, one of them Allard, the husband of Felise, the other two coming after, both having been covertly invited by Joie and Gai to be their overnight guests. Giles was at the top of the stairs as well. Kneeling and peering through the balusters.

  “A Bear! A Bear! I saw it from my window!” cried Jaufre. “Lady Camille was out for an early walk, and she was carried off into Faery by a great and savage brown Bear! We’ve got to break out the bows and arrows, the spears and lances, and don our Bear-hunting gear. We must saddle the horses, loose the hawks, and call out the dogs, and go after her… even though it means crossing into that dreaded realm.”

  It took Henri until nearly breakfast to convince Jaufre and the three young men that the Bear was nought but Camille’s riding steed.

  And then, as Giles grinned and Colette and Felise tittered, and Aigrette and Lisette looked on in disapproval, Henri eyed the two young men upon whose arms Joie and Gai adoringly clung. “Well, now, mes jeunes hommes et jeunes filles, what have you four to say for yourselves?”

  16

  Candle

  “Welcomehome, my lady,” said Lanval, a great smile onhis face.

  Handed by footmen, Camille slid from the Bear’s back and onto the footstool and then stepped onto the inlaid stone oak, and all the staff, now assembled in the great entry hall, bowed and curtseyed, every face beaming in joyous welcome.

  Camille smiled and curtseyed in turn, then said, “Oh, it is so good to be back.”

  Footmen unladed the Bear, and Camille said, “Oh, Bear, it is nearly dusk, and I must make ready to see my Alain.” And she hugged the Bear, and then turned and ran up the stairs, calling out, “Blanche, Blanche, to me.”

  Dressed in a full white gown with white petticoats under as well, white stockings on her legs and white shoes on her feet, and a strand of white pearls at her throat, and a white-pearl ring on her finger, she stood on the bridge in the lanternlight, while black swans slept below.

  Onto the bridge stepped Alain, dressed all in deep indigo blue. And he took her in his arms and kissed her-deeply, longingly, hungrily-and she returned his kiss in kind.

  “Oh, my love, but I missed you so,” he said, and then he kissed her again.

  When they finally broke apart, “I love y
ou, Alain,” murmured Camille, pressing his hand to her cheek.

  They stood a moment in silence, then Alain said, “Come, let us stroll awhile.”

  Hand in hand they roamed the gardens, passing among azaleas, their white blossoms stark in the moonlight, and roses, blooming pink and red and yellow. Tiny, violet moss flowers glittered like onyx in the night.

  “I think I’ll never go away again, or at least not to visit my mere.”

  “Why so, love?”

  “Oh, Alain, she made the visit quite terrible.”

  “But it should have been enjoyable instead.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Again I ask, why so?”

  “Mainly because you were not there, my love. And every night she presented me with an already-filled dance card, and I was to charm those partners for Maman’s advantage. And, ugh, every night I had to dance with Lord Jaufre.”

  “Who is Lord Jaufre?”

  “An old roue, that’s who. I had to fend him off at every turn, as well as a number of others, rakes all.”

  Alain smiled, his grey eyes dancing behind his indigo blue mask. “Though I can hold them accountable for being boors, Camille, I cannot fault them for their splendid taste in women, for you, my love, are quite fetching.”

  “Oh, you,” said Camille, tapping him lightly on the arm with her white fan.

  They came to the hedge maze, and this night it was illuminated by lanterns within. “I thought we might step therein,” said Alain.

  Camille took one of Alain’s wrists in her two hands and, turning backwards and tugging, said, “Oh, let’s do, Alain,” and, laughing, she pulled him into the maze.

  Along the labyrinthine rows she went, haling Alain after, laughing at dead ends and twice-trod paths and at finding the entrance again, Alain enjoying her play.

  When they came to the entrance for the third time, Alain said, “Love, would you have me show you the way?”

  “Ah, tchaa, sieur, think you I know it not?”

  Alain shrugged, and Camille said, “I have been toying with you, my lord. Come. Follow me.”

  And straightaway she led him to the statues in the center, missing not a turn.

  “You, my dear, are a devious wench,” said Alain. “I shall remember the next we play at any game.”

  “Games, my lord? Would you play at any game with me?”

  He took her in his arms and said, “There is but one game I would play here and now.”

  “Then, my lord, play away.”

  “They are my sire and dam,” said Alain, now reclining on the grass, his arms wrapped about Camille, she in nought but petticoats, he in but his shirt and mask. Her white gown lay on a stone bench at hand, while his breeks lay on the sward amid the scatter of shoes. No moon stood in the night sky, though a spangle of stars wheeled above.

  Camille looked at the pale marble likenesses. “Though handsome, I think I rather like the portraits in the game room more. Even so, these are quite admirable. If they had color, they would be quite lifelike, though color would ruin the beauty of the carving itself. Who shaped them and when?”

  “My sire engaged a sculptor from the mortal lands, a man from Latium, I believe. It was long past, ere I was born. I know nought else of the carving, though perhaps Lanval could find some records if you so desire.”

  Camille shook her head, saying, “I was just curious.”

  They fell silent for long moments, and then Camille said, “Oh, my,” and then giggled.

  Alain looked up at her, behind his mask a question in his grey eyes.

  “I was just thinking, love,” said Camille, “of your parents standing there and watching as we, well…”

  Alain laughed and said, “If it would make you more comfortable, we can move to the other side to continue this tryst.” Even as he said it, Camille could feel him quickening to the idea.

  She sat up. “My love, as much as I desire, the bed will be much softer than grass and ground, and the bed as well will not further stain my petticoats should you, as an alternative, suggest that.”

  Alain’s mouth pursed downward in mock disappointment, then turned upward in a grin. “Then it’s off to bed we go,” he replied, releasing her and sitting up.“But first, let us dine, for although love alone is quite satisfying, other needs of the body intrude.”

  “Though your eves were not as you wished, did you not find relief in the day? Did you not catch up on all the news with your sisters, your sire, your brother?”

  In the dark, Camille sighed deeply. “Some. I did enjoy talking with Giles and Papa. Felise was quite taken with her husband Allard-a rather handsome fellow, and pleasant enough. Colette is engaged to Luc, but I didn’t meet him, for he was away in Rulon on business. The twins-Joie and Gai-ah, they are such fun, as is Giles. But in spite of the small amount of agreeable times I had, Maman and my sister Lisette made much of my day unpleasant as well.”

  “How so?”

  “Because every day my mere and I argued over-” Abruptly, Camille fell silent.

  For a long while Alain held her hand in quietness, yet she spoke not. Finally he said, “Argued over what?”

  Camille took a deep breath then said, “Over the fact that you and I are not yet wed.”

  Alain cuddled her in his arms and murmured, “Oh, Camille, you are my life, my love, my heart, and though we are not formally married, we are as wedded as any two could ever be. You are truly my wife, beloved, and I will love you forever.”

  Camille sought his face in the darkness and kissed him deeply. And then she lay with her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

  At last he said, “When the geas, the curse, is lifted, then will we formally wed.”

  Camille felt her heart clench, but she managed to resist a shudder. Geas? Curse? So that is the problem. Ah, me, there is magic involved here, and I know nought of such. In fact the only true magic I’ve even heard of concerning the Summerwood was when Alain told me of that trace of a spell left behind when his parents disappeared.-No, wait! On wind-borne words did I hear that terrible Troll Olot say something about a geas. But what would that have to do with Alain? Of a sudden, Camille’s eyes widened in startlement at an unexpected thought: Oh, my, perhaps Alain was the man I saw standing there on that ridge with the Troll. But why would he have been in the Winterwood? — Oh, Camille, that matters not. What is of importance is that my beloved is cursed. And what could it be, this curse? Oh, Mithras, what could it be?

  Over the next several days, Camille spent time in the great library reading of magic and spells, of curses and geases, and of numerous other things arcane. Many were the legends and tales, and several fables told of heroes and heroines who, through their wits, resolved dilemmas dire. And one or two of the legends spoke of mysteries which required a lad or lass to solve a problem on their own by revealing an answer that was staring them in the face all along.

  What if this is one of those? What if it is I who have to find an answer, something plain to all others but me? Most certainly, the folks here at Summerwood, Alain’s kindred, the mages and witches and warlocks and such, they all know what’s afoot; indeed, everyone does know but me.

  Every day, on she read, gleaning for clues as to what she might do on her own to resolve whatever curse, or geas, lay over Summerwood Manor. And she said nought to any as to what she was about, not to Alain, not to Blanche, not even to her beloved Bear.

  Every night she and Alain played echecs or dames or croquet by lanternlight, or sang to one another or read poetry or danced. And they made love tenderly and passionately and even wildly at times.

  And she shared with him all the details of her visit to her parents-both the joys and the disappointments-speaking of everything but the discussions pertaining to Alain’s masks and her mere’s idea concerning the stub of a candle and matches. These she kept to herself, for a glimmer of a notion was taking place in her mind.

  The resolutions to many of the fables are quite simple at base. What if my mere wa
s unwittingly right concerning Alain not being able to show me his visage, but rather my seeing his face for myself? What if he has given me the only clue he can, and now it’s up to me to act? What if my seeing his face on my own would break the curse which hangs over my beloved? Mayhap it would return his parents to the Summerwood from wherever it is they’ve vanished. But even if that is not the case, mayhap my mere is right, and by my seeing Alain’s face he could abandon his masks altogether.

  Camille dithered, not knowing if she were right or wrong, not knowing whether such a simple act would bring about the alleviation of the curse… or perhaps make it worse. And then one day, her heart beating frantically, she took up her drawstring purse in which was held the fat candle stub and box of matches, and she went along the corridors to Alain’s quarters and slipped them into the bedchamber. There she secreted them away, then slipped back out and ran lightly down the hall, praying to Mithras that none would see.

  Several nights running, she waited until Alain was asleep, but she could not summon the courage to fetch the stub from its hiding place and light it. Two nights, though, she held it in her hands, and yet put it away unlit, for she felt as if it were somehow a betrayal of his trust.

  But then one night- It is such a simple plan, just like the ones in the fables; what, pray tell, can go wrong? — she struck the match and set the wick aflame and in the glimmering light turned toward her beloved Alain…

  … and gasped…

  … and tears sprang to her eyes…

  … for he was beautiful, so very beautiful: no scars, no wens, no gapes, no pits, no birthmarks, no-Camille smiled through her tears-no, ooo, bony skull; his features were completely unmarred by anything whatsoever, lest marred by beauty instead. And he lay innocently sleeping.

  She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, Alain on her left, the candle in her left hand the better to see, and somewhere a wind began softly to moan. And she sat beside him a long while, studying his beautiful face, as if to store up the sight of it for all time. And still there came the sound of the wind slowly rising, as if a storm brewed.