Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  When I am ready, I wait only shortly before there is a knock on the door and a man in his formal attire bows to me in greeting. I step behind him as he leads me and soon find myself in the breakfast hall, where light from two circular holes in the ship (I suppose to be windows) illuminates the room to brightness, a tone I feel will never be found inside me. I sit at the table opposite from my vader, who is speaking aggressively with his fellow men. They seem untouched by the event taking place in less than a few hours, untouched by my arrival or relinquished appetite, and untouched by the presence of my odium.

  I manage half a glass of water, unable to stomach more to fill the hollowness inside me.

  “Time of breakfast is past ten o’clock,” the announcement is what wakes me to reality again.

  The men start to rise. I follow as I feel the color in my skin begin to return. I suddenly feel very hot. My vader glances my way, but is led out too soon for me to return his gaze with my own. I follow last, the couple of men who were slower than the rest I let go before me, insisting with silence. I step over the wood boards and the colors of the lanterns seem to glow especially orange. The darkness around me is unnerving and I am almost grateful to be going up to the deck where I can breathe fresh air. As I reach the halfway mark, my resentment returns.

  I emerge. The moment I am on deck, the flutters in my stomach return. At the same moment, I am mixed in with the crowd of my vader’s crew. They are disorienting, and it does nothing for the flutters and wooziness starting in my head. I am afraid for a moment that I won’t find my way, won’t be there for Nadeje, and will be lost in this crowd of men. There is a firm press to the small of my back and I turn my head and see who it is. Zenith gently guides me around the crowd, winding me through safely, the heat of his hand seeping through my dress. I would have pulled away, but I feel obliged to him. Also, the moment I am at a level where I can see the horizon of the ship, I am also level with the event about to take place. I see the drawn figure before me and everything stops. My legs go rigid and my body shakes.

  Nadeje stands in the center of the ship, directly before me, not even 30 feet away, his stance drooped and tired. For the first time ever, he looks delicate to me. I can’t keep from staring at him, willing him to look at me, willing him to see me, willing him to move for me, to show me he has some drive left in his body. He does nothing; tied to the wooden stake at the wrists before him, he does not look like he would fight it even if he were untied.

  My body trembles. I don’t feel Zenith’s hand resting on my back. I do not feel my own heart’s faint rhythm.

  Then, he looks up. His eyes meet mine. The moment they do, I feel slapped. Everything inside me, core to skin, I feel dissipate at his sight. Those deep blue eyes, once abysmal, stormy, grounded, soft, full of calm…are exhausted, hazed over, dull, and tempestuous almost to a point of brutality and recklessness. I feel my heart crack in my chest. It does not change as he watches me. They are hollow, same as me. He looks away, his posture unchanged from its hunch over the stake. I can’t feel the pain it gives me.

  I feel an urge to run to him, to hold him, to tell him comforts and release him from his bounds, but I remain frozen to the spot. My heart goes wild. Run. I hear the word in my head and wish to follow it, to meet it halfway or rush past it to get to him. Run to him. I wish to. Run and set him free. That is the part I fear keeps me back. If I let him go, would he still love me? Would he leave me immediately? Would he run or would he be killed on the spot? The way he looked at me, the carelessness and loss of expression in his eyes convinces me only more that we would not be in sync, that something would go wrong.

  “To William of Orange, October 5th, in revenge of the Siege. Thirty lashes on this offending Spanish man! Long live liberty of religion!”

  The voice is an announcement. It tells us that in minutes it will begin. I feel paralyzed to my spot.

  A man walks to Nadeje and draws a knife. I suddenly feel very faint. I am going to pass out. I am going to pass out right here and now. I won’t see it finish. It’s too real to be true. I realize the speed it is going at. I watch and choke back a scream. I thought they were going to whip him. He grabs the back of Nadeje’s collar. How would they whip him if he was dead? Oh God…they wouldn’t let him bleed as they…

  There is a flash of movement and the man tears the blade down the back of Nadeje’s shirt. I feel my body tense as the fabric splits in two, leaving his back partly exposed but unmarked. Even as I know what is coming next, I can’t help but feel relieved, and though I feel shame at it, my eyes catch on the beauty of his frame, the curves and angles in the arch of his back. I feel a small tug inside and regret it. That could have been mine. Mine to touch, mine to feel, mine to see, mine to love. Now it was to be ruined, beaten to weakness, bruised to a different color than the soft olive pigment of his skin.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man approaching Nadeje slowly. I look to him and see the whip in his hand, trailing the floor at his side. I can tell he intends to put his strength into it, I can tell he feels pride for being the one to do it, and I can tell that he thinks Nadeje is the one to feel the city’s revenge. I can’t feel anything. He stops and I feel Zenith’s hand on my back again. The man adjusts his hand on the whip and lifts it up as though weighing its heft. I feel my adrenaline rush. He stances himself. The hand on my back turns to knives, the murmur from a crew member turns to screams, and the urge to die becomes my new dream. He lifts the whip, ready. There is a snap in the air as he flips it back.

  It is still mine.

  I bolt forward.

  Mine to save.

  “No!” I scream it as I race forward. Zenith does not react fast enough to grab me in time. I trip over my skirts as the whip comes down. Then I throw myself against him, grabbing his shirt and shielding him from the world. For a second it is silent, and then there is a hard smack.

  The impact is so fast, so deep, so hard, all I feel is a burning numbness along my turned cheek and back. The pain takes my breath away, and is unbearable. I feel my consciousness fade and I see spots. I feel my grip on his shirt give, and slowly I feel my body crumple against him. I know not how, but I feel Nadeje move.

  When I come back, he is holding me. I depend on him entirely to keep me upright; his arm clutching my waist below where the pain surges, his other holding the back of my head as I look up. His eyes are shattered, stormy like a tempest, soft and yet hard all at once. The calm is not yet returned to his being. They are questioning me why. I cannot answer.

  I feel his hand trade places with his other arm, wrapping about my waist to support me. His other hand moves up and slowly, he carefully lifts his fingertips to my jaw, slightly turning my cheek to see what the lash left. Whatever he must see, he does not like it. He protectively bows his head closer, growling and looking past me at whoever he may feel responsible. The light trace of my cheek makes tears rise, but I don’t mind. He looks to me and the concern in his appearance is evident. The warmth of his shirt meets my face and I feel his arm shift around my back as he cradles me down. When I see again, I am in his lap, his arm bracing me to him, his hand laced fingers with mine in my lap. His face is a blur for a moment, and I can’t seem to lose the cloud blocking my vision. My back and cheek sear but I don’t care. As long as I am close to him I don’t care.

  “Why did you do it?” It is a whisper, soft and lightly spoken to me.

  I feel my cheek sear and know it must be a harsh mark. His eyes are all question now, that and soft tempesting truth to me. I feel a tear accidentally leak down my cheek.

  “I love you.”

  It is weak and timid. The moment the words are out though, I see his eyes fill. He does nothing, just continues to cradle me, or maybe he just didn’t have time to do anything more. The crowd is on us.

  “She is hurt…” I hear it from my vader. He sounds breathless and lost, scared even.

  “Her back must be dressed…”

  Nadeje brings me closer, possessively.

>   “She must be moved to her chamber,” it is Zenith. There is a pause. “Get her away and to her chamber!”

  The bark sends out a resonance that applies force. I hear feet shuffle and glimpse a few men stepping toward us, or Nadeje. I can’t fight them now, not after losing consciousness, not after being beaten, not if I will only lose him yet again. I close my eyes and rest, praying for the allowance to rest here against him in peace.

  “Stop.” The order overrides the other and is firm. It also happens to be my vader.

  There is a moment of uncertainty.

  “Move to your positions and stay in attendance until I say otherwise.”

  There are the sounds of boots on the deck, and somehow the air around us feels less suffocating; freer.

  “Zenith,” it is firm and almost cold. I cannot pay attention to the questions it brings me. “Send the doctor down to her chamber. Then wait in my office where I can find you.”

  It is blunt and obviously not what Zenith is used to, for there is a long pause before I hear his footsteps fade over the deck.

  “Follow me,” it is a command, but almost sounds like an offer.

  There are the clunks of my vader’s shoes becoming farther off over the deck. Nadeje lifts me, holding me in his arms, my body limp. I keep my eyes closed and don’t move my head. Nadeje carries me the whole way, his deportment constantly occupied with the transition to calm. Before he can make it to my room, I blackout for a second time.

  I waken to the cold tingles of something being smeared across the fine line of burning fire along my back. It stings and I grimace as it feels like knives being dragged across my flesh. I feel cold but hot all at once, and there is a strange sense of my back being naked and exposed, vulnerable to the hands that nurse me. I can’t remember anything. All I can remember is that Nadeje is free. It is what gives me reconciliation. I drift off again, ignoring the pain as the cool jell spreads along my cheek.

  I woke up hours ago on my stomach. I can’t move. I feel dull and still hot headed. I am sweating in some spots, but frozen in others. I feel that my back is bare, and that the sheets and bed below are all that is keeping me hidden in front and from my lower back down.

  I decided it was worth it. All of it. Even as my agony worsened that night I held this decision close to me to prove myself that it was right to intervene. I feel slightly ashamed to have done so, in the middle of an activity dedicated to my vader, but I couldn’t have let it finish. It would have been nothing to gain on his part but blood, and it would have been everything to lose on my own.

  There is the light tread of feet on my floor, and I know I am no longer alone. There is a soft trail of skin along my shoulder blade, and my eyes flutter awake. I feel a gentle dab and heat flickers across not just the surface of where the whip hit me, but where the contact leaves behind. I don’t need to ask because I know who it is, but just since I love saying his name, I inquire him.

  “Nadeje?”

  I hear a soft grunt in response, and then he kneels before me, so that I can see him.

  When I remain quiet and only look at him, he gradually comes closer and kisses my exposed shoulder. I watch him back as he observes me, his eyes loving and playful in a way that is also serious.

  “They didn’t hurt you?”

  He looks at me, and his face softens further. He shakes his head, and then leans forward and kisses me once, twice, three times, repeatedly. When he stops he comes back so that I can see the twisted emotions of love in his face.

  “I missed you.”

  He kisses me once on the arm in response.

  “Are we alone?” It is small and weak, almost babyish.

  He leans in and kisses my back.

  I take it as a yes.

  I wait a moment before I ask it. “What do you want to do with me?”

  He watches me as though confused.

  I swallow hard, as my throat is dry. “If we…” I let him finish it in his mind.

  He takes a moment as though thinking, and then leans forward and tends his forehead to mine. “Everything,” he whispers it to me, his breath hot and eyes twinkling.

  I close my eyes. I feel him remain close by the way he breathes. It passes along my skin; chilling the heat built up on my neck and making me feel less alone. I open them a few minutes later to find him sitting back kneeling against his heels, watching me. He leans in and kisses my shoulder again.

  I swallow. “Sterile is awful.”

  He smiles, and then grows pained and kisses me twice.

  “Because I can’t kiss you back.”

  He stops at this and watches me. After a moment he moves close for me. He carefully moves his head over the pillow between my shoulder and head. I look into his eyes as he pauses, and then he gently kisses me. I close my eyes. He lets me lift my head a little, but stops me as I try to twist my spine. I settle back and kiss him stilly, as much as I can in the awkward and painful position. He draws back after a few seconds and lightly trails his fingertips down my jaw before vanishing. He remains close but does not kiss my lips again.

  “How do you feel?” It is earnest and a whisper at the same time, as though knowing loud sounds weren’t in my best interest right now.

  I swallow. “It burns…but I’m cold.”

  He seems aggrieved by this and I feel an urge to not disappoint him.

  “But…it was worth you.”

  He swallows down as though guilty for this, regretful that he had put me through this, but it wasn’t his fault.

  I shiver as a draft causes the hairs on my back to prickle up. He sees this. He considers something a moment before acting it out. He slowly rises to his knees. He lightly trails his hands down my back a little, running them over my skin and feeling me. I feel my heart flicker to life again at the warmth of his hands. He lifts them away, and then leans over, and kisses my back. I close my eyes as I tense up a bit, and then relax as I remember who this is. I can trust him.

  I feel my back sear where he kisses me, and the warmth spreads across the surface evenly, radiating heat. I feel his hand press lightly to the small of my back, and then he kisses me along the outline of the burn from the whip. I suck in a breath of cool air and relax as he continues down the line. I feel his hand gently rub my shoulder once maybe out of assurance, and then he gently strokes my hair. He comes closer and kisses me again. I feel the bed move under his weight, and slowly I feel his form lie along my side. I wish I could turn to him, hold him and share with him, but I can’t. Not with the mark on my back and not without the proper relation between us. I feel his arm sling over my lower waist, avoiding the sore spots, and he is quiet.

  “Nade…I can’t turn that way…why?”

  He smooches my shoulder blade and contemplates a moment. Seeming to have the similar conscience as me of impropriety, he slowly rises and comes back to me. I smile a little at the emotion I see in his face. “Better?”

  I nod a little.

  He seems quieted. He leans close and kisses my forehead.

  “Are you unhappy?”

  He draws back a little and frowns confused. “With…”

  I look to his chest where I see that his shirt is changed. “Being here.”

  He frowns. “I can’t say I would rather be on a ship like this than land, but I can’t say I wish I hadn’t come after you either.”

  I swallow. “You…”

  He leans his face to mine. “I didn’t board the Spanish ships because I knew you would be on my mind until my deathbed. I chose my voyage and intend on staying there.” His eyes are all seriousness.

  I smile faintly and he traces my cheek.

  “I’m glad.”

  He smiles now. “I want to scoop you up and carry you off with me to join my voyage…so that we can reach the same port…but I am afraid that would be very ridiculous to act upon right now and even against my religious freedom.”

  I giggle and his eyes shine.

  “Maybe one day I can.”

  I hear the sentiment
behind it, the offer and hope behind it, the secret proposal behind it, and I know what he means. I do not answer it though.

  “I wonder if I could get a job here…in Leyden, to earn my income enough so that maybe we could…return to housing…since I am no longer funded by the army.”

  I watch him, everything about him, from portrait to nature. It is all a dream. One I never dreamed, and now hope to dream for forever. I cannot tell him that my vader will most likely keep me with his attendees, with his royalty marching everywhere I go. That I will never be free…unless I am disowned or Nadeje became a duke. Both of which are unlikely things to happen.

  “Are you alright?” He inquires it after my long borne silence.

  I nod a little and close my eyes, hoping he gets the message. There is a time of quiet before I hear him rise and come around to my other side, laying down along my side and once more resting beside me.

  I take a while to adjust to his actual being here, but it also eases me so that I feel sleepy faster. I close my eyes.

  The next morning I woke up to find Nadeje gone. I was worried. Mariana, my maid, entered to assure me he was just resting after spending last night nursing me. I felt both relieved and jittery to know he was safe and that his hands had been the ones that healed me.