eyed each other with a mixture of scorn and contempt, which was the fashionably understood manner of expressing attraction; and having made this initial contact, Kayna was ready to move away.
Kaveran returned the compliment by ignoring her and making some hearty remark to Lanval about the success of the afternoon, but the older man was entirely engrossed with studying Kayna’s lovely face; he was rapt with curiosity and a sort of astonishment, which created an odd impression because, although Kayna was certainly beautiful, even she did not warrant such attention.
Kayna had taken her mother’s arm, but was finding it difficult to draw her away. The widow seemed to be suffering from the same confusion that afflicted Lanval; no sooner had Kaveran arrived than she stared at him with a kind of awe. On feeling the tugs at her arm, however, she drew her gaze off to her daughter; but the sight of Kayna’s familiar face suddenly seemed to distress her also, and the widow’s attention flicked between the two rapidly.
Lanval then, catching her habit, glanced at Kaveran, and was suddenly caught in the same motion of switching his eyes from him to the girl.
Kayna, embarrassed that her mother was perhaps suffering from sunstroke, or some unusual fit, yanked that lady determinedly away, which force broke the spell, and the widow departed immediately.
Kaveran called out after them in the surly manner that he reserved for strange girls he’d taken a shine to: ‘Maybe see you later,’ he said, and Kayna half-looked back, which was as good as an agreement.
Left alone, and the crowd dispersing, Kaveran and Lanval walked back to one of the tents to change their costumes in preparation for clearing up, but Lanval was not at all his usual jolly self; in fact he was extremely distracted, shaking his head and muttering to himself often and often.
Kaveran asked him what was the matter, but he only said abruptly: ‘You’re coming for a drink with me tonight, I hope?’
‘Of course,’ said Kaveran. ‘I need a drink to start the night going.’
‘You mean to be out late?’
‘That all depends.’
‘Does it? Does it now? On what, then?’
‘On who, Joe, on who.’
‘You can’t mean Mary’s girl, there?’
‘Do you know her?’
‘A bad lot, Kaveran, mark my words, a bad lot, mother and daughter both.’
But whatever the intention of Lanval’s inference, it was lost on Kaveran; a young man likes nothing better than to hear that a girl he likes is a bad lot.
Meanwhile, on reaching home, the lady in question set about marshalling her friends to the campaign of the evening. Having assembled five or six of them in her room, pretty girls all (though none to touch herself), she outlined her strategy.
‘We’ll set out at nine,’ she began. ‘I’ll wear my new black sandals with the decent heels; Rebecca, you should wear your hair up like you did the other Friday, it suits you; Lucy, can I borrow your silver bracelet with the charms?’ — several more details of this essential nature ensued— ‘Yes, and we’ll set out at nine; it’s so warm we may as well take the short-cut through the wood into town, and start in the King’s Head; Sarah, didn’t you tell me that’s where the guys from the fair have been drinking? If they’re not there, it’s the Green Man for sure. The lads from the football club will be around, so we can use them as cover, but we mustn’t get too caught up; I don’t want to intimidate the sword-fighter guy. We have to get him (and the one you like, Julie) on side by eleven: the club’s free before twelve. Alright? We’ve got three hours— I need to wash my hair!’ —and with this cue to scramble, the council of war separated.
As the appointed hour approached, Kayna, with unaccustomed promptness, descended from her room painted, polished and preened, elegant as a swan. Her mother met her at the foot of the stairs with an anxious expression.
‘Kayna, will you be out late tonight?’ she asked, wringing her hands.
‘Yes, I expect so, why?’ asked the young lady in surprise.
The mother hesitated, and glanced at her daughter’s lovely apparel in obvious concern.
‘Kayna,’ she started, summoning herself up to a commanding tone, ‘I don’t want you to see that boy from the fair.’
‘What? What boy?’
‘You know very well who. I don’t want you to see him. I don’t want you to speak to him!’
Amazed and angry at this, Kayna set into a defiant pout and began the age-old retort of suffering youth with: ‘You can’t tell me what to do! I’ll see who I like!’
But instead of the parental wrangle she expected, instead of being warned she should do as she was told, that she’d get a name for herself, that girls nowadays didn’t know how to behave, Kayna was astonished to see her mother immediately break down in a torrent of desperate tears.
‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ she gasped in concern, but her mother pushed her away and dashed up to her own room.
‘Don’t— I can’t speak to you!’ she sobbed in retreat.
Kayna was momentarily determined to follow her up the stairs and discover what these hysterics meant; but at that moment her friends arrived at the door, and she was caught in a quandary. Her friends advised, however, that their own mothers were prone to similar curious attacks, and that it was consequent on their reaching a certain age, and that she was best left to cry it out on her own. Kayna was obviously inclined to heed this wisdom, as it coincided with her own desires, and so the party set off through the woods at once.
I might relate in detail the subsequent events of the evening, just as in old fairytales we are told each step of a scheme to be carried out, and then are led through each step in execution, just as described, each adventure appearing as foretold; but really I’m too impatient to build upon the obvious, and so you need only know that Kayna’s campaign was victorious. The medieval fair entertainers were found drinking in the King’s Head public house, and Kaveran among them; no sooner did the troupe of ladies enter the bar than attention was turned to them, and Kaveran made it his business to introduce himself to Kayna. Their earlier reserve was replaced with a lively flirtation, and at last he became one of the party (along with several members of the football team) who accompanied the fair garrison to the club.
I should add in, that Kaveran and Kayna were provided with a perfect topic of conversation immediately on introducing themselves, as they shared their names with a couple of sweethearts from a local folktale.
‘Kaveran’s such a weird name, I always wondered if I’d ever meet a Kayna,’ said he.
‘You mean you wondered if you’d ever meet somebody with a name as bad as yours!’ she laughed.
‘Well, it’s comforting to think there’s someone else in the same plight as me. But I don’t think your name’s all that bad. It suits you.’
‘I suppose both our parents were keen on folklore; but Kaveran and Kayna are a local legend —so are you from around here?’
‘I think so,’ he replied. ‘I’m an orphan, so I’m not really sure. Joe — the guy with the beard over there— brought me up, and we’ve travelled all over.’
‘Did he call you Kaveran? He looks like the kind who’d give out a name like that!’
Kaveran laughed. ‘He’s the guilty party!’
‘Still, it could have been worse; you might have been christened Moonshine or Honeybee or something awful like that.’
‘I guess I got off lightly. And besides, it gives me a reason to talk to you. In the story, Kaveran and Kayna could never stand to be apart, you know.’
‘Well then, you’d better stay put, Kaveran; and since we’ve finally met each other, I think we should drink to it.’ —and so their conversation proceeded.
Lanval, who was sat in a quiet corner, watched the young pair as they talked with his keen, clear eyes. He seemed to study them in a sort of perplexity, and his long fingers stroked the tendrils of his beard as he ruminated to himself. Nothing could distract his attention from them, and many a comment from his companions fell dead an
d ignored. In some respects, his interest was warranted, because Kaveran and Kayna certainly made a picturesque couple. They were very well suited, being of a similar rank (as it were) in beauty, and that rank very high. Their colouring was the same, clear pale skin with rather red-blonde hair and arresting grey eyes; indeed they were as matched in looks as they seemed to be in temperament.
Lanval watched them all night long, until closing time turned everybody out, and the young people hurried off together. He stood in the street and watched them as they went, still fixed in a reverie, until his companions roused him at last, and called him to come away.
What could be more natural and commonplace than that Kayna and Kaveran should find each other very attractive indeed, and, noting each others’ interest, forge a little attachment out of it? But it seems that they were both surprised and somewhat shocked to find that they did not merely like each other in the common way; their flirtation did not lead to the kind of playful fling they were both used to. Instead, during the course of the night, they became absorbed in each other, hungry to talk, and ask, and tell, and touch, and kiss, and hold and keep each other’s attention. They both seemed to be starving suddenly, and ravenous for anything they could procure of the other, be it a glance, a word, a caress —even a slight, an insult, scorn on the part of one appeared to feed and nourish the other.
This was by no means ordinary for either of them, and it was
The Tryst: a modern folktale Page 2
