M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Quite so," Tuan agreed. "Certes, 'tis true that each of us hath oft gone abroad among the common folk alone, and disguised—but this would be more in the nature of a meeting of state."

  "Of course. Any time we get together officially, it's always a meeting of state—and the fate of our children just happens to fall under that heading, too."

  "It does. Thou art not opposed to the match, then?"

  "Cordelia and Alain? Not at all—though I would have appreciated it if Alain had followed the social formula of asking my permission before he proposed. Might have staved off the current disaster."

  "Aye." Tuan nodded heavily. "I have told him aforetime that being royal doth not allow him to trample on custom . .."

  "But his mother has told him that princes are above tradition, eh? Well, I think he'll begin to see that customs grow up for reasons." Rod frowned. "But there's another side to it, too, my liege."

  "Aye." Tuan's face darkened. "Are they in love?"

  "Such a short little word," Rod sighed, "but it can create such difficulties, can't it? Especially if it's not there." Tuan shook his head, perplexed. "How can he have gone to ask her to be his wife, if he did not know her to be in love with him?"

  "Oh, they have more or less grown up with the idea that of course they'll get married some day," Rod sighed. "After all, how many young folk of their age are there among the nobility of Gramarye?"

  "A hundred, perhaps," Tuan said slowly.

  "Yes, and a properly inbred bunch they are! Besides, half of them regard Alain as a hereditary enemy, simply because their fathers rebelled against you and Catharine at one time or another."

  "Aye," said Tuan, "and the other half live so far from Runnymede that 'tis a wonder we have seen them once in a year. Still, my boy hath seen other lasses his age. I wonder that his devotion to thy Cordelia hath never swerved."

  "It would be normal," Rod admitted, "but Alain is an unusually conscientious lad, and very loyal." He did not add "humorless and dull," though he might have. "He may feel that once he has pledged himself to Cordelia in his heart, he can't even look at another lady."

  Tuan shook his head. "If it is not love, then the Archer will smite him soon or late."

  "Better to have it sooner," Rod agreed. "I'll tell you frankly that I'm not all that sure that the match would be best for either of them; they may not be right for each other."

  "Cordelia is certainly of acceptable rank to be a queen," Tuan said quickly, "and more than acceptable in her own person. Indeed, I would be honored to call her my daughter-in-law."

  "And I couldn't ask for a more worthy or more responsible mate for her." Rod tactfully didn't mention that he really didn't want his daughter to marry a selfish prig like Alain. Of course, if she had really been in love, he wouldn't have argued. "However, though they may be of the right quality for each other, they may not be right in personality. After all, so far as I know, neither of them has ever fallen in love with the other."

  "Oh, I have seen the odd glance between them," Tuan said, "and the lilt to her voice when she speaks, and the toss of her head."

  "Flirting, sure," Rod said, "but even that might have been due more to a shortage of other young folk their own age than to any real interest."

  "So we must watch them in more ways than one, eh? Well, I shall tell Catharine of my departure. I doubt not she will be relieved to have some small time to herself."

  Catharine might have been pleased if she hadn't seen through the ruse in an instant. Fortunately, the Lady Gwendylon had come to discuss the situation with her. They were sitting in Catharine's solar when Tuan breezed in and dropped his little bombshell.

  "Surely thou wilt not be too aggrieved, my love? Thou shalt not? Why, there's a wench for you! Come on and kiss me!"

  Catharine's protests were smothered, and by the time she caught her breath, Tuan was out the door and gone. "Oh! The idiocy of men!" she fumed. "Thinks he that I cannot see through his ruse? Hunting, forsooth!"

  "In a manner, they do," Gwen sighed, "though 'tis our sons they hunt, not the deer."

  "And the dear knows when we shall see them again! Pray they do not let the boys know they are followed!"

  "I shall—and I shall pray the same for Cordelia." Catharine turned to her, stunned. "Surely she doth not follow them, too!"

  "She doth," Gwen returned. "She hath little trust in her brother."

  "Well, therein may I agree with her," Catharine said judiciously, "for Geoffrey is more filled with masculine non sense than most—if thou wilt forgive the observation, Gwendylon."

  "When did truth need forgiveness?" Gwen returned, though she could have added, "Frequently."

  "They are so ridiculous!" Catharine fumed. "They will likely follow a day's pace behind—too distant to protect 'gainst assassins, too close for the boys to know they must trust to themselves!"

  "Aye, 'tis most ridiculous," Gwen agreed, "but then, so are Geoffrey and Alain. Still, I doubt not that Brom's forces will be near. The young men will be protected, never fear." She knew, far better than Catharine, exactly how ubiquitous and effective Brom's troops were—his personal forces, at least. She had been raised by the elves, and they had no secrets from her, except the name of her father.

  "Well—I warrant the men can do the boys no harm," Catharine grudged.

  "We must let this issue pass, as we do so many that are really of no consequence," Gwen agreed.

  "Still..." Catharine turned to her with a glint in her eye.

  Gwen braced herself. "Aye, Majesty?"

  "Why should not the followers be followed?" Catharine said, with a wicked smile.

  Slowly, Gwen's own smile matched the Queen's. "Aye, Majesty. Be assured, I shall look in now and then on mine husband—and on thine, too."

  So Alain and Geoffrey went a-wandering wild and free, two knights errant in search of adventure, on what must surely have been the best-supervised quest of all time. In fact, it was a virtual parade, with Puck shadowing his lord's grandson (not to mention his granddaughter's suitor), a dozen royal knights following a few hours behind the Heir Apparent, the two fathers trailing their sons with a score of knights, and the Lady Gwendylon keeping an eye on the two husbands.

  But in front of them all, of course, went Cordelia.

  CHAPTER 4

  They rode in under the trees, Alain saying, "But where shall we..."

  "Hist!" Geoffrey turned to him with a finger across his lips, then beckoned. He turned his horse off the trail —and pushed through the underbrush.

  Alain stared, taken by surprise. Then he pushed on after Geoffrey, aching to ask what they were doing, but keeping his lips pressed tight.

  The underbrush thinned out, leaving room for the horses to walk, though Alain had to duck under boughs. Fortunately, he could watch Geoffrey in front of him, and be ready for the next low-hanging limb. They had to skirt a few trees that had branches down to the ground and step carefully over fallen logs, but they kept on going.

  Finally, Geoffrey's horse half-slid, half-walked down to a stream. He stepped in. Alain followed, dying to ask what they were doing—or rather, why; the "what" seemed obvious.

  They walked upstream for a quarter of an hour or more; then Geoffrey turned his horse to climb back out onto the same bank from which they had come, though a good way farther into the forest. He reined in and waited for Alain to come up with him.

  "Wherefore have we perambulated so?" Alain asked. "To lose pursuit," Geoffrey told him. "I doubt not that knight of your bodyguard may waken to find us gone, but will follow our trail into the wood. We do not wish him to be able to trace us far."

  Alain turned thoughtful. "Aye, even so. Sir Devon would take it as his charge to find me, whether I wished it or no."

  "And he will be most reluctant to return to your parents with word that he has lost us," Geoffrey agreed. "Nay, he will seek to follow—and when he cannot find our trail, he will take word to the King and Queen."

  Alain's mouth tightened. "No doubt he will, an
d they will send a whole troop of knights to dog our footsteps."

  "Therefore shall we leave them no footprints." Geoffrey grinned. "Mayhap we shall muddy our trail even further, then double back to watch—them casting about to find us. Would that not be pleasant?"

  Alain's first instinct was to protest against taking pleasure in troubling good men who were only trying to do their duty—but Geoffrey's smile was infectious, and he found himself grinning. "It would be amusing to watch."

  However, Geoffrey could read his mind—only figuratively, this time, though he could easily have done it literally. "Be easy in your heart—they will not be greatly upset. Still, if we are to be accompanied by a small army, there is scant purpose in wandering."

  "True enough," Alain admitted. "Nay, let us lose ourselves thoroughly."

  They did.

  An hour later, Geoffrey reined in and pronounced them properly hidden. "Now, Alain, we must set to work disguising ourselves."

  "Wherefore?" The Prince frowned.

  "Why, because you wish to go knight-erranting, do you not? To seek out wicked folk to punish, and good folk to aid, and damsels in distress to rescue?"

  "Indeed I do! I must prove myself worthy of your sister!"

  "Well, what wicked knight would dare to win against you, if he recognized you as the Crown Prince Alain?" Alain's brow creased as he thought it over, then nodded. "Aye, there is sense in that. How shall we disguise us, then?"

  "Well, to begin, you might take off your coronet and hide it in your saddlebag."

  "Oh, aye!" Alain sheepishly tucked away his low crown. "Now, as to your garments," Geoffrey said. "They must be leather and broadcloth, not silk and velvet. You must be dressed for long journeying, not for court—a good woolen cloak against the chill of night, and stout high boots."

  Alain glanced down at his low but very fashionable boots and nodded. "Where shall we find such?"

  "In a village, if it be large enough. Let us fare forth to the nearest town."

  They rode on through the forest, and as they did, Geoffrey tried to explain the nature of courtship. "You must begin by flirting," he counselled, "and do not yet be serious."

  "But," said Alain, "if I compliment a lady and seek to kiss her..." He blushed. ". . . what shall I do if she says yes?"

  "If the offer's made, you may treat it only as one more flirtation, and respond with some gallantry, such as `Ah, would that I could! But if such beauty as yours is like to blind me, I shudder to think what more would do!' Then touch her and draw back your hand sharply, as though from a hot griddle, crying `Ah, fair lady! Only a touch, and my blood boils to burn me!"'

  Alain goggled. "Where did you learn that bit of extravagance?"

  "Why, it came to me even now, as we spoke."

  "Alack-a-day!" Alain sighed. "I have no such gift of silver to my tongue!"

  "You will be amazed how quickly it comes, Alain, most thoroughly amazed—if you begin to play the game, and enjoy it."

  Alain reddened. "I could not!"

  "Of course you could, and shall. But remember—'tis only a game, but fully a game. Enjoy it, as you would enjoy tossing a ball—for the words are like the ball, and you've but to toss such compliments back and forth."

  "Tell me a few more, I beg you!" Alain implored. "For I would not go unarmed into my first fray!"

  Geoffrey shook his head. "You must not think of it as a fray, mind you, but a game. If a lass eyes you, so..." He made a moue and batted his eyelashes.

  Alain burst out in laughter that mingled shock and surprise.

  "Aye, that is the spirit!" Geoffrey grinned. "If she looks at you like that, then you must look at her like this!" His eyes widened a little, seeming to burn as his mouth curved slightly. "Then she will respond, thus... " He made sheep's eyes at Alain. "And you must sigh and reach out to touch her hand, ever so gently." He pantomimed a delicate touch.

  Alain laughed heartily. Then, gasping, he said, "I never could! I never could do so in seriousness!"

  "Oh, do not! A straight face is like the side of a cold fish, and seriousness might be mistaken for ardor! No, you must let your amusement show, but like this . .." He gave a low and throaty laugh.

  Alain tried to imitate him, but it came out as a rusty chuckle. Nonetheless, Geoffrey nodded encouragement. "Well begun! Now, you must speak of her eyes and her cheeks, saying the former are like stars and the latter like roses . .."

  "Even I have heard those a thousand times!"

  "So has she, friend, and will protest such, but in truth, she never grows tired of hearing them. Still, if there is more novelty in your saying, she will like it all the better. Mayhap you should take her hand upon your own, and tickle the palm whilst you nip the fingers with your lips... "

  "Surely I could not!" But Alain's eyes were glowing now, the color was rising in his cheeks, and his seriousness seemed banished for the moment.

  Encouraged, Geoffrey went on. ". . . and you shall tell her that her skin is smoother than the current of a placid stream and as cool, though it inflames your blood..." And on he went, manufacturing extravagant compliments by the yard. Alain clung to his every word, filing each away for future use. They rode through the forest, Geoffrey explaining the multitude of gallantries available for the courting of a lady, up to and including the way in which the knight Don Quixote had sent his vanquished enemies to his lady Dulcinea as proof of his valor and the purity and intensity of his love.

  However, he did not tell Alain that Don Quixote had been mired in delusion. All lovers are, so it did not matter. Of course, Geoffrey was not in love when he flirted—but he hoped ardently that Alain would be. For, although love had touched Geoffrey only once or twice, he knew the signs, and knew also that he saw them in Alain. In fact, he knew that he had seen them for several years.

  On the other hand, he also knew that Alain had been busily denying them. He seemed to think that such emotion, being swept away on such a tide, was unworthy of a man destined to be a king. His tutors had done their job too well. Geoffrey was determined to undo it.

  Then a woman screamed, ahead of them on the trail. Men shouted, and there was the clack of quarterstaves. Alain and Geoffrey stiffened. Then Alain gave a gleeful shout. "So soon!" He drew his sword.

  "Be sure which side is in the right before you strike!" Geoffrey was already spurring his horse.

  "Do not slay unless we must!" Alain called back from half a length ahead.

  They crashed through the brush screen just as some outlaws knocked the quarterstaff spinning from a carter's hands. One of their number leaped in to seize his wrists and force them up behind him, bending him almost double. Two others were pulling a woman down from the seat of the cart with lascivious, gloating laughs. She was still screaming.

  There were at least a dozen bandits, and only the one carter with his wife.

  "No doubt who has set upon whom!" Alain whooped and rode into battle with Geoffrey a step behind him. The outlaws turned, startled, but set themselves quickly. Most had swords—badly nicked or honed down thin, but swords nonetheless, with bull-hide shields.

  The others had bows.

  Arrows flew about the two knights. They ducked and dodged. Then they were in among the bandits, laying about them with their swords.

  Alain knocked a blade aside, then stabbed down. The bandit, a young fellow in a jerkin with a mane of black hair and a beard, raised his shield to block, as Alain had expected. The Prince's sword pinned the target, holding it up as he kicked a foot free of the saddle and lashed it lightning—quick into the bandit's jaw. The outlaw's eyes rolled up as he fell, almost wrenching the sword from Alain's grasp.

  But quick though the Prince had been, another bandit had been quicker. He landed on Alain's back with a howl, arms hugging the Prince's neck, pulling him backward. Alain fought to keep his seat even through the choking and swung back with his blade—back and around with the flat of it. The outlaw cried out, and abruptly the pressure was gone. Heart singing, Alain turned—to see a sword ja
bbing up at his belly with a grinning bandit behind it. He rolled aside, but the blade sheared through his doublet, staining it with blood. Pain stung hot along his ribs, and fueled fear—but also anger. Alain shouted and caught the blade in a bind as the outlaw tried to riposte, circling his own sword, twisting and sending his enemy's blade whirling away. Other outlaws cried out, ducking the spinning steel, as Alain turned to the next opponent.

  A staff cracked against his skull.

  The world spun about him; pain wreathed his head. Alain fought to stay in the saddle, to keep his hold on his sword. Dimly, he heard a yell of triumph, felt hands seize his legs ...

  Fortunately, they seized both legs, and the tug-of-war lasted long enough for the world to steady about him. Then he slapped down with his sword and pounded down with his left fist. Both blows connected, and the outlaws fell away. Alain turned to follow up with the point of his blade ... And saw all the outlaws rolling about on the ground, groaning and clutching their heads, or out cold.

  Alain sat still and stared for a minute that seemed to stretch out to ten. Then he looked up across the collection of moaning men to Geoffrey, sitting smugly across from him, winking. Alain grinned like an idiot.

  Then he remembered his duty and his dignity, and composed his face gravely, turning to the carter and his wife. "Are you well, goodman, goodwife?"

  "Aye, thanks to thee, Sir Knight." The middle-aged couple huddled together, his arm about her. The woman was weeping, but through her tears cried, "Bless thee, bless thee, good sirs!" Then she saw the red streak along Alain's side and gasped, "Thou'rt hurted!"

  "Hurted?" Alain looked down—and stared, shocked. He had never seen his own blood before. But he remembered himself, and forced a smile. " 'Tis naught, belike."

  "Aye, but let us be sure!" The woman hurried over to him, drying her tears on her apron. She pushed the slashed cloth aside and probed carefully. "Nay, naught but the skin is cut. Still it must be dressed, good sir!"

  "I shall tend to that," Geoffrey assured her.

  She looked up at him doubtfully. "Knowest thou aught of nursing, Sir Knight?"