Once Upon a Winter's Night

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “Oh, Bear, do stop. This water looks warm, and I’ve had nought to bathe in but chill.”

  Grunting, the Bear looked at the sun standing nigh the zenith, and halted.

  Moments later, Camille glided through the clement, crystalline water toward the play of otters. As she neared, she could hear the chime of laughter, and lo! the moment the otters splashed into the river, Waterfolk they became, with their tiny frames and long fishtail feet and along each side a translucent fin running from wrist to ankle. Their eyes were large and they looked at Camille and then playfully darted between her legs and ’round her back and up between her breasts. One paused before her, and then Camille could see that he was a male . . . they all were males.

  Squealing, Camille fled back toward the shore on which lay her clothes, as Waterfolk swam over and under and about her thrashing legs and flailing arms and ’round her waist and across her bosom, brushing against her most private places and giggling.

  Gaining the shore at last, Camille scrambled up the bank and to her clothes, flinging them on in spite of her wetness, while Waterfolk laughed joyously, and swam back to the opposite shore to shift their forms and resume their otter play.

  “Bear! Where are you, Bear?” she called, looking about for her absent guardian, furious at the laughter behind.

  A grunt came from higher up the embankment, and she saw the Bear sitting amid a patch of brambles eating dewberries, his muzzle stained purplish from the fare. Struggling with her boots, “You could have warned me,” cried Camille, cross with embarrassment.

  “Whuff.”

  With a foot half in, half out of her last boot, Camille stopped and glared at the Bear. “Does that mean you could have warned me?”

  The Bear grunted and pulled over another thorny vine and began to rip off the dark berries.

  “Oh, you!” Camille stamped her foot into the boot, and, fully dressed at last, she glanced across at the Waterfolk otters and then began to giggle.

  That evening, another camp awaited the Bear and the girl, with a brace of marmots roasting above the flames, and large leaves laden with dewberries sitting off to one side. Camille ate a leaf or two of the sweet blackberries, as well as a hind leg and a fore, the Bear eating all the rest.

  Unlike the Autumnwood, with its mild days and chill nights, in the Summerwood Camille needed neither cloak nor vest by day, and only a thin blanket at night, and that but near the break of light. Yet just after the dawntide of the third day in the wood, from a grey sky above a very light rain began to fall, more of a fine mist blowing than a drenching pour, and Camille wrapped her cloak about to ward away the mizzle. By the noontide, though, the sun broke through, and ghostly vapor seeped up from the earth and coiled among the trees, like streaming wraiths seeking to escape the sun.

  Even as the insubstantial vapor swirled about, they topped a hill, and there the Bear paused and grunted. “What is it, Bear? Why do you—?” Camille’s words chopped short, and her heart suddenly sprang to her throat, for down below and shrouded in ethereal mist twining ’round, stood a great mansion midst widespread grounds. And Camille knew it could be nought but the manor of the Lord of Summerwood, the manor of her husband-to-be.

  9

  Mansion

  As the Bear started downslope toward the huge manor, Camille tried to still her racing heart by studying the great house and the immediate grounds, that which she could make out through the rising vapor curling ’round.

  Vast was the mansion itself, four or five storeys in height, though here and there it rose above even that, and broad and deep with many wings, and even courtyards within. Chimneys it had in abundance, yet Camille wondered why here in the warmth of the Summerwood fireplaces were needed at all—other than those required for cooking and perhaps those needed to heat bathwater. The far-flung grounds about the great chateau were surrounded by a lengthy and high stone wall, with gates standing at the midpoints, at the moment all closed. Inside the wall, in spite of the mist, Camille could make out groves of trees and gardens with pathways through, a small lake, and—

  Is that a hedge maze?

  She had read of such in Fra Galanni’s library, but she had never thought to see one.

  Several outbuildings ranged along part of one wall, presumably at the back of the house. What they contained, Camille could not say, though she speculated that perhaps one was a stable and another a carriage house and still another a smithy and—

  Wait. If the Prince had horses, then why did he send a Bear to fetch me? Mayhap because of the dreadful passage through the Winterwood, where the Bear could protect me, and a horse could not. Regardless, I do not know how to ride . . . except Bearback, so to speak. Camille laughed at her bon mot, but then sobered quickly, for the Bear had come to the floor of the vale and now angled leftward toward one of the gates, and Camille’s heart beat all the faster.

  The Bear trod toward the great barrier, with its long brass bars running up and down through heavy brass braces across, the gate itself decorated with a copper bas-relief in the likeness of a great oak tree, verdigris making the leaves and trunk green; it was the same emblem that had been impressed in the wax seal of Prince Alain’s letter, though that on the entrance was in low relief rather than intaglio. As they approached, the oak tree split in twain and the two halves of the gates swung inward and wide, yet Camille could not see aught of who might have opened them.

  Onto the grounds of the vast estate they went, the Bear padding along a road of white stone wending within a gallery of oaks, their limbs arching overhead and intertwining to form a green leafy canopy above. As down this way they went, to the left and right through the spaces between the boles of the oaks Camille caught glimpses of the estate, with its gardens galore and white stone paths and long stretches of green sward. “Oh, Bear, how large this holding. Why, Papa’s entire farm could fit in one small corner yon.” On they went and across a stone bridge, with a wide lucid stream meandering under and flowing between high mossy banks; and black swans swam in the water, their long necks proudly arched. And still the road gracefully curved, the oaks standing honor guard, yet of a sudden the Bear emerged from the canopy and into the open beyond, and Camille’s heart leapt upward again, for straight ahead across a broad mead stood the great château.

  “Oh, Bear, I am wholly apprehensive,” quavered Camille, burying her hands into fur and gripping tightly. “Remain my protector, please.”

  “Whuff,” replied the Bear quietly, and pressed on ahead.

  As they went on toward the manor, Camille now saw just how vast a place it truly was. Left and right the building stretched away, and loomed upward as well. Pale grey it was, and made of granite, with a huge, deep portico upheld by fluted columns, the pillars granite, too. Here and there along the front, from second-storey rooms and above, leaded-glass doorways opened onto white-marble balconies, while all across and abounding, leaded-glass windows in white wooden sashes stood in white wooden frames.

  Great Mithras, there must be two hundred rooms or more. Much to dust and sweep and clean, endless windows to wash, chambers to air, linens to—Oh, my, but I do hope that I don’t have to—

  Just then Camille heaved a quiet sigh of relief, for she could see that within the great portico the doors to the house stood wide, and flanking and extending outward from the portal stood servants arrayed in two long rows. Steadily trod the Bear, to come up the two steps and onto the wide porch. And servants silently bowed or curtseyed deeply as the Bear trod between, yet Camille knew not how to respond, and so she rode into the manse on the back of the Bear without saying a word.

  Past the open, brass-studded, thick doors of oak and down a short corridor she rode, to pass beyond another set of open doors and across a broad landing, then down two steps into a vast front hall: its floor was of white marble, with an inlaid depiction of a great oak centered therein—the leaves of malachite, the bole and limbs a subtle mix of grey and red granite. A full four storeys above, the white plaster ceiling held a leaded-glass
skylight depicting the same oak—a reflection of the one below. Two massive staircases—one left, one right—swept from a common landing outward and up, curving to a high balcony all ’round, and higher up still were individual balconies jutting out of the three facing walls, with recessed doors leading into chambers beyond. There were doors and archways ranged to left, right, and fore, both at the great hall floor level and the balcony level above; through the archways, Camille could see corridors leading away. Sconces for candles and lanterns were arrayed along on the walls around, but sunlight pouring in through high, front windows and the leaded-glass skylight above lighted the chamber brightly.

  The Bear padded to the center of the great hall and stopped on the inlaid stone-oak; then, led by a tall, slender, grey-haired man dressed all in black, a flurry of servants—footmen and butlers—surrounded both Bear and girl. At a signal from the man in black, a footman stepped forward and placed a small stool on the floor, while another held out his hand and murmured, “My lady.”

  Camille swung her leg over and took his hand and stepped to the stool and then to the floor. At another signal, the footman whisked the stool away, while others un-clipped the harness from the Bear.

  The grey-haired man, who seemed to be in charge of all, said, “Mademoiselle, my prince names me Lanval, and I will show you to your chambers.”

  Camille’s heart lurched. “But my Bear: will he not accompany me?”

  “No, my lady. There are other things my prince—”

  The Bear growled low, and Lanval said no more.

  Camille turned to the Bear and flung her arms about his neck and whispered, “Oh, my protector, will you come if I call?”

  A soft whuff was his answer.

  “My things,” said Camille, releasing the Bear and turning to Lanval and gesturing at the harness and bundles.

  “They will be delivered to your chambers,” replied the man, “though I believe that you will find it quite well-appointed to serve the needs of a lady.”

  Up one of the long sweeping staircases Lanval led her, to the balcony above and thence through an archway into a corridor wainscoted in cherry wood with red-velvet walls above. Cherry-panelled doorways stood left and right, some open, others closed. Up a short flight of steps he led her, and turned right and right again, passing through richly carpeted and panelled hallways, all hued in a pale green, to come to a massive oak door, which, unlike the others, had the Summerwood crest thereon. Camille’s heart beat a bit faster upon seeing the symbol, yet she breathed deeply and braced herself for whatever was to come.

  “One moment, my lady,” said Lanval, and he opened the door to a dimly lit room and stepped inside. Within instants, light flooded the chamber, and Lanval reappeared. “Your quarters, my lady,” he said, standing aside and bowing.

  Hesitantly, she entered, Lanval following after. Into a radiant sitting room they came, and though lamps and candles sat upon tables and stood ensconced along the walls for nighttime needs, all was illuminated by daylight streaming inward through a skylight above, its pull-cord shade now open. But it was the chamber itself that caused Camille to take in a deep breath, for it was luxurious: satins and silks of pale yellow and old gold and rich creams seemed everywhere, on lounges and chairs and love seats and the pillows thereon, though several of those were bright white instead. Filling the air with their subtle fragrance, yellow roses in yellow vases sat upon the oak-wood tables standing against cream-colored walls embellished with a gilded tracery. All was arranged for quiet conversation of pairs and trios and more. Camille saw to the left stood an archway and straight ahead an open door, and they led to rooms beyond.

  Discreetly, Lanval showed her about the suite: he escorted Camille through the archway and into a small library with tall, book-laden shelves standing against one wall with a rolling track-ladder for reaching the top. Therein as well sat plush leather chairs and lanterns and candles for nighttime reading—though in this chamber, too, Lanval tugged the pull cord to remove the shade from the skylight high above to let in the light of day. Along another wall sat an escritoire and chair, with trimmed goose quills and an inkwell and blotters and talc and a trimming blade, as well as blank journals and foolscap and vellum and parchment with wax for sealing, all arrayed at hand or on the shelves above should she have the need to write. Camille looked about in wonder, and then stepped to one of the bookshelves and reverently ran her fingers across several of the spines of the leather-bound books thereon and whispered, “Oh, so very many.”

  They lingered but a moment, and Lanval then led her through a small doorway and into another shade-managed, skylighted chamber; therein stood a great bed, covered with a yellow-gold, satin spread, with pale yellow silk draping down from the canopy above, the curtains held back by yellow-gold, satin ribbons tied ’round the four massive bed-posts. In this chamber as well were sitting chairs upholstered in yellow satin and cream silk. There, too, sat a wide vanity table and bench, an oval, silvered mirror on the wall above; a silver comb and brush and a hand mirror lay ready for use, with powders and rouges and soft brushes and cloths, and vials of fragrances at hand as well.

  Lanval then pointed out the bathing room, with its great stone tub and stone basin chased in gold, and soft towels and facecloths and soaps and gentle bath oils and other such lady’s fare. In this chamber, too, a skylight stood above.

  Camille looked about. “Is it all gold and yellow and cream?” she asked. “—The rooms elsewhere, I mean.”

  Lanval smiled. “Nay, my lady. Elsewhere the rooms are of green and blue and red and white and other hues of the rainbow. These chambers, though, were intended to be a reflection of the gold of your hair.”

  “Oh, my,” said Camille, and she glanced back toward the bedroom and the open doors to the rooms beyond.

  Lanval cleared his throat. “My lady, the privy is yon.” He pointed to a curtained archway connected to the bathing room.

  Camille stepped to the arch and peered into the skylighted chamber beyond—a goodly sized room with a commode enclosing a chamber pot, and a table with a washbasin and pitcher thereon, along with soap in a dish; shelves and racks laden with cloths and towels and additional bars of soap ranged along the walls; therein, too, sat a lidded bucket for disposal of that which was used. As she surveyed the chamber, Camille could not help but to think back to her papa’s stone cottage, with its burlap curtain on a rough hemp cord and the wooden bucket with its lid.

  Sighing, she turned back to Lanval, and from her bedchamber he escorted her through a heavily curtained, gilded, glass-paned door, and Camille found herself on the central high balcony looking down onto the great entry hall below, now empty of all, including the Bear.

  Camille turned to Lanval. “My lord—” she began, but Lanval raised a hand to halt her words.

  “My lady, no highborn lord am I, but merely the steward of Summerwood Manor. Please call me Lanval.”

  Camille sighed. “But I am not highborn either, Lanval, for until a handful of days past, and even still, I was and am nought but a mere crofter’s daughter.”

  “Nevertheless, my lady, highborn or low-, you are the betrothed of my prince”—Lanval’s blue eyes did twinkle—“and from what I can discern of thy bearing and manner, he did choose most wisely.”

  At the mention of her pledged future, Camille did start, for somehow in the display of all the opulence she had managed to forget entirely the reason she had come to this manor, yet Lanval’s words did jerk her back to reality.

  Camille took a deep breath. “When will I meet the prince?”

  Lanval looked down at the white marble floor far below, with its granite and malachite inlay. “It may be awhile, for he recently returned from a long journey.” Lanval then smiled at Camille. “You, too, have journeyed far, and must needs bathe and rest.” He stepped back into the bedchamber, Camille following, where he tugged on a yellow silk pull cord and said, “This will summon your handmaid. She is close by in her chamber, or mayhap in the servants’ hall. Regard
less, these cords are in each room of your suite, and should you have need, simply pull, and aid will be here in a trice.”

  “Handmaid? Oh, Lanval, what need have I for such?”

  “My lady, you would not have the prince send her away, would you?”

  “Oh, Lanval, would he do so?”

  Lanval smiled. “I think not, my lady. Still, you must allow her to do that for which she was . . . intended. She will attend you, as well as show you the house and the grounds, and will speak of where breakfast is to be found, and other such daily matters. Yet I caution you to not ask of the prince, for he has made it plain it is a matter between the two of you.”

  Again Camille’s heart leapt to her throat, for who but a monster or creature of some sort would have all keep silent in matters concerning himself, even unto his intended.

  As they returned to the sitting room, there came a soft knock on the outer door, and Lanval called, “Enter!”

  An ample young woman in a simple black gown stepped into the chamber. In her hands she bore Camille’s goods, taken from the Bear’s harness. Hastily, she set all upon a small table beside the door, then curtseyed and murmured, “My lady.”

  “This is Blanche,” said Lanval, “your lady’s maid.”

  Blanche looked to be no older than Camille, though she stood perhaps an inch or two taller. Fair was her skin, and black her hair, and her eyes so dark as to be black as well.

  “Blanche,” said Lanval, “the lady needs to freshen up after her long journey, and to shed her travelling clothes for somethi—”

  “Oh, Lanval,” blurted Camille, looking at the scant bundle holding her meager belongings. “I brought nought but a simple shift with me, one quite threadbare at that. Certainly nothing as elegant as these garments I now wear.”