The Flesh Endures

by Cleo Cordell

  She distinctly heard one of the hanged men say, ‘Too, too delicious!’

  This was impossible. Ridiculous. Garnetta threw back her head and laughed for sheer joy. Turning around she spread her arms wide and bathed in the cool flames of the fire. Then she stepped out through the burning brands and alighted onto the platform. ‘You!’ she said sternly, pointing to John de Mandeville.

  And the worthy abbot picked up his white robe to reveal a pair of scrawny ankles, leapt off the platform and took to his heels. She turned to Stephanis who was hunched into a ball and pushed at him with her toe. He gave a kind of yelp and straightened up. She saw that his hair had gone white and the corner of his mouth was drawn downwards. One of his eyes was half-closed and drooping. Holding one hand to his chest he limped painfully down the steps and disappeared into the remnants of the crowd.

  Then, across the partly cleared market place, came a dark shadow. Karolan. She felt a surge of pride as Darkus galloped towards her at full speed and leapt up onto the platform. Rearing above her, hooves thrashing the air, he let out a triumphant whinny. The cloaked figure on his back, threw back its hood to reveal a death’s head. Vacant eye sockets mocked the crowd. It was a mummer’s mask, but those who dared to look back over their shoulders, swore that the devil had come for His own.

  Darkus scattered the burning brands with his hooves, nostrils flaring as he stamped and snorted. Garnetta reached up with both arms as Karolan leaned over in the saddle and scooped her up. He settled her on the saddle before him. She leaned back against him, feeling the welcome hardness of his chest. As he held her to him, the unearthly light around her faded, bleached and absorbed by some alchemy of their touching bodies.

  Karolan’s eyes flashed through the slits in the mask as he urged Darkus to launch himself from the platform. The crowd fell away in renewed terror as the palfrey forged a path through them. Removing the death’s head mask, Karolan grinned down at her, his eyes savage and mocking in the moonlight. ‘Well, my errant beloved. Whom do you prefer as your saviour? God or the devil?’

  Garnetta swayed against him, a feeling of fatalism so strong within her that she could taste it. The scent of him was intoxicating. She had forgotten his smell of spikenard and musk. Now she felt the immediate quickening of her body’s responses. Her desire was dark, bitter-sweet at the centre, the forbidden nature of it all the more compelling. The feel of him was all around her, inside her head, pounding in her blood. In his presence she saw the reflection of herself and with that, finally, came acceptance. Her soul seemed to turn over.

  ‘I’ll take the devil, my dark lord,’ she said ardently, seeing his beauty through a sheen of tears. ‘As long as he wears your face!’

  Karolan bent his head to kiss her passionately. ‘Ah, Garnetta. I’ll never let you be harmed again. Can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done to you?’

  She smiled proudly up at him, the salt taste of his tears on her lips. She felt a sense of completion that was bone-deep. The question as to whether she was cursed or gifted had been resolved completely in her mind. ‘Rather I should fall at your feet and thank you for choosing me. We belong with each other. You once told me that in the tower. Now I understand why. Whatever is to come, I want to share it with you.’

  ‘Then hold tight to me. We’re bound for Flanders. There we’ll make a new life. My only and rarest love. The time we’ve lost together is nothing. The endless years stretch ahead of us, each one like a jewel.’

  As she relaxed into his embrace, Garnetta knew that the coming years would be difficult and perilous. There was still so much unanswered between them. But she did not care, as long as they were together.

  On the gallows the three hanged men gave a final twitch and were still. The air beside them shimmered, pleated. A ragged shadow-shape that pulsed with lambent colours of red, purple, and gold blinked into view. The Fetch’s stretchy form bulged happily, replete, sated with rich, fear-tainted emanations.

  As it sped after the diminishing figure of Darkus, it gave a high, trilling note of self-satisfied laughter. In its part-formed mind, it recalled other journeys, new beginnings. But where before they had always been two, now they were three.

  ‘Male and female. Master and mistress. What possibilities for I? Oh, too, too delectable!’