Once Upon an Autumn Eve (7 page)

Liaze glanced at Rémy and when he shrugged she nodded to Zacharie and looked at Luc and smiled, but said nought, for she was not certain she could trust her voice.

Groaning softly, Luc stood, and he stepped to the princess and bowed. She extended her hand and he kissed her fingers. Zacharie and Rémy were on their feet, and they bowed as well. Rémy said, “Shall I escort you somewhere, Princess?”

She shook her head and managed to say, “Non, Rémy. Close the door after you leave, for I would be alone to think.”

“As you wish,” said Rémy.

The three walked away, Luc erect and pacing slowly, a slight limp in his step, Zacharie at his side. Rémy strode ahead to the portal and held it open as they passed through. And then they were gone.

Sipping white wine, Liaze sat in the blue room for a considerable time, fanciful dreams spinning in the air.

8

F
inally, Liaze stood and stepped into the corridor, where she found late-afternoon sunlight shining in through the hallway window.
Oh, my, but the day has fled as I gathered wool, dreaming of what might be. But I still know little of this chevalier, this Luc. Charming, yes, and witty, and I thrill at even his glance, yet though I think not, still he could be nought but a fortune hunter after my demesne. Are you afraid, Liaze, because it happened once before with someone you briefly thought to be noble? Afraid? Nay. Cautious? Yes, for I cannot let my longing for true love blind me to what is real. Hence, I will have to genuinely come to know Luc ere I can see him for what he is: a flatterer, a cad, a rake, or someone just as he seems. Still, he called me his angel when he knew me not and was addled, and mayhap in that state he was speaking his heart, rather than trying to sway me.

Liaze suddenly realized that she had been standing before the window and seeing nought outside. Movement caught her eye, and she watched as a pony-drawn flatbed cart crossed her line of vision, a man leading the little steed. On the cart were three or four corpses of Goblins.
What—? Ah, oui. Rémy and the warband are preparing to burn them.

Liaze turned and walked toward the welcoming hall, and there she found her head gardener waiting on one of the marble benches along the window wall. He leapt to his feet and doffed his cap from his fair locks and bowed.

“What is it, Georges?”

“My lady, when they burn the corpses on the pyre they’ve piled up downwind, there at the edge of the woods, it will leave a great scar on the ground, and the grass and plants thereunder, having burnt down roots and all, will not come anew. What would you have me put in their place?”

“What would you suggest, Georges?”

“Armsmaster Rémy thinks we should leave it barren as a warning to all who would do harm, but I says that such a thing won’t work, for how would som’n know that
that’s
what it means? Were it mine to decide, I think I’d plant one of the hollies in that place, say, black alder winterberry. I mean, Margaux says that we need such, for when the bark be boiled with other of her simples, a draught taken every morning is very effectual against the jaundice, dropsy, and evil dispositions of the body. Besides, those bright red berries among the glossy green leaves will look nice out there.”

“Then holly it is,” said Liaze.

Georges grinned and bowed again, then slapped his cap back on and headed for the door.

Liaze turned and went up the stairs and to her quarters and summoned Zoé.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I would have you go to Margaux and see if Sir Luc will be fit enough to dine with me this eve.”

“Oh, Princess, isn’t he just perfect? I mean for you, of course. But if you don’t want him, you can cast him my way.”

“Zoé, Zoé, run and see what Margaux has to say.”

Zoé bobbed a curtsey and then was out the door.

Liaze stepped to one of the bell cords and tugged.

As the princess stood at the threshold of her extensive closet, peering at the manifold selection of gowns, there came a tapping on the outer door.
“Entrez,”
Liaze called out, and a woman, red-faced from hurrying, came into the room.

“Ah, Sabine. Good.”

“My lady,” said Sabine, curtseying. “You summoned.”

“Oui. It occurred to me that our guest, Sieur Luc, needs a wardrobe, for all he brought with him was what he could carry upon a single horse. I would have you and your seamstresses outfit him. He will need clothes to suit formal affairs, clothes for riding, clothes for work should he take that into mind, though the riding and work garb can come last, for he will not be ready for strenuous—” Liaze’s words came to a halt as the seamstress meekly held out a hand.

“What is it, Sabine?”

“Princess, Zoé already has us working on such . . . the cobbler, too. We took Sieur Luc’s measure this morning. And we have some formal wear for him even now.”

Liaze slowly shook her head and smiled unto herself and said, “I should have known.” She looked up at Sabine and said, “Carry on.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Sabine, curtseying, and then the seamstress withdrew.

It was only after Sabine had gone that Liaze realized her own unspoken assumption with the making of such a variety of clothes was that Luc would stay a long while.

 

“Have you someone back home waiting for you, Luc?”

“Léon, Princess.”

Luc sat at one end of a long black walnut table, Liaze at the other end. He was dressed in a dark blue that matched his eyes—trews and shirt, that is—though his silver-buckled belt was black as were his silver-buckled shoes.

At the other end of the table Liaze wore pale green—gown, bodice, slippers, stockings and shoes, and pettiskirts—and once again Zoé had woven ribbons through her auburn hair, the ribbons pale green as well.

“I meant anyone other than your foster père,” said Liaze.

“Non. I have not known many other people, certainly none long enough to become fast friends.”

“No children of your age as you were growing up? Oh my, how sad.”

“We lived a league and a mile from the nearest village, and for as long as I can remember it was only when we went to sell wood did I meet any other children. Even then, I did not form any lasting friendships, for my père and I were in town but for brief moments, long enough to off-load the wood and buy a few provisions and to borrow a book or two.”

“The village had books?”

“Oui. There was a small bookseller there. How he survived, I cannot say, for many in the town could not read. Yet he was always happy to see me, even though we only borrowed and did not buy.”

“Did not Père Léon pay him a fee?—In wood, if nothing else.”

“Not that I ever saw,” said Luc.

“A mystery, that,” said Liaze, frowning. “A bookseller who doesn’t sell books and earns no fee for loaning them.”

“I believe that he saw how eager I was to learn,” said Luc. “Perhaps it gave him joy.”

They ate in silence for a while—medallions of veal in a white cream mushroom sauce, along with crisply sautéed green beans and squash, as well as croissants and goblets of a hearty red wine. And as they dined, Liaze watched her guest. Finally, she said, “Your foster père must have been quite a teacher, not only in reading but also in etiquette, for your manners are impeccable.”

“Oh, Léon did not teach me to read, nor drill me in manners of etiquette. His forte was in arms and armor, and the hewing of wood. Instead a number of teachers—itinerants, all—for years came and stayed with us throughout the winters. They treated my père with deference, and always called him Armsmaster, and often engaged him in hushed conversations.” Luc barked a laugh. “I thought they were speaking of my progress, and I was determined to not let Léon down. Regardless, they are the ones who saw to my education, teaching me the lot: from reading to writing to ciphering to courtly manners and more, much more, even though most of the time all I wanted to do was learn everything I could of arms and armor and go ahunting in the woods. Yet Léon insisted I not shirk my studies, and told me that these other things I simply must learn, for I would need them one day. And so, from late autumn to early spring, I spent much of my waking time in lessons.” Again Luc laughed. “Why, there was even a dance teacher who came, and he taught me the quadrille and the minuet and the reel and the other dances of the court, though I never got the chance to put them to use, except in practice.”

“Oh, Luc,” said Liaze, smiling broadly, “how splendid. When you are well, we shall have to put your training to use here, for I have a penchant for organizing dances.”

Luc smiled and said, “I would be most happy and honored to dance with you, Princess, if I can remember how they went.”

“Oh, la!” said Liaze. “It’s rather like riding a horse: once you learn, you can take it up anytime thereafter.”

“Then I shall give it my best,” said Luc.

Again silence descended upon them as they concentrated on their food. But then Luc set down his knife and looked up at Liaze and raised his goblet in salute and said, “Here’s to père Léon, for I just realized: you are the Princess of the Autumnwood, and this is indeed a court. And so my père was right: I
did
need to learn to dance, else I would not have the pleasure of squiring an angel upon a ballroom floor.”

Liaze was glad that she had deliberately chosen to eat in this formal dining room, rather than the intimate one she had briefly considered, else she did not know what she might have done at that moment—something spontaneous, no doubt.

She raised her glass in return and said, “To père Léon.” They laughed together and took a sip and then once more they concentrated on eating. And just as dessert was served—a raspberry tort with cream—Zacharie stepped within the chamber and leaned down and whispered in the princess’s ear. She nodded and said, “Have them wait for Luc and me to join them. We’ll be there anon.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the steward.

As Zacharie withdrew, Liaze lay down her spoon and said, “I suddenly have no appetite.”

“My lady, are you ill?” Luc set his napkin aside and stood, wincing a bit as he did so.

“Non, Luc. Please sit and deal with the tort and cream. When you are finished, there is a place we must be.”

“Princess, what is it?” asked Luc, yet standing.

“Rémy is ready to light the pyre under the bodies of the Troll and Goblins, those from the lawn and the woods nearby. The ones deeper in—the Troll speared and Goblins you slew—we leave for the scavengers. Rémy and Zacherie would have us join the others in seeing the dead of our enemies burn.”

“The others?”

“The warband and houseguard and any of the staff who care to attend. In this grim task it will hearten them to see the chevalier who sounded the alert and roused the manor and thereby gave us time to prepare, as well as to see standing among them the princess to whom they owe fealty.”

Slowly they walked across the long lawn, Liaze now in an ermine-trimmed white cloak against the autumn chill; Luc in a blue long-coat of soft wool. Luc’s limp was becoming a bit more pronounced with the walk, for it was far to the site of the pyre.

“Oh, Luc, how thoughtless of me,” said Liaze. “I shall have a carriage come and fetch us back.”

“Non, Princess. It would not do to have the warband and houseguard see me that helpless. Fear not, I shall rally.”

Finally, they came in among the men, as well as other members of the staff, and therein Luc did not limp at all.

Before them a great pile of wood was waiting to be lit, from logs to branches to sticks to shavings. In the slanting light of the waxing half-moon and the glitter from the stars above, amid the heap of combustibles, Liaze could see corpses of Goblins here and there within, and atop lay the Troll slain by Rémy, the large crossbow bolt still piercing him through. A sheen of oil lay over all, the moonlight glimmering thereon.

Rémy handed Liaze a torch, and said, “Princess.”

“A torch for everyone!” Liaze called out.

Brands were lit and handed to all attendees, and they spread out to encircle the pyre.

Rémy walked ’round the great heap, and when he came back to Liaze he said, “Ready, Princess.”

Liaze stepped forward, her torch held high and she cried, “Thus to all our enemies!” And she thrust the burning brand within and then stepped back.

At her side, Luc did likewise, as did Rémy and the warband and Zacharie and the houseguard and the various members of the staff.

Slowly at first and then with a
whoom!
the massive pile caught fire, and a great plume of dark oily smoke rose into the starry night sky, moonlight and firelight illumining all, red from below, silver from above. And within the roar of the blaze they could hear a popping and sizzling.

“Quite savage,” murmured Luc to the princess.