XVII

 

 

 

We all filed out of the hall after supper, and the others headed up the stairs to the library. Aurore had finished a new tale and had promised to provide the evening’s entertainment by reading it aloud to us. I lingered behind and walked alone down the hall of the gallery to use the privy. I also wanted a moment by myself to think, to grieve, to plan and ready myself for all I needed to do now. When I had finished, I went upstairs to join the others. On the landing, I nearly ran into Thérion coming down.

My heart thrilled as he took me in his arms, kissed me, and held me tightly for a long minute, so tightly he nearly squeezed the breath out of me.

“I must leave at dawn,” I said in his ear. “Goodbye, goodbye. My heart is with you forever.”

“You gave me the greatest and only happiness I’ve had in the past seven years. I’d have been lost if it weren’t for you. I love you with all my being. So long as there’s life in me, I’ll love you.”

“Be careful, someone might see,” I whispered. “I’ll go in. I love you. If there’s ever a way I can help you or come back to you, send word and I’ll come, no matter what.”

“No, it’s no good to think that way. Think of me as someone you once loved who lies now in the grave. Go and be happy in a new life far away from me. You’ve already done more for me than you could ever know.”

We broke apart, and I composed myself quickly, dried my eyes, and went into the library, while he went down the stairs.

“Did I miss anything?” I asked brightly, as I took my seat on an ottoman beside Aurore. I didn’t look at the Marquise, but I could feel her stare boring into me.

“Not yet,” Aurore said. “Once everyone’s ready and Harlequin’s back, we’ll begin. Madame la marquise, Abbé, are you familiar with fairy tales? The others are used to me reading them to the company sometimes of an evening, but mine are rather different from nursemaids’ tales.”

“Peasants’ tales,” the Marquise said, “I suppose one catches the servants telling them sometimes. The common people dream of making their fortunes, of becoming rich by magic without working for it. They’d think my father’s life was a fairy tale, since he began with nothing and ended by becoming as rich as a prince, but he had no fairy’s help. He worked for it. They’d think my life was a fairy tale too, since I married a marquis. But they have no idea how much hard work that is, either.”

Aurore smiled kindly. “Running a household can certainly be a great deal of work. I’m sure all married women would agree.”

“Particularly when one’s husband needs a good deal of managing,” the Marquise said.

Clio sighed aloud. “If only one could avoid ever being married. If I could do nothing but paint, and make my own living from painting portraits, as my father did from painting fans. I’d be as pleased as if a fairy had granted me a fortune.”

“Perhaps your wish will yet be granted by an admiring patron,” said Séléné. “But do you know, I think in some more enlightened age in the future, no woman will need to be married, unless she should desire it for love. Women will be the equals of men and will be able to engage in any trade they like, and manage their own properties and investments. Women will be able to choose their own husbands and divorce them too, if they wish, or simply take lovers without getting married at all.”

The Abbé had gone red in the face. “You paint a vision of hell. Would you abolish the whole of the Christian religion then?”

“God gave us the capacity to love,” Séléné said. “Marriage is indeed a Christian institution, but perhaps savages in the New World, who live together at will and part ways at will, give more honor to love.”

“Love,” the Abbé said, “is a cruel, ferocious animal, capable of the most horrible excesses if it isn’t tamed by civilization. These noble savages you speak of are the very ones who practice cannibalism in their wars against one another. Here in Europe, one need only look at the history of those kings who wished for the freedom to divorce, and thereby to throw off the yoke of the Holy Church. Their excesses led to the Wars of Religion that bathed the whole Continent in blood. Love must be chained, if one does not wish to see it devour all. It can only be chained by terror, by the awe and absolute authority of the Church and its rulers and institutions.”

Séléné burst into peals of laughter. “Marriage – a chain of terror to bind love. You’re really not helping your case, my dear Abbé.”

The Marquise’s eyes were flashing with fury, and she opened her mouth to speak just as Thérion came back into the room. Her anger turned to a smug smile and instead of blustering at Séléné, she merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say that in her case, terror had won.

“Ah, Harlequin, there you are,” Aurore said with relief. “I’ll begin then.”

 

Once upon a time (Aurore said, taking up her manuscript and reading from it) there was an ogre who lived in the forest. He was an ancient, ageless creature, not ugly at all, but tall and fair of face, with long black hair that streamed down his back like a cape of raven’s feathers. But no one ever saw how beautiful his face was, for he often used his magic to take the form of a stag with silver eyes – a forest king mightier, more graceful, and fleeter of foot than any other beast of the woods, crowned by a diadem of antlers. The rest of the time, when he took the form of a beautiful man, he wore over his face a mask made from the white skull of an enormous antlered stag’s head. The villagers at the forest’s edge called him the roi des aulnes, the alder-king, for it was said that certain alder trees were sacred to him. His bow and arrows were of alder wood, and when he rested he sat on a throne of woven alder branches in the deepest heart of the forest.

The alder-king was a hunter by night, when he took on a man’s form, for this powerful being was lord of both life and death in his domain. When he hunted, he blew on a horn of carved bone that made no sound the human ear could detect. His silent horn called to wolves, who served him as his hunting hounds and aided him in bringing down whatever prey he chose. These were no ordinary wolves, mind you. They were hounds of hell, great and shaggy and black, nearly as large as horses. Their eyes glowed orange with hellfire and their teeth were sharp as knives.

No creature fell in the forest, night or day, without the knowledge and blessing of the ancient ogre, the alder-king. Like Nature itself, he was as benevolent as he was bloodthirsty. It was said his antlers carried healing powers, and he could give life as well as take it. His life-giving power made the plants and creatures of the forest grow and thrive, and brought prosperity and peace to the inhabitants of the villages roundabout.

Then, one day, a nobleman who lived near the forest and who had, unknowingly, prospered for many years on account of the alder-king’s magic, was visited by a wicked fairy who came to his hall in the form of an old, bent, fat woman, begging for a crust of bread. Although the beggar woman was ugly and looked like nothing as much as a warty old toad, the nobleman was kind-hearted and invited her in to have a hearty meal of stew, fresh soft bread, and a pitcher of good strong ale.

“Warm yourself by my fire, Grandmother,” he said, “and you may sleep on a feather mattress in front of it, with a coverlet of the softest lamb’s wool, so that your old bones may be comfortable.”

“Ah, you’re most kind,” the fairy said, and she entered the nobleman’s hall, ate of his food and drank of his ale, and warmed herself by his fire. When the nobleman’s servants had brought out the feather mattress and the nobleman had come himself to lay the blanket over her like a dutiful son, she said to him, “Because you’ve been so kind, I’ll tell you the truth. In fact, I’m a rather powerful fairy, and I’d like to grant you a wish. Is there anything you lack, my lord?”

The man laughed to himself, for he could only think the old woman was senile. But since he was kind, he humored her.

“A powerful fairy! I’m all the more honored to have you as a guest under my roof. In fact, there is something I lack. I wish to find a good husband for my eldest daughter. But I’m not a very rich man, and can’t afford much of a dowry for her, so I’ve had a hard time arranging a suitable match.”

“Why, it’s the simplest thing in the world to solve your quandary,” the old fairy said. “In the deepest heart of the forest is a throne of woven alder branches. You must chop it up with an ax and you can use the branches for firewood, if you like. Underneath the throne lies buried in the earth a great chest of gold, which, if you dig it up, you may use it for a dowry. As for a husband, you’ll see a stag, a swift, strong, and beautiful creature with silver eyes. Slay the stag, and he’ll be transformed into a handsome king who will gladly bring your daughter to his palace and marry her, for he’ll be grateful you’ve freed him from the enchantment he was under, that made him take the form of a beast.”

The fairy said all this because she wished to do an ill turn to the alder-king. For she had loved him when she was younger, and he had scorned her, saying he was not fooled by the illusion of her beauty and found her very ugly, and loved her not.

The kind nobleman, listening to the old beggar woman as he tucked her in for the night, pretended to believe her, but he laughed in his heart at her advice.

“Thank you, Grandmother, I’ll certainly do all you say,” he said, and kissed her on the forehead. The old woman closed her eyes, and the nobleman sat up a while by the fire alone, drinking his ale and watching over her rest. To his astonishment, when the clock struck midnight, the crone transformed before his eyes into a beautiful young maiden, fair with long silver hair, pointed ears, and a pair of iridescent wings on her back like a dragonfly. Only she still snored, loud as you please, just as an old woman would do.

The nobleman decided then that she truly must be a fairy and her advice must be true as well. He went to sleep, and when he woke in the morning, the woman was gone, though no one had seen her go out.

The next day he assembled a hunting party, with his servants carrying axes and picks and shovels. His eldest daughter went with him, for he thought it best she should see her husband-to-be before she was betrothed to him. Deeper and deeper, into the heart of the forest the hunting party went. It grew darker and darker around them as the trees and branches grew so thickly together they blotted out the light of the sun. At last the nobleman caught sight of the alder-wood throne, and his men dismounted and began to chop at the roots with their axes.

They had only been at it a moment, when the nobleman’s daughter cried out, “Stay!” The men with their axes all froze in place and looked up to see where she pointed. What she had seen, they all now saw. It was the great stag with silver eyes and his kingly crown of antlers, leaping through the trees toward them. The good nobleman raised his bow and arrow to take aim and kill the beast, but his daughter said, “Wait, Father, please. Let me first meet him as the beast he is.”

To the astonishment of the whole assembly, the stag came straight to them, brave as a lion. His silver eyes flashed with fury when he saw what the men had begun. The axes fell from the men’s hands, and the mighty animal stamped on them with his hooves, and the tools sank into the ground like water and disappeared.

“Father, we’ve done wrong in following that fairy’s advice,” said the daughter. “You see how angry we’ve made my husband-to-be. If I’m to be his bride, we must take care not to displease him anymore.”

The daughter moved forward toward the stag. All of the men, and her father most of all, trembled with fear that she should be trampled on as their tools had been. But the daughter curtsied and bowed her head deeply before him.

“O king of the forest, how handsome you are,” she said. “Are you really under an enchantment, as the fairy told my father?” She reached out a hand, and the stag allowed her to stroke his muzzle, and rubbed his nose against her cheek. Quick and nimble as a doe, the girl leapt up onto the stag’s back.

“I like my new husband well, Father. I’m going away to live with him. We’ll make a home together in the forest.”

With that, the stag leapt away, carrying the nobleman’s daughter with him. The hunting party was much astonished, and the nobleman’s heart was torn with fear that some harm would come to the girl. In the end, however, there was little they could do but turn toward home, with their tools vanished into the ground. By the time they reached the nobleman’s hall, night was falling, and they could hear wolves howling behind them with terrible cries. Through the trees, they saw eyes that glowed orange, and they hurried inside to make themselves safe within the stone walls.

The nobleman mourned his daughter as one dead after that, for everyone thought she must have been eaten by wolves. Nevertheless, after nearly a year had passed, his daughter came at dusk to the gate of the keep. The servants might have turned her away but for the fact that they knew their master was wont to show kindness to beggars, for the girl was hardly to be recognized. She was barefoot and her dress was in tatters. Her hair was matted like sheep’s wool, full of twigs and bird-droppings, and her skin and rags were filthy and crusted with dirt. Most alarming of all, her belly was large and swollen. For all that, her dirty cheeks were rosy, her limbs seemed strong, and she glowed with happiness.

She greeted the servants and her father affectionately, as though she had only been gone on a short journey.

“But what villain has done this to you? Who made you with child?” her father asked.

“Why, my own husband, of course,” she answered. “The one you so wisely gave me. I’ve been happy with him, and only left because my labor pains were coming upon me, and I was afraid to give birth in the forest.” With that, she gave a cry and stopped speaking, for her time was already close at hand. One of the serving women who had some skill as a midwife did her best to make the girl comfortable and to help her. Near midnight, she brought forth a healthy baby boy. Alas, when the girl had pushed out the afterbirth, she did not stop bleeding. She fell into a swoon and did not live to see the morning.

The nobleman took care of her child as his grandson and made him his heir, and had the babe christened with his own name. The boy grew up into a fine man, and in time he married and had children of his own. He and his son and his son’s son, and so on down the line, all had gray-blue eyes like the silver eyes of the stag who had carried away his mother, and they all had the gift of being able to see unusually well in the dark.

 

Aurore put down her manuscript and looked around the room.

“That’s the end. What did you think?”

Thérion looked thunderstruck. “But it’s very much like the story my old nurse used to tell me when I was a boy, about my own ancestor. I’d forgotten a lot of it. Your telling is more detailed and has a good deal more art to it, of course. But where on earth did you get the idea for it?”

“When I went to chapel with the Abbé and the Marquise on Sunday, I met a very old woman from the village at the service. She must have been four-score years old, if she was a day. We got to talking, and I mentioned I was a collector of tales. She ended up telling me several stories she knew from her girlhood. I liked the one about the roi des aulnes, so I thought I’d write it up and embellish and expand on it a little. The other ones I made notes on and perhaps I’ll write them up too, when I get a chance. Is it possible the woman might have been your old nurse?”

“I suppose she could have been. I never knew what became of her after I was sent away to school.”

“I enjoyed the tale,” the Scotsman said. “Only I’d have liked to know more about what happened to the daughter after she ran away to the woods.”

“It’s true,” said Clio. “We hear a lot about the roi des aulnes in the beginning, so it would be nice to hear more about what he does in the middle of the story too.”

“Very well,” said Aurore. “I’ll think about putting more detail into the middle.”

From outside came a clamor of several dogs barking. Then, as if in answer, an unnerving howl pierced the air, a cross between the call of a wolf and a bear’s roar, ending in a snarl that echoed through the woods. My hairs stood on end and I traded nervous glances with the others. It was just like something out of Aurore’s story.

The Marquise ignored it and said, “It’s obvious someone made up the story about the ogre long ago to frighten people out of going into the woods. There’s an old story, too, about the Grand Veneur of the forest of Fontainebleau. He’s supposed to be a devilish, ghostly figure who rides through the forest at night, hunting with his hell-hounds. It’s all so much superstition and rubbish. I’ve been on several hunts in that forest, and no one I’ve met with has ever seen the Grand Veneur with his own eyes.”

As she spoke, there were steps outside the room in the gallery, and my heart leapt into my throat. The dogs barking …

Donatien walked in. For a moment I was too shocked to do anything but stare.

He flashed an easy smile at us. “Your gate was locked, and no one came when I called, so I had the dog boys help me up over the wall and let myself in at the back. I hope you don’t mind. Good evening, Madame la marquise, Abbé, mesdames et messieurs. Harlequin, it seems our little misunderstanding’s been resolved, eh? No hard feelings.”

The Marquise rose to her feet and went to him, holding out her hands, which he took in his. “Donatien, what a pleasure to see you so soon after all. We thought we might not see you for another day or two.”

He bowed his head to kiss her right hand, and then let her hands go. “The pleasure’s all mine. You’ll be happy to know the hounds took to the journey quite well. We’ll get them settled into their kennels and the dog boys can sleep in the stable with them. Then we can have you out on a hunt as soon as you like. I’ve even brought a little present for you, a musket engraved with flowers, just right for a lady such as yourself.”

The Marquise clapped her hands. “Oh, but how gallant. You’re wonderful.”

Donatien looked past her and caught my eye. I had half risen from my ottoman. My instinct screamed within me to fly from the room and hide. But it was too late. He cocked his head.

“Belle-Âme, you’re still here? Ma foi, the Marquise is remarkably forgiving. You’re looking very well. Perhaps we can have a tête-à-tête later on and pick up where we left off.”

The Marquise looked up sharply to stare at me, her features contorting with hatred and rage. I willed myself not to faint, though all the blood seemed to rush from my head to fill my heart nearly to bursting. Then I was too weak to stand after all and fell back down onto my seat from my half-crouching position.

“That’s her? This is the girl?” she asked.

“What, didn’t you know? Yes, of course, that’s Belle-Âme, the one who was the cause of it all.”

The Marquise raised her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, as though seeking divine aid. Then she strode forward, bearing down on me, and slapped me across the cheek with a blow that knocked me off my seat onto the floor. For a second I saw stars before my eyes and my ears rang. I got up onto my hands and knees, shaking my head as if to clear it. I was dimly aware that some of the others had risen from their seats and were standing around us.

“Slut,” the Marquise bellowed. “Sow. I knew it. It had to be you, you pox-ridden piece of filth. How dare you?”

Before I could stumble to my feet, before anyone could restrain her, the Marquise kicked me in the side with a force that sent me sprawling. The pain stole my breath away. The others gasped and cried out in shock. In a sweep of skirts Aurore rushed to my side and put her arms around me. I looked up to see a tussle, as Clio and Tristan both laid hands on the Marquise to pull her back. She shrugged and twisted her broad shoulders, struggling to shake them off, while the Abbé tried to drag Tristan away to free her. Thérion, my love, closed his eyes. His face was as though a hand had passed over it, wiping all the expression from his features, as if he had fallen asleep. He crumpled like a dropped handkerchief, hitting his head on the floor with a terrible thump.

For a moment there was silence, but for the sounds of labored breathing. The Marquise stood still before me and the others let go of her and each other. I caught my breath and drew in great gulps of air.

“Get out,” the Marquise said. “Out of my house this instant. Now, or I’ll set those hounds on you. Do you think I’m joking?”

Aurore helped me to my feet. The Marquise took a step toward me, her eyes blazing. I broke free of Aurore’s arm around me and darted forward, around the Marquise, and ran out of the room. Outside the door, I paused only for a moment to catch my breath, and then I ran again, down the gallery toward the stairs, and down the stairs to the ground floor. I tugged at the front door, but it was locked, and I didn’t know how to unlock it from the inside.

Where could I hide? I couldn’t survive another night in the forest, with the howling of the wolves around me, without a lantern or a cloak, without food or water, save from the stream where I had nearly drowned before. I would have to stay out in the garden till dawn, protected within its walls, and then make my way safely out through the grotto and into the village in the morning.

I ran the length of the gallery to the glass doors at the end and went out into the sharp cold air of the mountain night. If I had to, I would walk the garden paths all night to stay warm. If only I could have brought more with me. I felt in my pockets. Besides my medallion, which had done me so little good as a luck charm in the forest, I had only a handkerchief, a couple of hairpins, and a folded-up scrap of paper on which I had scribbled a few lines of a poem. Donatien’s hounds barked and howled from the other side of the garden wall, and again, an eerie answering howl-roar from the woods quieted them to whimpering and snarling.

I had hardly been walking in the garden for five minutes when I heard voices. I froze, conscious of the noise of my shoes on the gravel. There was the clunk of a large key turning in the side gate’s lock and the scream of rusty hinges as the great iron door opened. The dogs’ barking erupted again, louder and closer.

“Do you see her?” said the Marquise over their din.

“I can’t see a thing,” Donatien shouted. “It’s the way she would have gone though. He keeps the front door locked from the inside.”

“Go on then, let them loose.”

“Are you sure you really want to do this? They’ll tear out her throat, unless she can get up a tree first. It’s how they’ve been trained. It’ll make a bloody mess.”

“I’m sure. It’ll teach them all a lesson. Her blood will be on my husband’s hands.”

There was a pause. “I suppose,” Donatien yelled doubtfully over the barking.

“She’s nothing but a stupid village girl. The Comte de Charolais used to hunt peasants for sport and no one ever bothered him about it.”

“Funny you mention the Comte de Charolais. He was my hero, growing up, but more for what he did with the peasant girls.”

“You’re joking, I know. The Comte de Charolais was depraved. I mean he never got in trouble, even though he was evil. But I’m doing it for my husband’s good, to save him from himself.”

“Oh, but of course, I meant it – tongue in cheek. Well then, if you’re sure. Belle-Âme,” he yelled louder, “if you’re out there, you’d better run now. Cerbère, Charon, go kill! Good boys, good boys. Get her!”

The sounds of his last commands were indistinct, drowned out by the noise of the gravel under my feet as I set off sprinting for the fountain at the back of the garden with every last ounce of my strength, faster than I ever thought I could run. My eyes had grown used to the dark, enough to stay within the path’s borders, but by the time I reached the fountain and flung myself onto the stone mermaid figure, the dogs were already at my feet. One tried to bite my leg through my skirts and tore the fabric, just as the brick gate rumbled open. Faint green luminescence shone from the opening. The other dog leapt up on me and snapped at my arm, but I pulled away too quickly for his jaws to close on my flesh. I squeezed myself through the opening and went down into the grotto.

My ears, unblocked, took in the entrancing music from the bejeweled tunnel as before, and my eyes were momentarily dazzled by the glamour of the lights and sparkling stones. Then the dogs leapt in through the opening after me before I could push it shut, and all I heard was their growling and snarling, as I backed up in terror against the threshold of the illuminated tunnel. They had cornered me and crouched to strike. In the shifting colors of the gem-lights their eyes and the saliva around their jaws gleamed.

Desperately I looked behind me into the tunnel where the music played, its lilting melody promising peace and safety. One of the dogs leapt at my throat and I jumped backward and tumbled head over heels down through the opening. Down, down, down I fell, through black nothingness, and the noise of their snarling faded.