A Midsummer's Saga Pt. 04

Gabrielle was woken up the next morning by a servant knocking cautiously at her door and informing her that it was almost time for breakfast. With Mista not yet back, the princess had overslept. She hastily washed, dressed up and prepped up by herself. Useless castle with useless servants, she thought, tying back her hair.

Over her entire stay her breakfast arrangements were such that she had to walk all the way to the chapel in the outer courtyard and eat with Father Pelagius and his sullen monks. She'd then have to spend several hours in that same chapel as the good learned servants of the gods supervised her moral improvement, with a special focus on the virtues of modesty and chastity.

Pelagius wasn't that bad, she supposed. Like all people of note in Behem he had acquired his position by relentlessly yes-manning Paula over a great many years, but he wasn't half as devoted to her Opinions On How Things Should Be as Clement was. In fact, when out of her sight, he gave himself fully to a carefree and harmless life of a functionary supervised only by the gods and never bothered anyone much except for the cooks. Despite the vast amounts of partridges, lambs, geese, eels, grapes, pies, tarts and miscellaneous pastries which he consumed every week, the body that supported his enormous bald head remained lank and healthy, which he took as an obvious sign of divine favour and a direction to proceed exactly as he has.

The three younger monks were much worse, and inclined at the slightest provocation to indulge in lengthy discussions about the decaying morals of the youth and especially the evils of loose women tempting the men away from the Path of Righteousness, which Path they conceived of as mostly paved with taking up your sword and skewering anyone who looks at you funny. The Gods, Honour, and Devotion to the King and the Country was all that mattered.

Although the three were themselves steadfast minds whose moral and intellectual superiority shielded them from vulgar carnal temptations, the continued and regular presence of an attractive young lady with a somewhat questionable reputation produced some odd effects in them -- manifestly a redoubled fervour in scorning and condemning the easily tempted youth, a sudden fondness of long cold baths, and a curious propensity at odd times of day and night to visit the privy and emerge from there calmer but avoidant of eye contact.

Their names were Vulmar, Adhemar and Valdemar. They were in their twenties, and their clean-shaven faces were almost perpetually shaded by the hoods of their vestments. For all conceivable intents and purposes, they seemed perfectly interchangeable in every possible way.

When the thing happened and Gabrielle's parents, with the King's counsel, decided that an extended stay in Behem would be the next step for her, Paula charged Pelagius with overseeing the Princess's education. This was much to the priest's consternation, as education of young women lay way beyond the borders of all his areas of expertise. He quickly decided that the best course of action was to leave her alone to read an instructive text from the scriptures or from the commentaries to the scriptures or from the commentaries to the commentaries, and then have her discuss it with the young monks (he seemed largely unaware of their internal struggle (which was not taking place)), while he himself could doze off somewhere. This arrangement was also mostly fine with Gabrielle, who upon realizing that the discussions consisted entirely of each of the three furiously attempting to show himself the smartest while she just sat there looking on, abandoned reading the assigned texts entirely and started sneaking in her own literature. Each week Pelagius would report to Paula on the wonderful progress that Gabrielle was making.

And so that day after breakfast she followed the three monks to a small and shady chamber at the back of the chapel where they settled around a simple table of dark wood. The topic of discussion was an ancient text on charity but the discussion had quickly outgrown it as the interlocutors started to veer from subject to subject in order to one-up themselves on purity and radicalism. They were in a great mood -- the fresh offensives into Kontaria and Redona meant to them that good was prevailing over evil.

Gabrielle played with a strap of her dress. About the only thing she liked about this dress was its stiff collar, which she could pop so that it covered her neck. She enjoyed this sensation, the fabric guarding her like walls of her own tiny castle, isolating her slightly, resisting the overbearing Behem outside.

Okay, there was one other thing she liked about the dress. It did have pockets. Maybe when she rises in prominence enough to raze this fucking castle and execute everyone in it, Gabrielle will spare the dress maker.

As the monks went from charity to the advantages of corporal punishment to how soft the youth of today has grown and how the wars will do them good, Gabrielle's eyes wandered around the stout carved stone columns which supported the room's vaulted ceiling and the richly embroidered tapestries that hung among them. On one of them a woman was pictured whose dress below the waist was made of bricks, like a castle tower, guarded by a pair of lions. Domalba, the goddess of chastity. Gabrielle closed her eyes. The thick chapel walls muffled all sound from the courtyard, and the place seemed well insulated from all of humanity and all signs of life. The conversation slid from the softness of the youth to its terrible potential consequences, as illustrated by the decline and fall of the Gebra Empire.

"Their problem was, they'd grown effeminate and weak, and this is what exposed them to their enemies!" said Valdemar. The other two nodded in assent and watched him as if the thought was fresh and original, rather than the flotsam of acquired and tediously repeated folk wisdom which it actually was. "It could happen to us, too. Thank the gods we have such good leadership. There are yet a few people with true grit like in the old days."

"There are yet, but few. The King is great, may he live long. But who beside him? Not the Crown Prince, to be sure"

"No. But there's the Count of Biriat."

"And Duke Oren."

"And then there's Titulus."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Titulus is all that a true man should be. We all saw that ourselves."

"His victories will surely inspire our people and show them the true way."

Gabrielle, safe in her tiny castle, did not even flinch. Just last week for three long days she had to sit next to Titulus at elaborate feasts that Paula threw in his honour as he passed with his army, and the man never neglected to make offhand comments to her about the duty of the men to be bold and fierce and the duty of the women to be chaste and obedient, and who was he to lecture her anyway, that annoying upstart dipshit with not even a drop of royal blood in him?!

"I think that his victory over Kontaria would be especially precious and instructive, considering the Kontarian ways."

"What are the Kontarian ways?" Gabrielle butted in.

There was a collective intake of air.

"The Kontarian ways?"

"The Kontarian ways?!"

"They are a degraded, depraved people! They couple in the open and they take many partners at once!"

"They enter unnatural unions! Men lie with men and women with women!"

"They sacrifice their children to their gods!"

"They drink the blood of virgins to preserve their youth!"

"They kidnap Harmeni peasants and inflict all sorts of debauched practices upon them!"

The litany and description of Kontarian customs went on for a while. The monks seemed to have extensive knowledge of all Kontarian sexual transgressions in minute detail, and they seemed to be on their minds quite a lot; no doubt this was a commendable devotion to the principle of knowing one's enemy. Gabrielle listened to the tales of the horrid, impure, blood (blood among other things) sucking people at the Kingdom's borders with way more interest than usual.

She squinted in sunshine when she left the chapel shortly after noon. She usually would have most of the rest of the day left to herself. With the absence of any sort of entertainment, companionship, or anything productive to do, Gabrielle supposed that the point of these hours was to have her bore herself to death.

As she crossed the outer courtyard, wondering how many more weeks could she endure here before jumping off her third-floor window, her eyes caught the massive tower on the other side of the chapel's garden. The Kontarian boy would be kept in the dungeon underneath. She stopped as a thought occurred to her. Some of the dungeon's grated low windows opened to the garden, at ground level, hidden in niches large enough to sit in. They were sheltered from the rest of the courtyard by some shrubs and several yew trees belonging to the garden. If he was held in those particular cells, she could probably take a look at him or even talk to him without anyone noticing.

She shook her head and continued on her way. She still had enough dignity left not to chat up low-born dross while on a constant look-out like an idiot. Besides, the guy was probably pretty dim. Why ruin the fantasy by meeting the real thing?

Back at the Great Hall she found out that Paula was not in the castle, having gone off to a pleasure ride with Clement and some entourage. As glad as she was not to be threatened with her Ladyship's company, yesterday's anger rose in her again. Too dangerous for rides, my ass.

She found Mista sleeping in her little room. Not waking her up, she went to her own chamber, threw herself on the bed, and watched the canopy above.

She could write to her parents, she supposed, promising to change her ways and begging them to let her out of here. She clenched her fist over the duvet. No, they could fuck right off. They will send for her sooner or later, and then they'll see if this moronic thing worked. Until then, she'll find her some ways to survive here. Maybe she'll take up weaving tapestries, or gardening.

She sat up. The boy in the dungeon would not leave her mind. He was the only thing in this shit castle that was even remotely interesting right now. But to talk to him through the window would make her look ridiculous -- he'd immediately figure out that she didn't have permission to do that, and by extension that she needed permission in the first place, and therefore that she was just some unimportant girl who did not command respect. Yet to talk to him normally, in the dungeon, she would have to get past Dodo. Dodo would not let anyone see him. Gabrielle remembered Paula's word. Nobody could overrule the orders Dodo had been given, except maybe the King himself, should he visit.

A small voice piped up in her head. And are you still not, despite your present situation, of royal stock?

Paula and Clement were away, after all. This day invited experiments.

*

Dodo was leaning back in his chair, seeing how far he can go before he loses his balance, when the door opened with no prior knocking and the young noble lady walked in. The start that it gave him tipped him over, and for an incredibly long moment his enormous body was caught in a state of weightlessness, him pushing it forward but gravity commanding it back. The impasse was only broken when he planted his feet on the floor and let the chair fall with a bang between them, as he himself remained more or less vertical in an elaborate squat.

"Yes?" he said.

"Good afternoon," the lady answered. "We haven't ever been introduced, and I thought it was a bit of an oversight on Lady Paula's part not to have me meet all her devoted servants. I am Princess Gabrielle."

"Oh," said Dodo. He looked her up and down. She was dressed in white, except for a solid gold necklace and a solid gold bracelet, inlaid with tiny blue gems. She was very pretty, but there was something disconcerting about her expression, something of a predatory bird. "Hello. Dodo."

"Nice to meet you, Dodo." She walked in and took a look around, her footsteps loud and crisp on the stone floor. "Do you stay here all day?"

"Yes, ma'am." At this point Dodo realized that he was still squatting and his muscles were beginning to ache, so he unfolded himself back to his regular, considerable height. "I been ordered to look over the prisoner."

"Indeed?" Gabrielle asked, admiring the many iron manacles piled on a large rectangular chest. "You never leave this dungeon?"

"Clement asked me to stay at all times."

"It must be pretty boring."

Dodo didn't quite follow. "Clement asked me to stay at all times."

She could see now that Clement and Paula were not mistaken. It was truly beyond the man's scope of thought to even imagine disobeying their orders. Alright then. Careful.

"Good man!" she smiled as she turned to him. "You're a credit to this Kingdom." The bits of Dodo's face not covered with beard reddened and he and mumbled something to the floor. She sat by the top of the table. "No, no, I mean it. Clement's authority comes from Lady Paula, and hers comes from the King, and his, by the right of his royal bloodline, comes from the gods themselves."

"Why, that's true!" said Dodo, picking up his chair. "I know that's true, because that's what Clement says!"

"And Clement is a wise man," she retorted, fighting back a wince. "If more people were like you, Dodo, this country would be the most excellent place on earth. We all should remember that our foremost duty is our obedience to the King and his representatives." He scratched the back of his head, sat down, and fell back to incoherent mumbling. He wasn't exactly used to such lavish compliments. Gabrielle licked her front teeth. Alright, now.

"I'm a great-granddaughter of a king, you know." Dodo opened his eyes wide and looked at her as if she'd just fallen from the sky. She made sure to carelessly adjust her necklace, which bore a small pendant -- a royal eagle. "Yes. I'm directly descended from Theodoric the Red."

She was. King Theodoric had three sons, the third of which had only a single daughter, who married a nobleman for whom this was such an upward move that he took her name and quartered his arms with hers, and they had two sons, the younger of which was her father. This made her actually the great-great-granddaughter of a king and only a member of a cadet branch of the extended royal family, but these details were of nobody's concern right now. The King, on the infrequent occasions he met her father, did refer to him as his dear cousin, so there.

Such deliberations were certainly right now not on Dodo's mind, for it was occupied by a sudden alarm brought about by his realization that the room wasn't very clean or in any other way suited for this unexpected audience. He attempted to discreetly brush some bread crumbs away from the table with his hand. Gabrielle smiled.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Dodo," she said, standing up. "I won't distract you from your duties anymore." She turned to the door.

"Always at your service, your worship!" shouted Dodo, getting up violently enough to knock the chair back down.

"Thank you. Say..." she turned to face him again. "Now that I think of it, will you do me a slight favour?"

"Of course, your worship!" he straightened up at attention. She had to exert herself to keep her tone casual now.

"Will you let me talk to your prisoner? Alone?"

"Oh. Ah." His face jerked from her to the dungeon entryway a couple of times. "Clement said that nobody's supposed to... um. Er."

Gabrielle said nothing, just looked at him, questioning and unwavering, like an examiner of some sort.

"Be right back, my lady!" he yelled, grabbed a keyring and a pair of manacles, and ran downstairs. Gabrielle closed her eyes. Yes!

*

Aerin's dreams tossed him violently in many strange directions that night as he lay in shallow sleep on his straw bed. At times he was free in Kontaria under an endless sky; still at others he was being captured, hauled off or interrogated. All morning he spent dozing off in his corner wrapped in his blanket against the chill, there being nothing better to do. Later he poked around every stone and every bar yet again.

He wondered how the war was going. He wondered how Leapfrog was doing. He thought of his family again, and again a feeling of guilt piled up on top of his grief. He explained to himself again that at least he'll do them credit by not talking to Titulus, no matter what happens.

The highlight of his day so far was when a lizard slithered in through a window and hanged out with him for half an hour, before slithering back out. He pulled himself up to the grille and watched the lawn in which it had disappeared, and which was now at his eye level. He was pleased to note that the surroundings looked like a nice place for a lizard to live in. He hoped that the lizard would have a nice day. He decided that the lizard's name was Erik. Unless it was a lady lizard, in which case it was Erika.

He was pacing around his cell wondering how were you supposed to tell a guy lizard from a lady lizard anyway, when suddenly frantic heavy footsteps fumbled down the stairs, and seconds later a flushed Dodo bolted out of the passageway.

"Oi," Dodo said, shaking a pair of manacles. "Hands!"

"What?"

"No talking!"

Now what's this about? Aerin walked to the grating and stuck both hands out through the bars, letting Dodo clasp the manacles on. He watched the guard's movements closely. Maybe if one day he could catch him by surprise and pull his arm in and twist it or something...

Having locked the manacles, Dodo opened the hinged part of the grating which functioned as the cell door. To Aerin's surprise, he then ushered him to the middle of the cell.

"What are we doing?"

"No talking!"

He led him under one of the overhead shackles, jerked his hands up -- gods the strength of that guy! -- locked the overhead shackles, unlocked the portable manacles, laid them on the floor, left the cell, and hurried upstairs. That was another problem. The guy was as meticulous as he was strong, and apparently the more nervous he was, the more meticulous he became.

That was Aerin's first thought, but now that he was left alone, fear crept into his mind. Was someone coming to interrogate him, right now? He'd spent much of his time since yesterday psyching himself up for that eventual moment, but he hadn't been preparing for this happening so soon. He pulled at the chains and tried to slip out of the shackles, but it was no use. Steady, lighter footfalls now sounded from the stairs. Aerin locked his fists around the chains.

Then, out of the dim passageway that led to the outside world, emerged the girl, dressed all in white.

What is this about.

He'd seen her before, he realized. She'd been in the courtyard when they brought him in. Judging from her clothes, jewellery, and just the way she carried herself, she was some big shot around here. Was she going to be his interrogator? Was this some sort of a trick? A good jailer routine maybe? Were they going to make this first interrogation nice and hope he talks out of sheer relief and gratitude? He now watched her enter the cell with rising anger. If that's the case, they must think he's an absolute idiot.

She was amused to find him chained melodramatically to the ceiling, hands helplessly overhead. This was some excellent dungeon flair. She also noted that his cell windows did, indeed, open to the garden.

She came in and stopped some three feet in front of him. He was looking at her with hostile pale eyes. With relief she saw that she hadn't been mistaken. The boy was in fact really cute, even correcting for her isolation-induced low standards and despite all the dirt on his skin. She squinted at him and threw her chin up.