A Midsummer Tempest (18 page)

Rupert shrugged. “The venture’s desperate enough that that recks little.”

“Your boldness thrills me.” She pointed to herself. “See the chill rising on my flesh.… Still, you’ll not shun assistance, I’m sure.” A deep sigh. “Would I could furnish troopers and a frigate! Impossible; my lord’s a peaceful man.” Her lip lifted a fraction. At once: “After difficulty, I’ve persuaded him to offer you this purse. The gold should reach some ways along your road.”

“Belinda, I—I cannot,” Rupert stuttered, half dismayed. “I dare not—”

“Aye, you do!” she said fiercely. “I’d liefer ’twas a gift, but call it a loan if you wish. King Charles can repay us, when you’ve come down off those crags you’re scaling to bring him his crown back from the vultures’ nest. Your duty, Rupert. You
may
not refuse.”

She caught his right hand in her own and drew it across the table, where her left brought the pouch up against his palm. Slowly, he closed fingers on it. After a few more seconds, she let him withdraw from her clasp and blew him a kiss. “Wise man, in this if in naught else,” she sang.

“I have no words to thank you.”

“Indeed you do. Words of yourself, Rupert. Your adventures, your achievements—and perhaps you’ll draw my portrait, being a master artist?”

“I’d love that.”

She turned her head back and forth upon twining neck and rotating shoulders. “Which profile?” she murmured. “What pose? We must try many positions—Oh!”

That last was no cry of joy. Pulling his gaze from her with an almost audible rip, the prince saw Duke Hernán in the doorway. Clad in a nightshirt and robe, leaning on a cane, features sunken and sallow, he gave them a shaky smile.

“Your Grace!” Rupert jumped to greet him and lead him to the table. “What a wonderful surprise. You’re feeling better?”

“Better, yes, better.” As he settled down next to his wife, Rupert on his other side, the diplomat continued: “Yes, yes,
si,
blessèd be thees calm, though honesty
does make me confess ’ow w’en we reach Tunis I’ve promeesed feefty candles een thanksgeeveeng to San Antonio, that ees St. Anthony, you know, who leeved een the desert very far from water.” He blinked benevolently at them. “You ’ave done your beezness?”

She nodded with small enthusiasm.

“My gratitude’s unbounded to your Grace,” Rupert said. “Here, let me fetch a glass for you.”

“No, no,” said Hernán. His voice was unsteady. “My stomach ees steel back een that last gale we ’ad, heh, heh, heh. Ah, to be young again! But you two weell find ’ow soon golden youth does flee.” He wagged a finger. “So lay up treasure een ’eaven now, because pious self-denials, fasteeng, abstentions, are worth much, much more at your age than they weell be later w’en you must practeece them anyway. Nay, seet down, ’Ighness, seet down. I deed awaken and thought eet would be jolly to join you two young people and, yes, yes, maybe counsel you, geeve you advice from an expeerience wheech ees, eef I may say’t, long and—and—varièd? Yes, varièd. Ah, I remember once een Barcelona … seexteen ’undred and twenty-nine eet was, or twenty-eight?—I theenk twenty-nine, though per’aps—
bueno,
eet was the feast of the Eleven Thousand Virgeens, I do remember that—”

Rupert made himself comfortable and prepared to exercise the virtue of patience. Belinda interrupted by a touch and a soft remark: “Darling, I’m very happy for you. But have a care. You catch cold so easily. Rupert, would you close the window?”

“Nay,” said the duke. “Open, open. Fresh air refreshes. True, I am a beet a-sheever, seence my lady reminds me.… ’owever, an old campaigner, heh, heh, heh. You young
caballeros
’ave ’ad your adventures, yes, yes, you ’ave, I deny eet not, but let me tell you—”

“And you must be starved,” Belinda said. “Take a comfit.”

She offered him a particularly gooey one. He gulped and waved it away. “No! My stomach.… Per’aps a glass of water, a dry beescueet—”

“Ship’s biscuits are best left alone on Friday, dear. And Rupert, in spite of what he says, I must insist you
shut the window, no matter how hot, close, and greasy-smelling it gets. As for thee, my lord, if thou canst rise (from thy bed, at any rate,” Belinda added under her breath), “I’d be remiss did I not see to’t thou receivest better nourishment than a spoonful of broth or gruel. I’ll have the cook roused at once to prepare thee—let me think—” She made a pretty gesture of frowning, touching the corner of her mouth, then beaming. “Ah, yes! Eggplant and onion fried in oil, garlic below and melted cheese a-bubble above, with lavishness of pepper. Moreover, midnight’s not far off, when thou canst lawfully take a pork chop.”

The duke changed color and swallowed several times. “No,” he said feebly.

She did not seem to hear. “Ah, my lord,” she asked, “will it not be delicious, a fat-dripping pork chop and peppery fried potatoes? Or might these be better cold, their grease congealed? Nay, the soverign remedy, I’ve heard, is the raw white of an egg, let slide down the throat ere one goes on to fat pork and oozy potatoes.”

The duke lurched to his feet. Rupert hastened to assist him.

“Furthermore,” Belinda said, “I’ve heard well recommended the chewing of tobacco. We can buy a good, strong quid from the slop chest—”

“I … feel seeck … again,” the duke choked forth.

Rupert took his elbow. “Come, let me help you to your couch,” the Rhinelander urged.

“No, no—stay,
por favor
—” Hernán tried to straighten. “We … del Monte de Gavilanes … old campaigner—” He made what haste he could out the door and down the passageway.

Rupert stood awhile silent. Belinda sipped her wine.

“You were a trifle injudicious, I fear, my lady,” said Rupert, not looking at her.

“Aforethought, as you can’t quite utter? Oh, I knew what I did,” she admitted insouciantly. “Yet think not ill of me. He has more years than my father who wedded me to him. Shall I not, then, look to his welfare as might a dutiful daughter? And you know how an ancient must ofttimes be cosseted, aye, cozened, when weakness
has sapped judgment. I feared he’d overtax what strength the stresses of work and war, followed by this rough journey, have left him.”

“Well—”

She beckoned. “Come, sit. You owe me some diversion, did we not agree? Here, take a confection”—she reached it to him—“drain your glass and refill it, and lay aside that earnestness which, I believe, is armor for a heart much too tender.”

Inch by inch, he obeyed.

“You learn,” she encouraged him. “Next let me start your tongue rolling. I’ve heard how, after being freed from Linz, you chanced upon the Emperor himself and his huntsmen, threatened by a wild boar, seized a spear and slew it. True?”

“Not wholly.” Sherry gurgled into his goblet. “Truth is,” he said, growing more at east as he talked, “under the law there, my release could not be final till I’d kissed his hand. Thus I was seeking him, unsure whether he’d allow this ceremony. The boar was not really endangering his life, though ’twas forsooth a gross brute, causing the hunters great trouble. An opportunity. If I, a stranger, helped them, he’d doubtless reach to clasp my hand—”

Belinda listened.

A ROAD IN FRANCE.

O
RLEANAIS
rolled subtly parti-colored beneath a cloudless hot heaven: tawny stubblefields, brown hayricks, bleached green pillars of poplar, apple orchards beginning to glow red, vineyards heavy with purple clusters, widely scattered farmsteads whose buildings had walls of gray stucco, roofs of dark thatch or umber tile. Peasants at work wore faded blue smocks and plain sabots; their ox-drawn wagons and donkey carts were gaily painted. They were a stocky, sturdy folk, who would let go sickles or spades to hail passers-by, throw a jest at a neighbor, gulp some wine from a clay jug.

There went a smell of earth and summer, but it was nearly lost in the dust thrown up by hoofs and wheels. A coach was rattling southward behind four horses. Baggage made a hillock on the roof. One black-clad, tall-hatted man drove, another clung behind. Six more fared in saddles, their leader riding postilion, the rest strung on either side. Though likewise in civil array, except for allowable swords, they had the seat of cavalrymen.

Jennifer leaned out a window. Sweat stained her gown and channeled the grime on her features. “What do you want?” demanded Nobah Barker, who sat across from her. He was still more wilted by the heat, battered by the incessant jounce and sway, then she was; his reddened eyes resented her.

“A breath of breeze,” she snapped through rattle and creak. “Is that forbidden?”

“’Tis immodest, Mistress Alayne, thus to thrust one’s maiden self upon the public view.”

She grinned in unfriendly wise. “Wherefore you stay within, Reverend? Well, let me be entirely lost to shame. Let me take a horse, not suffocate here.”

“Nay. How couldst thou receive instruction? Thou. Hear, I must chide thee as I would a child.”

“Why, then I’ll address thee as I would a dog.”

“Peace!” he yelped. “Oh, if I might chastise thee with stripes, flog forth the scornful devil which possesses thee! How thou wouldst weep thereafter, and beg my forgiveness for this insolence wherewith thou tormentest mine every waking hour!”

“I’ll strike a bargain,” said Jennifer. “Spend no more of thy waking hours in my presence, and thou’lt get never a bad word from me.”

“Nay. Thy guardian did charge me most strictly to have a care of thy soul and strive unremittingly to mend its illness. Methinks he was mistaken in forbidding corporal punition; ’twould surely have eased the anguish inflicted on me. However, I comply, I submit. Unto the task of recapturing the wayward lamb do I screw myself. Come within. Sit and hearken. That’s an order.”

Jennifer ignored it. Leaning as far as possible, she waved at a peasant girl tending a flock of geese which cropped the ditch. “Hallo, sister, hallo!” she cried.
“Je suis ta soeur
—see, I learned some French o’ my dad—little sister, free sister, pray for me in my prison.
Prie pour moi.”

“Wanton! Papist! In, I told thee!” Barker stormed. He threw arms around her waist and dragged.

She swung about in his clasp to rake nails across his cheek. He let her go. They both sat back, breathing hard, he dabbling at the blood-beaded scratches. After a moment she said like stones falling: “This time I warned you, Barker. Seize me again, and ’twill cost you an eyeball at least.”

“I … violence … wildness … thou’rt truly afflicted—” He stiffened into a sort of calm. “Thine uncle did authorize what force might be needful to carry out my task. I hold that that may include the compelling of thy body.”

Jennifer sighed. “Liefer than have thee touch me more, I’ll stay quiet.”

Barker struggled to smile. “My child, I pity thee. Indeed, the pain I endure on thine account will earn me palaces in heaven. So fair without, so foul within—and
yet, beneath that filth which wizard Rupert conjured into thee, may still abide a soul as pure as the driven snow.”

“Aye, cold enough, and driven where it would not be.”

“Cold? In this weather?” He lifted a bottle. “Here, behold how I return good for evil and offer thee water.”

“Not from a neck
your
lips have sucked.”

“Thou hurtest me, Jennifer, woundest me here.” He laid palm on breast.

“Aye, thou painest me too.” She touched her rump.

It passed him by. Shaking the container, he said, “Maybe as well thou refusest. ’Tis nigh empty. Preaching’s thirsty work. Therefore, in God’s cause I’ll finish it.”

He did, set it on the floor, inflated his lungs, and stated: “I shall continue my discourse which was thus rudely interrupted. It is, thou wilt recall, upon the eighteenth chapter of Leviticus, having to do with unlawful lusts, and we had reached the twenty-third verse, which closes: ‘…
it is confusion.’
A veritable sign from heaven, that I should be at this exact passage when thou didst cry out unto the goose girl—because that showed forth how thou dost commit confusions, albeit not those specified in the chapter, I hope. Worst, of course, is that thou didst ask for a Papist prayer—horror, horror—but thou hast also a worldly miscomprehension. That thou couldst call yon person free, captive as she is in both flesh and spirit, demonstrates how thou’rt wholly ignorant of matters political—indeed, of the very definition of freedom.”

Jennifer stared out the window.

“A moment, ere I explicate.” His black coat cut off her view as he himself leaned forth to call: “Throckmorton! Dost see a sheltered spot ahead?”

“A hedge, sir, a mile hence,” the driver answered.

“Well, whip up the horses, and make halt there. The Lord’s business does not wait.” Barker sat down again, crossing his thighs rather tightly. “Where was I? Ah, yes. I have been inquiring and studying of the French situation, from that military envoy I met on the steamer
and in Calais from the English consul whilst our transportation was being purchased. Industry, Jennifer, industry and an open mind are the sure eastern and western pole stars whereby we steer toward truth—worldly truth, that is, the divine sort being always a matter of revelation and special grace. Uh-h’m! Know, then, the new King Lewis is a mere child, and the true ruler of the land is an Italian cardinal. How can France be free if she wears the collar of a Roman cleric?”

Jennifer could not forbear to say, “Though ’tis a Catholic land, they tolerate Protestants.”

“Ah-ha! A Catholic land. That means they tolerate Catholics too, does it not? Wherein lies freedom there? Nay, those who would die to scorch error from their country are forced, cruelly forced to live in very earshot of its preachments. Furthermore, where’s a Parliament of godly men, responsive to the people, such as has sat in London, unchanged by any dissent, these four unbroken years, and will sit as long as is necessary to reform every citizen? France groans beneath feudal monarchy. Archaic laws and usages bind her natural leaders hand, foot, and mouth. In consequence, progress languishes. Behold for thyself, child. See how yonder old cottage stands just where ’twould be advantageous to pass a railway. Hast thou observed a single smokestack or enclosure? The time lost each year in holidays and festivals is a national disgrace.… Throckmorton, hurry along, I told thee!”