Part 37 (2/2)
Looking down, I saw that my nipples were hard and firm like two wild cherries.
Looking down revealed something else, as well.
”Is that-is that because of me?” I asked wonderingly and put out my hand to touch, but he leapt back as though he had been stung, hands over his crotch, and all but lost his balance.
”Don't-don't!” he said. ”You don't know, you don't realize . . .”
”I'm sorry,” I said, but there was no consciousness of shame, only a lively curiosity. ”I just wanted to touch. You see, that sort of thing has always frightened me before; there was Broom, and then the swineherd: they only wanted to attack, to hurt . . . But yours looks rather nice and friendly, not threatening at all. I have seen it before, you know,” I added. ”When you were ill, or bathing or getting dressed.” I was going to say something about the Lady Adiora, but thought better of it.
”If you try and touch me,” he said unsteadily, ”knight or no, I won't answer for the consequences . . .”
”Do you mean-you would make love to me?”
”Just that!”
”Then-Oh Conn, I must ask! Does that mean you love me, just the littlest bit?
Or is it only what they call l.u.s.t? You see, I have to know. I've loved you so much all this time, ever since we found you in that ditch, in fact, and at one time I thought you might-Then you didn't ask again, and I thought you didn't . . . I know ladies aren't supposed to ask things like this, and it doesn't matter if you don't, I won't mind-well, not much anyway-but I must know-”
He stepped forward and kissed me then, quite hard, and I fitted nicely into his arms and everything was very interesting, because although my feet by now were cold from the stream and the skin was going all washerwoman-wrinkly, the rest of me was warm and smooth and tingly.
”Does that mean you do?” I asked, when I had got my breath back.
”Does it mean . . . ! Dear Christ, girl, I've wors.h.i.+pped you ever since I first saw you properly in those Waters of Truth! I loved you before, poor helpless little Thingummy that you were, but when I saw that beautiful face on you and the body to match and I knew you were born a lady it was just like your dull pebbles turning into the dragon's jewels: I felt you were way beyond my reach and would never consider an ageing, well-used adventurer!”
”But I love you-”
”But I wasn't to know, now was I? You never said . . .”
”Neither did you!” I thought back over the wasted miles. ”You're not really well-used . . . Can I now?”
”What? Oh. Well . . .” He seemed a little disconcerted, but I looked down and saw that his body was still keen. Perhaps he was hungry. My mother had always made sure my father was fed and wined before she asked him something special, especially if she was afraid he might say no.
”Perhaps we could have supper first,” I suggested. ”There's bread left and a bit of cheese, and the mead-”
”Blow supper!” said Conn. ”Hang supper! To perdition with supper!” And he picked me up in his arms and carried me all the way back to the fire.
On the way I tried to explain what I had intended to do and he kissed me in all the nicest places and told me he didn't need magic and moonlight and mushrooms to know that I belonged in his heart for always and then he laid me down and took me in his arms again and the earth stretched beneath us like a dreaming beast, and the sickle of the reaper took the last thread that bound me to my past and gathered me and tied me to my love and I heard the music again, the music The Ancient had called Love's Song, and the air sang with it the whole night through . . .
”How about breakfast?” said Conn.
”Breakfast?”
”Yes, breakfast: making love always leaves me with an appet.i.te . . . Now you are to be my wife I shall expect all the comforts of home, you know: meals on demand, and all the rest of it . . .”
”Your wife? Am I really to be your wife?” I looked at him. He was laughing, his moustache curled upward, his eyes sparkled, and on his face was a look of love and contentment and on his jacket our two feathers: wisdom and fidelity.
Yes, he meant it.
”Just as soon as we can say the right words in front of the right person.” He reached over and spanked my rump. ”Now, lazy one, get some clothes on and we'll go up to town.” He followed the spank with a kiss on the offended portion. ”And then if you'll bear with me learning the surgeon's trade for a while, we'll go on afterwards and find that home you dreamt of: sea, hills and a stream, wasn't it, with martlets in the eaves and seals to sing us to sleep?
And we'll settle there and have children and love and quarrel and then kiss and make up. I'll cure the people and you will tend to the hurts of the animals, and we'll live happily ever after . . .”
And so we did.
And so the soldier: hung up his sword; The hands that had hewn: turned to heal.
The loves she had lost: became different loves, And the martlet made: his mansion in the eaves.
The wolf-cub waited: by the wall of the house And the people of the sea: sang them to sleep.
Pigs Don't Fly This one is for my little brother, Micky-Michael, and my half-sister, Anna, and their families.
Acknowledgments.
Thanks, as always, to my husband Peter, for his care and patience.
Belated thanks-sorry, folks!-to Bobby Travers and his daughter Joanna for smoothing our way out here.
Thanks, too, to Margaret and Barry Shaw for their help with Christopher.
I am also grateful to our alcalde, Don Carlos Mateo Donet Donet, for his a.s.sistance and encouragement.
Last, but never ever least, thank you Samimi-Babaloo, my Sam-just for being yourself!
Part 1: An End
Chapter One.
My mother was the village wh.o.r.e and I loved her very much.
Having regard to the nature of her calling, we lived a discreet distance away from her clients, in a cottage up the end of a winding lane that backed onto the forest. Once the dwelling had been a forester's hut, s.h.i.+elded by a stand of pines from the biting winter northerlies, but during the twenty years since she had come to the village it had been transformed into a pleasant one- roomed cottage with a lean-to at the side for wood and stores. Part of the ground outside had been cleared and fenced, and we had a vegetable patch, three apple trees, an enclosure for the hens, a tethering post for the goat and a skep for the bees.
Inside it was very cozy. Apart from the bed, which took, with its hangings, perhaps a third of the s.p.a.ce, there was a table, two stools, hooks for our clothing, a chest for linen and a dresser for the pots and dishes. Above the fire was the rack for drying herbs or clothes, beside it a folding screen that Mama sometimes used when she was entertaining if it was too cold for me to stay outside-though as I grew older I preferred to sit among the pungent, resinous logs in the lean-to, wrapped in my father's cloak, thinking my own thoughts, dreaming my own dreams, where witches and dragons, princes and treasure could make me forget chilblains or a runny nose until it was time for Mama to call me back into the warmth and the comfort of honey-cakes and mulled wine in front of the fire.
Then Mama would sit in her great carved chair in front of the blaze-a chair so heavy with age and carving it couldn't be moved-a queen on her throne, me crouched on a cus.h.i.+on at her feet, my head against her knee, and if she were in a good mood she would talk about Life and all it held in store for me.
”You will be all I could never be,” she would say. ”For you I have worked and planned so that you may have a handsome husband, a home of your own, and a dress for every season. . . .”
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