The Squire's Quest Page 11

  "Why does the Roman chap keep twitching his hips? Is it a dance?" Dinadan whispered to Terence.

  "I think that key must symbolize something," Terence replied. "Because the other fellow refuses to look at it."

  "Judging from where it's hanging, I suppose it means something rude," Dinadan said, nodding. "I wouldn't look at it, either."

  The ceremony began, and after a moment Acorion-des joined Terence and Dinadan. He looked exhausted, having spent the past several hours managing all the final arrangements on the Greek end. It was a tribute to his considerable diplomatic skill that he had not only gotten everyone in position in time but managed to avoid being pressed into service as one of the forty-four groomsmen. "I would rather organize a war than a wedding," he muttered.

  "I've heard Kai say the same," Terence commented.

  "The two things aren't so different, really," mused Dinadan. "Both start out with high hopes and then—"

  "You couldn't say that everyone has high hopes," Terence interrupted. "Look at Alis."

  The slender bride, covered from head to toe in gold and jewels and damask veils, was making her way down the long aisle, attracting oohs and aahs and drawing every eye—but Alis was standing at the head of the church between the two glaring bishops, staring morosely at his feet. He appeared to be drawing a picture in the carpet with his armored toe.

  "He's already been at the wine, hasn't he?" asked Dinadan.

  Acoriondes nodded. "I think he will not pass out until after the ceremony," he said. "I instructed his man to add water to his cup after the first bottle."

  "Ah, young love," Dinadan murmured.

  The bride arrived at the altar. One ofthe groomsmen nudged Alis and turned him around to kneel beside her, facing the prelates, who both began speaking at once. Then they stopped at the same time and glared at each other. "Oh, no!" moaned Acoriondes. "We didn't agree which one would go first! How could I have forgotten that?"

  The bishops started again, still in unison, but this time they didn't stop. In fact, they seemed to be speaking faster every second. "It's a race!" Dinadan said gleefully. "My money's on the Roman chap. He looks like he's got staying power, what the horse breeders call 'good bottom. "

  "He certainly has one of those," Terence agreed. "But the Greek bishop's louder."

  "Mere flourishing," Dinadan snorted. "He'll run out of wind at this rate. You've got to pace yourself for a long event like a full state wedding. Wait till they come down the stretch."

  It seemed that Dinadan was correct, because as the rite went on, the Greek bishop's voice began to crack and to grow fainter. The Roman bishop smiled, as if sensing victory, and sped up. Then, suddenly, the Greek prelate lifted his heavy staff and brought the end down, hard, on the Roman bishop's toe. The Roman bishop squawked, stopped reciting the wedding vows, and began to turn red.

  "Foul!" cried Dinadan. "You saw it! A clear foul! Disqualify the Greek!" But the Greek bishop seemed to have gotten his second wind and was doggedly pushing on with the Greek wedding vows. "I shall lodge a complaint with the proper authorities," sniffed Dinadan.

  "Wait," Terence said. "Your fellow's down but not out. Watch!" The Roman bishop had begun again and was flipping through the pages of his little pocket missal with great rapidity. "He can't be reading it all. He's skipping parts."

  "Nothing in the rules against that," Dinadan said.

  "How do you know? You're making this up."

  "Look, he's done! The Roman comes from behind and wins!" Sure enough, the Roman bishop had stopped talking and was already fumbling with a golden ring, trying to push it onto the bride's finger. Alis had to all appearances fallen asleep at the altar. The Greek bishop finished off in a rush and, pushing the Roman's hand away, began trying to put his own ring on the girl's hand. The Roman bishop pushed back, using his greater weight to shoulder the Greek aside. With a wave of his hand, the Greek bishop knocked the Roman bishop's tall hat onto the floor behind them. Shocked, the entire company stared for several long seconds at the scene before them. Then the eastern bishop took a deep breath and announced something loudly in Greek.

  "What did he say?" Terence asked Acoriondes.

  The grave counselor closed his eyes wearily, but he answered, "He suggests that the Roman bishop should shove his filioque up his ... I do not know the English word."

  "Liar," said Dinadan. "You know perfectly well—" "Never mind," Terence said. "We know the word you mean."

  Dinadan cocked his head to one side. "Say, what's the Greek word for that, anyway?"

  At that moment, Alis woke from his reverie. He stirred, looked blankly around him, and then stared vaguely at the ring on his bride's finger. Terence wasn't sure which bishop's ring it was. Then Alis, as if growing dimly aware of his own responsibilities, bowed his head gallantly to his new bride, who had knelt without moving through the entire ceremony. He lifted the bride's veil to give her a dutiful kiss.

  "Dinadan!" hissed Terence. "Isn't that ... wasn't she at Camelot?"

  Dinadan wiped his eyes, still shaking slightly, and followed Terence's gaze. "No, it ... You're right. It is! That's that empty-headed little chit who never stopped talking all the time she was in England: Fenice."

  "That's the name. But I thought she..." Terence trailed off. He had a feeling there was a reason Fenice shouldn't be marrying Alis—more than just the age difference—but he couldn't recall what. Acoriondes gestured to the musicians, who launched into a lively recessional march. The Emperor Karl, who had stood behind Fenice through the ceremony, took her hand and placed it on Alis's. Then he nodded to Alis's first attendant, Cligés, indicating that he should help the regent to his feet and down the aisle. Cligés didn't move. He was staring blankly at Fenice's face.

  Alis lifted his hand to Cligés, obviously asking for a hand up, and muttered something in the stentorian whisper of the very drunk. Cligés didn't respond.

  "Oh, dear," said Dinadan. Emperor Karl snapped something at Cligés in German, but Cligés didn't move. Dinadan whispered, "He wants to know if every Greek is a bleeding sot."

  Still Cligés stood motionless, gazing at Fenice's countenance. At last, Fenice looked up. Her eyes met Cligés's, and she promptly fainted.

  Alis looked bemusedly at his unconscious wife and asked a question loudly. Terence and Dinadan both glanced at Acoriondes, who at the moment looked very old. "He thinks she's a little young to be so drunk," Acoriondes translated.

  The spell broken at last, Cligés thrust his uncle aside and threw himself to his knees beside Fenice. He was murmuring something in Greek to her and rubbing her hands, but nothing made any difference. Then a plump, middle-aged woman from far back in the ranks of the ladies-in-waiting, somewhere between numbers thirty-five and forty, pushed her way to the front. Producing a small bottle from somewhere among the folds of her sleeves, she muttered a few words, poured a drop from the bottle into Fenice's mouth, and touched the bride's forehead. The girl jerked awake. The woman and Cligés each took an arm and helped Fenice up. Then they supported her down the aisle, one on each side. The German emperor rolled his eyes and looked grim, but with the help of three Greek groomsmen, managed to lift the sprawling Alis to his feet and keep him upright and moving until they, too, had left the church. After them followed the two bishops, each holding his jeweled mitre like a quarterstaff and glaring at the other. Finally the rest of the ladies and groomsmen trooped out.

  Dinadan sniffed and, in a voice quavering with emotion, said, "Wasn't it beautiful? I just love weddings!"

  The wedding was over, but from Acoriondes's perspective it was only the first stage of a grueling ordeal. After the ceremony, which finished in midafternoon, there was a ball until late in the evening, followed by a banquet, and Acoriondes had to keep Alis from offending his new in-laws through it all. Alis stood up with his new bride once for a very brief symbolic first dance, but after that there was no question of the regent actually dancing. Even walking was a challenge. Fortunately, Fenice didn't seem offended. She was cle
arly delighted to let Cligés represent his uncle on the dance floor.

  By extreme vigilance, Acoriondes managed to keep Alis from drinking any more, with the result that after a couple of hours, the regent had sobered up enough to be somewhat awake. Surly and moody, but awake. He began watching Cligés and his new bride and muttering incoherently to himself as they whirled about the dance floor. Acoriondes summoned Terence with a faint jerk of his head, and when Terence approached whispered, "Could you pull Cligés off to one side and ask him to dance with one of the other ladies for a while? It does not make a good appearance for him to devote himself so exclusively to his uncle's bride."

  Terence nodded and followed Cligés and Fenice until the music paused, then stepped between them. "Milord Cligés?" he began.

  "Yes, Squire Terence?" Cligés replied.

  Terence had no chance to say anything else. Fenice squealed loudly and shrieked, "But yes! Squire Terence! I thought that I see you before! You are the squire of Sir Gawain in England, nein?"

  "English!" cried Cligés, with delight. "You speak English!"

  "But yes! I am very well speaking of it!" Fenice replied, her eyes shining. "And you also! I have learned at King Arthur's court."

  "And I, too!" Cligés gasped.

  "Milord," Terence began. "Sir Acoriondes says—"

  "My name you may call Cligés!"

  "And I am Fenice!"

  "My lady Fenice, may I have the dance next?"

  "It would my very heavy pleasure be!"

  The music began again, and the pair took their positions. Terence retreated to Acoriondes's side. "I don't think I helped," he admitted. "In fact, I made things worse. When I spoke to Cligés, they discovered that they both speak English, more or less. So now they can talk to each other as they dance."

  Alis began muttering darkly under his breath, his eyes never moving from the figure of his nephew. Acoriondes glanced at Terence. "He's saying something about how Cligés had his chance and turned it down and now he'll be bound if he'll let Cligés make him look a fool. It's the wine talking, but I can't entirely blame him."

  "Excuse me," said a woman's voice beside them. Terence looked up to see the middle-aged woman who had awakened Fenice from her faint at the wedding.

  "Yes?"

  "Perhaps I can help," she said. Her English was flawless. She even had a northern accent, similar to Gawain's.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady," Acoriondes said. "My name is Acoriondes."

  "And I am called Thessala," the lady replied. "I was dear Fenice's nurse when she was a child." Thessala sighed mournfully. "Ah, it seems but yesterday."

  "It was yesterday," Acoriondes replied drily. "And how exactly did you think to help us?"

  "Your master, my dumpling's new husband, seems to be out of sorts. I have a small drink here that might help."

  "My master doesn't care for any more to—"

  "No, no," Thessala said hurriedly. "It is not a drink like that. It is more of the nature of a family recipe to remove the effects of other drinks."

  "I see," Acoriondes said. "Yes, my family has some recipes like that as well. I've never noticed that they work."

  Thessala produced a small bottle and a wineglass and poured a swallow of liquid into the glass. "But if you will only try—"

  "I think we need not trouble you, my lady," Acoriondes said, bowing politely. But Alis had seen the wineglass. Snapping a few sharp Greek words, he snatched the glass from Thessala's hand and downed it. Immediately his eyes flew open, then closed, and he sagged back into the chair where he sat. "Hold him up, Terence!" Acoriondes snapped, grasping Alis's other arm. For several seconds the two fought to keep the regent from sliding off onto the floor. At last, by main force, they managed to prop the unconscious regent back up on the chair. Terence glanced around; the nurse had disappeared.

  "Is he alive?" Terence asked sharply.

  Acoriondes was already feeling Alis's pulse. "Yes, it was not poison," he said.

  Then Alis opened his eyes, and his lips widened in a relaxed and pleasant smile. He spoke mildly to Acoriondes, as if greeting him, took a deep breath, then gazed limpidly out at the dance floor. Smiling again, he spoke.

  "What did he say?" asked Terence.

  Acoriondes looked at Alis, then out at the dance floor, then back at Alis before replying. "He said, 'Isn't my wife lovely? "

  It took Terence nearly an hour to find the nurse Thessala among the crowd at the ball and to maneuver himself beside her. When he did, he caught her eye and smiled. "Thank you for your help, Lady Thessala. I believe that the regent feels much better now."

  "It was nothing," she replied.

  "You speak English very well," Terence said. "Did you visit England with Fenice this past year?"

  "No, I stayed here in Mainz."

  Terence smiled. "But you have been there, surely."

  "Many years ago," Thessala admitted.

  "Of course," Terence said. "When you studied with Morgan Le Fay."

  Thessala's eyes flew open, and she shrank from him. "How did you know that?"

  "I didn't until just now," Terence said, no longer smiling. "But you even speak English with Morgan's accent."

  "Did Morgan send you? I haven't done anything to her! Tell her I didn't even go to England, just as she told me!"

  "I told you: I was guessing," Terence said. "Morgan didn't send me. But if you did study with Morgan, then you are an enchantress."

  "No!" Thessala said quickly, her face white. "I mean ... I didn't actually finish..."

  Terence looked sternly at the quaking nurse. "Tell me at once: what was that potion you gave Alis, the regent?"

  "It ... it was not dangerous. It's an elixir I discovered myself. There is no harm, and it only lasts a few hours."

  "What does it do?"

  "It ... I call it the Elixir of Good Dreams. When you drink it, then you sleep and immediately dream the desire of your heart. Then, when you awake, you believe that your dream is true."

  "Good Gog!" Terence gasped.

  "I could as well have called it the Elixir of Happiness," Thessala said, a touch of pride creeping into her voice. "I doubt Morgan, with all her higher standards, has anything like it. Is it not the most splendid thing you've ever heard of?"

  "Good Gog," Terence repeated.

  The Duke of Saxony

  The ball ended without further incident, and the glittering courtiers proceeded to a vast banquet hall. There, Alis and Fenice were installed at the head table, and the Greeks and Germans were seated at long tables on opposite sides of the room. It seemed rather adversarial to Terence, but he supposed that mingling the two groups would have been useless, since few from either side spoke the other's language. Terence and Dinadan were seated together on the Greek side of the room, but Acoriondes was at the head table, beside Cligés, who was beside Alis.

  "Poor old Acoriondes," Dinadan said, grinning at their friend. "I suppose he's acting as a sort of watchdog up there."

  Terence nodded abstractedly. He suspected that Acoriondes had arranged to sit where he could catch Alis when he eventually passed out, but the regent showed no sign of succumbing to his wine. Quite the opposite, he seemed almost lively. He chattered happily to everyone within earshot, regardless of whether that person spoke Greek, and toward his new wife behaved in a markedly affectionate fashion. Fenice, for her part, ignored her new husband, leaning toward him only so as to look around him at Cligés, on the regent's other hand.

  "You know something, don't you?" Dinadan asked Terence suddenly.

  "Eh? Know something about what?"

  "I've been watching you. Alis is up there making a prize ass of himself over this chit that he never wanted to marry to begin with, and you don't even seem surprised. What's going on?" Terence hesitated, but only for a second. He explained what the nurse Thessala had told him about the Elixir of Good Dreams. Dinadan whistled. "I wonder what the old fellow's been dreaming," he said.

  "That's puzzling me, too," Terence admitted.
"Whatever it was, it's reconciled him to this horrible marriage."

  Together, Terence and Dinadan watched Alis as he babbled to Fenice, whose eyes remained locked on Cligés's. Cligés raised a glass of wine in a silent toast to his uncle's bride. Fenice toasted Cligés in response. When their glasses touched, directly over Alis's plate, it was like a caress. Alis smiled joyfully and snatched up his own glass to join their toast, but by the time he was ready, the other two were already drinking, their eyes still fixed on each other.

  "And will his dreams reconcile him to that sort of business?" Dinadan murmured.

  Terence shook his head. It didn't seem likely.

  With the second course, which was some sort of meat boiled in smelly cabbage, the banquet entertainment began. A lone minstrel with a lute appeared, positioned himself in the center of the hall, and bowed to the newlyweds. Terence glanced at Dinadan, expecting to see him sit up with interest, but the knight's eyes showed only weariness. "What is it?" Terence said.

  "I know this fellow," Dinadan said. "He's a French trouvère named Kyot. He sings the most appalling rot, and the worst of it is that he sings it beautifully."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You'll see ... or, maybe you won't. He sings in French. Thank God for that."

  The minstrel strummed his lute, then bowed again. He had a singularly graceful bow. "Mes seigneurs, " he began, "et mesdames, je chanterai le lai du Chevalier à la Charrette."