Chapter Two
Diva morning and the new moon rising
Who will take the silver spoon?
Honey thighs on satin lying,
In the light of the crazy moon.
Sara entered the hall, barely resisting the urge to cover her ears against the thundering roar. The eager cries of the jubilant crowd echoed off of the smooth stone walls in a nearly deafening cacophony of confusion. Casks of ale and wine had already been tapped and drinking horns were being lifted in rousing toasts as one and all were bid welcome to sample the bounty of the royal cellars. Two large fireplaces at either end of the vast hall blazed cheerfully despite the warmth of the day. Sara wrinkled her nose against the woody, smoky fragrance of burning hardwoods mixing with the sharp, tart odor of the alcohol and searched the multitude of merry-makers for a friendly face.
Her father, as was his wont, stood firmly in the middle of fray, waving his arms with great animation as he attempted to silence the excited throng. As soon as the din died out enough for him to be heard, King James climbed atop a sturdy bench; ale sloshing over the rim of the drinking horn clutched in his right hand, he made much of unveiling an intricate tapestry boasting of the Black Monk's latest deeds. The newest carefully woven wall hanging joined the nine others hanging proudly about the hall, all testaments to the fame and glory of his champion knight.
Sara regarded each of the ten beautifully wrought tapestries, mentally reliving each of Grissom's fifteen years of service to her father. The first tapestry revealed Lord Grissom at the tender age of twenty-one at his dubben ceremony, the day he formally received his knighthood and embarked upon his lifetime of service to his king and country. A youthful, clean-shaven shining knight with a mop of curly hair was shown kneeling before a priest in an elaborately decorated chapel. The morning sun seemed to glimmer approvingly through a rose and violet stained glass window as her grandfather, King Radulfus and father, Prince James, together held the hilt of a great sword balanced across Grissom's bare neck.
The subsequent four hangings adjoining Grissom's dubben depicted the rise of the ferocious Black Monk as he valiantly battled to regain the Holy Land during the Third Crusade. A solitary knight in full armor was shown astride a magnificent roan charger, waving farewell to a young, brown-haired lass as he rode away in a billowing cloud of dust to join the battle. Sara smiled softly, her tender gaze tracing the elaborate stitchery as she fondly remembered that day with stunning clarity. She was that little girl standing in the doorway, a tiny smitten child falling in love with her own shining knight for the very first time.
Next, a stern-looking king and a pious priest watched a warrior resplendent in gleaming maille and a black doublet emblazoned with the blood-red cross of Saint John the Baptist, bowing before a bare wooden cross. The third tapestry in the Crusade cycle depicted the full heat of the Battle of Acre; the feared Black Monk riding alongside kings as he led the final charge towards the city's walls. The final hanging of the progression showed an older Lord Grissom arriving home triumphant from the crusades, waving to the cheering crowds lining the path leading to the castle and tossing a single rose to that same little girl, a bit older, but just as captivated by her knight.
Sara dismissed the next quartet of tapestries with just a cursory glance. All were merely battle scenes depicting Grissom quelling either attacks upon the border, revolts from dissatisfied landowners or peasants rising up and taking arms against their lords. Her knight was helmed in all the pictorials and the subject matter did not really hold her interest. She understood that these particular campaigns had been necessary to maintain peace and establish the absolute authority of King James but they were bland and impersonal, just decorations. They said nothing about the man behind the armor, the gentle warrior fighting to defend the honor of both his king and himself.
The final tapestry, however, the one her father had just revealed, was magnificent in both its detail and rendering of Lord Grissom. Knights from many countries, bedecked in a myriad of vibrantly hued doublets, scaled the pristine white walls surrounding the great city of Constantinople. The great city had previously been thought to be impenetrable. However, the superior skill and cunning of the Black Monk had enabled the crusaders to find weaknesses within the city's defenses and win the difficult siege. Sara prayed the cycle was now complete, that no more tapestries of her gallant champion need be commissioned. She truly hoped the time had come for Grissom to lay down his sword and for a new champion to take his place.
Oranges soaked in their own juices
Licking lips of voices sung.
Magic trips on velvet cruises
Sainted slaves of our own tongues.
Sara approached King James and proudly linked her arm through his as he finished his short speech and crossed the hall to the head table which was a long slab of rich, dark mahogany with intricately carved legs. James was still ruggedly handsome despite the thinning of his longish hair. He cut a distinguished figure in his floor-length burgundy tunic and soft leather slippers. A thick, heavy gold belt encrusted with blood red rubies was secured around his hips and a large signet ring denoting his status and royal lineage sat upon the little finger of his left hand. Intricate gold brocade trimmed his finely woven woolen tunic about the collar, cuffs and hem. He had chosen not to wear his crown, but he seldom did, complaining the ornately jeweled headpiece was entirely too heavy and uncomfortable. James' face was flushed and his cheeks ruddy, whether from the warmth of the hall, the excitement of the day or the ale he had consumed, Sara knew not.
Queen Sofia was already seated at the lavishly set head table, sipping wine from a pewter goblet and watching the crowd with an air of seeming aloofness. Her long flowing blond hair was unbound beneath her cornet. Her deep raspberry gown with silver embroidery enhanced her ivory skin and imbued her with a quiet elegance. Sara was aware of Sofia's apparent detachment from the festivities and wondered, not for the first time, what thoughts were passing behind her stepmother's guarded blue eyes.
Sara gave her stepmother a fleeting peck on the cheek as she made her way behind the table to her own place. She noted the two empty chairs immediately to her father's right and looked about the hall. She knew full well that Grissom was to hold the place of honor as the King's right hand but the stalwart knight was nowhere to be seen.
Sofia watched Sara search the crowd, a knowing smile flirting across her lips. "Are you looking for someone special, dear?"
Sara smoothed her hands along the curved back of her chair and nodded towards the one positioned closest to the King's. "I assume that I shall be sitting next to Lord Grissom but he seems to be missing."
"He will be along soon." Sofia took a sip from her goblet, licking a few stray drops of wine from her full lips. "He wanted to bathe and see to his squire before joining the festivities."
Strangers who meet by chance
Eyes across the room
Remain the prisoners of the dance
And the waltz of the crazy moon
Grissom descended the stone stairs a short time later dressed simply but richly in a black undershirt and royal blue sleeveless knee length tunic. Matching blue chausses with black cross garters clung tightly to his well-muscled legs and a pair of soft black leather ankle boots completed his wardrobe. His hair was damp, evidence of a bath, brushed straight back over his forehead and tied at the nape of his neck with a small lace of black rawhide. He carried no weapon, not even an ornamental dagger; the lone item hanging from his leather belt was a set of well-worn ebony prayer beads. The only ornamentation on his clothing was a small red eight-point cross stitched high upon the right sleeve of his black linen shirt.
Sara watched him cross the hall to stand alone in a dimly lit corner and rose to join him. As she drew nearer, she detected a hint of sandalwood clinging to him and closed her eyes for just a moment to allow the clean, masculine aroma fill her senses.
"Lord Grissom," she murmured with a polite nod of her head. She smiled shyly and hesitantly ran her hand down his left arm, wrapping her long elegant fingers around his larger, calloused hand. "You look well."
"You look...lovely," he stammered, his cheeks flushing warmly in the glow from the huge fireplace just to his left. "You are all grown up now."
Sara was pleased he noticed. She had taken great pains in preparing for this day. More than anything, she wanted him to see her, not as the budding teenager he left behind or the small girl waving from the tapestries but as a maiden in the full-bloom of womanhood. His compliment gave her courage and she boldly reached a single finger to flit lightly upon the deep red scar marring his right cheek.
"This is new. How came you by this mark?"
Grissom's eyes fluttered shut in response to her fleeting touch. "A mere squabble, Milady," he began after clearing his throat. "A coward attacked me while I slept, 'tis all."
"Is it settled?" she asked, her thumb stroking lightly over the hand she still held.
"For now," he replied lightly.
She raised an eyebrow in silent question, hoping he would explain further but he merely shrugged.
Inner thighs and magic angels
Looking out on Harvard Square
Penny wise the pale white strangers
Were the only faces there.
The Lady Heather of Whippoorwill, the King's chosen companion, moved forward from the shadows behind the head table where she had been maintaining a discreet distance from James and placed a gentle hand upon the King's shoulder to get his attention. He turned to her, questioning, and she made a subtle motion with her hand in the direction of Grissom and Sara. James watched the interaction between the two, and his eyes widening with surprise.
Both James and Heather looked on with keen interest as Grissom clumsily drew Sara's right hand to him and gently placed a small silken pouch into her open palm. They leaned closer, trying to hear the oblivious couple over the din of the crowd.
Sara grinned widely, unable to hide her enthusiasm and pleasure. "You brought me a present?"
"It is something I had made for you while in Venice. I thought…you seemed..." Grissom's words stumbled off his tongue as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and stared at the floor. "'Tis nothing much and you probably will not even like it. I have…never purchased a gift for anyone before, " he finished in a rush, blushing profusely, his ears flaming a delightful shade of beet red as his hands clenched and unclenched in undisguised nervousness.
Heather chuckled. "He can face down an entire enemy force numbering twice that of his own and remain as cool as the ice on a winter pond," she said, undisguised mirth dancing in her eyes. "When presenting a small trinket to a beautiful maiden, however, our stalwart knight suddenly becomes as fidgety as a wet behind the ears lad about to bed his first woman."
The King raised a sardonic eyebrow at her comment. "I am going to have to speak with him about this, for truly I am quite envious." Heather looked at him, puzzled, and James raised his hands in supplication as he sought to plead his cause. "In all his years of traveling to and fro, he has never brought ME a present. Oh, sure, he has brought me renown, treasure, land and gold aplenty from his many victories but never, ever has he brought me something so simple as a gift!" He punctuated his statement by huffing quietly and folding his arms over his chest.
Heather laughed softly at his feigned indignation and turned her gaze once more to the awkward couple tucked safely in the darkened corner of the hall. "Perhaps, my love," she replied, lightly caressing his cheek, "were you fairer of face and more open with your admiration, he might yearn to bestow upon you some small token to speak of his affection as well." The King chuckled and playfully waved her away with am imperious flick of his wrist as he, too, craned his neck to observe the interaction between his daughter and the knight champion.
The King and his companion watched with growing curiosity as Sara's nimble fingers gracefully untied the silken ribbons to loose the opening of the deep violet pouch. She reached inside and carefully withdrew a small, eight-point gold cross dangling from a delicate chain. Sara turned the pendant over and over in her hand, lost in thought, holding it up to watch the firelight dance upon the smooth burnished surface before turning her questioning gaze to him.
Lay me down in blond warm shadows
Speak to me of golden pond
Torture me slow blue tangos
Even when the thrill is gone.
Grissom blanched and inwardly berated himself for committing such a terrible blunder. Maidens liked...frilly things like perfumes and sachets, not religious pendants. He immediately hammered his features into an expressionless mask to hide the flare of pain. It had taken a great deal of courage for him to present her with such a personal and significant piece of jewelry and he was dismayed by her lack of response.
Closing his eyes to gather his thoughts and get his emotions under control, Grissom watched the necklace sway from her fingers. "I beg your forgiveness, Milady," he murmured. "I did not mean to displease you with my gift."
Sara's brow furrowed in confusion as she regarded the nervous man standing before her and pondered the magnitude of such a gift, the Cross of St. John the Baptist and the emblem of the Knights Hospitaller. Grissom was a deeply religious man and had served with the Knights Hospitallers for several years during the Third Crusade. For him to willingly present her with such a notable symbol of both himself and his life carried a much deeper implication than just bestowing a simple gift upon a comely maiden.
"No, Gris," she said, unconsciously calling him by the nickname she bestowed upon him when she was a toddler just learning to speak. "You misunderstood. I am not displeased in the least and think this necklace is one of the loveliest I have ever seen." She paused, carefully considering her words before continuing, "I just...I do not know quite how to react as no one has ever given me anything quite like this before. I am given all kinds of trinkets from the pompous would-be suitors Father and Sofia continually parade before me, but I have never been presented with something this exquisite and meaningful."
Sara smirked at him and rolled her eyes before leaning closer to touch his hand and mutter confidentially, "I am usually gifted with such token items as combs and hair ribbons and scented soaps. I have never received something so...personal and of such deep import to the giver. I shall treasure it, truly."
Connection made
The feel of shoulders
The smell of honey, salt and tears.
Blinded by a flash of lightning,
A moment or a million years.
Sara blew out a soft breath, grateful that he was starting to relax. She did not want him to think she did not appreciate the gift because nothing could be further from the truth. She knew Grissom was not a demonstrative man and that it had taken a lot for him to even give it to her. She was more touched than he could possibly know.
Sara smiled shyly and again reached up to stroke his arm. "You overwhelmed me, that is all. I know how much this pendant and the import of this particular design mean to you since you bear an identical emblem on the shoulder of your shirt." She slid her hand up his arm to trace the embroidered cross on his shirt, noting that his muscles trembled slightly beneath her fingers. "It is also emblazoned upon your shield and a few of your doublets."
Grissom clumsily fished beneath the neck of his tunic and withdrew his own chain. He swallowed heavily, trying to still his body's trembling reaction to her touch, before whispering. "Yours is a smaller, more feminine version of my own."
Her heart nearly burst with gladness, knowing he had purposefully chosen a gift for her that matched something he owned and treasured. "Will you put it on me?" His bearded cheek grazed her fragrant hair as he took the delicate chain from her hand and drape it gently over her head. Grissom delighted in the soft scent of lavender clinging to her skin, and he lingered just a moment to appreciate her nearness.
Sara kissed his cheek right along the line of his beard. Her father was so very wrong. Grissom was not prickly or unsavory at all. The short fur covering his cheeks and jaw was soft and ticklish. She inhaled deeply, allowing the warm, clean smell to fill her head as she licked her lips, pleased and excited by his musky, masculine flavor.
Strangers who meet by chance
Eyes across the room
Remain the prisoners of the dance
And the waltz of the crazy moon
From across the hall James and Heather watched the interaction between the two with growing fascination.
"'Twould seem the conquering hero has managed to capture your daughter's attention as well."
"So it does," James replied thoughtfully.
"And?"
"I don't know, Heather. I have never really considered Grissom a suitable mate for anyone, let alone my daughter."
"Why not?"
The King knit his brow in thought. "Gil is not the most open person in the world. He keeps everything inside and rarely shares himself with anyone." He toyed with the stem of his heavy pewter goblet. "He is also away overmuch, tending to my business and his own. I cannot see he would have much time to devote to marriage and children."
"You said the choice was hers, Jim," she gently reminded him. "If she chooses Gil, will you honor that?"
King James shook his head, confusion and concern warring over his features. "I don't know, Heather. I just don't know."
Strangers who meet by chance
Eyes across the room
Remain the prisoners of the dance
And the waltz of the crazy moon 1
1 "Waltz of the Crazy Moon". Words and Music by John Stewart. Buster (Neon Dreams, 2000) Johnny Moonlight (Neon Dreams, 2000)