serendipitous feathers
Don John is ripped from restless slumber, a horn blasting in his ear. For one disorientated second, he scrambles for his saber, believing it the signal for battle. But no, his uprising has been snuffed. Even if he still mutinies inside.
His gaze lands on the cause of his rude awakening; a goose hovers beside his bedroll, glaring its beady, black eyes as if Don John had personally plucked and eaten its mother. Which — is not impossible. But unlikely. It has been many gruelling months since he ate anything other than rations.
The bird opens its beak, revealing a line of jagged teeth, and releases another HONK!
Don John grits his teeth, ice shuddering through his veins, heart bludgeoning his chest. The sun is a bare slither on the horizon, the morning wreathed in silver dew. Old and recent injuries howl their protest to sleeping on the ground. So he does not believe himself unjust in wringing the bird's neck.
As with a lot of things lately, he miscalculates, and is later seen limping to the camp doctor, a new gash on his temple, seeping blood into his eye, scratches up his arms, and what cannot be a broken rib but is forming a sizeable bruise all the same, the ruffled goose snapping at his heels.
By the time he is patched up, word has spread across camp. The men who once skirted him like a rabid dog, now snigger as he passes. But their titters soon dissolve as the goose attacks with the same viciousness that scorches Don John's blood.
As cries of terror fill the air, the camp thrown into chaos, Don John feels the beginnings of a smile coming on.
:-x-:
Don Pedro takes in the scene, the sun now high in the sky, a growing queue worming outside the medical tent, and the campsite in disarray. At the centre of it all, his half-brother and a vengeful goose.
"I have seen fewer casualties on the battlefield."
"Could one bird reap so much destruction?" Claudio marvels, then screams as the goose — showing remarkable stealth and speed — bites the Count's hand.
Don Pedro does not miss the satisfied smile which flits across his brother's face like sun breaking through cloud.
"It is indeed a fowl-tempered beast," Benedick declares and Don Pedro does not fault the goose when it switches direction mid-flight to charge at the self-declared wit.
Benedick squawks and attempts to bat the creature away. "BASTARD! CONTROL YOUR PET!"
"It is no pet of mine," Don John snarls.
"YOU HAVE SOME BOND WITH IT! THIS IS YOUR HELL-SPAWN!"
"You think I would bear these injuries if I could command it!"
Don Pedro sighs, pinching his brow. "Perhaps we are trespassing on its home. We should be moving on soon if we are to reach Messina in three days. We shall soon be free of the beast."
:-x-:
The men pack up camp and mount their steeds. Don John watches as the snowy spec disappears in their cloud of dust.
Good riddens.
While it was amusing to watch his fellows shriek and scramble from the goose, he had not been spared its wrath. No matter who the goose chose to torment (and the list was long and indiscriminate), it always returned its attention to Don John, who seemed the primary source of its fury. He is relieved to be rid of it.
They ride all day until they reach a suitable spot to camp for the night. They have just finished setting up the tents when there is a piercing HHOOONNNKKK! and a feathered mass crashes into the bastard prince.
Over the goose's screeching, Don John can be heard shouting something like PLUUCCCKKK!
:-x-:
"Maybe it is an omen," Conrade murmurs later around the fire, a noticeable distance between him and his lord.
If Don John had been unpopular before, he is a leper now. The other men give a wide-berth to him and the goose next to him. While there is no rhyme or reason to the goose's attacks, to wander too close is to invite its wrath and it seems to have made its roost with Don John. Not out of any fondness for the bastard prince, as evident by his mauled arms. But, as Benedick puts it, birds of a feather flock together and spite attracts spite.
"You hear stories of geese appearing unexpectedly and leading the fortunate soul to their true love."
Don John has heard such stories, but they usually concern the second cousin of a neighbour of a friend. The soulmate goose is as much a fairytale as so-called true love and he throws his companion a contemptuous look.
"Horseshit."
Beside him, the goose releases an ominous hiss and they both regard it warily.
"I too have heard the stories of the soulmate goose."
They startle as Don Pedro settles beside them, nonchalant under his brother's incredulous stare, as if he sat with them every evening.
"Even knew a case, though I was not there to witness the actual courtship. I am intrigued to see where your goose leads you, brother."
"That thing will not lead me anywhere," Don John sneers. "Certainly not to some farcical soulmate."
Don Pedro hums, "We shall see."
Ordinarily, that blithe smile would set Don John's blood boiling. But it is the first his brother has directed at him since their reconciliation. He grinds his jaw and shuffles his feet, staring into the flames.
Don Pedro claps his hands, grinning. "So, what are we drinking?"
A little dazed, Conrade passes him the wineskin.
:-x-:
The goose continues its reign of terror. No matter how fast they ride or how much ground they put between them, the goose always finds them, trailing chaos in its wake.
Some of the men take it into their heads the goose will make a scrumptious dinner and wind-up with several broken bones and mangled fingers. Everyone else is smart enough to steer clear, but still the list of injuries grows.
"I fear it will follow us all the way to Messina," Balthasar murmurs, voice hush lest the vindictive beast overhear.
Don Pedro sighs. Of them all, he is the least scathed, a fact that has his brother fuming. It is not that the goose despises him any less — Don Pedro can see the hatred burning in its soulless eyes — but there seems to be a grudging respect between them. Maybe it recognises the Prince could unleash an army upon it if he chose. Although, who would win, Don Pedro is unsure.
"Good Leonato will not thank me for bringing violence into his home. You will keep your goose in check, brother."
"I said it is not mine!"
At his feet, the goose hisses. Don John hisses back.
"See how well you get along," Don Pedro cheers, clapping his brother on the back, and performing a quick side-step as the demon fowl tries to take a chunk out of his calf.
"It shredded my bedroll!"
"I do relish its meeting Lady Beatrice," Benedick chuckles. "They share much in temperament."
"They both disdain you," Claudio remarks.
Benedick harrumphs, indignant, but the goose flaps its wings and his voice pitches into a squeak.
"Perhaps this lady will be the Count's beloved to whom the goose will guide him," Balthasar suggests, then shrinks under Don John's glare.
"BEATRICE!" Benedick chokes. "—AND JOHN — THE BASTARD!"
He erupts into a full-belly laugh, hunching over to clutch his stomach. Don John glances at his brother, begging permission to thump the fool. To his disappointment, Don Pedro shakes his head.
Benedick's laughter is teetering close to hysterical when the goose rams head-first into his groin. The onlookers wince in sympathy as the blond keels into the dirt.
The goose ruffles its feathers and waddles away.
"I never knew a creature of such malice," Claudio whispers in terrified awe.
"That is certainly your goose, brother."
This time, Don John makes no denial.
:-x-:
Don John breaks the surface, slicking back his damp locks, and reclining against the bath's edge. He ignores the men rough-housing in the baths next to his secluded pool. No one wants to share space with the water-demon bobbing beside him.
The goose near chased him into the bath, gnashing at his heels and tearing at his breeches. He was reluctant to expose his more vulnerable parts to the beast's malevolence, but gave in when the goose rose up in his face, all beak and feathers.
His compliance seemed to placate it at least and now it splashes in the pool, as docile as he has ever seen it. Luring him into a false sense of security, no doubt. He has not suffered anything severe since that first morning, but his skin is mottled in blues and violets from its ceaseless pecking, his few belongings torn and dented. When he goes to sleep he feels the goose's eyes searing into his skull.
He wonders if this is punishment. Did he die on the battlefield and this is Hell — his brother, Claudio, and a goose? Dante missed waterfowl out of his Inferno.
Whatever grudge this spiteful demon has against him, he hopes it tires soon and moves on to tormenting some other pitiable soul. Otherwise, he is going to spend the rest of his life flinching from every rustle of feathers, every soft pad of feet, every blast of a horn…
As if sensing his thoughts, the goose snorts and dives under the water, soaking Don John. He slumps and heaves a sigh.
:-x-:
At last the whole battalion is presentable and preparing to venture towards the home of good Leonato when the issue of the goose comes to a head.
"We cannot bring it in with us and subject the gentle men and women to its aggressions," Claudio protests.
"Are you offering to cage it?" Don Pedro inquires.
The youth recoils. They all remember the destruction wrought last time they attempted to confine the beast. The casualties had been great and the goose continued to roam free.
"It is fond of your brother, leave them both outside to their brooding and we are free to make cheer," Benedick declares
Don John snarls, "I will not be leashed like some mutt."
"Yet you can be brought to heel well enough."
"Peace." Don Pedro raises his hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "For the love of — Peace."
"Prince! PRINCE!"
He sighs, spinning round. "What is it?"
"Sir! The goose!"
With a sinking stomach he follows the direction the soldier is pointing and sees the cloud of dust and feathers sprinting towards the town. He thinks of the unsuspecting citizens about to be bowled down by the web-foot menace — or worse — and a chill trickles through his veins.
"STOP IT. BEFORE IT HURTS SOMEONE."
The men take off running after it. Don Pedro seizes his brother's shoulders, fixing him with a stern look.
"John, I hold you responsible for any hurt or damage it inflicts."
Don John's expression twists like he wants to protest but settles in furious resignation. He shrugs off Don Pedro's hand and joins the wild chase.
:-x-:
Noticing its pursuers, the goose quickens its pace, altering between flight and sprint as it careens through the town, barrelling into stalls, crates, and unwitting pedestrians.
The peaceful afternoon is broken with cries of "WATCH OUT!", "CLEAR THE WAY!", and "DUCK!" "NO, GOOSE!".
Soldiers tumble over themselves, crashing into carts and stands. Don John swerves the debris and fallen men, his long legs closing the distance between him and his quarry.
The goose spots him gaining and increases its speed, charging towards the vineyard. Don John spies the gate opening ahead and bellows a warning, but it is too late —
The goose hurtles through the gate. Shouts erupt from inside and Don John slams into the open door, expecting to see carnage. Instead, he blinks.
In the centre of the courtyard stands a lady in white, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders. The goose halts before her, but instead of hissing and snapping as it has with everyone else, it stares, transfixed by her handsome face.
"Oh, how sweet." She goes to pet the fowl —
"NOO!" Don John cries in chorus with several others.
But the goose does not maim her as it has all others, instead allowing her slender fingers to brush along its neck, leaning into the touch.
"Oh, you are a darling," the lady coos, crouching beside the goose and continuing her caress.
Don John watches slack-jawed as the feathered demon nuzzles its head against her bosom and flutters its wings.
"What wonders do deceive mine eyes?" Don Pedro materialises in the entrance. "Good Signior Leonato, I think this is your daughter."
An older gentleman with a salt and pepper beard sidles forward, a wary eye on the goose. "Her mother hath many times told me so. Daughter, will you greet our honoured guests?"
The lady rises, smoothing her skirts and bobbing a curtsey. "Noble sirs, we welcome you into our home."
The goose curls itself around her leg, glowering at them.
"You have our thanks." Don Pedro dares to take a step forward, a low hiss rising in the back of the goose's throat. "And admiration. For, fair Hero, you have achieved what no other could. You have charmed this beast. Tell me, enchantress, what witchcraft is in your smile?"
She laughs politely. "Nothing unnatural, my lord. But it is not so strange, for he truly is a dear."
She strokes the goose's head and it preens. Mortification scorches through Don John and he refuses to meet his brother's gaze.
"Far nicer than the other."
There is a pause, ice sinking in like the morning dew.
"The other?"
There is a blood-curdling HHOONNNKKKK!
"IT'S LOOSE!" Someone screams and the crowd runs for cover.
A large shadow blocks the sun and for a second Don John believes he is staring into Death.
The bird dives —
His life flashes before him, miserable and wasted.
— and swoops over his shoulder, the tips of its wings grazing his crown. There follows a disgruntled (and familiar) shout.
"Niece!" Leonato exclaims, horrified. "Your creature does assail our guests!"
A woman with a mane of gold and a proud tilt to her chin strides forward. "If it takes offence to Signior Benedick, I cannot fault it."
Don John looks behind. This new goose has settled itself upon Benedick's shoulder and is nipping at his hair, not vicious but playful. The gold lady seems to realise it too for she stiffens, mouth shrivelling as if she has sucked on a lemon, her neck flush.
Hero giggles, a melodious sound. "Why, cousin, I think your goose enamoured of Signior Benedick."
Her voice is hushed yet Don John catches it, gravitating towards her despite himself. Her cousin releases a sound not unlike a goose and silent laughter spills across Hero's face in sunlight rays.
The goose at her feet gives a discontented honk, nudging her leg. She gazes down at it fondly and Don John swallows. The goose's beady eyes whip to him and Hero turns her head, meeting his stare.
His chest stutters. Surprise flickers on her face, then blossoms into a coy smile.
And, Don John is lost.
:-x-:
Don Pedro knew staying with Leonato was an excellent idea. The company is good, the wine is plenty, and he has the pleasure of seeing the chaos unfold around two geese and the couples caught between.
Watching Benedick and Beatrice spar as if a goose is not coiled affectionately around the former like a strange scarf is one thing and it tickles him to no end. But getting to witness his brother throw himself over the veranda and into the thickets all to avoid the fair Hero and her beaked companion will be a memory he forever treasures
Still, it is starting to border on pathetic and Don Pedro has enough love for his brother to — ah — aid in his plight.
He finds Hero wandering the hedgerows, trailing her feathered friend who appears to be ambling without direction. Except, like the needle of a compass, the goose always leads to Don John in the end.
He strolls next to her. "Good morning, fair lady."
The goose honks in contempt but does not attack as it would have in the past. The gentle maiden seems to have brought forth its softer side (and he hopes she will have the same effect on his sullen brother).
"Good morning, Prince. I trust you are well?"
"Most well, for here I am in paradise walking beside angels." He bestows a kiss to her hand, wincing as the goose jabs its beak into his leg with a force sure to leave a bruise. "Ack! A — ah — fierce protector you have there. Between it and your lioness cousin, any rogues are sure to be frightened off."
Her smile is indulgent. "Are you such a rogue, my lord?"
"On my honour, you are safe with me, lady."
She hums, a twinkle in her eyes. They walk on, sharing pleasant conversation, Hero unaware she is being herded by the goose and Don Pedro in the direction he spied his brother hiding amongst the hedgerows.
He waits until the goose bristles and glances at him with a soft honk. Taking his cue, Don Pedro projects his voice so anyone amongst the hedges might overhear.
"Good Hero, will you indulge my curiosity? Pray tell what think you of my brother?"
She stumbles, eyes wide like a doe caught in the archer's sights. "I — I know little of him, my lord." A rueful smile flits across her face. "I fear I must offend him for he departs whenever I approach."
There is a rustle on the other side of the hedge.
Don Pedro suppresses a grin and leans forward conspiratorially. "I would be a fool to claim to know my brother's mind. But never have I seen him so affected by anyone."
Surprise lights her face, a spark in her hazel gaze, which might be interest.
He presses his advantage, "Are you familiar with the tales of true love's goose, my lady?"
"Naturally, most children are told the tales of those blessed with a goose companion who leads them to their — ahem — their soulmate." Her eyes gleam and she inclines her head. "Do you refer to the fowl doting on Signior Benedick — much to my cousin's chagrin — or the one that trails me?"
Don Pedro's grin widens. "You are quicker on the mark than my brother. He refuses to accept what is before his eyes."
She releases a soft breath, her gaze drifting into the distance. "So it is him."
Don Pedro considers her reaction, noting the gentle uplift to the corners of her mouth.
For the sake of any listeners, he feels compelled to ask, "Does this displease you?"
Hero is quiet, her expression thoughtful. Her silence stretches long enough it might be mistaken for acquiescence. Then her gaze shifts to the nearest hedgerow and she brushes her hand over the leaves.
"I find nothing displeasing in it." She smiles like a secret. "But, as I say, I know him little."
"And you would like to?"
She walks on, her skirts fluttering around her. "It is for him to choose." She shoots the goose a warm look. "No feathered intervention."
The goose makes a sound which from a human would be a grumble.
She spins to Don Pedro, "I do believe it is almost time for dinner. Will you escort me in, noble prince?"
"Lady, it would be my honour." He offers his arm, linking them together. "Perhaps we should find my brother and inform him."
Hero glances at the hedgerow, her eyes soft and her smile knowing. "Oh, I am sure he is aware."
Don Pedro regards her. She is shrewder than he realised; a good match for his brother. So long as John does not sabotage himself, as he is wont to do.
Pedro sends a prayer.
:-x-:
Flower garlands and glowing lanterns adorn the garden, flaming torches lighting the paths. In the centre the revellers cavort, dancing and leaping, disguised as all manner of creatures and oddities. Hero feels as if she has stumbled into a faerie ring. The music sparks through her veins, urging her feet to dance. If she starts will she ever stop?
She walks with her family, the goose padding next to her, entranced by the lights and decorations. It has not wrecked a single thing.
The topic of conversation shifts to Don John; her kin neither subtle nor unobservant.
"How tartly that gentleman looks," Beatrice glances slyly at Hero. "I never can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after."
"He is of a very melancholy disposition," she agrees, humouring her.
"He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway between him and Benedick."
Hero's eyebrows raise; her cousin scraping awfully close to the mark despite her apparent determination to avoid the issue of Benedick and their goose at all costs.
"The one is too like an image and says nothing, and the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling."
Hero listens in silent amusement as her father and uncle attempt to engage her cousin's wit only to be soundly defeated. She scans the garden for a raven head of hair — or a golden one with fowl in toe — but it is too dim and too crowded to distinguish anyone, especially when they are all wearing masks. It will be down to her melancholy prince to seek her.
Instead, she pleases herself, joining the galliard with Beatrice, relishing the fast-paced leaps and spins. Effervescent laughter floods her veins, enlivened by the twisting steps and shared joy bouncing off the other revellers. Around her, the gold lanterns blaze like stars. She would be content to dance until her heart gave out, but of course the musicians must rest and there is a pause as they change their set, the weary dancers breaking apart to seek refreshment.
Hero is conversing with Beatrice next to a drinks table when someone in a grinning mask approaches, addressing her cousin in the most peculiar accent. He might have carried it off, if not for his singular focus on Beatrice. Hero is not sure he even notices her there, so fixated is he on baiting her cousin. And, of course, Beatrice reacts, gnashing teeth and lashing tongue. She is as fierce as she is beautiful, fire-gold curls haloed in the torchlight. It is easy to understand why Signior Benedick is so drawn to her, as moth to flame.
Watching them spar, Hero wishes there were someone with whom she could share a knowing grin. Instead, all she has is a goose and she wonders how Benedick escaped his own.
The Count imparts a final riposte then slips into the crowd, and, like a dog with a bone, Beatrice pursues. Hero is too entertained by their bizarre courting ritual to be offended that her cousin has abandoned her without so much as a word. She drifts to a bench, gazing wistfully at the dancers. It is pairs now and Hero is without a partner. Every man that might approach is frightened off by her goose. One man in a cherub mask gets close but scarpers when the goose rears, hissing.
She soothes its ruffled feathers. "You are quite the gooseberry."
The goose honks, nuzzling her palm, contrite; though she doubts it feels a modicum of regret.
Still, she cannot remain mad at it and sighs, smiling. "You best be worth the trouble."
A gloved hand thrusts in front of her. She blinks at the dark leather, then follows the sleeve to its owner. Her heart jolts as she claps eyes on the crimson, beaked monstrosity that is the man's mask.
"Will you honour me with a dance, lady?"
She beams. "Sir, your mask is inspired! If I give you my hand, do you promise to keep it? For I have a notion to dance all night, and you are the only partner my noble chaperone will permit."
His posture is stiff, but some tension trickles from his cloaked shoulders. "If you find me worthy, lady, I shall be your partner for as many dances as you desire."
Hero lights with the warm glow of a thousand candles and jumps to her feet, setting her hand in his. "Then I give you my hand, pray make good use of it."
He lifts her hand to his clay mouth, which — he is still masked, but her heart flutters nonetheless. He leads her towards the dancing; for once, the goose does not follow, content to sit upon the bench and harass any revellers hoping for a reprieve. Hero and her partner take their positions, the music strikes, and the dance begins.
At first, there is a rigidness to his motions, an awkwardness about his touch, but as the dance proceeds and she continues smiling he gains confidence, his movements more fluid. Soon, they are spinning, an ebb and flow of motion. She twirls, giddy on starlight. Before she is lost to the cosmos, there he is, catching her, holding her, moving her on. Over and over, this coming together. Her feet are light, she does not count the steps, does not track his placement, trusting he will be there, meeting again and again as the sea to the shore.
One dance becomes two, becomes three. Fast-paced and then slow; moving in harmony, like the beat of a bird's wings. Not two halves, but one whole. As they dance, they speak, while another conversation passes between their bodies.
"You are an excellent partner, my lord. I am glad you asked me to dance."
He tilts his head, she detects a note of pleasure in the gesture. "It was only right I rescued the fair maiden from her dragon."
Her smile rises, dimpling her cheeks. "For certain, it was very princely of you."
He starts but does not miss a step, regarding her through the slits of his mask. "All the praise goes to your cousin but you are as astute."
They circle each other; their fingers lacing — and release.
"You are kind but I do not require comparison with my cousin any more than you do with your brother."
He is quiet but Hero swears she can hear the rapid beating of his heart, in sync with her own.
"You are all grace, lady."
She is sure she hears a smile in his voice.
Her breaths come faster now, face flushed from the exertion. Sweat beads on the back of her neck, her palms warm where they press to his. When he touches her waist heat explodes and her legs tremble.
"Do you require refreshment?" He asks as the fourth dance ends.
She nods, breathless, and links her arm with his. He guides her through the revelling swarm that has grown more boisterous as the night continues and the wine flows. She suppresses a shudder as their bodies brush, setting her nerves aflame.
Hero rests on a perch apart from the bustle of the crowds and the scorch of the torches, while her partner goes to fetch them drinks. She breathes in the cool night air, willing her heart to steady.
He soon returns, cutting through the crowd, an opposing figure in his thick cloak and wrathful mask. The corners of her lips quirk and she leans forward to greet him.
"Here, my lady." He hands her a cup.
"Thank you, sir"
She tips her glass back, savouring the sweet rush of wine down her throat. When she glances at him again, she sees he is staring. Or, she thinks he is staring. It is hard to tell. Her eyes find his through the holes of his mask and he ducks his head, caught.
She considers him, setting her glass aside. "You have me at a disadvantage, my lord. Here I am, bare-faced before you, and still you have all your armour."
"It is a masked revel, lady."
She bites her lip, smiling up at him from beneath her lashes. "It is Hero, my lord."
His sharp exhale is more pronounced from within the mask. He hovers, motionless, then lifts a hand and reveals his true face.
"It is John," he replies, voice little more than a rasp.
Hero stands, lips shaping his name, "John…"
This close she can see the bob of his throat. His pupils are blown, eyes glistening like the infinite over their heads. Her fingers brush his knuckles, coy, coaxing…
"Hero…"
He sounds as breathless as she feels. The revellers fade until it is just them. In the silence a connection blooms, like two invisible tendrils unfurling from their ribs, reaching out and weaving into one, a soft beginning —
HOOONNNKKK!
Something slams into the backs of Hero's legs and she buckles. Don John catches her around the waist, folding her into his arms.
He scowls after the feathered pest, disappearing into the crowd after a successful hit and run, its progress tracked by the various shrieks and tumbles of the revellers.
"Damn that goose."
Hero muffles her laughter against his shoulder. Don John seems to realise their position, tensing.
"Hero… I…"
She cups his cheek, smoothing her fingers down his beard. "I think, John, you should kiss me." His eyes bulge and she hurries on, nervous, "Lest it return for worse."
He frowns. "Hero… bastard, I may be. But I will not compromise you to please a goose."
She smiles through her lashes, heart battering her chest. "Then, to please me?"
The crease flees his brow and his face softens, cradling the back of her head. "That, I can abide."
He leans forward —
Her eyes flutter shut.
— a hair's breadth from her lips he pauses, "I should speak with your father…"
She grasps the back of his head and crushes his mouth to hers. There is no more distance between them.
:-x-:
Don Pedro watches Hero and Don John dance. He has never seen his brother smile so much. It would be unnerving, if not for the softness with which he gazes at Hero.
Don Pedro glances in the opposite directions Benedick and Beatrice have stormed after another clash, and then to the geese settled beside him.
"Well, my feathered friends, what say you to a little subterfuge?"
