VI. Astolat

There is something admirable about nature within the summer months. While in spring proves its determination to fight back, summer solidifies its fortitude. Even this far north the landscape blossoms with greenery that would be difficult to eradicate.

"Ophelia!" Adelaide cries from somewhere far beyond me. "Ophelia!"

Certain members of the court have taken this opportunity of fine weather to flee the dreary confines of the castle. Though our horses cross the craggy hills, the gossip ever remains the same.

I catch Adelaide's eye; she is at the edges of the line of nobles, tossing her hair in the sunlight, laughter spread across every inch of her young face. She beckons to me and I spur my mare toward her. Already I have an idea of what she has in mind. Turning in my saddle, I nod to Fernanda, who is only a few paces behind me. Together, we veer away from the crowd and break loose, heading toward the seclusion of a grove by the brook.

We cannot help but giggle like naughty children as we make our daring escape. After all, sensible ladies do not behave in such ways.

I have long since given up being sensible, as have my friends. The summer fever is upon us, one that encourages us to behave in the silliest of manners. We do not have a care in the world.

Part of the way down to the brook, I swing myself from my saddle and give my mare a pat on the neck. Adelaide and Fernanda have already flown from their horses to the water's edge, peals of laughter ringing through the warm air as they race each other down the craggy slopes.

They have forgotten to tie up their horses. Sighing, I complete the task for them and then lift my skirts so I do not trip on my way down to the brook. I do not mind having to look after them; sometimes they make me feel like an older sister. As I do not have sisters, I find their companionship heart-warming.

"I feel as though I were a child," Fernanda says, sitting down by the brook. Adelaide kneels beside her, leaning out over the water's edge. She dips her hand into the brook and flings a handful of water playfully at Fernanda. Adelaide grins as Fernanda shrieks, partly with shock from the water's coolness, party with laughter.

In return, Fernanda throws her own handful at Adelaide. Adelaide giggles with glee and retreats up the river bank, throwing herself down on the grass, her skirt billowing around her in a mass of bright colours.

"You're the child!" Adelaide retorts mockingly to her friend. Suddenly, she jumps to her feet and gives us her best regal impression, standing on her tip-toes and walking lightly to and fro along the bank. "Child am I?" She holds the pose for a moment and grins wildly at us; then her balance is lost and she wobbles side-ways toward the brook. I rush forward and seize her arm to steady her before she topples into the water.

"Careful," I warn her.

Adelaide brushes my hand away. "Ophelia, you are positively no fun anymore," she says, flouncing away under the willow tree.

"Maybe," I counter. "But do you really want to return to the castle covered head-to-toe in mud and soaked to the bone?"

Adelaide buzzes her lips and throws herself onto the ground. "Someday I might," she says defiantly, lying comfortably on her stomach.

I fold my arms. "Of course," I say, one eyebrow raised. I keep my tone light. "But evidently grass stains will work for today."

"Grass stains?" Adelaide leaps to her feet and begins searching for signs of unwanted green on her skirts. She looks terribly silly; Fernanda and I cannot help but laugh at her.

Adelaide fumes. "It is not terribly amusing," she pouts.

"If you could see yourself," Fernanda tells her, "you would laugh, too." She puts her legs out in from of her and removes her shoes and stockings. Setting them aside, she plunges her feet into the coolness of the water.

Adelaide sulks and flings herself back down on the ground, once again unwary of tell-tale grass stains. She lies on her back and exhales loudly, staring at the gently swaying branches of the willow tree. "I am fourteen," she says. "I am not a child. I am a woman grown, but no one sees fit to see it."

I am wandering along the edge of the brook, gathering wildflowers. "Give it time," I say. "Someday, someone will notice."

"My cousin in England knows a maid who was married at thirteen," Adelaide protests. "Thirteen! A full year younger than I!" She blows a stray strand of hair out of her face and sits up to eye me contemptuously. "By those standards, you will be considered an old maid!"

Fernanda chortles at this and kicks her bare feet in the water.

I would smart at Adelaide's words, but she often speaks rashly. She is much younger than I and has led a sheltered life. She does not mean ill, she is merely jealous and too young to realize it.

But jealous of what? Love? A romanticized love at that… In her mind, love is the grand achievement, something she sensualises by listening to old tales and mythologies where love is only simple and beautiful. She does not know how hard it can be waiting for someone to return.

One of the flowers I have picked has wilting petals. They are white and would have been beautiful, if they were healthy. I frown and discard the dying blossom into the river. It rides away on rippling water.

"I could never be an old maid, Adelaide," I tell her. "I am determined to stay young at heart forever." I sit along the river bank, between her and Fernanda, and place the flowers in my lap. I begin to twist them together into garlands.

Fernanda crows from the brook's edge. "Young forever?" she laughs. "What would be the point? The faster I can grow older, the better."

"Why is that?" I ask, my hands busily stringing flowers together.

"Because when I am older," Fernanda states, "I shall be married, wealthy and with several beautiful children. I shall have a husband who is both noble and rich – and far older than I. And he will dote on me and give me anything I ask for. When he dies – which shall be long before I do – I shall inherit his valuable gold and jewels. To be a rich matriarch is much more appealing than pretending to be young while your beauty fades with each passing year." She stretches her hands high above her head. "And besides, when I am married, I shall no longer have ugly men who I do not like staring at me."

"At least you have men who stare at you," Adelaide grumbles. "It takes all I can do to get them to look at me twice."

"You are enraptured with an idea, Adelaide," I say. "Most suitors care for nothing but your looks."

Adelaide frowns. "But I'm pretty, aren't I?" she cries. "So why do they not look in the first place?"

"That's not the point," I tell her firmly. "The longer you can avoid them, the better – unless you happen to find a man who enjoys your thoughts as much as your looks."

"How would you know?" Adelaide's retort rings loudly.

I glance at her and shrug, a mischievous twist on my lips.

Adelaide's eyes widen. "Why, Ophelia!" she gasps. "I do believe you are hiding something!" She props herself up on one elbow. "Those rumours from last year were not true, were they? You… and the prince?" She bats her eyes at me, a common tactic when she wants someone to tell her what she wants to hear.

The corners of my mouth twist. "I certainly hope not," I say vaguely. I hold up my flower garland for inspection.

Fernanda rounds on me. "I do believe you are hiding something from us, Ophelia."

"Did I say that?" I smile innocently as I unravel my long hair and brush it out with my fingers. "I thought I just told you that I wished to remain young at heart forever. Certainly such grandiose things as love and passion are beyond the comprehension of youth."

Adelaide is immediately distracted by my words. I do enjoy teasing her. She is terribly amusing to watch as she struggles to work out what I mean, sensing that it is something against her point of view.

"That is not the point!" she says crossly. A dawn of realization lights in her eyes. "Do you think me too young to understand love, Ophelia?" she cries, suddenly riled.

"I think I am too young to fully understand love," I respond placidly, twining the garland into my hair. "And as I am older than you, logically that means that you, too, are too young to understand love."

Adelaide frowns. "But we are very different, you and I."

"A difference of opinion, that is all." I shrug.

Fernanda laughs. "Chaste Ophelia! Sweet Ophelia!" She grins. "That's what they say you are. If you stay like this, you will remain chaste Ophelia forever."

Though I have to work hard to keep from laughing, I can feel my cheeks flushing. I am the furthest thing from chaste, unbeknownst to them. I have given myself to another outside the vows of marriage, but I love him and he loves me. We are as good as promised to each other, even though it must stay secret. Scandalous, perhaps, but I cannot permit myself to see it as wrong. Why should love be wrong?

"Oh oh!" Adelaide takes note of my expression and sits up abruptly. There is a keen look in her eyes, one she gets when she is on the hunt for information. "She blushes!"

I roll my eyes and continue to wind the garland through my hair. Despite my feigned lack of caring, the smile keeps forcing its way on to my lips.

"I've seen the way those nobles look at you when you father isn't glowering at them," Adelaide persists. "And you always ignore them, or pretend not to notice their attention."

"'Tis true," I say calmly. "I prefer it that way."

"But what if you only do so because you do love someone, but d not wish it to be known?" Adelaide looks triumphant. She is obviously enamoured with her own cleverness.

I am not going to satisfy her demands for an answer. My secret is mine, not hers, and she will never now how close to the truth she is. Despite my reservations, I cannot hope to dispel the rosy blush on my cheeks.

"Why Ophelia," Fernanda says, "you look as those you have been pierced by Cupid's arrow!"

I shake my head, though I can barely muffle my laugh. "What do you want me to say friends? Shall I admit that I have tasted love's sweet promise and have it run all over the castle by tomorrow morn?"

Adelaide shoots me a distressed look.

"Do not give me that," I say gently. "You do so love gossip, Adelaide."

"So you won't tell?" Fernanda says. Disappointment layers her voice.

"No," I say. "It shall remain a mystery. Have I, haven't I… no one knows but me."

Adelaide lies back in the grass. "You are toying with us!" she exclaims. "I don't believe you have ever loved. Otherwise you wouldn't have such disdain for me."

I smile slightly in her direction. Oh Adelaide, how much you have to learn.

I stand up, my garland finished. My hair is now crowned with summer blossoms. "What do you think?" I ask.

Fernanda sighs. Her feet splash lightly in the water, throwing up sparkling droplets. "You look like the Lady of Astolat."

I raise my eyebrows, discomfort settling in my stomach. I step over to the edge of the brook and lean over, peering in the water with hopes of catching my reflection. The brook moves too quickly for that, so all I catch is my silhouette floating on the rapid fall of the water.

"That old English tale?" I say, straightening.

"Be comforted, Ophelia," Adelaide says easily, sprawling on the grass and closing her eyes. "Even in death, Lady Elaine of Astolat was beautiful and young as she floated down the river toward Camelot. Isn't that what you wish for? To stay young forever?"

I kneel on the grass beside Fernanda and look into the water again. Lady Elaine, who in some versions of the legend, was cursed to look at the world through a mirror. Lady Elaine, who died of unrequited love for Sir Lancelot and bid her flower-strewn body be placed in a small boat and sent down the river. A poetic, romantic, beautiful death for a young woman who could not have her love returned.

Why does Fernanda say now that I resemble her? Why am I bothered by such words?

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Fernanda regarding me curiously.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asks.

"No, no…" I stare at my flower-garlanded silhouette. I am not the Lady of Astolat, I say firmly to myself. I pull the garland from my hair and throw it in the brook. I watch as the flowers come apart and float away from me until they disappear.