Dramatis Personæ (or, the Order of Battle):
Peter, High King.
Edmund, the High King's jester. Also his brother.
Eoin, a Wizard, occasionally visible.
Claude, a young Idiot.
Leon, Uncle to Peridan and Beatha.
Peridan, all-around good bloke and brother to Lady Beatha.
Helena, daughter to Leon.
Beatha, niece to Leon
Margaret, waiting gentlewoman attending to Helena.
Ursula, waiting gentlewoman attending to Helena.
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, Friends, Relations, &c.
All the world's a stage
…And all the men and women merely players.
-As You Like It, William Shakespeare, 1599
Lady Beatha was really beautiful. This is something that has to be firmly established before we go any further. She was clever, witty, fearless and luminous. These were attributes that struck Edmund in succession when he first met her. Until the moment he laid eyes on her he had believed 'love at first sight' was merely a marketing strategy by out-of-work minstrels. After he laid eyes on her, it was choirs of angels.
He, who had deftly raised a shield to all Eros' arrows, had let his defenses down. One had struck. He was doomed.
He was so ashamed of the sensation that he resolved to wait it out and learn to be indifferent. All his life, he had renounced all but the purest love, the love of sacrifice, the unselfish and all-encompassing love that led to laying down one's life for one's friends. Any other passion seemed to sully that love. Eros seemed selfish; a hot darkness without the light of self-sacrifice.
His affection for her grew with every passing day. Behind her sharp wit, he saw a rare and gentle heart that cared deeply for those around her. The moments when she thought herself unobserved, she wore a girlish joy like a gossamer scarf. Her little cousin Helena, she loved with the love of both a mother and sister.
When he found himself confessing his love to her one evening it was so unexpected they both laughed hysterically. How odd, how very odd – a conversation that had lingered on rescuing a toad found hopping down the graveled walk had somehow morphed into words that would have made Eros blush.
They were, in many ways, very similar. They found themselves finishing each other's sentences, they had the same ready wit… the same unforgiving temper. As lovers always do, they began to see things through each other's eyes and saw a similar world. They could stand on either side of a room and understanding would flash between them like a lightning bolt. But they were both reserved, and as intense as their relationship was, they hid it as carefully from the world as a chrysalis hides a butterfly.
The castles were built on sand. One evening, while walking the garden paths alone, Edmund came upon a shocking scene. One of the palace guards was assaulting a fair lady. He drove the guard away, promised to banish him forever, would not hear his protests of innocence. The lady, faint from fear, wilted in Edmund's arms. All his thoughts were focused on comforting her and assuring her it would never happen again. He stooped to plant a brotherly kiss upon her forehead.
That was when it all went wrong. The lady turned out to be a spider. The palace guard had been a fly. She took immediate advantage of an opportunity to seduce the king. When Edmund finally extricated himself, the damage had been done.
Lady Beatha was standing in the moonlit path, staring with a countenance as pale as ice and eyes as hot as fire. When he turned and tried to explain, she struck him across the face with all the helpless fury of a woman scorned.
"I need no explanation, from a blackguard and turncoat such as you," she said in a low voice. "I wish never to hear your voice nor see your face again."
That evening, when Edmund's temper had cooled enough to think on the thing somewhat rationally, he felt irreparably wronged. He did not consider how it must have devastated her to see, by moonlight, her beloved entwined in the arms of another woman; he only felt betrayed by her lack of trust. Rather than knock at her door like a sensible fellow and try once more to explain, he vowed he would never love again.
For Lady Beatha's part, when she had cried all her tears (and smashed her mirror to bits with her hairbrush), she was willing to give him a second chance. She was willing to be persuaded that not all was as it seemed. But as the days passed and he never attempted to speak to her again, she was grateful that she was beautiful. A scorned woman who is ugly is always an object of pity. A scorned woman who is beautiful can wield her beauty like a sword.
~o*o~
The events which finally changed the lives of everyone, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, etc, etc, etc… took place after a brisk week fighting ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties (and things that go bump in the night) on the western border (as you do).
They were a fair party of Talking Beasts and men-at-arms, a minor Wizard who had mustachios that hung below his chin and responded to the name Eoin, and Claude, a young man who Peter, either out of pity, or amusement, had taken under his wing to teach the ways of a knight. Edmund had not made up his mind about Claude… the latter was flamboyant and guileless; a youth who was not yet old enough to know how young he was.
As they turned for home, Peter's general feeling was that they ought to stop and rest at the first castle they encountered. He had sprained his shoulder and Lord Peridan had a broken finger. The castle that presented itself was the stately pile belonging to Lord Leon, Lord Peridan's uncle. It seemed a good place to stop.
"Must we?" Edmund asked. "Why don't we press on a little further?"
"I sprained my shoulder and Lord Peridan has a broken finger," Peter pointed out for the fourth time.
"Sir Gromer Somer Joure's castle is just five miles on," Edmund replied.
"If you can, in all your wisdom, explain to me how riding five miles with a sprained shoulder is more comfortable than one, fire away," Peter replied. He had already turned his horse, and the column, in the direction of the castle that lay in the valley below them.
Edmund was silent. Any further arguing would put him in danger of losing his reputation for general good sense and dependability.
"I think I know why King Edmund is so hesitant to linger," Lord Peridan said, urging forward his horse (his broken finger was bandaged impressively). "I have in my possession a Sister who is famous for her animosity towards men in general and King Edmund in particular. She is at present staying with my Uncle."
Lord Peridan had, as usual, put his finger on the spot.
"Lady Beatrice… or Beatrix…or Bea-" Peter rambled.
"Beatha," Edmund replied shortly.
"Come, brother," Peter said, "I'm sure you can earn the lady's favor somehow. You are always charming around ladies, and I have never found this one disagreeable. She is, after all, Lord Peridan's sister."
"With all due respect to Lord Peridan, earning a lady's favor must be preceded by a desire to earn the lady's favor," Edmund replied. "In this case I have no wish to exert myself to that end. The lady has taken an irrational dislike to me-"
"And you to her," Peter interjected.
"-And I have no intention of wasting my time trying to redeem myself in her eyes," Edmund concluded. "The lady is deliberately provoking."
"And you are perfectly willing to be provoked," Peter replied. "Smile on her benevolently, return her attacks with indifference. You will soon heal the wound."
"Peter," Edmund said with a cool smile. "I am not you."
"Much to everyone's sorrow," Peter replied with a grin.
Edmund had to admit as they rode through the gates of the castle that he would be glad to rest in a comfortable bed again. Stones and hard earth did not live up to their reputation earned in epics sung by minstrels; in those tales Our Hero had but to gather a few armfuls of heather in order to sleep like a baby. In reality there were insects.
Most of the occupants of the castle had come pouring out to greet them. They had seen the banners in the wind and knew the identity of two of their guests. There was cheering and adulation. Lord Leon came forward to take Peter by the hand and bid him welcome. His daughter, Helena, was by his side. Lady Beatha was there, also.
It was the first time Edmund had seen her in months. It had been three years since that fateful night in the garden and since then, the enmity between him and the lady had become a byword, a source of mirth for onlookers, a noted attraction in castle guidebooks. Edmund and the afore mentioned lady came to every event prepared to duel with each other and everyone else came prepared to watch.
If possible, Lady Beatha was more beautiful than he remembered. Her chestnut hair hung in shining tendrils past her waist, her eyes, a curious shade of varied amber, flashed in the sun. The only thing changed was her mouth. It had lost its sweetness. She wore her beauty in such a way as to inform the world that if she was unmarried, it was from lack of interest rather than lack of suitors. She was like the leopard, fearsome, beautiful, and only to be admired from a distance.
She had gone immediately to Lord Peridan and the two of them stood talking quietly; Edmund, meanwhile, walked with Peter to meet their host.
"My lord Leon, we thank you for your hospitality," Peter said, laughing. "I'm afraid you are welcoming trouble into your house."
"Trouble never came to my house in the likeness of your majesty," Lord Leon replied. "You bring nothing but joy. Our happiness will go with you when you depart."
"My lord, you should come to Cair Paravel and teach the young the meaning of courtesy," Edmund said, taking Lord Leon's hand.
"I think this is your daughter?" Peter said, turning to greet Helena.
"Her mother has many times told me so," Lord Leon replied laughing.
Edmund considered asking why he was in doubt but restrained himself. He also bowed over Helena's hand.
"It brings me joy to see you again," he said graciously, and when Helena blushed, he said. "Do you remember when you were a little girl you brought me a butterfly you caught in the garden? You called it a flying flower."
"I do remember milord," Helena said, "And you showed me a chrysalis and told me of hope, and how it springs from the most unlikely looking places. I could never forget."
"I am gratified my poor words have remained with you for so many years," Edmund replied, offering Helena his arm, "Your cousin has probably taught you to believe nothing that I say."
He heard Lady Beatha's cool, ringing voice: "I wonder, then, that you are still talking. Nobody listens to you."
He turned and deliberately met her eyes for the first time; they were as bright and beautiful as he remembered. He gave an exaggerated bow, "My dear Lady Disdain, are you still living?"
"Is it possible Disdain could die while King Edmund lives in the world with her?" she asked. "As long as he lives, Disdain will live with him. Clouds darkened the sun when word was brought to her that your banner had been sighted in the distance."
"I am still not in your good books, lady," Edmund remarked with a touch of a smile.
"No," she replied dryly, "And if you were, I would burn my library."
Edmund laughed and shook his head, "That is a mercy. Your library is such a confused mess of contradictions that if I were trapped there, I would fear for my sanity."
"You need not fear, my lord," and her tone was suddenly soft and sweet, "if I found a clod of earth such as you on my library floor, I would have swept it up and disposed of it by now."
Silence hung in the air for a moment. Edmund wondered sometimes how much of what they said to each other was habit and how much was meant to wound; every word she spoke smarted, but he was too practiced a diplomat to show his feelings. "There was a time," he said with a disinterested smile, "when I thought all women were as irreproachable as my sisters…then I met you. If other women are one-tenth as pernicious as you, then I want nothing to do with them."
"That is a relief to women," she looked up at him with a scornful smile curling her lips, "For my part, I would rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."
"I hope you remain in that mind," Edmund replied wryly, "So some gentleman or other can escape a scratched face."
"Scratching could not make more hideous a face such as yours."
"The lady's tongue is as sharp as ever," Edmund said, and bowing in mock courtesy once more, turned away from her, "Lion keep you, madam. I have done."
Peter and Lord Leon had paused at the door to wait for the others. Lady Beatha gave Edmund one furious glace, then took Lord Peridan's arm and walked ahead of them. She did not look back.
"Lion's mane, Edmund, whatever did you do to earn her disfavor?" Peter asked when his brother reached him. "School me, so I don't make the same mistake."
To be continued...
Author's Note: I realized that FF has now turned off email updates by default, so I'm not sure if anyone will even see this.
I wrote this story back during the summer of 2020, but put off posting it (as usual), partly because I wasn't sure if there was anyone left to read it and partly because I couldn't think of what to call it. Since that time, my sister moved three thousand miles away and my father was diagnosed with cancer, both of which drove story writing out of my mind.
This story is an amalgamation of 'Much Ado About Nothing', which is my favorite of Shakespeare's plays, with elements of Chaucer's 'The Canterbury Tales'; but you'll recognize some of Shakespeare's other plays and C. S. Lewis' the Four Loves and 'A Greif Observed'.
-Psyche