Circe Xenios
Shortly before the birth of the infant princesses…
It was Christmas Day in Armorique, and the clocks had just struck seven.
As the sun had set and the sky was dark, it might have been more accurate to say that it was Christmas night. Regardless, it was the twenty-fifth of December and the clocks had just struck seven, including the great clock mounted to the central tower that rose from the great palace which loomed like a mountain over all other things in the capital.
Jean Taurillion emerged from the guardhouse beside the wrought-iron gate, swathed in a dark blue greatcoat, with a hand-knitted scarf wrapped around his neck and a pair of kidskin gloves to keep the worst of the cold away from his hands. He thumped said hands together, regardless, for a little extra warmth.
It had been snowing earlier today, and though the sky had cleared up now and very little snow still lay on the ground – on the palace grounds at least, he could not say what it was like elsewhere in the capital – the air was bitter cold nevertheless. His breath misted up before his face, and he felt the bite of the wind upon his cheeks.
He thumped his hands together again, and started to whistle a tune as he stomped up and down in front of the gate.
His whistling was interrupted as he heard a piteous groaning sound on the other side of the gate.
The gate was wrought iron, but not solid: the days when the palace gates might have to keep out the battering rams of an invading army were long gone. The iron bars made a pattern like a thorn-bush but you could see out through them to whatever might lie on the other side; or at least you could when the sun was out. Now, with night long since settled upon the land, Jean had to walk closely to the gate and peer out into the darkness beyond.
The cry came again, and this time he thought he could see someone moving amidst the shadows not far away.
"Who's there?" he called. "Do you require assistance?"
A shambling figure crept out of the dark; an old woman, bent double so that her back seemed nearly hunched, wrapped in a threadbare dark cloak which she clutched about her with aged and withered hands.
"Shelter," she groaned as she walked towards the gate with tottering steps. "Shelter, good sir, I beg you; shelter from the bitter cold."
"Hold on, old Madame." Jean's hands were already moving to unlock the gate before he hauled one side of it open, his hands and arms straining at the wrought iron bars which creaked and groaned as he pulled upon them. Once he had opened them enough to let him out, Jean jogged through the gap he had created and reached the old woman, holding out his hands to support her before she fell. "Here, Madame, lean on me a little if you will."
She looked up at him, her hood falling a little to reveal a face that was lined with years; one of her eyes was nearly swollen shut, her nose was hooked and her chin stuck out nearly as far as her nose. Her white hair was thinning upon her head.
Poor woman, has she nowhere to go on such a night as this?
"Come, Madame," Jean said, as he began to help her along. "I will lead the way."
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice breathless with exertion. "I… I need only a night's shelter from the chill air, and then I will be gone. I have little to offer but-"
"None of that now, Madame," Jean said firmly, as he led her inside, then closed and locked the gate behind them both. "There is no cost to decency, and there ought be no charge for it either, as my mother used to say. Into the guardhouse with you now, and warm yourself by the fire."
The guardhouse was large enough for three or four men to sit comfortably, but at present it was empty – save now for Jean and his new and unexpected visitor. He chaperoned the old woman to a seat by the fire, which he noticed was starting to burn a little low.
"Let me throw a few extra logs on that for you," he said, picking up first one, then a second, and finally a third rough wooden log and casting them one by one into the crackling flames, watching the tongues of red and gold leap up as they began to devour that fresh fuel, feeling the air begin to warm visibly around him.
Jean shrugged off his greatcoat, and offered it silently to the old woman sitting at the fireside.
"You are very kind, young man," she said, taking the coat with one trembling hand before wrapping herself up in it like a blanket.
"A nip of brandy, to keep out the cold?" Jean offered. He gestured at the table, laden with the remains of his supper. "I'm afraid I cannot leave my post to get food from the kitchens, but there is still plenty left to eat I have not touched."
"A brandy would be very nice, but I have no need of your food," the old woman said, right before her stomach rumbled as loud as a galloping squadron of horses.
Jean chuckled. "I think your belly disagrees with you, Madame," he said, before he poured her a nip of brandy and pushed it across the wooden table towards her. He began to assemble some semblance of a meal together out of what there was: a slice of turkey, two slices of pork, a sausage, stuffing. It was all cold, but it had been cold when it had been set before him.
It was the remains of His Majesty's Christmas Feast; this afternoon the king had dined on such, with his son and Princess Cinderella and his highness's son, the young Duke of Morlaix, and Princess Frederica of Normandie and Angelique and Mademoiselle Marinette Gerard and Colonel Gerard and many other noble guests besides. They had dined well, or at least he hoped they had, upon the finest fare in all the kingdom, and when they had eaten their fill there had still been some left over, which her highness had kindly sent to him to nourish him upon his watch. It might be cold now, but it was still better than many people ate in Armorique on Christmas Day.
"What is your name, Madame?" Jean asked, as he put these things together.
"Circe," she said softly, her voice seemingly unable to rise above a whisper. "My name is Circe." She drank her brandy, and made an appreciative sound after.
"Circe," Jean repeated. It was an unusual name, to be sure, but what of that? "Welcome, Madame Circe. Allow me to introduce myself in turn: I have the honour to be Jean Taurillion, Count of Nantes and Lieutenant of the Second Battalion of His Majesty's Foot Guards."
Circe made a sound that might have been a chuckle, it was hard to tell. "I am honoured to be hosted by such an august fellow. But tell me, m'lord, what is a count and a lieutenant of the Foot Guards doing guarding the gate all alone on Christmas Day?"
Jean shrugged as he pushed a plate of food across the table. "The duty sergeant has a wife, two children and a newborn babe in arms," he said, as he refilled her cup with another brandy. "Of the two privates who drew the duty one is engaged to be married and the other has a sick mother. They should be with their families at Christmas."
"And what of your family?" Circe asked. "Or have you none?"
"I?" Jean smiled a little as he settled down into a chair across the table from where the old woman sat. He joined her in warming his hands by the fire. "I can see my Angelique any time I wish, any day that I wish. As an officer I get paid more than my men, and by the grace and generosity of her highness I have lands and incomes besides. This is little enough hardship. And besides, this nation is at peace with her neighbours and at home the royal family are beloved of all their subjects. No one is going to attack the palace, least of all on Christmas Day."
Circe made a wordless sound. "Many royal families like to think themselves beloved of their subjects, but sometimes the subjects themselves disagree in that regard."
"Not here," Jean said firmly. "Princess Cinderella is the realm's delight; there is not a man or woman in Armorique who does not pray for her health and that of her children who are soon to be born. Already she has done so much for this country, I can scarcely imagine all the good that she will do in the long years ahead… when they are king and queen Prince Eugene and Princess Cinderella will lead this land into a golden age of fairness and prosperity, I have no doubt. No doubt at all."
"I believe you, your words have sincerity in them," Circe said, although for some reason she sounded a little sad when she said it. "And this, this Angelique whom you can whenever you wish. Is she your sister? Or your love?"
"Angelique…" Jean hesitated, and instinctually his hand went to the ring in his pocket.
"Ah, I see," Circe said. "You hesitate?"
Jean smiled apologetically. "It seemed a fine romantic thing to propose to her on Christmas Day, but somehow… the moment has never seemed quite right."
Circe smiled at him, the gesture suffusing her old face with warmth. "You must forgive an old woman her prying, m'lord; old woman have very little to do but ask questions."
"It is no trouble," Jean said. "And what of you, Madame Circe? Have you nowhere to go that you must wander from door to door seeking a little shelter? Have you no family to take you in, tonight of all nights?"
"No," Circe said, and for a moment her face and voice alike became filled with melancholy. "No, I have no family."
"You have my sympathies, Madame," Jean said, as he tried and failed to imagine what it might be like to be all alone in the world; although he had been cold and hungry in his life before he had never been alone, he had always had Angelique beside him. To be without her, without anyone... he could not comprehend how terrible that would be except to realise that it would be terrible. He sighed. "I wish there was more that I could do for you than let you warm yourself by my fire."
"It is enough," Circe replied. "Not all would be so kind to an old hag come to their door in the night."
"I was not always a lord, or an officer of the guard," Jean said. "Once we slept under starlight, Angelique and I; once we shivered in the cold, went to bed with our bellies empty, held out our hands to beg for coin. It was not so long ago that I've forgotten what it was like. That, and... I do not think her highness would wish me to be unkind, today of all days." Last Christmas, the princess had spent the morning visiting all the orphanages to bring gifts to the children there, as well as donations to the orphanages themselves; this year she was too heavily pregnant for so much exertion - with the babies due any day now her doctors said it was not advisable - but she had come to the gate and distributed alms to the poor there; it was a pity that Madame Circe had not come then in time to receive some.
"Fascinating," Circe murmured. "So tell me, how does an orphan and a street urchin become a lord, and an officer of the guard?"
"By the grace of the princess," Jean said. "All that I have I have of her; as unworthy as I am she has raised me up and trusted me with her life; she has given me a place, a title, a home... a future."
"And you love her for it," Circe said.
"The princess... is of a kind deserving of the love of better men than me," Jean said. "And I would have to be more churlish than I am not to appreciate her needless generosity."
The sound of footsteps tapping on the stones outside caused Jean to rise to his feet; he was almost to the guardhouse door when he was confronted by Angelique coming the other way, wrapped in a cloak of pale blue with a mink fur trim.
She had her hood up, but lowered it as she stood in the doorway, revealing a pale face framed by dirty blonde curls. She smiled up at him. "I came down to see how you were getting on down here alone..." Angelique glanced past Jean to Circe, who was presently gumming her way through a slice of cold pork loin. "Or not alone, as the case may be; hello."
Circe swallowed. "Good evening, my child. Dare I suggest that you are Angelique?"
Angelique glanced knowingly up at Jean as he retreated to admit her to the guardhouse. "What's he been telling you?"
Jean saw Circe's gaze flicker briefly to the pocket where the ring now felt heavier than it had done before, but she said only, "Little enough, but it would speak rather ill of Angelique if you were not her, and yet you had come down from the palace to visit him and she had not."
Angelique snorted. "Well, fortunately for myself I am Angelique, Angelique Bonnet. And you, Madame?"
"Circe is my name," Circe said. "Your friend was kind enough to offer me shelter from the cold inside this guardhouse."
"I see," Angelique said, in a tone of voice that might politely be described as cautious. Her blue eyes narrowed a little as she sat down opposite Circe and began to take off her mittens. "You'll forgive me for saying that it's a little strange that you chose to make your way up here on a night like this for the... dubious possibility of shelter at the end of it."
Circe smiled. "Are you telling me I should have gone to the workhouse, my child?"
"I'm not your child," Angelique said flatly. "As for the workhouse... I don't blame you one bit for wanting nothing to do with the place if you can avoid it, but... at least you'd know they'd take you in for certain. You couldn't have known that here, and it's a long walk."
"Perhaps I simply had hope that the practice of giving hospitality to those in need of it was not completely dead," Circe replied.
"Or perhaps you came here with a purpose in mind," Angelique said.
"Angelique," Jean said. "There's no need to like that."
Angelique sighed. "Jean, you know as well as I do how many of the people who have found their way up here have turned out to be evil little beggars who mean harm to Princess Cinderella and I for one am getting sick and tired of it!" She almost glared at Circe from across the table. "I'm sorry, but my trust has been worn away by repeated betrayals."
Circe chuckled. "Do you look at me and think I'm dangerous? Is a cold old woman such a danger to the princess of the land?"
Angelique leaned forwards. "Not too long ago a woman came here: a shepherdess, so she seemed; she'd saved the princess' life… from a danger she'd caused herself." She frowned. "She was more dangerous than she seemed. Far more dangerous. A witch." Angelique hesitated. "That doesn't seem to surprise you."
Circe laughed. "What should I say? Does it surprise you that I know that there are mysteries in the world beyond the comprehension of men? That I know that the old powers linger still in the shadows and the deep places? I am sorry that you can no longer trust-"
"I can trust," Angelique replied. "I trust Jean with my life, I trust Cinderella to do the right thing even if it isn't the wise thing, I trust the people I know well enough to predict what they'll do; but I don't know you, and since I don't know you I can't trust you. I'm sorry if that upsets you but that's the way it is."
"Because I might hurt your princess?"
Angelique nodded. "Because you might try to."
Circe nodded her head in turn, slowly and thoughtfully. "You care for her very much, don't you?"
Angelique pursed her lips together, and her mouth twisted. "She has to put up with a lot of things that she doesn't deserve. People have tried to hurt her, kill her, shame her, slander her, take her crown and her marriage away from her; there's a party going on up at the palace, right now, and I'll wager there are still people up there who hate her, who call her a servant girl behind her back; that's why I came down here, I'd rather spend my night with Jean than with those insincere…" she trailed off, and fell silent for a moment. "But Cinderella puts up with all of it, so well you'd almost think that it didn't affect her at all. After everything she's been through she can still smile, and look forward to tomorrow with hope.
"I didn't have any hope before I met her; not for me, not for Jean, not for anything, I just… Cinderella has given me hope, she's given me a reason to believe that tomorrow might be better than today. Yes, I care about her. She's the best person I know and so many people can't see it. I care about her and I want to see her safe and if that means that I don't trust everybody who makes their way to the gates then so be it!"
"Angelique?" Cinderella asked. "Why are you shouting?"
Jean and Angelique both got to their feet at the sight of the princess standing in the doorway, with Prince Eugene by her side with one arm around the waist of his wife. Cinderella was dressed in white, in a gown with a high-waistline that showed off her swelling baby bump beneath; her shoulders were wrapped in a stole of silver-fox fur, while a white muff concealed both her hands from view. She walked slowly, even with the steadying influence of Prince Eugene's hand around her waist. The firelight glimmered off the sapphire heart that sat proudly in the centre of the pearls hanging from her neck.
For a moment both Jean and Angelique were rendered speechless by the sight of her come down amongst them, before Jean found his voice first. "Your highnesses! Princess, should you be here?" His tone of voice made it quite clear that he considered the answer to be 'no'.
Cinderella sighed in that way she had acquired in pregnancy of suggesting that, in as far as someone and kind and gentle as she could possibly be annoyed, she was annoyed at the continual fussing over her health. "I'm pregnant, Jean, not an invalid. I wanted to make sure that you are alright down here by yourself."
"That is very kind, your highness, but wholly unnecessary," Jean said. "If you caught a chill, or heaven forbid slipped on a patch of ice in your condition… I could not forgive myself for it; and besides, I fear that Angelique has beaten you to it."
Cinderella chuckled. "I thought she might, but we wanted to check up on you anyway, didn't we darling?"
Prince Eugene sounded a trifle amused as he said, "Yes, we must let the valiant sentinel know that his efforts are appreciated."
Jean bowed his head. "The praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards, your highness."
"How do you feel, princess?" Angelique asked.
"I'm fine," Cinderella said. "Well, perhaps a little tired from walking down here."
"Please, highness, take a seat and recover yourself," Jean said, picking up a chair and carrying it towards her. Prince Eugene helped her to sit down. "Is there anything that I can get for you?"
"I'll go," Angelique said. "You're supposed to be on guard, remember?"
"No, thank you, Jean, thank you Angelique," Cinderella said. "I just need to catch my breath for a moment."
"Take as much time as you need," Prince Eugene said. "The party will keep until you're up to the walk back."
Cinderella smiled at them all, and it seemed that it was only then that, as she looked around the guardhouse that she seemed to notice Circe sitting by the fire. "Oh! Oh, please forgive me, Madame, I didn't see you or I would have-"
"You have no need to apologise to me, your highness," Circe said. "I am just a humble old woman, after all, and you are the princess of the land and the realm's delight."
Cinderella looked a little embarrassed at the use of that term. "That's… really only something the newspapers decided to call me, I never asked them to. And anyway, that's no excuse for rudeness, I really am sorry. I should have introduced myself."
"I'm afraid that everyone calling you 'your highness' gave it away," Circe said wryly. "My name is Circe, and Lieutenant Taurillion was good enough to let me shelter here from the cold since I have nowhere else to go. Lady Bonnet has proved a little more suspicious."
"Angelique?" Cinderella asked, looking at her.
Angelique stood foursquare under the princess' slightly disapproving gaze without flinching. "More newcomers to this palace have turned out to be your enemies than your friends, princess; I cannot forget that or ignore it, even if you can."
Cinderella continued to stare up at her, her muff-embraced hands moving to below her baby bump. "I'm a little disappointed, Angelique. I thought you had more compassion than this."
Now Angelique flinched, if only a little. "I have compassion," she relied. "But I also have caution."
Cinderella looked away, and back towards Circe. "Madame, is there nowhere at all where you can go?"
"No," Circe replied. "I… I have nowhere, now."
"Then you must stay the night here, at least," Cinderella said. "You cannot sleep in this guardhouse; Eugene, will you go tell the servants to prepare one of the guest rooms. I'd go myself but-"
"Of course," Eugene said, with a slight smile playing across his face as he bent down to kiss the princess on the temple. "I'll see it arranged straight away."
"That will not be necessary," Circe said. She began to get to her feet, and was it Jean's imagination or did she seem taller than she had been before, the stoop of her back falling away before his eyes.
"What?" Cinderella murmured. "But, you can't-"
A bright and brilliant light erupted from the old woman, and in that light so bright it was as if a star had descended down from heaven to join them in this post beside the gate, the form of the old woman melted away like so much snow before their eyes.
And before them, as they stared in sudden silent awed amazement, stood a beautiful woman. Tall, she was, taller than Cinderella or Angelique, taller even than Lady Christine who was the loftiest of the princess' ladies in waiting; she seemed taller still by the fact that she was floating a foot off the ground. She was garbed in a gown of flowing emerald green with long, baggy sleeves and a full skirt which billowed around her as though there were some wind that only she could feel. Her hair was spun gold, and it, too, danced around her as though caught by the strains of some ethereal breeze. A crown of stars was set upon her brow, and they gleamed as brightly as her eyes of shining silver.
"What in God's name?" Prince Eugene muttered.
"I apologise for the deception," she declared, in a voice that rang like the peeling of all the bells that had run in Armorique this Christmas day. "But I have found that the true measure of hospitality is whether it is offered to the poor, the old, the lonely and, yes, the hideous to look upon. It is necessary to deceive in order that I may see past the deceits that others practice."
"Who," Angelique's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Who are you?"
"My name, as I told you, is Circe," Circe said. "I fear that you spoke truer than you know when you talked of witches." A wand of elder wood appeared in her right hand. "For I am an enchantress, and like Zeus before me I travel the world in the guise of an old hag, begging the mighty for their hospitality and observing whether they uphold the sacred customs and possess love and charity within their hearts."
Jean felt his mouth grow suddenly dry. A shiver ran down his spine. "And… and if they don't?"
"Then I must reprimand them, appropriately to their faults," Circe said, and she sounded almost melancholy as she said it.
Angelique dropped to her knees. "Then punish me," she said, her voice ringing out with a speed born out of desperation. "I have insulted you and rejected you, and I don't apologise for it. But you cannot make the princess or Jean or anyone else suffer on account of what I did. They don't deserve it. If someone must be punished for my actions then the punishment should fall on me, and me alone." She looked up into the enchantress's face. "I beg of you, don't hurt them."
Jean stepped forward, and he opened his mouth to offer to share whatever punishment Angelique had incurred if, by halving it, the severity of whatever fell on her could be mitigated. Before he could speak so much as a word however, the voice of Circe had silenced all other speech.
"Peace, Jean Taurillion; Angelique Bonnet, be at ease; though you were full of suspicion, it cannot be denied that you had cause and might be said, in some way, to have been correct. For I did come among your under false pretences, did I not?" She smiled for a moment. "Besides, all that you did and said was said and done from love of your princess, and deeds done in love, though they be upon times over zealous… I do not have it in my heart to judge." She turned her moonlit gaze upon Cinderella. "Princess Cinderella, I confess that I had heard rumours of your virtue, and wondered that they could be true and not just tales that you spread of yourself to impress the credulous; but hearing what I have heard and seeing what I have seen…" she smiled. "Rejoice, Princess of Rennes; rejoice not only in the love that is within your heart but the love that you inspire in others, which makes them more full of love in turn. Rejoice, and as you are remain." Her smile broadened. "Your children will be well-blessed to have such a kind and loving mother as yourself."
Cinderella gasped, her blue eyes were wide. "I… I don't know what to say."
"There is nothing more to be said, there is nothing more to be done," Circe declared. "A merry Christmas to you all, and fare you well," Her smile became somewhat sly as she added, "Oh, and one last thing: Angelique, Jean has something that he wishes to give to you." She winked at him as though she had just done him a great kindness. "Farewell!" the word 'farewell' echoed off the walls of the guardhouse as, with a flash of light, she disappeared. Only the food that she had eaten and the brandy that she had drunk testified that she had ever been there at all.
Only the food and drink and the indelible impression she had left in the minds of all concerned.
"Extraordinary," Eugene murmured. "Absolutely extraordinary. I don't… extraordinary."
"I know what you mean," Cinderella said. "I… I'm not…" she let out a little gasped, and slumped backwards a little in her chair.
Jean offered a hand to help Angelique up.
"Thank you," Angelique said, as she climbed to her feet. "So, what's this you want to give me then?"
Jean felt his face begin to burn. This wasn't exactly how he had imagined this… but then again he hadn't actually gotten around to doing it the way that he'd imagined it and left to his own devices who knew when he might have found the courage to actually get around to it? Perhaps Circe had done him a kindness after all.
Conscious – as much as he tried not to be – of the prince and princess watching him from behind, Jean got down on one knee and pulled out the ring. It was a single sapphire set in a halo of diamonds upon a band of silver on which the firelight danced reflected as he held it up.
"Angelique," he said, while he heard the princess gasp in pleasant surprise behind him. "My… my other half of my soul…" he had thought to prepare a speech for this moment but now that the moment had come he found that he could not remember it save for disconnected fragments which floated through his mind, making little sense. "My better… Angelique Bonnet, will you marry me?"
Angelique looked down at him for a moment, her face unreadable. Then a smile blossomed there like the blooming of a rose.
"Course I will, you fool," she said. "Did you have a doubt?"
She did not take the ring off him; but she did pull him into a hug and kiss him, which probably amounted to about the same thing.
Author's Note: Although there is going to be a lot less magic in this version of the story than there was in the previous version, where it got a little bit out of hand – which is why this version of the fic starts with this as the beginning, and now with the historical prologue – it still felt right to start here. Magic has always been a part of this series, and it's integral to the story of Beauty and the Beast, so keeping the visit by the enchantress – and the name that was given to her in the book The Beast Within – felt right.
Plus, I just quite like this chapter, I think it's really nice.