A Midsummer Tempest

VII

Trees were a darkling wall around, with frosted parapets. Moonlight whitened grass, daisies, cow-slips, primroses; dew, which chilled and soaked feet, made shards of brilliance. Near the middle reared a monolith, twice a man’s height. Though the weathers and lichens of none knew how many years had softened its edges, it remained a stern thing to see.

Two horses stood at the border of the opening. Common farm beasts, they bore nothing save tethers. A steady crunch-crunch and sweet smell of broken herbs rose from their jaws.

Will Fairweather lounged against the stone and used an eating knife to pare his nails. He had put back on his dragoon’s outfit, sans Royalist tokens, in spite of its woeful condition. A cavalry sword hung at either hip. He sang to himself, low enough that one might have called it a mumble were it less off-key:

He broke off. Rupert and Jennifer crashed through undergrowth, out beneath the sky. Their clothes, snagged, soaked, stained, were worse for hard travel than they themselves. Nonetheless she sank gratefully among the flowers.

Rupert bounded through them. “Will!” he roared. “Thou old rascal!” He seized the man and hugged him till ribs creaked.

The other staggered. “Whoof! Your Highness overbears me. A month’s baitin’ by Roundhead dogs ha’ lost you no foa’ce. Pray take caere, lest you make my breastplate into a buckler.” He recovered his balance, to stand in front of the prince’s height and bulk for a span of silence before he asked: “Did Jen—Mis’ess Jennifer’splain how’tis, in tha note she smuggled you?”

“Aye.” Rupert’s glance went admiringly to her. “I wish most of my officers could write such a dispatch, clear, complete, and terse. Our cause would be in better case. She even revealed thou’st no blame in what happened to Boye. Not but what I couldn’t forgive thee that, or anything else this side treason, which word I do believe thou canst not tell the meaning of—after what thou’st done.”

“Not done; begun. We’ve starvelin’ little to go on, my loard. Zee, I plucked an extra weapon for you off tha battlefield. I marked where yon two hoa’ses war kept outdoors, an’ this night liberated’em; but they ben’t any Pegasus, no zaddles came in the bargain for them mighty sharp-lookin’ backs, an’ we’ll have to cut bridles from this roape you carry. Nor could I hoist moare’n a chunk o’ bread an’ stale cheese from tha dame who gave me barn-room; she war eager to visit me there after dark, aye, but her own zausages she keeps under lock an’ key. How much money has my lady got together for us?”

“Why, I never thought—” Rupert turned back toward her.

She touched a purse at her waist. “No better than a few florins,” she told him sadly. “I’m never allowed more at a time.”

“Well, we’ll forage as we fare,” Rupert assured them.

“Across half of moare of England, acrawl with ill-wishers?” Will protested. “Tha word o’ your escape’ll splatter as fast as relays can gallop—or faster, unthanks to them damned zemaphoare things along o’ tha railways. No doubt there’ll be a whoppin’ price on you. An’ a man o’ your Highness’ zize an’ bearin’ ben’t just easy to disguise.”

“We must try—travel by night—”

“An’ if we do zimply rejoin tha Cavalier cavalry, what’ll we find? All tha news can’t lie,’bout how Cromwell an’ tha rest be smashin’ our zide like with sledgehammers. You’d rally’em zome, no doubt, my loard; but I fear’tis too late to do moare than stave off tha endin’ awhile.”

Rupert scowled. “What else does honor allow, save a return to serve the King?”

“There be ways an’ ways o’ zarvin’ him, loard.” Will plucked Rupert’s sleeve. “Come, let’s rest our feet by Mis’ess Jennifer. She needs to hear this too, I be toald.”

“Told?” Rupert asked sharply. “By who?”

“Thic’s what I aim to tell you, my loard an’ lady, if you’ll listen.”

Rupert peered about before he shrugged and followed. When he settled into the grass next the girl, she took his arm. He kept stiffly motionless. Will Fairweather buckled at waist and joints, like a folding rack, as he joined them.

The moonlight streamed, the horses cropped, a sighing went through unseen leaves.

Leaning forward, his big hands flung now right, now left in awkward gestures, Will said, unwontedly earnest: “My loard an’ lady, I be a Christian man. You must believe’tis zo; else we be done. Oh, aye, I’ve zinned tha zeven zins, an’ moare; ha’ broaken Zabbath, stoalen, poached, caroused, an’ zee scant hoape I’ll ever mend my ways—yet still tha Faith’s in this ramshackle zoul, an’ I repent me that I can’t repent a longer time than from tha mornin’s headache to tha first bowl o’ yale what drives it out. I do believe Christ Jesus is our Zaviour, whose blood got shed for even zuch as me.”

He filled his narrow chest before going on: “But shouldn’t than God’s oaverflowin’ grace wash oaver everything what’A has maede? If human flesh be grass, tha grass itzelf should liakewise be an object o’ His love, tha fish, tha fowl, tha beasts—all what’A maede. I wonder if maybe tha fiends in hell be just too proud to take tha love A offers.” (Rupert stirred and frowned.) “Aye, aye, my loard, thic’s heresy, I know.

It ben’t for me talk o’ zuch-like things. Zave this one pw’int”—he lifted a finger—“that there be alzo creatures what reason, talk, yet be not whoally men. I speak not o’ tha angels, understand, but bein’s in an’ of our common yearth, though ageless an’ with powers we doan’t have. Well, we got powers tha’ doan’t, an’ zome zay we got immortal zouls an’ tha’ do not. A simpleton liake me knows naught o’ thic. I only know that many, if not all, mean well, however flighty oftentimes. They be unchristened; zo be animals; an’ neither kind war ever in revolt against tha will o’ heaven, war it, now? If’tis no zin to care for hoa’se or hound, why should it be a zin to have for friends tha oalden elven spirits o’ tha land?”

Jennifer shrank from him, closer against Rupert. The prince had gone impassive. “That’s heathendom!” she said, aghast. “They’d lure thy soul to hell.”

“Zome would, no doubt; but than, zome humans would. What harm can be in common usages what maybe zailed with Noah in tha Ark, when men an’ beasts an’ weather war as one? If’tis allowed to zet a bowl o’ milk for your graymalkin sine’a catches mice, what’s wrong with showin’ kindness to a harmless hobgoblin what will work or ward a bit? As for those ones what dwell apart from men—”

Rupert stirred. “Thou’st met them thine own self?”

“Well, zeldom, loard. But zome few times I have, beneath tha stars, when I war… questin’; for my family has ever shown their kind its due respect. We never cut a tree nor kill a beast without first barin’ head an’ drawin’ cross—”

Jennifer was doubly shocked. Will gave her an apologetic smile. “—thic zort o’ thing, to them what share tha land,” he finished. To Rupert: “I’d maybe chat awhile, or swap a cup—their wild an’ spicy mead for plain brown yale—or watch’em dancin’ lovely in a ring to music zeemed like played upon my heart. I never zinned with’em… own I’d liaked it, but I’m too hoamely for a Faerie lass.… Have I done ill in this, my loard?”

“Say on,” Rupert told him quietly. “Well, skulkin’ hereawa in meager hoape o’ doin’ aught to help you or tha King, an’ yet not willin’ just to quit, go hoame, be shut for aye inzide tha dismal stall o’ Roundhead ways—an’ Christ, be preached at, too!—I came to theeazam woods in zearch o’ hares. There zomeone found me, an’ we spoake an’ spoake until tha daybreak flogged tha stars away; an’ afterward again by night—Your Highness, that’s how I got tha courage to strive on; that’s how I learned our Mis’ess Jennifer might have a mind to help in your escape.” (She covered her face.) “An’, short to zay, we hammered out a plan.”

Will rose. “Well, loard, I gave my handshake in return, to promise you would come an’ hear them out. Tha’ will not foa’ce you—nay, tha’ couldn’t that—but honestly, I zee no other way than takin’ what small help tha’ve got to give. Pray, will you hark to them who’d fain be friends?”

Rupert stood too. Jennifer scrambled up, clinging to his arm. The prince’s countenance was impassive, his tone steady: “I will.”

“Oh, nay!” the girl pleaded in tears. “ ’Tis peril of our souls.”

Rupert took both her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and said gently: “Not so. The Puritans have lied to thee. I’ve read, if thou’st not, the Historian. Not only dwellers in antiquity had good, and little ill, at Faerie hands, but wise and Christian men in modern times. Aye, even magic arts of certain kinds are lawful if they’re used with right intent. Recall the neighbors that thou knew’st in Cornwall. Like Will’s, did they not follow olden ways?” (She nodded dumbly.) “And dost thou think them damned on that account?” (Slowly, she shook her head.) “Then do not now.” (She fought forth a smile for him.) “Good lass! What heart thou hast!”

He released her and turned to the other man. It exploded from him: “Go summon, as thou wilt, thy miracle.”

“Thy free consent has served to call us here.” That singing tone made Rupert whirl about. Two stood before the stone. Tall they were, uncannily beautiful of form and ivory features. Their eyes shone as if by inner moonlight. The outer radiance sparkled on high crowns of curious shape, on the glitter of the male tunic, the sheen of the female gown. Above them, behind them, flickering around their pale hair, danced and glowed small winged shapes.

At their feet squatted one more solid, broad and thick-muscled—though standing upright he would scarcely have reached Rupert’s belt buckle. His head was round, snub-nosed, pointy-eared, shaggy; eyes glinted over a raffish grin. He wore leather and leaves.

Will louted low and stepped back. Jennifer joined him within the shadows. Her hands were folded, her lips moved silently. Rupert trod forward. He bent his neck the least bit, for the least moment, then met the unhuman gazes and said into the hush: “I think I do address King Oberon.”

“Thou dost,” the male answered.

The man bowed to the female. “Then likewise Queen Titania,” he said.

“Be welcome to our Half-World kingdom, Prince,” went the melody of her voice.

“I thank your Majesties.” Rupert hesitated. “The rightful title? You know that presently I serve King Charles, and save that he unbind me from mine oath, I’ll hold me free of others—under God.”

The royal pair neither fled nor flinched at the Name. Jennifer began to ease. Will saw, and smiled at her.

They looked back to the glade, where only Rupert and the horses seemed quite real.

“Thou seest we pass the test,” boomed the dwarfish one. “Wouldst try us more? Why, then I’ll list for thee the saints and angels. Their catalogue rolls trippingly—Walburga, Knut, Swithin, Cuthbbert, Cunegonde, Matilda, Hieronymus, Methodius, Claude, Gall—”

“Be silent, Puck,” Oberon commanded. “Show more solemnity.” To Rupert: “Forgive him, Prince. Unaging Faerie folk too oft blow rootless on the winds of time, and ripen not to wisdom like you mortals.”

“You flatter men too much, your Majesty,” Rupert said.

Titania’s hand fluttered white. “Enough!” she begged. “The cruel dawn comes on apace, when we’ll be powerless and thou pursued. Make haste!”

Oberon nodded; the plumes swayed and shimmered on his crown. “Indeed. But first I’d best explain to thee, Prince Rupert, why we lend our aid in this thy mortal quarrel. It is ours. We elves are spirits of the living world, the haunters of its virgin loneliness, the guardians, helpers, healers of all things in nature, whence we draw our nourishment.”

“You’re sometimes tricksy, sometimes terrible,” the man said.

“Why, so are earth and sea and sky and fire. Were there no wolves and foxes in the woods, the deer and conies soon would gnaw them bare.” Oberon paused before adding bleakly: “Unless man use his poisons, guns, and snares. That can bring order of a graveyard sort, until unpastured rankness chokes and burns.

Best he show reverence for Mother Earth. The Old Ways help to keep him true in it, wherefore they win the blessing of the elves.”

“As long as this leads not to heathendom—”

“It need not. We’ve seen peoples and their faiths past counting come and come and go and go. From reindeer hunters in an age of stone to warriors in brazen chariots, we were familiars of the seed of Adam.

When iron came, it was more difficult, for that’s a greedy fang against the wilds, and bears a cold and sullen force within which sears our kind if we do merely touch. But after restless years came balancing. The yeomen wanted luck upon their fields, and love and sons and grandsons in their homes, and warding off of demon, ghost, or witch—and in exchange for this gave us our due.” Titania observed softly: “If fewer forests, we know richer fields; and in a maiden’s love or baby’s laugh, the wonder wells as from a secret spring.”

“The Christian faith, whatever else it changed, made small discord within that harmony,” Oberon went on. “As long as no one worshipped us as gods—a star-cold honor we have never sought—the priests did not deny our right to be, and let the people dwell at peace with us and with the land. Meanwhile, their bells rang sweet.”

“They did but change the names—” Puck muttered, “the names—the names.”

Both Rupert and Oberon frowned at him, and the king continued hastily: “When Henry Eighth cast off the rule of Rome, to us’twas naught but mortal politics. The Church of England did not persecute us, nor care to end the Old Ways in the folk. But then—”

“The Puritans arose,” said Rupert, for Oberon faltered at the uttering.

“They did.” The king lifted a fist. No matter his height and handsomeness, it looked strangely frail, almost translucent to moonbeams and encroaching shadows. “That wintry creed where only hell knows warmth; where rites which interceded once for man with Mystery, and comforted, are quelled; where he is set against the living world, for he is now forbidden to revere it in custom, feast, or staying of his hand; where open merriment’s condemned as vice and harmless foolery as foolishness; where love of man and woman is obscene—there’s Faerie’s and Old England’s foe and woe!”

Jennifer gulped, clenched fists, stiffened herself, and piped timidly, “Oh, nay, sir, that’s not altogether true—” None seemed to hear her. Rupert stood stone-massive and moveless; Oberon and Titania kept their eldritch eyes on him; the elven lights danced blue, gold, purple, green, ruby, giving glimpses of tiny frightened faces.

Will Fairweather squeezed her elbow. Puck sidled to the fringe of the glade and around it, until he hunkered near her feet.

Meanwhile Rupert said, to those twain who were like swirls and currents in the moonlight that poured around him: “Your Majesties are not of human blood. What have theologies to do with you?”

Oberon drew his cloak tight, as if a wind had arisen—in the white wet stillness of the night—from which its gauze could shield. He spoke nearly too low to be heard: “A creed which bears no love for Mother Earth, but rather sees her as an enemy which it is righteous to make booty of, to rape, to wound, to gouge, to gut, to flay, then bury under pavement, slag, and trash, and call machines to howl around the grave… that creed will bring that doom.”

His head drooped. “But long ere then, with wonder, woods, and waters, we’ll be dead. Already soot and iron shrink our range. When every churchly minister abhors us and hunts us out… no longer are we strong.

We cannot stand before anathemas. First England, then the world—”

Elven swift, his resolve returned. He straightened and declared aloud: “The Royal cause defends the Old Ways, knowing it or not. Whatever be the faults—the arrogance of King and bishops, squalid greeds of nobles, lump-stodginess of yeomanry and burghers, and gross or petty tyrannies these breed—still, such are found in every human clime; and you’d at least preserve what keeps your kind from turning to a pox upon the globe, and would not scour the Faerie realm from off it.”

He raised an arm. “My spells, my wands, my secret silent wells descry for me a faint ambiguous hope, though not its form, borne by the three of you. Therefore we aided thine escape, Prince Rupert. Now we would give some further help and counsel, if thou’lt accept it. Then we’ve shot our bolt, and can but wait to see where it may strike.”

Though hardly moving, the man seemed to crouch. “By the eternal,” he whispered, “it shakes the teeth and bones when such a gauntlet’s cast before the feet. Yet Arthur took it. Dare I be afraid?”

“I am, I am,” Jennifer almost wept. “What dream has fallen on me? O Mother, come and help me to awaken!”

Will laid an arm around her shoulders. “Thou’st tumbled into eeriness, poor lass,” he murmured hoarsely, “but one grows used to anything erelong.”

“Why must they be this oratorical,” grumbled Puck, “and how, when chins are dragging on the ground? Be done, be off; and if the Roundhead shaves so ye can’t beard him, give his nose a tweak. Howe’er,” he added after a moment, “be sure to wear that gauntlet, Rupert, for’tis a sharp and thrusting nose indeed.” He cocked his head to look at Jennifer. “I feel an inkling thou wilt also ride on this adventure.” He delivered a gunshot slap to her bottom. “Well, thou’rt nicely cushioned!”

She jumped, gasped, and smacked his face in return. He leered. Indignation burning out terror, she stared back toward Rupert. The prince had not noticed the byplay. Standing as if at attention, he said, “Within the bounds of faith and morals, sir—and common sense—I’ll fare by your advice.” A smile drifted across Oberon’s lips. “No doubt we need a careful qualifier,” he said; then, grave again: “I fear I can but send thee on a search, and where and what to seek know only darkly. Thy King, thy cause, thyself cannot prevail unless the Earth herself may fight for thee. So spake the prophesying spells I cast. But how shall Earth, mere soil and rock and water, mere air and life, resist an iron Death?

“There once were words and tokens full of might. It may be these can raise their elements in threatened children of old Mother Earth. But the North’s great magicians long are dust, and naught remains save feeble country witches and such poor powers as we keep in Faerie.” Oberon shook his head, a slow back-and-forth weaving. “And yet,” he breathed, “what oracles that I could seek gave half-heard whisperings about an isle far to the south, in realms I do not ken—for they lie west of Greece where once we dwelt—an isle where was a mighty mortal wizard not many years agone—”

“Hight Prospero?” barked Rupert. “Then thou hast read the chronicle thyself.”

Oberon trembled, like moonglow on a lake when the breeze passes over. “I think’twas he. I could not learn for sure. Nor could my spells and sendings search it out. Belike he left the place invisible, that none might find and use his tools for ill, without foreseeing good would someday need them. Its friendly sprite knows nothing of our woe. If thou couldst fetch those things—”

“Where you have failed,” Rupert asked, “how shall unmagic I discover them?”

Queen Titania flowed forward. Rupert dropped to one knee. “I bow to beauty,” he exclaimed.

She smiled and touched his head. “Nay, to weakness, Prince,” she answered softly. “Thou must have read how I was made a fool.” Casting a mischievous glance at Oberon: “Though if, instead of Bottom, it’d been thee—” (Puck snickered.) She gestured the man to rise. Quickly as had the king, she grew solemn.

“Ye mortals do have powers, do know things, which are for aye denied the Faerie race,” she said. “Among them is the strength of mortal love.” Wistfulness tinged her speech: “Mine ageless, flighty kind knows love… of sorts… but simply pleasantly, like songs or sweets. True human love is not a comedy; time makes it tragic. In those heights and deeps rise dawns and storms beyond our understanding, the awe and the abidingness of death.”

She raised her hands. Abruptly in the fingers of each was a ring. One was larger than its mate, but otherwise they were alike: circlets of silver in the form of an asp which bit its own tail, its head the bezel crowned by a many-faceted jewel.

“These rings which I uphold before thy gaze were forged in Egypt centuries away, by the last sorcerer of that old land, to aid a lordly pair who were in love. So long as each stayed true to plighted troth, the glowing of the stones would guide them on tow’rd where the means of fortune for them lay: the closer aim, the brighter was the light.” Titania sighed. “He proved too weak, too politic for it. The flames went out for both, who failed and died.

“By twists and turns, the treasure came to us, who lack that strength and purity of love which kindles it.”

Like a stooping hawk: “But thou art mortal, Prince! With this for compass, thou canst seek the isle, and on the way know where is help or refuge. Thy right hand wilt thou need for reins and sword. Wear this upon the left.”

Jennifer clutched her breast. Rupert was as shaken. He took a backward step and stammered, “I have no one—”

She leaned near. Her hair floated cloud-wan, bearing odors of thyme and roses. “Not Mary Villiers?” she whispered.

He made as if to fend her off. “She was never mine.”

Jennifer broke from her companions, sped through the dew-bright grass. “Leave off thy gramaries on him, thou witch!” she yelled.

Titania smiled as she withdrew to Oberon’s side. “Here’s one to make exchange of vows with thee,” she said.

Rupert caught the maiden’s wrist. “Be calm, they mean us well,” he began. She halted, but faced the queen and challenged: “What dost thou mean?”

“Thou heardst us speak, my child,” Titania responded gently. “Take each a ring and give it to the other, pledging faith, that he may have a torch to show his way, and thou thyself what safety thine bestows.”

Jennifer stood awhile, staring first at her, then at Rupert, there in whiteness and shadow. The moon was lowering and a thin cold ripple went through the air. At last the girl said, “I cannot give him what he owns already.”

Beneath the oak, Puck remarked to Will, “If he’ll not take the maiden’s ring she proffers, he is a fool, unless his softness lies elsewhere than in the brain.”

“A liavely wench,” the man agreed. “How spendthrift be’t, to risk thic slender waist.”

Rupert looked long at Jennifer in his turn before he joined his clasp to hers and said, as carefully as if his tone might shatter something of crystal: “My dear, I am not worthy of thy troth. And’tis a pledge unsanctioned by the law or holy Church—”

Her words stumbled. “It only is forever.”

“I know not, nor dost thou. Let me remind that thou and I are worlds and wars apart. Nor do I like this pagan ceremony.”

“But… thou’lt go through with it… to get the help?”

He nodded. “I am a soldier; and it is my way to charge ahead into the teeth of chance. If thou wilt stand me true till I return, or till I fall, I’ll do the same for thee. Then afterward, if such be fate, we’ll talk.”

She told him through tears, “I’ll live in hope of what thou then may’st say.”

“Kneel, children, here before the sacred stone,” Oberon commanded. They did, hand in hand. As he stepped in front of them, his elves made a whirlpool of dim fire above his crown. He laid palms upon their heads.

“By oak and ash and springtime-whitened thorn, through ages gone and ages to be born, by earth below, by air arising higher, by ringing waters, and by living fire, by life and death, I charge that ye say true if ye do now give faith for faith.”

They answered together, like speakers in sleep: “We do.”

Titania carne to her lord. “Place each a ring upon the other’s hand,” she told them (they obeyed), “and may the sign of binding prove a band that joins the youth to maiden, man to wife, and lights the way upon your search through life.”

Oberon and Titania together: “Farewell! And if the roads ye find be rough, keep love alive, and so have luck enough.”

They and their followers were gone. Darkness overwhelmed the glade.

“Where art thou, darling?” Jennifer cried. “Suddenly I’m blind!”

“The moon has slipped below the tree tops, dear,” he answered. “Bide unafraid till thou canst see by stars.”

Puck nudged Will Fairweather. “I likewise have to hurry on my way,” he said. “Methinks this night has not yet done with pranks.”

“We too must travel off, tha prince an’ me,” the man replied. “When once his landloard finds’a’s left tha inn without a stop for payin’ o’ tha scoare, we’d better have zome distance in between.” His voice was troubled.

“I caered not for this magickin’ myzelf. Her heart war in it, but not whoally his. Half done, it could recoil if’a ben’t caereful… An’ we doan’t even know which way to head!”

“To west, I’d say, where ye can find a ship,” Puck advised. After a pause: “And, h’m, to speak of inns and such—My friend, if sorely pressed for shelter, think of this. There is a tavern known as the Old Phoenix, which none may see nor enter who’re not touched by magic in some way. It flits about, but maybe ye can use his ring to find it, or even draw a door toward yourselves.… I must be off. My master calls. Away!”

He was gone.

Eyes grown used to the lessened light, Will made out Rupert and Jennifer at the rock.

“I hate to send thee back, alone and weary.” The pain was real in the prince’s voice.

“But we can do naught else,” she said. “I will abide, and pray for thee and love thee always, Rupert.”

They kissed. She felt her way off into the forest murk. Awhile he stared after her, until he shook himself and spoke flatly: “Well, camarado, let’s prepare to sail, while tide is ebb and wind not yet a gale.”