Arcadia

23

Rosie was led through the final door — she was convinced they had gone round in circles, they had passed through so many rooms — and into a huge hall. There was a large fireplace; the windows were not merely open, they seemed to have been actually removed so that it was light and airy, with what could only be described as a throne on a plinth at the far end. The servants halted at a little wooden balustrade that ran across the room with only a small gap. Rosie stopped as well, but one inclined his head to show that she was meant to go through. She did so — feeling nervous, as if she was being ushered into some form of court room — and the servants began stamping their feet on the broad wooden planks of the floor.

She was clearly meant to continue, so she started walking again. They started clapping, adding to the noise. She kept going, and they started shouting, ululating like African tribesmen she had seen once on television. From outside, she could hear others as well, joining in the noise, all shouting and stamping as loudly as they could.

Then — silence. Rosie was now confused and alarmed. A door opened and a woman walked — glided really — through it, and placed her hands together against her mouth, and bowed to her.

‘Greetings to you, and peace be with you through all your days, traveller,’ she said in a melodious voice which was so quiet Rosie could hardly make it out. ‘You are welcome to the hospitality of my house, as welcome as if it were your own. May you be comfortable and happy here.’

Rosie realised that this was a very formal, polite sort of greeting which presumably required an equally formal and polite reply. She didn’t know what it was, but ‘Hello’ didn’t seem right.

‘I thank you for your great kindness,’ she said, hoping this would do for a start, ‘and for the hospitality of your great house. May it know peace and happiness all the days it stands.’

Not bad. Not bad at all. It was evidently not what she ought to have said — the slightly perplexed look on the woman’s face showed that very clearly — but it seemed to be acceptable, if unorthodox.

The woman clapped her hands and immediately the others in the room began filing out. The last one closed the great doors, leaving them alone.

‘Good,’ she said in a warm voice. ‘Now come with me. You need some care and attention before the Festivity begins.’

She came close to Rosie and studied her carefully with her deep blue eyes. Rosie did the same in return. She was a beautiful woman, with a delicate face and a way of standing that — to Rosie — made her seem like a queen with her long fair hair under a tiara of glittering stones. She was dressed all in white with a blue sash around her waist. She wore no shoes, but had a ring of gold on every toe. Rosie thought that looked rather good.

‘Forgive me for asking,’ she said, ‘but who are you?’

‘I am called Catherine, widow of Thenald, Lord and Lady both of the domain of Willdon,’ she replied. ‘Although the conventions of etiquette insist that I am never introduced to anyone.’

‘Why not?’

She thought. ‘Probably because I should not need to be.’

‘You’re the one Jay is so frightened of?’

‘I very much hope so,’ she said with a light laugh.

‘I don’t see what he has done which is so terrible.’

‘Ah, but you seem to know very little. Young Jay has disobeyed the direct command of his master. He has trespassed on my lands and ventured unbidden into the Shrine of the Leader. For the first he could be dismissed from his calling, for the second he could become my property, and his children and his children’s children, for seventy and seven harvests. For the last, he could be cast out of human society for ever.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘It is. His master will scold him, then forgive him. As for the second, it is a law which has not been enforced in my time and I do not intend to revive it for Master Jay. Nonetheless, he has not covered himself in glory.’

‘He’ll be all right, then?’

‘Oh, certainly. Apart from burning ears, he will be returned to you in almost perfect condition. Now, through this door here...’

Lady Catherine led Rosie through a door into a much smaller room which was lined with the most curious shelves the girl had ever seen: lots of square wooden boxes filled with rolls of paper. It smelt of wax and dust and flowers. It was a bit like an office, like her father’s little study, except that it had big windows that opened directly onto the courtyard beyond and was bathed in light, while her father’s was always dark and smelled of stale pipe smoke. ‘What a nice room,’ she said.

‘Thank you. It is where the story of Willdon is kept.’

She said this in a way which weighed the words down with meaning, although Rosie didn’t see what the meaning was. It didn’t seem that serious a business, after all, to have stories. But she nodded as though she understood, and tried to look impressed.

While the mysterious visitor was becoming acquainted with Lady Catherine, Jay was being reminded how fearsome his master could be when in a bad mood. He had caused offence in so many different ways it was difficult to know which was going to be the most serious. Making a mess of the introduction was merely the last straw, but what could he do? The girl said her name was Rosie Wilson, and if he had said that, everyone would have burst out laughing. But to introduce her merely as Rosie made her seem like a servant, someone who had only one name. So he had stumbled and invented. So be it. He’d done his best; it was not as if he had time to prepare and besides, the welcome given them had been so unexpected he felt quite proud he had managed to say anything. He’d expected to be thrown into jail; instead they had been progressed through so many levels of greeting — six for himself, the number a scholar might expect, and Rosie was getting even more. Actually to go into the house — that was the sort of thing that only the greatest might expect.

Henary led him into a small room with a chair and a desk and closed the door.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Where should I begin?’

Jay shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Henary held up his hand to silence him.

‘Just for once, Jay...’ he said.

Henary rested his head in his hands. ‘You really seem quite incapable of doing anything you are told. I cannot tell you how distressed I am that I am unable to punish you over the matter.’

Jay peered at him carefully.

‘The Lady of Willdon has prepared a great festival to mark the fifth anniversary of her accession, part of which will now also be to honour the guest you discovered. As the first person to encounter her, you will continue as her escort for the occasion. Please do not smile, speak or show any sign of pleasure, or you will provoke me beyond endurance.’

Jay sat completely immobile.

‘When we get back to Ossenfud I will have dreamed up a punishment which will be time-consuming, difficult and acutely unpleasant for you. Until then, I propose to say no more on the matter, although I trust you will do me the honour of not thinking that I am so addled that I will forget something which will be as satisfying to me as it will be miserable for you.’

Jay, who could not believe his good fortune and could not understand it either, nodded mutely.

‘Now, you have a few hours to prepare yourself, so you will go, bathe and dress in clothes which do not bring disgrace either on East College or on me.’

‘But Master...’

‘Well done. Well done indeed. I believe you have kept quiet for nearly two minutes. That must be a record. If you wish to speak, you can answer questions instead, not ask them. This girl. Her name is Rosalind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where does she come from? Who is she?’

‘I don’t know. She talked a little about herself, but I couldn’t make sense of it. We didn’t have much time. She said she wanted to go home, and kept talking about a light which wasn’t there any more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She just said a light,’ Jay replied helplessly.

‘A light? In the woods?’

‘That wasn’t there.’

‘Are you — or is she — playing some sort of elaborate joke?’

‘Believe me, I would not dare at the moment.’

‘A credible answer.’

‘As for her — I don’t know. I don’t think so. She seemed very worried, and annoyed. You should ask her. She was very willing to answer the few questions I put to her. I just didn’t understand the answers.’

‘I will certainly do so. Meanwhile she must be treated with the utmost care.’

‘Why?’ A question. Henary raised an eyebrow.

‘Because, young man, she may well be the key to knowledge of immense importance. We must not frighten her and must not lose her. Your job — and the reason your punishment is to be postponed temporarily — is to make sure my wishes in this matter are respected. You know her already. Did she like you?’

Jay blushed.

‘Perhaps she did. Perhaps she trusts you. You must live up to that trust. Watch over her carefully.’

‘If she has to be protected and kept from others, why display her at a festival?’

‘The festival, not a festival. The grand ceremony to confirm the rule of the domain holder. The etiquette is complicated and precise. Believe me, I would keep her locked away if I could, safe from prying eyes. If that is understood, you may go and prepare yourself, and I will go and meet your fairy.’

‘Ah! Henary,’ Catherine said, turning as the door opened. ‘How was that?’

‘Most enjoyable,’ Henary said with a smile.

‘Good. Now, you two know each other already, so there is no need to go through that. Henary has asked to speak with you alone for a while. I trust that is acceptable?’

‘Um... yes. Why not?’ Rosie said. ‘As long as you haven’t been mean to Jay. If you have, I won’t say a word to you.’

Henary appeared to find this answer highly pleasing. He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘We are the very best of friends,’ he assured her. ‘All his limbs and bodily organs are exactly where they should be, and I have packed him off for a long bath.’

‘That’s all right, then. What do you want to know?’ she asked. Catherine nodded to them both and slipped quietly out of the room.

‘Well,’ Henary replied, as he gestured for her to sit, waited until she had done so, then sat himself, ‘I would like you to answer a question. How do you speak so well?’

Rosie did her best. ‘Mummy tried sending me to elocution lessons, because she thinks ladies should speak properly, and of course we have to recite poetry at school, you know. I never win, but I do well enough.’

‘So you are a scholar?’

‘A what? Oh, a scholar, I suppose you mean.’ She was perplexed by the way he pronounced the word for a moment. ‘Oh! No. Everyone knows I’m not clever enough for that. Are you a foreigner? I suppose that explains why you talk so oddly.’

‘I’ve always been told my enunciation of the values of the speech is perfect,’ he said stiffly. ‘Skoo-LAIR. Short, then long, emphasis on the second syllable.’

‘It isn’t said like that,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s SKOL-ur. Short o, emphasis on the first. Hard ch.’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you French?’

The conversation was not going as Henary intended. He walked to a large box in the corner and brought out a manuscript, which he lovingly removed from its protective casing. ‘Would you come over here, please?’ Rosie obediently did as he asked. ‘Now tell me, can you read this?’

She reached out to take it, but Henary grabbed her hand. ‘Careful!’

He was so obviously and genuinely alarmed that Rosie instantly apologised, although she could not see what she was really meant to be apologising for. She craned her neck and peered over his arm.

‘What is it?’

‘A fragment from a document I have been working on for many years.’

‘I’ll give it a whirl. “In the autumn of his life,”’ she read swiftly, ‘“Esilio gathered all his followers, and spoke. ‘My friends, my journey is at an end. You must continue without me, knowing that for you, also, an end is near. This place belongs to all men, all women equal. I will see you no more, until we meet again at the end of time.’ The old man lay down his head and died. He was an hundred and twenty, yet his eye was not dim, nor his force abated.” Well,’ Rosie said, looking up at the reverent face of Henary, ‘that’s a bit odd. All women equal? His eye not dim? It should be “all women equally” and “eye not dimmed”. It must have been written down in a real hurry.’

She noticed to her very great surprise that Henary was looking at her with disbelief. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Do you know what that is?’

‘Not the faintest idea. Sounds a bit like the Bible. You know, Moses and the Promised Land. We get that at Sunday School. It’s the same idea, surely? Old man, leading his flock to a new land and dying just as he gets there.’

‘Yet you read it and find fault.’

‘It’s not hard. The handwriting’s terrible though.’

Henary smiled bravely. ‘We must talk some more,’ he said. ‘Alas, it is now time for you to prepare for the evening.’ There was a slight tremor in his voice.

The next few hours were, in Rosie’s opinion, the most wonderful of her life. Lady Catherine returned and led her into a room — a whole series of rooms, in fact — which were full of all sorts of delightful things. Baths, thick cloths, bottles of strange substances; it was warm and comfortable there, with a thick pall of steam from hot water coming from one of the rooms, heavy smells of perfume coming from others.

‘Here I will leave you again,’ she said. ‘You will be in good hands.’

‘What are they going to do to me?’ Rosie asked in alarm.

‘Prepare you for the festivity. We cannot have an honoured guest looking like... well, you are not dressed quite properly. You will be washed, and prepared, and dressed.’

‘You make me sound like a chicken,’ Rosie said. ‘You’re not a witch, are you? I mean, like Hansel and Gretel?

‘Like who?’

‘You know. The story. The boy and a girl who get captured by a witch, and she fattens them up to eat them, then they push her in the oven and escape.’

‘Why do you want a witch? Are you ill? I could summon one from the village if there is something which ails you.’

‘Oh, no,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘No. Not in the slightest. Forget I said it.’

‘Very well.’ She clapped her hands and two women appeared, one scarcely older than Rosie and one about the same age as her mother. They went through the ritual of greeting once more.

‘We will meet again at dusk. Until then you must relax and cleanse your mind and body of all wearisome things.’

She left, and they began.

In the back of Rosie’s mind was still the thought that this might be an elaborate trap — although it seemed a lot of trouble to go to. It might be they were preparing her to become a human sacrifice — she had read about that. Or that they planned to eat her. Or something equally horrible and unpleasant.

But they were so nice and once it was clear they had no intention of listening to her protests — I’ve been doing my own bath since I was six, thank you very much — Rosie accepted that she had no choice but to give in.

Conversation was not very good — Rosie tried to ask them questions, but they just blushed and giggled when she did — so communication was limited to requests and instructions, delivered in a strange accent, very much as though they were speaking a foreign language which they knew only poorly. ‘If you would have the goodness to stand while we remove...?’

They did this, and were much less perturbed by Rosie standing there with nothing on than she was; then they bathed her, and led her to a table where she received her first massage, which she enjoyed greatly once she got used to it, although at the beginning she was still thinking actively about cannibalism. By the end — pummelled as she was — she was so relaxed she didn’t care. Let them eat her! She didn’t mind.

Then another long soapy bath, after which she was dried and anointed again with oil from head to toe. Next they wrapped her in thick towels and began on her feet, which elicited a tutting of disapproval. These they scraped and rubbed, then painted her toenails a bright red and slipped rings over her toes. One gold and two silver on each foot. Her hands were treated similarly.

Finally, they applied themselves to her head. Her hair was brushed like it had never been brushed before, with sweet-smelling liquids massaged into her scalp so it tingled. They cut it — how on earth would she explain that when she got home? If she ever did — and bound it up in a complicated arrangement which somehow stayed in place when they had finished. It never did when she tried it in her bedroom.

Rosie was almost asleep from the surfeit of sensations by this time, so she made no objection when they began on her face. This was again rubbed and massaged, her eyebrows plucked, her teeth violently cleaned, before they began on the make-up. Her mother had never allowed even the slightest hint of paint — though other girls her age were experimenting — so she would have become excited had she not been so relaxed. Lips, cheeks, eyelashes, eyebrows, nose, ears were all given full attention until Rosie could no longer even grasp what they were doing to her. Later she realised that they had not only cut her hair, they had dyed it as well. Oh, am I going to be in trouble, she thought. Finally they brought an extraordinary wig, long and golden, quite unlike her own hair, and carefully put it on her head, tucking her hair out of the way. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Then they were finished and — tentatively, nervously — held up a mirror for her to see herself.

Rosie gasped in utter astonishment. In the glass there stared back at her, wide-eyed with wonder, the face of an undeniably, amazingly, fabulously, magnificently beautiful young woman, the like of which she had never seen in a mirror before. ‘Lordy!’ she said reverently. ‘Just look at that!’

The servants smiled nervously, realised it was approval and then grinned broadly.

When she was finally ready, Rosie was taken to Lady Catherine’s private suite in the house, shown through the door and left alone with her.

She was so bewildered by this stage she had stopped thinking altogether. Nothing made sense. She could, of course, have behaved normally — stamped her feet, burst into tears and demanded to be taken home — but she suspected that would achieve nothing. This was all too elaborate to be some joke. Too solid to be a dream. Too strange to be anything other than real. She was dressed, manicured and coiffed more elaborately than any debutante or film star, being treated like some form of royalty and had no choice but to play her role. That might, at least, allow her to find out what all this was about. Meanwhile, she might as well enjoy herself. Worrying wasn’t going to make any difference.

Her idea of courtly behaviour came mainly from the novels of Jean Plaidy and the lesser Hollywood epics she saw on a Saturday morning at the Odeon. Not much, but in all of these silence and slow movement seemed to be the foundation of grace. The first was not her strong suit, but she had, often enough, practised being presented at court in the privacy of her little bedroom. She could do what was necessary.

To her vague disappointment, it wasn’t required, at least not yet. In her rooms Lady Catherine was relieved of her duties as Lady of the domain. There — and there alone — she could be herself. It was where she received Henary, for example, when she wanted a proper argument with him. Where she received those she trusted and liked, when she did not need the protection of her position. By Rosie’s standards she was still formal, but certainly less scary or strange.

‘Sit, Rosalind, please do.’

Lady Catherine was also transformed for the Festivity. She wore what Rosie guessed was a cloth-of-gold robe and had rings on every finger, one of gold, one of silver on each and all with stones in them. Her fair hair — which Rosie now realised was a wig as well — had been brushed with gold paint, so that it sparkled in the light. Around her were belts, several of them, across her chest, stomach and hips. The effect was very peculiar but, Rosie conceded, very attractive also. ‘You look very nice,’ she said. Lady Catherine smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You also look quite different.’

‘Don’t I just! Who would have thought! If Mummy could see me at the moment, she’d have a heart attack, I think.’

‘I do hope not. Is your mother ill?’

‘Oh, no. Fit as a flea, but she’s not one for dressing up, if you see what I mean. Especially me. She thinks I’m too young.’

‘Too young? You must be — what, fifteen?’

‘And a quarter.’

‘You are not married?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Betrothed, then?’

Rosie laughed. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. It’s just a saying. No. I am not. People don’t get married until they are in their twenties at least. Normally, I mean.’ She decided not to go into the example of Amy, who had had to leave school suddenly last year.

‘You come from a long way away, don’t you?’ came the suddenly serious question.

Rosie nodded. ‘I think I must.’

‘Do you know anything of Anterwold?’

Rosie looked at her, open-mouthed. ‘Did you say Anterwold?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Anterwold?’

‘Yes. That is what this land is called. Did you not know that?’

‘Oh. No,’ the girl replied, properly flustered for the first time. ‘I know nothing. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I don’t know how I’m going to get home. I’m going to be in real trouble when I do. I mean, not perpetual slavery. But a lot of detentions. Anterwold? Are you serious?’

‘Hush, my dear, don’t worry. We wish to help you. It may be you will be able to help us as well. We shall see. I must tell you that at the moment there is nothing we can do. We don’t know how you got here either. But Henary...’

‘Yes. Him. He seems terribly nice.’

‘He is the wisest and most learned man in the land. If anyone can help you, he can. You must trust him, for he means only well. Can you do so?’

‘I will ask Jay.’

Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow. ‘You trust the opinion of a student over mine?’

‘Certainly,’ Rosie said. She smiled apologetically for her cheek.

‘In that case, you must ask him. He will be your escort for the Festivity. I hope that does not offend you.’

‘Oh no! Why should it? Who is he, anyway?’

‘Henary says he is one of the most gifted students he has ever had, although apparently he is quite unaware of that, so please do not tell him. Pride gets in the way of learning. One day — if he learns to obey rules and follow orders, which at the moment seems unlikely — he may be a very great Storyteller.’

‘Is that good?’

Catherine looked at the girl, who was evidently serious.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is no higher achievement or honour in the world.’

‘In that case, it must be a very different world from mine,’ Rosie replied.

In contrast to Rosie, Jay received no special treatment, for which he was deeply grateful. Any attention he might have received would certainly have been unpleasant, and he still could not believe his good fortune in escaping unscathed, at least temporarily.

Moreover, he had questions of his own to ask. For example, when he left Henary, he was met by a servant, carrying his best robes. By the elevated standards of Willdon, they were poor enough, what he had to wear on high days at college, but they were a great deal better than his normal clothes. Henary had brought them with him, but how had he known in advance that Jay would disobey his orders to stay outside the domain? Had he been determined to overlook the fault even before it had been committed?

An imponderable question, with no answer that he could see. Oddly, mysterious though it was, it was not the thought that filled his mind as he found his way to the bathhouse (the communal one — no one was going to celebrate his presence) and began to prepare himself for the night.

No; his mind was full to bursting with the strange girl who had reappeared before him. So many questions floated in his head, he could not fix on any one long enough to make sense of it. Who was she? Where was she from? Why the unusual name, appearance, clothes, words, behaviour? Why was he given the job of being her guide for the evening? (Henary’s explanation made no sense.) Why such a welcome for her? Who (he repeated for the tenth time) was she?

When he met her once more, just as dusk was beginning to fall, he did not recognise her. He was standing in the first courtyard, wondering how the evening would unfold, when he saw two figures approaching him. Both were of unmatched beauty and elegance, one tall and fair, the other shorter, and with long golden hair. Both wore the finest clothes he had ever seen in his life; over their faces they already wore the glittering, elaborately painted masks which gave both an air of mystery. They were, he thought, nothing to do with him; his role was merely to stand in the corner, watch them go by and admire from a distance.

But they walked towards him and the shorter woman smiled. It was the smile that jolted him into realising who she was, and also that the creature next to her must be the Lady Catherine. He went down onto one knee with a deep reverence.

‘Stand up, Master Jay,’ said Lady Catherine. ‘I do not intend to eat you this evening. Breakfast tomorrow, perhaps?’

Jay returned to his feet but could not look into her eyes, so shy and abashed was he.

‘Or perhaps I should leave that to your master. What do you think?’ she added.

‘Shall I do the introductions?’ Rosie asked. ‘Now, let me see; I’d like to get it right. It seems so important here. “It is my very great pleasure, and an honour to me and my family...”’

‘Only a pleasure,’ Jay corrected. ‘Only a master should be introduced with very great pleasure. In fact, in my case, you should probably say “It is my duty”.’

‘For this evening, we grant you very great pleasure,’ Catherine said. ‘In fact, we might dispense with it altogether, as the Festivity starts so soon. You are Jaramal, son of Antus and Antusa, and are known as Jay.’

He nodded.

‘Then that is what I will call you also. I welcome you to my home, Jay Antusson; may you be happy here, as if it were your own.’

Jay was speechless, which was, for once, not good. He was expected to say something in return. Luckily Rosie did not realise this and interrupted.

‘Jay!’ she said. ‘Isn’t this just fantastic? There’s going to be a party, and you are to be my escort. Lady Catherine says it will last all night. I’ve never been up all night. Except once on New Year’s, but that was only because I sneaked out of bed when everyone was downstairs.’

‘It will be my very great honour...’

‘Oh, do stop all that, please, or you’ll be no fun. As I’m stuck here, I have decided to enjoy myself, and I can’t do that if you keep on bowing at me and looking as though you’ve just swallowed the soap.’

Lady Catherine laughed. ‘Well said, Lady Rosalind. Jay, I command you to obey her wishes, and those of your master.’

With that she withdrew, leaving them alone.

Jay scarcely noticed her going; instead he was gazing at Rosalind.

‘What? What is it? What’s wrong? What have I done now?’

‘Nothing. I just think you look beautiful.’

She blushed mightily at the compliment. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. The closest she had ever come was when Colin in year two had said she was quite pretty, he supposed. This was a great improvement and she didn’t know how to reply. So she just said, ‘Do you mean it? Or is that just what you’re meant to say?’

‘I mean it. Every word.’ Then he held out his arm and she linked hers in it. He adjusted it so that her hand was gently resting on his forearm, and said, ‘Would you care to walk around the Festivity?’

The guests had been arriving in the far courtyard for some time and were spreading out around the gardens. All were in their finest clothes, all talked softly. Only the occasional sound of laughter rose above the gentle murmur of voices. Then a loud trumpet sounded from an open window on the second floor of the house and a great cheer rose up, with applause and cries of ‘Well sounded, trumpeter! Sleep well! May you sleep through dawn!’

‘We’ve begun,’ Jay said. ‘Now all is permitted until dawn.’

‘Anything?’

‘Yes.’

‘So go and ask Lady Catherine — or should I call her Katie? — for a dance.’

‘You should not call her Katie. It may be permitted but that does not mean it is wise.’

‘Coward.’

‘I admit it. Besides, I want nothing more than to talk to you. “I would not want to choose for wealth and not for perfect love.”’

It was a quotation, of course, but not entirely spoiled by the fact that Rosie didn’t notice. In fact, Jay realised with a start, it was just as well she didn’t. The story was of the starving man given a choice between a pig and a beautiful but foolish woman. In the end, after much anguish, he chooses the pig to feed his family, uttering the words as he sends the woman away. Not the best of compliments.

‘What’s this party in aid of? This Festivity, I mean.’

‘It is the fifth Festivity of the rule of Lady Catherine. It marks her accession.’

‘She has it every year?’

‘She should, but Henary tells me that for the last two years she cancelled it. The harvests were bad, and she said it would be better to leave the food with those who needed it.’

‘Good for her.’

‘Not everyone thought so. Some considered it a scandalous break of tradition. Gontal made a fuss about it.’

‘Did you think it scandalous?’

‘I know nothing about it. Only what Henary told me an hour ago. Anyway, the music will begin soon. Let us walk until then.’

‘What about food? I’m starving.’

‘Later.’

The Festivity was magical beyond imagining. Much of the grounds had been taken over and the paths were lit with torches which cast a soft, reassuring light over the hedges and bushes. All around were gaily coloured pavilions and tents, which contained food and drink or music and dancing. Some were put up by guests, for it was a grand thing to have your own tent for such an occasion. At one point a tall masked man bowed deeply to Rosie, leaving her confused about how to respond.

‘Should I have done something there?’ she asked when they had walked past.

‘You should have curtsied back,’ Jay said. ‘It is safe to do so for a while longer. As you did not, he undoubtedly thinks you are haughty and proud. You have humiliated him, and the only good thing to say about it is that there was no one around to watch.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry! Let’s go back and I’ll apologise. It’s just that he reminded me a little of that horrid man I met in the forest.’

‘That would make things worse. What man?’

‘Before I came across you. There was this man. I said hello and we talked, but then he ran off. It wasn’t important, I suppose, but he was really rude. I didn’t like him in the slightest. Do you know how sometimes you can dislike someone the moment you meet them? And what do you mean, young Jay, when you say “safe to do so for a while longer”?’

‘After night has properly fallen and the stars are out, if you curtsy back to a man you become his companion for the next hour.’

‘Goodness. What for?’

‘To do whatever you wish to do. It’s not a promise of marriage or anything, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Best to forget about it now. Explaining why you didn’t respond might take all night. Besides, I am supposed to keep you close.’

‘Are you indeed?’

‘Yes. Henary gave me strict instructions.’

‘Did he? Then you can tell Henary from me that I don’t want him choosing my companions any more. I suppose if it wasn’t for that you would be off with someone else. I’m sorry you have to spend time with me. You must find it a terrible imposition.’

‘No, no, no. Dear Rosalind, I can think of nothing better. I am the luckiest man in the world. Do you think I would be able to accompany a woman of such beauty otherwise?’

She grunted, slightly mollified by the completeness of his apology. ‘I’m sorry. I am a long way from home. Please remember that every time I make a mistake.’

They walked without speaking for a while, until Jay said softly, glad to be able to move on to a new subject, ‘Look, we are at the lake. Shall we take a boat?’

They had indeed arrived at a small jetty which jutted out into a broad lake that had been illuminated by torches on tall poles in the water. On the lake already were half a dozen boats, drifting or being rowed slowly towards the centre. They had lanterns in the rear and were covered in brilliantly coloured cloths.

‘Would you join us, young couple?’ cried a man standing upright in one of the boats. ‘We have space for two more, and I’d welcome another pair of hands.’

‘Gladly, sir, thank you,’ Jay said, and he steered Rosie towards the water. ‘Do you mind?’ he whispered. She shook her head and allowed herself to be handed into the boat, where she sat next to a large woman at the front.

‘The best evening to you,’ said this woman cheerfully. ‘What a splendid occasion this is. I present myself as Renata from Cister. That is my husband, Beltan. Are you comfortable? I do hope your young man is better with boats than mine is. Otherwise we are going to go round in circles and get seasick. Do you care to introduce yourself, my dear?’

All this was delivered in a torrent of good humour that rather reminded Rosie of Mrs Hamilton, the old lady who ran the bed and breakfast for students down the road. She also would begin a conversation with about twenty questions.

‘My name is Rosalind,’ she said, aware of the fact that she was beginning to think of it as her proper name. That reminded her of the young man in the forest again. Of his look, his eyes, and the tingled confusion in her stomach. ‘This is Jay,’ she added.

‘Excellent! Young, tall and strong. That’s the way I like ’em. Master Jay! Pick up that pole and pay the price of youth, if you please.’

Jay laughed and did as instructed, or tried to. In truth, he wasn’t very good. Rosie, who had been taken punting once or twice and had watched students from the river bank, wanted to jump up and show him how it should be done, but it would ruin her clothes and might not be the right thing to do. ‘Make sure the pole goes down fast and straight,’ she called out. ‘Otherwise you’ll push us sideways.’

Jay flushed. ‘It’s just that I’ve seen it done before,’ she said, as she worried that she had humiliated him in front of strangers. ‘Try it.’

Annoyed he might have been, but he followed her advice and soon the little boat was skimming across the surface, with both Renata and Beltan applauding loudly from their cushion-covered seats. ‘Bravo, young man,’ they said. ‘Now could you manage to stop?’

Jay figured it out eventually, and they took up a position close by a sort of pontoon floating in the water. On it was a solitary man and a jumble of what were obviously musical instruments.

‘Just in time,’ someone from another boat called. ‘The music begins in a few moments.’

‘Who is singing?’

‘Aliena, the student of Rambert.’

Beltan gave a laugh of astonishment and delight. ‘Is that the truth, now? This is wonderful, wonderful!’ he cried. ‘We may just have time for some food as well. Tie up the boat, young man, and come and sit with us.’

He patted the seat beside him and then leant forward to open the hamper beside his legs. ‘Chicken! “Bread, wine, fruit and sweetmeats! Come one and all, and eat your fill!”’ he cackled.

‘Level 3, 47?’ Jay suggested.

‘Perhaps. A student, are you? I thought you had the look of one. Boating skills as well.’

Jay made a face. ‘And you, sir?’

‘My uncle, now long dead, was a student. He used to quote things at us all the time, and some stuck in my memory. He didn’t become a Storyteller, though. We’ve never had one in our family, as far as I know. Now you, beautiful Lady Rosalind, are you also a student?’

‘A sort of student,’ she said. ‘It’s complicated.’

Fortunately, she was pressed no further on the subject, although she was quite pleased with herself. By concentrating hard she had managed to make out enough of what the couple had said, and had ventured a reply, which had been understood. They seemed, she thought, to be talking a sort of English after all. It was very simple, though, almost the way an infant might speak.

The older couple settled back in their cushions with a look of contentment on their faces. Rosie noticed that the old man slyly took hold of his wife’s chubby hand and gave it a squeeze. With the other, she brought out rolls and chicken and strange-looking sausages.

Their boat was moored to a gaily coloured pole topped with a lantern that spread its light on the ripples of the lake. Beyond the shore, stretching into the distance, were rolling uplands, covered in fields and woodland, still just visible in the rapidly fading light. Twenty or thirty other boats were moored around them, each lit by lanterns, and the murmur of voices, subdued by the beauty of the scenery, echoed across the water. Although night was falling, the air was still warm and even the water, as Rosie pulled her hand through it, was pleasant to the touch.

She lay back and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to shine more brilliantly than she had ever seen them before. She recognised some. She didn’t know much about the stars, but she knew enough to realise that, wherever she was, the stars were the same. She listened carefully, but there was no sound, no background rumbling of traffic. Only the noise of the water against the side of the boat, the distant sound of crickets on the banks, the occasional screech from some passing bird.

‘Here they come,’ Jay said, disturbing her peace. ‘Here comes Aliena. Just look at her!’

A heavy boat was being driven purposefully through the water. In it were six people, four rowing, two sitting idly, one at each end. The man at the front leapt out onto the pontoon when the boat nudged alongside and tied it up. Then the rowers followed, and, last of all, the small figure in the back walked delicately forwards and was handed up onto the floating stage. Another boat, unlit, rowed by a single hunched figure followed, then rowed off to rest in isolation away from the audience.

She was dressed in a robe of deep red, which was all the more striking for being lit only by dim candlelight, and stood straight and still, facing the boats and ignoring the men behind her as they took their places, picked up their instruments and began to tune them.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Beltan said with a tone of awe.

‘Oh, she is,’ Jay said with too much appreciation in his voice for Rosie’s taste.

‘You wait till she sings,’ his wife added. ‘From all I’ve heard, at any rate.’

The sound of tuning died away, and, after a moment’s silence, Aliena held up one hand and began to sing.

It was the strangest singing Rosie had ever heard in her life, and it took some time to get used to it. It wasn’t a song, exactly, nor an opera; indeed, she couldn’t quite make out what it was, but it went on for a very long time. Sometimes it was recognisably tuneful, but this never lasted long. It wasn’t like the sort of song Rosie knew, where the tune would be repeated three or four times. Rather it was sung once and then the singer changed it, bit by bit, so it slowly disappeared or turned into another tune altogether. There were parts which were like chanting, others almost speaking, but always there was some brief fragment of a melody, so short Rosie’s mind could only just notice it before it was snatched away again. Sometimes the musicians would echo what she was singing, other times they would seem to be playing something entirely different.

Above all, there was the voice of the diminutive but commanding figure standing before them, gently responding with her body to the sounds she was making. It was like liquid gold, rich, amber, resonant. Rosie thought of the songs which Professor Lytten had played her, the sort of singing where the music isn’t so important, a voice which can make anything sound beautiful. This Aliena, although she must surely be very young, had a voice like that. When this was joined to the hypnotic music, Rosie — along with everyone else in the audience — soon fell into a sort of trance.

Even the words were strange. No be my baby, let alone rocking around the clock. This instead was a most peculiar story about people coming to some place and making a fire and having a dinner. That was about it, really, but the singing put emphasis on certain parts — the taste of the first food produced a lovely (if brief) tune. When everyone went to sleep afterwards there was another, which Rosie was sure she had heard before.

Then it came to an end. The musicians faded out, leaving the girl to sing alone for the last couple of minutes, until her voice also disappeared into the sounds of the water and wind, leaving nothing behind her except what even Rosie was beginning to think of as the real world. There was no applause; the people in the boats showed their appreciation by beating their hands firmly against their breasts. Aliena responded by clasping her hands together and looking down for as long as the noise continued. One by one, the punts occupied by the audience were untied and they began to drift back towards the shore, trailing the yellow torchlight behind them. Jay noticed the single boatman also rowing off, in a different direction. He saw Aliena glance at him, then toss her head in anger.

‘Well, young students, have you ever heard the like before?’

It was Renata who spoke as Jay punted slowly back to the shore. Her husband was incapable of speech. The tears had run down his face for most of the performance, and he was still dabbing a handkerchief against his eyes and snuffling occasionally.

‘She was wonderful,’ Jay agreed enthusiastically. Too much so, in Rosie’s opinion.

‘You must tell her, then. I’m told she gets offended if people fail to compliment her. She does deserve all the compliments we might proffer.’

For this was the true applause. The singer had taken up her position at the very end of the jetty, and one by one the audience got out of the boats, approached her, bowed and spoke a few words. It was, Rosie realised, going to be another of those terribly formal moments where what was said was prescribed down to the last breath.

‘Jay,’ she whispered urgently. ‘What should I say?’

He looked panicked. ‘I don’t know. I know what a man must say to a female singer. I know what a woman must say to a male singer. When one or the other is older or younger. But I don’t know the words for a woman to a woman when they are the same age and both under the age of maturity. Renata?’

She also looked apologetic. ‘It is most unusual for a girl of your age to go to such performances. And even more unusual for a girl of her age to sing at them. I’d just say the usual, if I were you, my dear.’

That didn’t help, of course, and now it was too late. The punt was alongside and Beltan had recovered himself enough to get out and hand up his wife, then Rosie. Jay followed and they were then in the queue to give greetings to their singer.

Although hardly older than Rosie was herself, she looked terribly mature and grown up. Her stance was almost imperious, her expression frigid and cold; only her short stature diminished the effect. She received the enthusiastic thanks and congratulations like an empress, nodding only and scarcely looking at the person addressing her. Beltan and Renata got the same treatment, and so did Jay, who was evidently star struck, almost trembling with excitement.

That annoyed Rosie greatly, as did the realisation that all these silly rules were going to make her feel like a fool again. In her opinion, she was doing her best in very difficult circumstances. Indeed, when had anyone been in more difficult circumstances?

So when her turn came, the fearful mood had been replaced by one of defiance. ‘I’m a foreigner,’ she announced. ‘I don’t know the words, and I don’t know what I am meant to say, but that was beautiful. Utterly wonderful and I have never heard anything like it before. And your clothes are just amazing.’

Aliena flinched, then broke into a broad grin. ‘Do you like them?’ she said. ‘I was told they looked coarse.’

‘Heavens no! You look like a queen. It suits you perfectly. Velvet, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s more expensive than... well. It was expensive.’

‘I can imagine. Who made it?’

‘I made it myself, but I couldn’t get the seam right.’ She lifted the sash around the waist and Rosie saw how the join of two bits of cloth was rumpled and untidy. Very amateurish.

She made a face. ‘You need to cut little darts right the way around,’ she said. ‘My mum showed me how to do that. I could fix it easily.’

‘Really? Could you really?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then you will. You must. Will you?’

‘It would be my pleasure. A practical gesture of thanks for the delight you have given me this evening.’

Aliena laughed. ‘That is a better way of putting it than many I have heard. Did you like my ending? I put it in just to annoy Rambert.’

‘Who?’

‘Rambert. My teacher. He was the one alone in the boat with a sour look on his face. We had a real fight this afternoon, so I thought I’d put in something unorthodox to annoy him. We’ll have another fight about it later, I suppose.’

‘I thought it was lovely.’ Then Rosie remembered where she had heard it. Just a snatch of a tune, scarcely recognisable. ‘Casablanca,’ she said. ‘That’s what it was. You know. Although I suppose you don’t,’ she added a little lamely.

Rosie started humming ‘As Time Goes By’, then began to sing.

‘You know this melody? What are those words?’

‘Of course I know it. I can’t sing well, though.’

‘No. You can’t. I am astonished you know this. Do you know any others?’

‘Lots.’

‘Sing me one.’

This was enough to make Rosie’s mind go blank. In desperation, she thought of what made people of her parents’ age look happy. ‘I know. There’s this one. You’ll like this.’ She sang a bit of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’. ‘Professor Lytten played me that. Peggy Lee. Good, isn’t it?’

Aliena sang it herself, the same tune but very different words. ‘That’s one of the oldest lines of melody there is,’ she said. ‘So Rambert tells me. It is used only for the most beautiful and poignant of passages.’

Rosie felt confused. She was sure it wasn’t that old. ‘We don’t do songs like that,’ she said. ‘Any old words will do, normally. Doo-wop, be-bop. That sort of thing.’

‘That’s disgusting. For prancing peasants.’

‘I’m sorry if I have offended you.’

‘You are a foreigner, so I will overlook it. This time.’

‘Do you still want me to fix your dress?’

Aliena was torn between her dignity and her clothes sense. ‘Yes,’ she said finally.

Rosie waited expectantly.

‘Please.’

‘It will be a pleasure.’

Rosie left her there, and saw that Jay was still bewitched by the young singer. It would have been inaccurate to say that his mouth was actually hanging open but, in her opinion, he was not behaving in quite the way a companion of hers should behave.

She sniffed disdainfully and walked up the bank of the lake on her own and then saw, standing on the narrow pathway, the tall man she had accidentally insulted earlier in the evening. He had a look of contempt on his face, or what could be seen of it under the mask.

With an exaggerated gesture of ironic distaste, he bowed deeply to her once again.

Rosie flushed, glanced briefly at Jay, who was still staring goggle-eyed at Aliena, and, with an equally exaggerated movement, curtsied deeply back.