Some in the audience laughed, while others looked on puzzled.
Roel struck a chord on his lute, and then began a merry tune, accompanied by Marielle and her flute, who seemed the only one other than Roel who knew the air:
Come listen awhile and I’ll sing you a song Of three merry chevaliers riding along.
They met a fair maid and one to her did say,
“I fear this cold morning will do you some wrong.”
“Oh no, kind sir,” said the maid, “you are mistaken To think this cold morn some harm will do me.
There’s one thing I crave, and it lies twixt your legs.
If you’ll just give me that, then warm I will be.”
“Since you crave it, my dear, it is yours,” said he,
“If you’ll just come with me to yonder green tree.
Then since you do crave it, my dear you shall have it.
These two chevaliers my witness will be.” The chevalier lighted beneath the green tree, And straightaway she mounted, laughing in glee.
“You knew not my meaning, you wrong understood.” And galloping away she right swiftly did flee.
“Oh. . chevaliers, stop laughing and take me up, That we might ride after her down the long lane.
If we overtake her, I’ll warrant I’ll make her Return unto me my horse back again.” But soon as this fair maiden she saw them acoming, She instantly took her dagger in hand.
Crying, “Doubt not my skill, it’s him I would kill; I’d have you fall back or he’s a dead man.”
Said one, “Oh. . why do we spend time galloping, talking?
Why do we spend time speaking in vain?
He’ll give you a silver; it’s all you deserve; And then you can give him his horse back again.”
“Oh no, kind sir, you are vastly mistaken.
If it is his loss well then, it is my gain, And you did witness that he gave it to me.” And away she went galloping over the plain.
And so my fine gentlemen be wary of maidens, For clever they are, and crafty they be.
If one offers something too good to be true, Then surely too good to be true it does be.
Oh, surely too good to be true it. . does. . be!
With a final twang of the lute strings, Roel broke out in laughter, as did the gathering, Celeste applauding and laughing as well. Roel leaned over and whispered loud enough for her to hear, “Present company excepted.” Celeste feigned a look of innocence. “Your meaning, Sieur?”
“You, my lady, are most certainly too good to be true,” whispered Roel.
“Ah, my love,” said Celeste, “we shall see about that anon.” And then she broke out in laughter again.
For another sevenday or so, Roel and Celeste for the most part idled the time away, waiting for Gilles to remove the stitches from Roel’s wound, for then he would be fit for strenuous duty, and hence could resume his quest. However, when he set out again, Celeste and the Springwood warband would accompany him. . “But only to the port city of Mizon,” or so Roel insisted, for he would not put anyone other than himself in peril, especially not Celeste. The princess, though, had made up her mind that she would stay with him to the end, saying, “Whither thou goest, go I.” And during this time Anton and the warband made ready for the journey-selecting horses, food stock, waterskins, cooking gear, weapons, armor, and the like.
They chose the brigands’ horses as pack animals, and allocated riding horses from the Springwood stables for themselves, Roche, the hostler, aiding them in their choices.
To Celeste’s delight, in echecs Roel improved significantly. And in dames, he was the better player of the two.
And they often made love-at times gently, at other times wildly-and Henriette gave up entirely at being chaperone, stirred as she was by the sounds coming from their quarters, usually at night, though not always.
And one morning ere dawn they slipped out early to elude Anton and the warband, and the princess and her knight rode to a high, sheer-sided rock pinnacle jutting up from the forest like a great cylinder, its rugged sides looming upward in the glimmer of the oncoming dawn.
“We call this the Sentinel,” said Celeste. “From the top you can see for leagues.”
“You’ve been to the top? The sides are sheer.”
“Oui. My father taught me to climb, both with aids and without. The Sentinel I free-climb.”
“Then let us scale it and take in the view,” said Roel, dismounting.
“What of your leg, my love?”
Roel made a gesture of negation, but Celeste said, “I would not have you open the wound.”
Roel grinned and said, “Gilles stitched me tighter than a drum, ma cherie; besides, I will be careful.” Leaving their horses cropping grass below, they free-climbed the rough stone, to come to the flat top covered in mosslike phlox, with tiny white blossoms with a faint blush of pink just then opening to greet the new day.
“Sit, Princess, for I have something to ask of you.”
Celeste cocked her head and gazed at him. “Something to ask?”
“Oui,” said Roel, and he handed her down, and then he sat knee to knee before her.
He took both of her hands in his and said, “My lady, you are a princess whereas I am but a common knight.
Even so, I am deeply in love with you, and never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would feel as I do.
Celeste, I cannot imagine life without you beside me.
I know I am completely out of bounds here, but I love you, ma cherie, and I will love you forever. There will never be anyone else for me.” Roel braced himself as if for a blow. “What I ask is, will you have me for a husband?”
Celeste squeezed Roel’s hands, and through her tears of joy she replied with a simple “Oui.” A burst of air escaped Roel’s lips and he said in amazement, “You will marry me?”
“Oui, my love, oh, oui,” said Celeste, and she leaned forward even as she pulled him to her and sealed her answer with a kiss.
And there in the silver light of dawn washing across the spring morning sky, amid tiny white flowers with a faint blush of pink, Roel shouted for joy.
They announced their betrothal upon their return, and that eve a grand party was held, with a banquet and music and singing and dancing and festive toasts proffered and accepted. Never, it seemed, had the manor been so full of bliss, and that evening more than one happy couple found pleasure in one another’s arms.
On the ninth day after Roel first awakened from his bout with poison, Gilles removed the stitches from the cut. “Well, Sieur Roel, I declare you fit for questing. Yet heed, my lad, try not to get struck again by an envenomed blade.” Roel laughed and said, “I shall do my best, Gilles.”
Standing at hand, Celeste said, “On the morrow, then, Gilles?”
“Your meaning, my lady?”
“To start for Port Mizon,” said Celeste.
Gilles sighed, for he, too, did not wish to see Celeste going on a quest where Changelings were involved. But then he nodded and said, “Oui, Princess, Roel is well, and the sooner started, the sooner done.”
“Bon!” she said.
That night, Celeste and Roel made tender love, the princess saying, “We will be on the trail, my darling, with no privacy. There are few towns between here and the border, and few between there and Mizon. It would not be fair for us to make love while the men of the warband leave their own wives and lovers behind.”
“Oui, I understand, ma cherie. But if we stop at an inn, where privacy is once again ours to have, then be certain I shall ravish you.”