Dennis McKiernan - Once Upon an Autumn Eve

Amid the following applause, the musicians again began to play-harpsichord, and a bass viol and a cello, a viola and a violin, as well as a flute and a harp. And they sounded some notes of a minuet, then the music segued into an interlude and one by one the instruments fell to silence, until only the harp remained. The crowd grew quiet and looked at the princess and her consort in expectation.

“Sieur Luc,” said Liaze, “may I have this dance?”

“Indeed, my lady,” he said, and bowed and took her hand.

A great, wide circle formed, and Luc led Liaze to the center, and when they stopped and took their positions, the flute and violin, viol, cello, bass viol, and harpsichord took up the play, and slid into a minuet.

Luc bowed low, and Liaze deeply curtseyed, and then Luc held out his hand to the princess, and they moved in time to the moderate tempo, the stately court dance one of small steps and erect posture and curtseys and bows and hand holdings and pacings side by side while facing one another. And they turned and drew close and then stepped apart, and struck the requisite poses, all having an air of restrained flirtation.

“It is called the kissing dance, Luc,” said Liaze, with an impish grin.

“I know, my lady,” said Luc, smiling back. “My teachers taught me so.”

“Fear not, Sieur Luc, I will not attack you in front of these guests.”

Luc laughed but said nought in return.

They continued the dance, effecting the various steps and postures and carriage, and Liaze said, “You are doing quite splendidly. Your tuteur taught you well.”

Gracefully, lithely, the pair glided through the dance, while those about occasionally applauded at some nimble step or turn, Liaze willowy, Luc agile, a perfectly matched pair.

As the minuet came to an end, Luc leaned as if to kiss Liaze, and she raised her face to meet him, and their lips did touch, to the delight of all, and in that moment the music slipped into the interlude, and all the spectators suddenly broke out in applause.

Liaze called above the ovation, “Now all take part,” and the crowd broke up into several rings, and couples took center, and the music segued into the minuet and the kissing dance went on.

That evening Liaze and Luc stepped out the cotillion, with its varied and intricate patterns, and they danced the countredanses, and lively they were with much gaiety, four or eight couples in a square, crossing over, changing partners, pacing lightly in pairs ’round and ’round.

And they danced many vigorous reels-the men in a line on one side, the women in a line opposite-couples tripping out to meet one another, or romping down the center in various steps and poses, to the laughter and joy of the other dancers, while the exuberant music played on.

And Liaze taught Luc and the gathering another reel: the Dance of the Bees it was called, something that her brother Borel and his intended Michelle had taught the attendees during Alain and Camille’s wedding; Borel had seen the dance of Buzzer the bee during the trials the Prince of the Winterwood had undergone, and when he could he turned Buzzer’s gyrations and wriggles into a dance. And so Luc and Liaze wiggled and buzzed and raced to and fro and ’round the lines of dancers, while the violin played a frenetic air, and everyone laughed.

And between dances and during refreshments, some sang, and some recited poetry, and some told tall tales. And then several called upon Luc to perform, and grinning he took center stage. He put his fingers to his lips and shushed, and the crowd fell silent. And in a melodramatic voice and with histrionic gestures Luc began:

The fog upon the misty moors

Came creeping in my sleep,

And clung unto the eaves and doors,

And made the windows weep.

I rose within the clammy night

And drifted from my bed,

And looked upon the ghastly sight

And thought I might be dead.

I deeply wept to think of all

That I had left undone.

But then there came through Mithras’ vault

The first rays of the sun.

I found I wasn’t dead at all

But much alive instead.

I took those very same regrets

And put them back to bed.

Luc laughed and bowed, and the crowd roared, and the musicians struck up an air, and applause sounded heartily. Luc stepped from the stage, where, delighted, Liaze waited, and she kissed him on the cheek.

“That was splendid, my love,” she said. “Humorous while at the same time speaking of things unregretted until it is too late.”

Smiling, Luc nodded, and then sobered and said, “And yet when more time is given, undone they continue to be.”

“ Saisez le jour, eh?” said Liaze.

“Oui,” replied Luc. “Seize the day, and leave nothing to regret, nothing undone.”

Liaze leaned closer to him and whispered, “Then why did you resist me so long?” She laughed a silvery laugh, and drew him onto the dance floor, and they joined another reel, and romped through the line of arched hands.

“Oh, my, what a wonderful evening,” declared Liaze, falling backwards onto her bed.

“Indeed,” said Luc. “That I remembered the dances amazes me.”

“Did I not say it was like riding a horse: once learned, ever remembered?”

“You did, cherie,” said Luc, pouring two glasses of dark wine. “Even so, I was a bit anxious. I have never been with so many people, and all of them having fun.”

“The poem, Luc, the one you recited, whence?” asked Liaze, sitting up.

“It came to me all at once on a foggy morn,” said Luc as he handed a glass to Liaze. “I believe it is my own creation, though mayhap it is only remembered from something I once read.”

“Well, it was quite splendid,” said Liaze, “and quite splendidly told.”

She raised her glass in a salute, but before sipping she said, “Here’s to many more nights such as this, the happiest of my life.”

Luc raised his glass in response. “And in my life, too,” he said, and they sipped the wine and smiled at one another, and both began shedding clothes. Nude, Liaze threw back the covers and leapt upon the bed, Luc an instant after.

They made precious and gentle love, and lay together awhile in murmured converse. But at last Luc stepped ’round the room and capped the lanterns and blew out the candles and crawled into bed. They kissed one another sweetly, and quickly fell into slumber.

It was well after the mark of midnight when Liaze awakened trembling, not from the cold but from a feeling of dread. She looked at Luc lying asleep, but the darkness obscured his face, and so she slipped from the bed and went to a nearby window and drew aside the drapes. She lowered the sash and opened the shutters, and once again she shivered in the chill autumn air. This night was the dark of the moon, and only starlight shone in.

What did awaken me, and why this sense of anxiety, as if something quite ghastly is creeping upon us?

Liaze looked out upon the lawn, and she saw a small dark form scuttling across the sward and pointing up at her open window. Yet that wasn’t what affrighted her so; instead it was a huge dark shadow following, the shadow slithering back and forth, like a giant serpent, or perhaps more as if it were a questing hound, seeking, seeking, flowing upon the grass like some dreadful Of a sudden Liaze saw what it resembled: A shadow of a great hand, creeping this way, with clawed fingers and Liaze spun and cried out, “Luc! Luc, waken!” And even as Luc started up from the bed, Liaze shouted to the unseen ward below, “A foe comes!”

Luc bolted up and into his chamber, and by the starlight shining in through his open-shuttered, open-draped windows, he snatched his sword from its scabbard lying upon a bedside table. And he grabbed his silver horn and chain shirt and silks and leathers and boots from their rack-stand.