Poul Anderson - A Midsummer Tempest

“Oh, come!” Belinda stopped before her, though she must muster will to continue: “Nay, I mean no insult to thee. Thou art quite charming, and most times I grant that thou wilt have no need of artifice. And yet—I am not blind—I saw in England, there where they like their woman tall, slim, blond, and thou wert but another servant wench, and foreign and a Catholic to boot… I saw how thou mad’st conquest after conquest.

Thou’rt going home with a substantial nest-egg, garnered from thine admirers, even though the English are a cold and stingy race.” In haste: “Mistake me not! I make no accusation. I do not speak of witchcraft or the like, but simply wonder if… perchance… devices… as lawful as perfume or talc or rouge—”

Nina smiled, and began to trail the hook which had been baited by the fish. “ Bueno— but oh, eet ees eemposseeble my lovely lady would’ave call for more than nature’as so bountifully geeven.”

“The duke is old,” Belinda said.

“I understand, your Grace. And… eet would be a Chreestian deed, not so, to’elp’eem to a son by’ees last wife?”

“A well-rewarded deed, I promise thee.”

“I know my lady would be kind. Alas! I’ave no mageec I can offer’er. When strength ees gone—”

“Desire upraises strength.”

The maid nodded. “There ees a musk the Casbash grannies make. Eet ees not mageec… but eet steemulates.” She lowered her lashes. “ ’Ow strong eet steemulates, I dare not say. Eet weell not by eetseelf turn men to bulls. But eef, m-m, there ees any lust to start weeth—’eld back by weariness or… een’eebeetion—”

Belinda seized her arms. “What then, what then?”

Having gotten the hook in, Nina played it. “I cannot promeese aught. ’Ees Grace eendeed ees vairy old and tired.” Deliberately: “Of course, a younger, stronger man,’eld back by an exaggerated sense of honor—a man in’oom desire’as been aroused by celibacy and by… weetnesseeng—’oo, left to nature, would reseest forever—aye, such a man, eef caught all unsuspecteeng, might find’ees senses overw’elm’ees sense.”

She drove the hook firmly home. “But such ees not’ees Grace the Duke.”

“I know,” Belinda said. “And yet my wifely duty is to try.”

Nina grinned and pulled the line in. “True, true, my lady. I weell stay deescreet w’ataiver’ appens.”

“Then you have a philter?” Belinda cried.

This time it was the younger woman who cautioned quietness. “A musk, weeth subtle’erbs and flower juices. Maybe some spells were said o’er eet as well. Eet ees a strong perfume the woman wears.” She sighed. “Alas,’tees vairy, vairy costly, too. I only’ave a leetle of eet left and am not sure I aiver can find more.”

“I’d make it worth thy while,” Belinda whispered, “especially if it succeeds.”

“Pray, let me theenk on eet. I am not sure I should, my lady, though of course your weesh ees my command.”

Belinda nodded. “Aye, go. We’d best not closet us o’erlong like this.”

The maid curtsied and departed. When the door had closed again behind her, the duchess added to herself: “But soon I’ll deal for one poor dram of bliss.”

Eventide filled a glassless window, wherein a roof opposite stood black against the darkening greenish sky.

Scant light entered the chamber. It was tiny, bare planks and mildewed plaster enclosing no more than a bed, a chair, and a washstand. From the courtyard beneath came a clash of hoofs, rumble of wheels, weary day’s-end voices.

The door opened. A hand shoved Jennifer through. “Get in there with thee, witch, and bide the night!”

Nobah Barker shrilled. She stumbled, nearly falling.

“Sir, we’ve no need for roughness,” protested Sword-of-the-Lord. His companions in the hallway shifted their feet and muttered.

“Haven’t we?” Barker replied. “Thou saw’st her struggle when her ring flared bright—the ring that hell bestowed—upon the wharf.” Louder: “No supper for thee, witch! Unruliness, if not a demon, may be fasted out.”

Head high, she showed them her back.

“Oh, sir, I pray you, let me speak with her,” Sword-of-the-Lord said. “It may be I can ease her once again.”

“Thou boasted thou hadst tamed her—till today,” Barker sniffed. “Well, try it if thou wilt. The rest of us will go to supper and well-earned repose.”

“Do thou stand guard outside the door, Uriah,” ordered Righteous Gerson. “When we have eaten, Increase will relieve thee. And best we post a sentry in the courtyard. Who knows but what she might get help that way? Jashubilehem first; I’ll be the next… Be sure, my brother, that thou tak’st the ring along when thou’st despaired.”

“Why not at once?” Barker inquired.

“She’ll fight and scream, sir,’less someone persuade her,” Righteous opined. “Belike he can. These Frenchies of Marseilles are mulish anti-Protestants, I’ve seen, and might make tumult an excuse to plague us.”

Barker’s head jerked assent. Sword-of-the-Lord stepped into the room. The door clapped shut. Boots thudded in departure.

Jennifer stood at the window. He came behind her and said in misery, “Oh, did they hurt thee very much, my lady? Why didst thou try to break away from them? It only earned thee cruel blows and wrenchings. I strove to make them kinder… but the fear when suddenly the jewel was a beacon, there on the waterfront, did madden them.”

“What happened afterward?” she replied in a small, parched voice, not looking at him. In shadowiness, against a torn and stained dark gown, only her hair, which had fallen loose, and the ring had any real light to them; and the asp stone showed now no special brilliance.

“Thou didst not see? Ah, nay. I saw thee on the cobblestones, alone beneath a hundred Frenchmen’s eyes, except for me and… and thy pain and grief.”

She nodded. “I didn’t really hear what happened next.”

“How art thou?”

“I’m recovered in the flesh. If thou wouldst give a little balm, speak on.”

“Well—” He plunged into it. “Nobah Barker mightily exulted. This was the very thing for which he’d hoped, the ring to point a trail to our great prey. That’s why we walked the dockside, for a clue of the same kind that Rupert might well seek. If help for him lies southward in the sea—

“Our leader reasoned that the ship nearby in some wise must be fateful for the search.’Twas a… chebeck… not docked, but out at anchor, its tender solely moored against the pier, to save a wharfage fee, as we discovered. When we had satisfied the French police that thou hadst had an epileptic fit, and all the people’round us had dispersed—through our interpreter, we found the captain. Meanwhile thou lay all mute where we had borne thee—”

The sound of his hurt on her account forced Jennifer to admit, “I mostly was malingering, to spare myself from being further used. Tell on.”

“I did not voice my hope that was the case,” he said, a shade less unhappily. “The captain is the owner too, a scoundrel quite willing to hire out at no large sum despite not being told what we intend. That seems an omen to inspirit us. For Barker’s learned, from English factors here who have connection to Sir Malachi, that naught has yet been seen or heard of Rupert. Therefore he scarcely can have raised a troop, and we’re enough to take him, scandal-free,” he ended in a rush.

“Speak for thyself,” she said bitterly. “ ’Tis no good sign for me.”

“Oh, Jennifer,” he pleaded, “have I not told thee how we are no monsters, simply common men who love their land too much to let it rot?”

“Thou’st spoken better sense, in brighter words, than thy companions: even made me smile,” she agreed. “I was right thankful for a beam of light that fell when sunniness passed overhead—but couldn’t climb out of my pit thereon. And now the very stars are being snuffed.” She leaned palms on windowsill, face into the air. The yard below was becoming a pool of murk. “There may well be some rightness in thy cause. It was mine own, I thought until of late, and many of its folk are dear to me. It hurts to hurt them by my stubbornness. I’m ignorant, the merest fisher lass, quite lost among the ins and outs of this. What may the will of God be? I can’t say.”