Poul Anderson - A Midsummer Tempest

“I more than half believe the thing myself,” he mumbled.

Me too, she thought. I ne’er have felt this giddiness, this swerve and swoop upon a tingling wind, save when with Rupert, and mayhap not then. Is’t but I have no time to be afraid?

“I can’t let thee flee alone!” he said. “Where’lt thou go? Who’ll protect thee?”

“I’ve thought of the English consulate. Belike’tis Royalist, especially here in Marseilles. If not, there’ll be Royalists elsewhere about. Remember, I know a bit o’ French, to ask my way and—Curse whoever made men’s clothes! Every single button in the wrong place. Wilt thou help?… Nay, don’t tremble. I’m learning how… Ah. Behold thy boy companion, Sword-of-the-Lord.”

Jennifer moved to the window, where some light remained. The first stars were twinkling forth. He could see that his clothes hung baggy on her, which served to hide the curves beneath. A shining caught his eye.

“Thy hair,” he said frantically. “I couldn’t well bring a hat along, indoors, and forgot—”

“I didn’t. Thou hast thy steel. I’ve never doubted thou keepest the edge keen.”

“What? Oh, nay, I beg thee!”

“Haggle these locks off short. They’ll grow back on a live scalp.’Tis false what’s said about corpses: anyhow, if they fried at the stake.”

He winced, took up the blade he had removed with his outer garb, and obeyed her. Then he stood dumb by starlight, holding the tresses to him.

She grinned from beneath the ragged cut. “So at last thou’st made a Roundhead of me,” she said. “I ought to stroll right by their man in the gateway, if he doesn’t converse.” With a glance at the roof-top opposite, and its chimney starting to show silver:’That’s if I’m begone in the next few minutes. Full moon this night.”

“And what abroad beneath it?” He shuddered. “Merely me. And… aye, thy love. Let it not live too long.

Thou hast a life before thee, dear.” She gave him a real kiss on the mouth. “Farewell.”

In a single movement he dropped her shorn hair, caught her wrists, upheld her as she wriggled onto the sill, and lowered her down the wall. She had less than a yard to go when he released her. Already the blackness had taken her from his sight. Hanging out the window, he heard soles hit stones. Was a word blown upward to him? He couldn’t tell. She was gone. He dragged himself back to stand alone in the room.

The moon had lately cleared steep eastern hills. It tinged roofs, towers of forts and churches, masts of ships; westward the bay had begun to sparkle above darkness; the sky was more purple than black, stars few and small. Shadows reached thick from buildings along the docks. A breeze slid out of the north, stirring up odors of tar and fish; hawsers creaked, wavelets clucked on hulls.

A squad of the watch tramped from around one side of a warehouse. Lantern light bobbed before them, shimmered off pikes and armor. It touched a slight figure in somber, ill-fitting garments that had just turned the opposite corner.

“Halte-ld!” barked the leader. The person froze. Dark-blond hair, white countenance and collar, made a blur in gloom. The guardsmen quick-stepped ahead. “ Qui va Id?”

“Un anglais,” said a high, faltering voice, “ du groupe qui a hue aujourd’hui ce bateau Id.” An arm pointed to a chebeck which lay some ways off, a lamp betokening sailors left on board against thieves.

’’Ah, out.” The leader gestured his men to slow down. “ Jemensouviens. Lesparpaillots.” Contempt tinged his indifference: “ Qa va, passe, gargon!”

Jennifer proceeded openly to cast loose the jollyboat’s painter and climb down into its hull. The patrol had no reason to suppose she had any other errand than some business on the vessel to which it belonged. They soon tramped out of sight. Meanwhile, most softly, she rowed from the wharf. When well away, she stopped and peeked in her wallet. Lurninousness cascaded forth. The ring is shining yet, she gloried.’ Tis as I guessed. This boat’s my luck… aye, see, an unstepped mast, and wind to bear me southward where I’d seek. Where Rupert is! This night is day for me.

Having hidden the sigil again, she got to work, deftly fitting rudder in brackets, lowering leeboard, raising and staying mast, unfurling lugsail and hoisting it on its yard. That was not an unduly hard task; the craft was quite small. Her thoughts ran on: Poor trusting Sword-of-the-Lord, I’m truly sorry I left thee here behind to bear the brunt, and halfway lied to thee about my plan. But thou wouldst ne’er have let me put to sea, and least of all to steer in search of him… My Rupert… I can’t help that I am glad.

The sail flapped, filled, and bellied out. The boat swished forward. Jennifer settled herself at the tiller. No food aboard nor water—and no fear, she thought. The ring will not betray me to my death. I may well suffer somewhat on the trip. What matter? I’m no longer starved for freedom, and I will drink me drunk upon salt air.

She sobbed in her joy. Presently she felt it safe to place the circlet back on her finger. It has not quieted its radiance. If anything,’tis burning brighter yet, to show, I’m sure, that I have now begun a voyage leading me unto my love, and even to the triumph of the cause as dear to me as him because of him.

Then be my compass, old enchanted ring. She cocked her head and smiled into its light. I wonder, wouldst thou care to hear me sing?

The ship rode at anchor. To starboard was land, hills and city a-dream, minarets and moonlight making the sight into something akin to a winter forest hung with many-shaped icicles. But the air was warm, still, spiced by fragrances. To port sheened ebony sea, across which the moon cast a shivering bridge. Although high aloft, that disc seemed big, drowned most stars, flooded the deck, turned wan the lanterns hung overside.

Rupert stood by the landward rail. A racked lifeboat screened him from view of lookouts who, in this safe resting place, were probably dozing anyway. He stared before him, shoulders hunched, knuckles on hips.

And so tonight we’ve come to Tunis town, he thought. We only wait for morn to harbor there. Then what? Why did the oracle I’ve worn commence to burn so brightly as we neared, I thought’twould best lie hidden in my purse: if not to tell me here I’ll find my hope? But in what shape? A borrowed ducal ship whereon to seek the isle, with this for guide? I might have trouble in arranging that. The superstitions of their paynim subjects have made these Spaniards strictest Catholics. If I, a Protestant, play sorcerer —

A suggestive silken rustle brought his attention around. Belinda came to his side. She had cast her shawl back off a gown cut outrageously low. From her hair and skin lifted an aroma of roses and—something else, disturbing, arousing—or was it simply an older moon-magic than rested in Rupert’s wallet which had made her not patrician any more, but elven?

“Why… greeting,” he said, his voice pitched to the silence. “I… I thought thee long abed. And here thou’rt festive clad.”

“To celebrate our journey’s end? Well, in a certain way.” Her eyes searched his. “I must pretend to gaiety at that—aye, to myself I must—that we’ve come home and I shall be no more a traveler but once again a very proper duchess.”

“I may not yet proclaim myself a prince.” He shrugged. “But then, I’ve not been one in aught than name since infancy.”