Sarah Zettel: Camelot’s Shadow

As hard as she tried not to, Rhian fidgeted. ‘And why, Lady Mother, should I give way to that practice this evening?’

For a moment, her mother’s gaze drifted over Rhian’s shoulder and she seemed to be studying the grey stones of the wall. ‘Because tonight, I mean to have your father announce to you he has reconsidered the suit of Vernus of White Hill.’

Rhian’s heart leapt into her throat. ‘Mother, how?’

Jocosa’s shoulders slumped. ‘Tears, extortion, hysterical fits, threats to bar him from my bed if necessary.’ Her voice sounded drained and dull. ‘I have never, never had to work upon him thus before. Such gross artifice is to be despised. But in this matter, I am afraid your father’s reason has failed him.’ Her gaze came back to Rhian’s face. ‘So now, mine must fail me.’

Rhian said nothing for a moment, she just squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘But,’ she licked her lips. Her mouth had gone unaccountably dry. ‘Forgive me, but why would you want me to witness this…conversation?’

Her mother smiled and some life returned to her voice. ‘Firstly, so you do not hear about it through the general gossip. Secondly, because if nothing else, I am going to force my lord to give his reasons for forbidding you to marry. I want you to hear them from him, whether he knows he is giving them to you or not.’

Rhian let go of Jocosa’s hand and walked across to the window. She stared out across the yard with its people and animals strolling to and fro.

‘I do not like this, Lady Mother.’

‘No more do I,’ said Jocosa. ‘And if you can tell me what else can be done, I am willing to hear you and act.’

Rhian had no answer for her. ‘I will be back before dark.’ She gathered up her skirt and left.

The whirling in her mind did not clear even when she reached the gate in the wooden wall that surrounded the hall and its yards and buildings. Her three long-legged greyhaired hounds leapt to their feet, wagging their tails and baying and straining at their leashes. The boy, Innis, struggled to hold them in check. As she approached, they thrust their noses into her skirt and against her hands. She patted them absently. Aeldra frowned at her, but Rhian did not say anything. She just took her bow and quiver from her maid’s hands and slung them over her shoulder. Innis bowed until his scraggly forelock almost touched the ground.

‘Let us go then. I would see if there are any partridge we can catch unawares today.’ Rhian nodded to Innis and again to the guards who saluted her from either side of the gate. She tucked her skirt into her belt, set her gaze on the meadow past the earthen outer wall and followed the boy through it.

The dogs loped happily forward through the knee-high grasses towing Innis behind them.

‘Let them loose, Innis.’ Rhian unslung her bow and tested the string. ‘Let us see what they find.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ With some difficulty, Innis hauled the dogs to him so he could unfasten their leashes from their collars. With yelps of pure joy, all three sprang into the grass, free to run where they pleased. As she nocked an arrow into the string, Rhian found it in her heart to envy them.

In the next heartbeat, a great flurry of wings sounded from the burgeoning grass. Three brown partridge shot up towards the sky. Rhian drew her string back to her nose and sighted along the arrow’s shaft. She loosed and was rewarded by the sight of one of the birds plummeting back to earth and landing with a loud thud.

‘That one is for Vernus,’ she whispered. ‘And the next is for Aelfric, and the next for Daffydd, and the next for Shanus, and the one after that is for me.’

‘If my lady is thinking of counting her disappointments with arrows, we will be out here all the rest of the year,’ said Aeldra, puffing up behind her.

‘What would you have me do then?’ Rhian watched Innis crouch over the bird and pull out the arrow.

‘It is not for me to say, of course, my lady,’ said Aeldra with the false modesty that irritated Rhian so easily. ‘But there are ways to ensure your father must say yes to your suitor.’

Rhian rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘And don’t think I haven’t considered them Aeldra. But I would have to face my mother also and I’m not yet certain I could.’

All at once, one of the hounds bayed at the edge of the woods. Something flashed white and immediately there was a great crashing of underbrush and bracken as the creature, whatever it had been, fled into the forest. All three hounds barked and howled. They dived forward into the trees. Rhian ran after them.

What is it? A deer? No, it is too white for that…

She broke the treeline and was engulfed in the sun-dappled twilight of the forest. She saw the dogs’ grey backs plunging on ahead of her and again glimpsed the fleeting white form.

The dogs ran into a thicket of fern fiddleheads and Rhian lost sight of them. The wind blew through the forest, rustling the greening underbrush and confusing her further.

‘Orestes! Orion! Orpheus! Here, boys!’ she called, dashing forward. Somewhere behind her she heard Aeldra calling her name. Rhian ignored her. She wanted to find her dogs. She wanted to see that mysterious white quarry they had flushed.

All at once, she broke into a sun-soaked meadow. The sudden light dazzled her and Rhian stumbled to a halt, blinking hard.

When her gaze cleared, she looked around to take her bearings, but then found herself gawping in surprise.

In the centre of the clearing stood a broad, gnarled stump. On it lay a flat board covered with red and white figurines of extraordinary delicacy. Not one of them was taller than Rhian’s hand was long.

To one side, on a fallen tree, sat a gigantic man all of a sparkling green colour, as if he’d been fashioned out of a monstrous emerald. One of his hands could have engulfed Rhian’s waist. The crown of his head brushed the leaves of the oak tree he sat under. Skin, hair, eyes, all shone greener than the sea. His plaited beard might have been grown from dewy meadow grass. His jerkin, mail and hose were so green the fresh leaves paled next to them. Beside him on the ground lay a battle-axe of the same brilliant colour.

Rhian was rooted to the spot, unable to move or think. The great, green giant smiled so broadly she could see that his teeth were indeed emeralds that flashed in the sun.

‘It’s called chess,’ the giant’s voice boomed all around Rhian’s head. ‘And a merry game it is too.’ His eyes glittered as if he had caught two stars in them. ‘Would you learn this game of nations and of power, pretty maiden? Step forward, then.’

Rhian found her feet moving. Without any thought or help from her, they carried her body into the sunlit meadow until she stood over the board. Now she saw the figurines were people, men and women all standing on a board inlaid with neat squares of ebony and ivory.

‘Now, then.’ The giant winked at her. ‘Which side for you, pretty one? The red?’ He pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow. ‘I think not, though the red king knows you passing well.’ He plucked a scarlet figurine from its place and Rhian saw a man with a lean, lined face and hooded eyes who wore long robes like a nobleman, or a monk.

‘The white is your side, and the white queen is your protector, I think.’ Another figurine lay nestled in the hollow of his enormous palm, although Rhian didn’t see him put down the first. This one was a woman, perfectly formed, with a circlet on her long hair. Her eyes were wide and her face was wise, somehow. ‘And with her, the white king, but not before the white knight.’ Another figurine appeared in his palm. This was a man on a horse, holding his spear aloft and his shield before him. Rhian could not see his face, but she clearly saw the five-pointed star carved on the shield.