Siri Mitchell - Chateau of Echoes

It made me want. What, I do not know.

one day after Saint Dynys

He did not come this night.

two days after Saint Dynys

He did not come this night.

three days after Saint Dynys

He did not come this night.

I am a crazed creature. I do not take food. I cannot. I have no hunger. I cannot sleep. I can think only of him. Of Awen. I have gone to the chapel and have repeated Ave Marias without cease, but my eyes remember neither altar nor candles. My ears remember no words.

I find myself at meals watching him. I am fascinated by him. By everything about him. I have not read a book since one week. I try. I read a whole page at a time, and at the end, I cannot remember what was read at the beginning.

I do not understand the ways I feel.

eight days after Saint Dynys

He came this night.

At the sight of him, I wept.

He sat beside me on the bed and drew me onto his lap. He pressed my head to his shoulder and then circled his arms around me. I clasped my hands around his back. He called me his little one, and demanded of me why I have sadness.

I replied to him that I have not sadness, but confusion in my head.

He kissed my head and stroked my hair and demanded of what I was confused.

I replied to him of everything. Of nothing. Of how I feel and why.

He demanded of me if he makes me unhappy.

I replied to him on the contrary. He makes me happy. More happy than I know why or how. That I have hunger not for food, but only for him. And even his presence does not satisfy me. I do not understand.

He put me away from him and says me that there are things he must explain to me. Then he bid me take off his houppelande.

This I did. I placed it on the chair in front of the fire. I prefer it of those he wears. The color is oxblood and it makes somehow glints in his eyes. It is lined with fur of ermine and made fancy with broderie of gold thread.

Then he sat down in the chair and bid me take off his shoes.

I sat beside him on the floor in front of the fire and I did it.

He took my hands in his then and he told me there is a conjugal debt in marriage.

I demanded of him then what I owe.

And then he bid me take off his blouse.

I tried, but fumbled with the button. It is a sphere and seemed too small for my fingers, and more, it slipped against the green silk. He placed his hands over mine to help me. They are large, much more large than mine, and his fingers are thick and squared where mine are long and slender. They are covered on the backs with dark hair. Mine are bare.

Even with his fingers so large, he unfastened the button. He bent his head to me so I could lift the fabric over his head.

I demanded of him again what I must owe.

And he had nothing on save a large chain of gold and his leggings of the finest silk.

As I watched he reached around his neck to take off the chain. This he placed into my hand and closed around it with his own.

He told me that the conjugal debt is a debt of flesh. That in a marriage, a husband and wife have rights to the body of the other. And that when one desires it, the other must yield.

This being said, he had me place the chain on the mantel. Then he reached for my hand and placed it on his chest saying that it belonged to me.

I watched the reflection of fire off his chest as I felt its warmth. His muscles tensed at the touch of my fingers.

I took his hand in my own and placed it on my chest saying that it belonged to him.

He took my hand from his chest and placed it on his cheek saying that it belonged to me.

I spread my fingers over that jutting plane and felt the growth of his whiskers.

I took his hand from my chest and placed it on my cheek and leaned into it, bowing my head saying that it also belonged to him. Heat burned in my cheeks as he brought his other hand to my face and cupped it between the two.

He brought himself to stand more close to me and I could look nowhere but into his eyes. And I only saw reflected in them myself and the fire. And I felt as if it was burning inside me. I would have taken off my night robe if there had been anything beneath it.

And as if he read my thoughts, he began to untie my laces. And I felt as if I could not breathe. And a feeling of birds flying from the pit of my stomach overtook me and my hands closed on his and blocked him from the laces.

He bent his head to my lips and began to kiss me. And it stole my breath so that I closed my eyes and my knees became weak.

And as if he read my thoughts still, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed. And he whispered in my ear. “We will wait little one, until you are ready, but it is only because you submit to the conjugal debt that you have hunger for my touch. And I have hunger for yours. And this is good, my Alix, because we have the right. We are wed.”

nine days after Saint Dynys

This night my lord, Awen, did not come. I was awake long after the fire had extinguished itself and the moon had passed from one window to the next. I heard a noise in the hall.

I opened the door a small little to look. It was Anne. She hit softly at the door of my lord. It opened and she disappeared inside.

I watched for a long time, at least the time of two masses, but she did not come out. As I could not sleep, I took the duvet from the bed and wrapped it around me and waited beside the door for Anne to come out.

When the sky began to lighten, she opened the door of my lord and returned to her chamber. I waited to see when my lord would appear.

It was soon after.

I opened my door full and let him see me, standing in my nightrobe, wrapped in the duvet.

He stopped in his stride and stared at me.

I cared not that he saw the tears on my cheeks.

He began to start toward my chamber, but I closed and bolted the door against him. He hit the door softly and whispered my name. I made much noise in my chamber so he knew that I did not listen.

After a time, he went away.

I demand of God why it is arrived that my husband be stolen from me when he has only just come.

“W e need to have a wedding feast.”

“What?!”

“A wedding feast. So I can write about it in my book.”

“A feast generally means more than two people, Cranwell.”

“There’s Sévérine.”

“Feast implies at least twenty people.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

The problem was that I had researched medieval cuisine when I had first moved into the chateau. I had vague recollections of what it involved. “Cranwell, that would mean a whole roasted pig, a whole side of beef, and at least ten to twelve other dishes. A feast is five or six courses with five dishes in each course.”

He shrugged. “Invite your friends.”

“Invite your friends. You said you knew people in Paris. They could stay here for the weekend.”

“I guess I could.” He took a sip of espresso and let the subject drop.

Later that evening, I surfed the Internet on the subject of medieval food and feasts. They were even more elaborate and time-intensive than I had remembered. Out of curiosity, I flipped through the cookbook Cranwell had given me for Christmas. The recipes and text were fascinating, but would require a fair bit of research to translate and time to find equivalencies for ingredients.

Two days later, he dropped his bombshell. It was over dinner. Up until that point, it had been a relaxing dinner. I’d made a navarin d’agneau , and we had enjoyed the tender chunks of lamb with its accompanying root vegetables. It was when I started on my custard-filled pastry mille feuille dessert, the one that I’d been looking forward to the entire day, that Cranwell made his announcement.