Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

Despite the lateness of the hour, the sun was still hot and I sweated freely as I rode, the beads springing from my forehead beneath the headband of my helmet and running down to burn the corners of my eyes while others bedevilled me with the tickling of their progress down the valleys of my back and chest under my heavy armour. I found nothing strange, however, in riding to a lovers' tryst fully armed and armoured, and had the thought occurred to me then, I would have been hard pressed to recall a time when I went anywhere, even within Camulod itself, without my heavy and ungainly impedimenta. My armour, from helmet to boots, was as customary to me as my skin, so that I was aware of it—and uncomfortable—only when I removed any part of it.

Evening was approaching as my horse emerged from the narrow path through the bushes into the tranquillity of Avalon. I saw Cassandra immediately, standing with her back to me, staring into the waters of the pool at her feet. Some instinct must have warned her that she was being watched, for she turned and saw me there. Even in the gathering dusk I saw the pleasure in her eyes at the sight of me. She came running across the short, green turf towards me, her teeth gleaming in a smile of welcome, and I sat there on my horse and watched her approach, feeling my own cheeks bunching in a smile. She stopped right in front of me and her hands bade me welcome, and invited me to step down from my saddle.

As soon as my feet were on the ground she took me by the hand and began tugging me in the direction of the hut. I let her pull me and led my horse behind us, dropping the reins as we approached the door so that he began to graze immediately.

The room was filled with flowers. Vases and bowls of blossoms bedecked every available surface and the scent of them hung sweet and heavy in the air. A small fire burned brightly in the fireplace, but the room was free of smoke, and I was grateful once again to my uncle for teaching me die secret of building a flue. She stopped me in the middle of the floor and took hold of both my hands, holding me at arm's length and running her eyes over me from head to foot. I did the same to her and wondered again how I could ever have thought her ugly. Then her hands were undoing the fastening of my helmet and removing it from my head. When she had laid it on the table, she undid my new cloak, running her fingers admiringly over the great silver bear embroidered on it before she folded it and placed it beside the helmet. Next, she took off my swordbelt and armoured kirtle of leather, so that I wore only my knee-length tunic. She had never done this before, and I stood there like an ox, grinning with pleasure and making no move to help her as she ministered to me.

When she had stripped me completely of my armour she grinned at me, poked me in the stomach, skipped nimbly to the door, and ran outside. Smiling, and wondering what she was about, I followed her slowly, only to find that she had already run more than half-way to the entrance of the path down which I had so recently arrived. Evidently, I was supposed to follow her. I drew a deep breath and took off in pursuit, thinking to overtake her easily, but by the time I began to experience my first shortness of breath, less than half-way up the steep, narrow path, it had begun to dawn on me that this young woman had no intention of being lightly overtaken; not only did she remain out of sight ahead of me, but I could hear no sound of her progress. I accepted the challenge, lengthened my stride and began conscientiously to control my breathing, sensing that victory in this chase might not come quickly.

I was breathing hard, almost gasping for breath, by the time I reached the summit of the path and broke into the clear ground at the top of the hill. Cassandra was waiting, grinning merrily, a hundred paces from me at the opposite end of the rolling hilltop. As soon as she knew that I had seen her, she turned and disappeared downhill again. I stifled the urge to curse, paused for the space of several heartbeats to catch my breath again, and followed her.

In the course of the hour that followed, I received a humbling lesson in physical fitness and self-sufficiency, and came within reach of her no more than twice, each time only because she allowed me to. On the first of these, when I had paused again for breath, wondering where she had gone, she dropped onto my shoulders from a tree above me, her weight knocking me off my feet and down a grassy bank. Her arms hugged me tightly to her as we rolled together and my nostrils were filled with the warm scent of her, hair and sweat and wild blossoms, all mixed with the sharp tang of crushed grass and dry, pungent, crumbling earth. We came to rest at the bottom of the slope, me lying flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me, and she sitting astride my chest, grinning down at me, her smooth, firm, bare thigh beneath my hand. Before I could move to collect myself or utter a sound, she chuckled softly in her throat, ruffled my hair and was up and away again, and I realized that she had not even been breathing hard! A short time later, she dived from beneath a bush and wrapped her arms around my knees, bringing me crashing to the ground again, but this time she did not even pause to savour her victory or feast on my discomfiture before dashing away again.

At that point, in a last, desperate attempt to safeguard the few pitiful shreds of dignity I could muster, I abandoned the chase and began to retrace my steps, willing myself to runsmoothly back towards the valley and, within moments, it seemed, she was running easily by my side, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. Accepting the futility of any attempt to reason, or even communicate with her on my terms, I ran on without looking at her, but during the gentle journey back to the hut, I was conscious of the weariness and frustration and anger draining steadily from my body, so that I arrived at our journey's end rejuvenated and only pleasantly tired. She stopped by the edge of the lake and looked up at me, her eyes shining and her skin rosy and slick with perspiration. She turned aside and ran into the lake, struggling against the pull of the water at her knees until it was deep enough for her to throw herself full length and swim. I was mere moments behind her, and the water felt wonderful.

Later, when we had emerged shivering and run into the hut, she produced two blankets for us, then took my hands and pulled me to the wooden chair beside the fire, tugging and pushing at me until I sat down. Then she knelt, swathed in her blanket, and began poking and prodding at the fire, stirring up the flames until they blazed and adding dry, thick logs. That done, she lit a taper from the fire and used it to light three oil lamps, and all the while I was content to sit and shiver and watch her, drinking in her every movement, catching glimpses of the way the single, wet tunic she wore clung to the lines of her body beneath the blanket, and itching to take her around the waist and kiss her marvel of a mouth with its wide, full lips.

In the face of her now obvious delight in my presence, the only things that restrained me from laying hands on her were the warning of Daffyd and the memory of what had been done to her. Although her body was healed, those wounds were still too fresh in her mind. I contented myself with looking at her, wondering if the tumultuous feelings I was undergoing were merely unrequited lust, stirred and aggravated by the exercise she had put me through earlier, or the magic that I had heard men talk of as love. I had thought myself familiar with both, for I had lusted for years and had love for many people—mainly men, with Luceiia a notable exception. What I now felt in mind and body, however, bore little resemblance to my love for my great-aunt.

The heat from the fire soon dried us off, and as the dusk deepened outside, the combined light of the lamps and the fire grew stronger, casting dancing shadows on the walls of the hut. It was a simple, crude building in the light of day, but now, in this darkening evening, it took on a warmth and air of comfort that were soothing, almost magical.