Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

As soon as the lamps were burning clearly, Cassandra laid aside the blanket that had covered her and went to move the pile of my outer clothes and armour from the table into a corner. It made an awkward burden, and I started to stand up to help her, but she saw the move and shook her head, frowning and waving her hand to make me stay where I was, so I relaxed again and continued watching her.

Once the table was clear, she went to a row of boxes on a shelf and produced bread, cheese, apples and wine, laying them out on the table before me. I felt saliva spurt under my tongue and realized I had eaten nothing since dawn. She herself ate little, but she watched me closely as I wolfed down my food, her eyes moving from my plate to my mouth with every bite I took. I offered to share my food with her, but she smiled and shook her head, content, apparently, to watch me eat. Eventually, I had had enough and pushed my plate away. She refilled my wine cup, then cleared away the remaining bread and cheese, returning it to the storage bins on the shelf. It was dark outside now. The firelight had faded again.

"Listen," I said, as a nightingale began to sing outside.

She paid no attention, either to my words or to the bird's song, and I was once again smitten with a stark reminder of all the beauty of the world that was lost to her. I had known that she was deaf, and had accepted it, but it had not struck me until that moment that she could never enjoy the song of a bird. I felt a great lump in my throat and my eyes blurred, and then she was standing before me, her eyes wide with alarm and concern at the sight of my tears. I shook my head violently and started to wipe them away with my wrist, but she stopped me and wiped my cheeks dry with her own soft fingertips. I could see the question in her face, Why are you weeping, Caius Merlyn?

I forced back the pain and tried to smile at her. It was not difficult. What I did find difficult, however, was to reconcile the difference I perceived between the boyish hoyden who had outrun and humiliated me that afternoon and the demure and gentle person who was now so evidently content to share her home and fire with me. She took me by the hand again and led me to the chair by the fire, and this time, when I was seated, she sat at my feet, holding the fingers of my right hand in her own and resting her cheek against the back of my hand as she stared into the fire. I could feel the softness of her face against my hand with every nerve end in my body, and I dared to move the tip of one finger minutely, entranced with the smoothness of her skin. Tiny though the movement was, she turned and smiled up at me, squeezing my hand and ending the freedom of that finger.

I have no idea how long we sat thus, silent and motionless, but eventually the heat of the fire made me drowsy and I startled both of us by awakening with a jerk as my neck muscles relaxed and allowed my head to drop forward. I blinked myself wide awake and with great reluctance rose to go, hating the. thought of leaving to ride back to Camulod alone.

She watched me intently as I rose, and crossed to the corner where my armour lay, and then she got up and came to me, holding out her hands to help me with my harness. I was in the act of strapping my armoured kirtle around my waist, and she took the buckle in one hand and the end of the strap in the other, frowning gently up at me. I grinned at her and sucked in my waist, and she pulled tight on both ends of the belt, but without making any effort to feed the end through the buckle. Instead, she shook her head, a questioning look on her face. I assumed that she was asking me if I had to go so soon, and I pantomimed tiredness and the need to sleep, pointing to the door and, by association, towards Camulod. In answer, she turned her head towards the pile of furs that was her bed, her hands still pulling the straps of my kirtle tight. But I knew that I could not sleep there. I wasn't that strong. I shook my head and smiled again, and she let go of the belted kirtle so that it fell at my feet. There was a determined look about her that surprised me. I watched her as she returned quickly to the fireplace and threw some fresh wood onto the embers. This done, she came back to where I stood, stooped to retrieve my belt and then straightened up to look directly at me. Deliberately, as though defying me to stop her, she threw the skirt of armoured straps back into the corner and took me firmly by both hands, drawing me, not altogether unwillingly, towards her bed, where she tugged at me until I sat down.

As soon as I was down, she put one hand on my chest and pushed me back onto the furs and began to undo the thongs of my sandals. I relaxed and let her do it, enjoying myself immensely and fighting hard to keep the pleasure of looking at her and enjoying her ministrations separate from the sexual anticipation that was urging me to seize her and bear her down with me into the intimacy of the soft furs. The former was permissible; the latter was simply not.

Her head was bowed as she concentrated on untying the knot that held my left sandal in place and I propped myself up on my elbows, the better to enjoy the sight of her beauty in the leaping firelight; I decided that on my next journey I would bring her something richer and softer to wear than the plain cloth tunic she wore now. The knot came loose and she pulled the sandal off, leaving me free to wiggle my toes, and as I did so she laughed aloud. The sound shocked me, for it was the first time I had heard it, and I was astonished to realize that she laughed like any ordinary woman, in a gurgle of clear, liquid notes of great purity and beauty.

"Cassandra!" I said, but of course she paid no attention. I touched her on the head and she looked at me in inquiry, the laugh still radiant on her face. "You laughed!" She saw my lips move and tilted her head to one side like a puppy dog and again I was smitten with pain at the impossibility of communicating with her. The smile lingered on her face and I made myself smile back at her as I shook my head to indicate that it was not important. She reached for my hands again and tugged me to a kneeling position. I offered no resistance, allowing myself to be positioned as she wanted. When she had me kneeling upright, she made a strange gesture which had me completely at a loss. She read the incomprehension in my face and repeated the gesture, crossing her arms in front of her and drawing her hands up her sides, and I realized that she was telling me to remove my tunic. All at once I was overcome with embarrassment. I shook my head firmly. This time, her tiny headshake and slightly puzzled frown said Why not? as clearly as though she had spoken the words aloud. I could only shrug helplessly. Very deliberately, she tilted her head again, this time to the other side, and scanned my face intently, then she rose to her feet and slowly drew her own shift over her head, not taking her eyes from mine for a second in die process. I stared in wonder at her beauty. She had gained weight and lost all signs of her injuries since the time when I had gazed in horror at the damage that had been done to her. Then, her lacerated body had seemed thin and undernourished; now, it seemed as though I was looking at a different woman. Her breasts, though not large, were full and rounded, her belly smooth and flat and unblemished. She stood with her feet slightly apart and only a blind man would have been unaware of the thick profusion of hair between her firm, round thighs. I knew my mouth had fallen open, rapt as I was in the splendour of the sight before me. And then she stooped, quick as a wink, seized the top fur of the pile and was underneath it almost before I saw her move, pulling it up to her chin so that only her perfect face with its huge eyes and mouth remained exposed to my gaze, and still I did not move, though the blood was hammering in my ears.