Chasing Rose

III- A Grand Entrance

And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling.

~1 Corinthians 2:3 (KJV)

The castle of Lord Bennet and his strange son is just over the hills. Sometimes, on a clear day, I can see it on top of its proud hill, but I was never allowed to get closer than a glance. Nobody but the lord and his family ever was.

What startling, bitter irony.

I can see it now, from the open window. West of here, it's tiny in comparison to what I've heard from Arnolf By-Wode. He is the only freeman I've ever known, born free in York and he lives in our village now. My village. What used to be mine.

I can see Bennet's castle clearly today, as the clouds are on the horizon rather than over the land. I see the thinnest tendrils of smoke, rising, rising- until they are gone in the blueness of the sky. The stone stands, a keep against the ring of clouds. That is all I can see besides the hills of England. I can see the two men in front of me too, worried I'll get lost on the way as though I've no idea where I'm to go. As though I haven't looked at the keep as much as I could, dreaming about when I'd be able to go there myself. Or no, not to this particular castle, but to have the freedom to go wherever I please.

I try very hard not to fall from the horse. I've hardly ever touched one before, and here I am trying to ride one... it is much more difficult than the passing gentry make it seem. I bounce in the easy trot of the great beast; the movement wrests me from my saddle and more than once I have gripped the beast's mane. The stones that somewhat show a road have come dangerously close to my head. 

I ride in silence. What a man my father is- to have no contact for fifteen years, and then to send me off, and for what? Political gain...

Yet, I could be faring much, much worse, I remind myself as the hackney stumbles yet again. I could be in a tiny, wind-shaken hut, cuddling with anyone for warmth. With Mother. Where I'm loved, even if she doesn't talk much, and I know I'm always needed. I think that's better than to be  wanted because it means I have a purpose and am not simply a pretty thing.Being an ornament seems to be a lady's job, and I fear that, for all a lowly serf's woes, the lowly serf has far more rights than a lady of privilege.

I've been gone an hour and already home is foreign.

*****

The stone walls only get taller as I approach them. My backside aches and the clip, clop, clip, clop of the horses' hooves echoes through my head. How do people stand (or rather, sit) to ride the beasts? I have never liked them. They have always scared me, since the day John Baker fell off of one and broke his arm as a young man. Needless to say, he kneads bread with one hand now. He needs a wife to do it for him!

What is my thought doing, to wander away from the stones that only loom nearer, and nearer? Thinking about the past will not, and never has, kept our destinies from coming. 

The wind gusts, catching my skirt as my beast stops before the wooden doors. A fitting, dramatic entrance- my ruffled skirts, clouds gathering, a windblown party- and it is completed when the door opens, and thunder cracks.

"Declare thyself, good men." The gatekeeper is an older man, perhaps thirty.

"We come from Lord Mannering, sir." 

"You are Lord Mannering's party?" asks the gatekeeper in a quiet voice. The man nearest the front swings off his horse effortlessly.

"Ay. We bring his daughter to entrust her to your care."

"Good- ay, good." His eyes lift to me. "Come in. I trust you have no treasonous intent."

"Nay, good man."

The gatekeeper offers me a hand. I try not to visibly waddle to the doors- full, heavy skirts have their redeeming qualities. Horseback does not.

The entry hall of Bennet's castle are no grander than Lord Mannering's. Tapestries line the stone; grand and colorful. A few mistakes can be seen in the warp, where a rose- hued thread an be seen looped. It peeks out from the grey of the depicted stallion, invisible to the untrained eye. To my experienced amber ones, the rose is only just visible- but a noticeable spot once I've seen it.

"Milady?"

I turn. "Apologies, sir, are you speaking to me?"

"Ay, for there is no one else save you eligible for the title." 

The gatekeeper is right in that- there is nobody else in the hall.

"I have been asked to show you to your chamber. The evening's activities will begin in an hour, and Lord Bennet wants you to prepare yourself." 

He begins to walk towards a staircase. I tear myself from the grey stallion and follow him into a small, rather padded chamber. 

"Everything you require is at your disposal, milady," he says with a slight bow. "I shall leave you, and return in an hour's time." 

And just like that, I wait alone in the chamber. Slowly, I walk to the window, enjoying the rushes under my slippers. A gown waits on the bed, and a headdress, but  I do not put them on yet. I know not how. 

The curtains are heavy, but the view outside is worth the effort. I look out over the village: It is small, but bustles even in the rain. A little church stands in the center, with huts surrounding it and sheep surrounding that. A few June roses bloom beneath the rain. 

I put the gown on with some difficulty, but I have dressed myself my whole life. The russet hemp settles over me heavily, and the headdress is far too light on my curls. My homespun one always rested so much more heavily. 

And all too soon, my hour is over, and it is time to meet my groom. 

I was trying to *cleverly* insert bread puns when talking about John Baker and the horse. I just couldn't help myself- I knead bread puns to live. 

Sorry. Bit much? 

And I'm trying to capture the language of the day. Not literally, because then it'd look like this: Grêting. Yfel willaâbrûcan hwæðere yfel canne nâteshwôn to mîn frumcyn reordian sîn onswornod gif yfel r¯æcan reach syfling into sê ðâ ðe mæsse−ûhta (Greeting. I wish to eat but cannot because my family will be confused if I get food at this hour).

Ah, Olde English, êow stêpan dimf b¯æm tornm¯æst earsendu (you are a pain in the butt).

Happy reading! 

~Megan