Ophelia (7 page)

"Tend to your own business, lest you are pricked unawares," I said coolly, as she stabbed the needle at her cloth and glared at me. I enjoyed seeing her fury.

The sudden entrance of Hamlet and Horatio put a stop to our argument. They were deep in conversation but halted their steps upon seeing us.

"I seek my mother, but I find younger game," said Hamlet. "What do you say to some sport with the ladies?"

Without waiting for Horatio's reply, Hamlet bent over and brought Cristiana's hand to his lips. She began to flutter like a moth and a honeyed laugh spilled from her.

"How does my lady Ophelia?" said Horatio, bowing.

"Well, I thank you."

I noticed that Horatio was now taller than the prince. His hair, still the color of afternoon sunlight on ripe wheat, fell to his shoulders, revealing a high and wide brow over his frank brown eyes. He had none of Hamlet's noble beauty, but a woman might find him somewhat fair of countenance.

Hamlet then turned to greet me, though he did not try to take my hand.

"The wild doe has become a gentle deer," he said, showing that he recognized my transformation. I dared to look up at him.

"Indeed, my lord, this collar and chain do hold me fast," I said, touching my ruff and the links of the chatelaine at my waist, where my needlework tools were suspended. "I fear I have been forcibly tamed."

"She scored a hit, a palpable hit!" Hamlet cried, and staggered as if pierced by a sword. "Sharp as a rapier is this lady's wit."

I laughed at this playful outburst, seeing in Hamlet the lively boy he once was. Cristiana looked from me to Hamlet, suspicion flickering in her eyes.

"Let us ask the ladies to join our debate," said Horatio, seating himself on a stool so that his long legs stuck out to the sides. "Should beauty of the body or beauty of the mind be more prized by true lovers?"

I pondered Horatio's question in earnest, for this was a chance to talk of love like the noble ladies in Castiglione's
Book of the Courtier.

"I maintain," said Horatio, "that a woman's beauty leads her lover's soul to higher goodness."

While I considered how to reply to this lofty idea, Hamlet answered Horatio.

"My friend, you know that beauty enchants men's souls and makes them lust for pleasure. Why, look upon Diana, whose many beauties distracted Actaeon from his hunting." He gestured toward the woven arras.

Frowning, Cristiana looked from Hamlet to Horatio, seemingly confused.

My hands trembled and I clasped them tightly together, for I was about to contradict the prince.

"My lord, Actaeon trespassed in gazing at the goddess. Being turned into a stag and devoured by his own dogs was a fitting punishment," I said.

"Indeed, though she was naked, the virtuous Diana did no wrong," Horatio agreed.

"Yes, and now you will tell me that desire turns men into beasts," said Hamlet with scorn. "I deny it."

"To return to Horatio's question," I said with a reasoned tone, "I believe that a virtuous mind outlasts the fleeting beauty of youth and thus is more desirable."

"Well spoken," said Horatio with a nod to me.

"If we were not beautiful, who would love us?" complained Cristiana, pleased that she had made a point. Then she pressed her shoulders back so that her breasts swelled forth, and looking from Hamlet to Horatio, she sighed at length.

Lady Elnora snorted and stirred in her sleep, and her cap slipped over her eyes.

"A blind man might love an ill-favored woman," said Horatio, glancing toward Elnora. Cristiana laughed. Frowning, I reached over and straightened Elnora's cap so that she did not look so silly.

"Then the blind man is deceived, and the woman is an enchantress!" said Hamlet, slapping his thighs for emphasis. "And there you have it again: Women are
wantons,
for they make men to
want them."

Hamlet laughed at his own joke, but Horatio had the grace to look uncomfortable. I found Hamlet's conclusion unjust, and forgoing my modest manner, I spoke boldly.

"Lord Hamlet, it seems you see all women as deceivers, be they beautiful or ugly. Perhaps the fault lies in the man who trusts only his sight and is a slave to his base desire!"

My words were greeted with silence. Hamlet's eyebrows lifted in surprise. My heart pounded as if it would be heard. After a moment Hamlet spoke.

"I yield the combat. Horatio, this lady's mind is a fair match for mine, and her beauty grows with the wisdom she speaks."

Hamlet's eyes, blue as the sky at nightfall, met mine. I felt like a seafarer who has located the northern star and set his course from that shining point. Not until he rose and bowed did our eyes unlock.

Once Hamlet and Horatio had taken their leave, Cristiana turned on me.

"What nonsense is this about fair minds and pretty faces? And who is this lady, Diana?" she asked, as if we had spoken of someone at Elsinore.

"How can you be so ignorant?" I said, amazed. "Have you really never heard of Ovid's myth?"

"How can you be so shameless before the prince?" she shot back.

"It is no shame to speak reason, but it is to flaunt your bosom like a serving wench in an alehouse," I said, my temper rising.

Malice flashed in Cristiana's green eyes.

"You think that being witty will make the Prince of Denmark—or any man—want to marry you?"

"Ha! I have no designs upon Hamlet!" I cried. Perhaps I protested too loudly. "It is you who are baiting a trap with those two beauties you are so proud of."

"You are unkind," she said like a petulant child. "And you have stepped out of your place. Gertrude shall hear of it," she threatened.

I laughed carelessly, discounting her spite. I should have held my tongue, heeding Elnora. But humility was far from my mind, filled as it was with Hamlet's praises. My only thought was that I must find a way to see him again.

Chapter 8

I had not long to wait. That evening Gertrude sent me to gather fresh herbs in the garden. I was glad to escape Cristiana's carping and her threats. I ran down the tower stairs that turned in a spiral, emerging dizzy into the darkness. Above me, faint lights flickered in Gertrude's chambers. Though a fog had settled over the garden, I knew by heart the location of each bed and bower and could find my way in the dark. I walked secure and unafraid, knowing that the far reaches of the garden were bounded by walls. I picked sprigs of rosemary, feeling its sticky resin coat my hands. I would distill it, then steep it in cloves and other spices, making a concoction to sweeten the breath.

Detecting the scent of lavender, I knelt and let the sweet aroma tickle my nose and throat. As I crouched in the cool grass, I saw a dim and soundless shape approach. It puzzled rather than startled me as the figure emerged from the mist and took the form of Hamlet.

"How now, Ophelia," he said softly, standing before me.

I did not reply at first, for my tongue was bound by surprise. Hamlet reached for my hand and I stood up.

"Good evening, my lord," I then managed to say. "How did you see me in the dark?"

"You shine with virtue, and the light drew me like a moth to flame," he replied. A smile played around his mouth and, as if it were contagious, spread to my lips, too.

"You flatter me with a poet's praises," I said, looking sideways at him in order to hide my face. "But the simile does not suit us, for you are no moth, and I am not a fire."

"What should I say? I think you will suspect all my words," he chided gently.

"Say that you wished to see me again and watched for me, if that is the truth," I said in a rush. Startling myself with my bold speech, I withdrew my hand from his and clasped it with my other hand, thus restraining myself.

"It is true." He paused, and a long moment passed before he spoke again. "You have changed so much, Ophelia. You are not as I remembered you."

I thrilled to hear that he had thought of me while he was away.

"I feared the crows and jays who wait on my mother would have long ago pitched you from their nest, but you are safely fledged, I see," he said teasingly.

"Still I am beating my wings against the walls of my cage," I said ruefully, "for Elsinore sometimes seems a prison to me." Instantly I regretted my words, for I did not wish to seem ungrateful. "I only wish that I could freely come and go—"

I broke off, for Hamlet surprised me by brushing my cheek lightly with the back of his hand.

"Will the bird be still if I come into her cage? Will she be content to stay?" he asked. His voice held a tender note that made my throat tighten.

What could I say to such a request? Unable to speak, I simply nodded. Hamlet took my hand again and put it to his lips. I could not help but look up into his face. When his eyes met mine again, I felt the truth of what the philosophers say, that love enters through the eyes and strikes the soul. Cupid's dart had struck me, kindling a flame in my heart and all my parts.

"I wished for you to come here," I whispered.

"I wanted to see you," he confessed.

Suddenly I was afraid of the fire as it burned within me, building a heat that spread to my face.

"This is too dangerous," I said, even as I swayed nearer to him. "You know that nothing goes unseen. Do I hear footsteps? I must go now." The words fell fast from my lips.

"No, stay," he pleaded as I began to pull away. "There is nothing to fear." I relented and let him take my arm, finding pleasure in the pressure of his hand.

"Come into the moonlight, for I wish only to behold your beauty and your wit, which you possess in such abundance, it stops my heart."

"Again you jest!" I laughed. "Your heart is not stopped, or you would be dead."

"Ophelia, you are a natural philosopher! If I admit that my heart still beats, will you allow me to admire your beauty?"

"I know your thoughts on beauty. I must look to my honor," I said. Yet I spoke lightly, and I let him keep my hand in his.

"Ophelia, you do not know me yet. Do not think that I argued my true beliefs today. To the world I wear a mask that hides my truer self, which you now see."

I scanned his face longingly but could not understand his meaning.

"I see nothing in this darkness. Alas, Lord Hamlet, I hardly know you, nor do I know myself. Good night." I turned and walked quickly away from him, startling a rabbit that fled before me like my own leaping heart.

I did not sleep that night, but lay awake rebuking myself for running away in fear. I rehearsed every word that had passed between us for its true meaning, but found no certainty. Had I seen Hamlet's real self or did he wear a mask? Did he truly think me beautiful?

In the morning I arose from my bed intent on revisiting the scene of our meeting. All day I was useless and distracted. So I offered to fetch fresh lavender to strew in Gertrude's bedchamber, and that night I knelt again on the ground, gathering the silvery, purple-tipped fronds of lavender into my arms. I breathed their scent to calm my roiled thoughts, even while I prayed for Hamlet to appear. And so he did, the insubstantial presence in the fog once again becoming the solid figure of Hamlet.

"We meet again, Ophelia," he said, touching my hand.

"I wished for you to come," I replied.

"And thinking made it so. Here I am."

As he spoke, he led me to the shelter of the tall hedges bordering the garden labyrinth I had often seen from my window. It was a secret place I had never dared to enter, fearing I might get lost. Now a sudden impulse seized me.

"Follow me, if you can!" I whispered, then turned and disappeared into the maze. I felt my way, dropping the lavender as I ran. I turned left, then right, again and again. I found myself at the center of the maze, with nowhere else to run. Gasping for breath, I listened to the rushing of blood in my ears. When Hamlet appeared, carrying the herbs I had dropped, I uttered a small cry, like a child delighted to be found.

"Why did you run from me again?" he asked.

"I don't know. I used to run for the joy of it, when I was little."

Hamlet nodded as if he remembered. He rubbed a stalk of lavender between his fingers, releasing its sweet aroma, and traced the outline of my forehead and nose with it. I smiled in response.

"You amaze me, Ophelia," he said.

"I did lead you into this maze, that is true. And now I am lost here."

I could just see the edges of Hamlet's hair, lit by the moon. His teeth shone in a smile, though the rest of his face was dark.

"No, I am lost, and you are found. For at the center of this twisting path, I have discovered . . . you." He began to fumble for his words. "You, Ophelia, whom I would love. If you . . . could love me."

Because they did not roll from his tongue like they had been practiced, I believed Hamlet's words. I wanted them to be true. And my own reply was spoken in utter truth.

"I have never loved before," I confessed. "I fear to lose what little I possess."

He understood that I meant my virtue, my only wealth, for he replied, "Ophelia, I know you are most honest and virtuous. I pledge to serve you truly and with honor."