I, Coriander (11 page)

‘What is in the cage?’ Medlar repeated.

‘Why,’ she said straight away, ‘a wedding gift, of course.’

She pulled off the linen and there, to my amazement, was a golden bird that began to sing. The bars of the cage were twisted like barley sugar and as I gazed at the bird, they glowed with a reflected blue light that leapt and danced in the sunshine.

‘Oh, mighty fine,’ I cried.

‘It is for the bride.’ She looked at it uncertainly. ‘Do you think she will like it?’

‘Of course she will,’ said Medlar kindly.

The cart clip-clopped on its way until we came to a fork in the road. Ahead of us was the same grassy lane that we had been travelling down. To the left was a road that ended before it began in a tangle of brambles and briar roses. Yet it was to this road, where the thorns glittered like iron teeth, that the driver turned his cart. I hardly dared look, sure that we were going to be torn to pieces. Instead the brambles and briars parted for us as if they had been waiting for our arrival. Then, once we were safely through, they fell back amongst themselves like thieves into a quarrel.

Medlar smiled at me. ‘Not far to go now,’ he said.

We journeyed on up a drive until we came to some large wrought-iron gates that opened for us and then closed again without the help of human hand. I looked round at my fellow passengers, waiting for some sort of comment, but they took no notice, as if coming through brambles and iron gates that opened and closed for you was something that happened all the time.

On we went, clattering over the gravel until we came to a bend in the drive. Before us stood the most magnificent house I had ever seen, with windows that went right down to the ground and columns of marble that shone like pearls. Was it possible for a house to have so much glass and all of it to shimmer and shine as if the sun himself was playing host to the wedding? It was, alas, only a glimpse. The cart drove on and the house vanished again behind a screen of silver birch trees. I longed to see more, I longed to go inside, I longed for the cart to stop.

14

The Blue Light

W
e came to rest in a stable courtyard. Here there was more commotion than on London Bridge on market day, for every square inch of space was taken up with carriages and coaches, some, like ours, no more than country carts, others so fine that they must have belonged to kings and princes.

We climbed out, pleased to stretch our legs. Our fellow travellers straightened their hats and dusted down their skirts, all talking at once. They said their farewells to Medlar and promised to look out for him.

‘Who lives here?’ I asked when they had gone.

‘This is the summer palace of King Nablus and Queen Rosmore. Tomorrow Rosmore’s daughter Unwin is to be married. ’

‘Is that good?’ I asked.

Medlar laughed. ‘Good for the Queen and her daughter, bad for the bridegroom. He is being forced into this marriage against his will.’

‘He should stand his ground.’

Medlar smiled. ‘There are times when it is wiser to give in and survive than risk the wrath of the Queen.’

I wanted to know more and I had a thousand questions to ask him, but we were interrupted by a jester with a white face. He was wearing a cap tied neatly in a bow under his chin and had a ruff as fancy as that of Sir Walter Raleigh.

‘I am so glad to have found you,’ he said. ‘My old friend, where have you been? I have something so exciting to tell you. Come this way and I will show you.’

Medlar turned to me. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I must go. Do not worry; you will be all right. I will come and fetch you later.’

‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘Let me come with you!’

But Medlar and the jester had disappeared into the crowd. Fearful of being left behind altogether, I ran after the wedding guests. In the hazy sunshine they looked like brilliant butterflies, fluttering and dancing their way into the great house. I stood there wondering if I dared follow them.

T
he hall was as cool as a stream after the warmth of the sun and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. It was very beautiful and spacious, with a vast marble staircase that swept up to a gallery from which wedding guests looked down on the new arrivals. I felt terrified, sure that I must stand out like a burnt tree after a thunderstorm.

Footmen were wandering around with silver salvers, offering tall goblets of wine. Anxious not to be asked to leave, I went off in search of somewhere to hide. There were several rooms to choose from. One had a table laid for the wedding feast, another had panelled walls and an enormous fireplace. Most were full of people milling around.

Eventually I found a long, elegant room hung with great gilded mirrors. Spindly gold chairs lined the walls and the wooden floor shone like honey. Never in all my life had I seen so much looking-glass. I walked up and down the room staring in all the mirrors. I could not make head nor tail of it, for I could not see my reflection anywhere. The mirrors showed quite clearly a room that went on and on, with endless gilt chairs waiting for endless ladies and gentlemen to rest upon them. But I, Coriander, was not there. There was just a blue light that moved when I moved and stopped when I stopped. I thought the mirrors must be made of magic glass that thought little of the vanity of man.

Just then a group of children came noisily in, taking off their shoes to slide on the polished floor. I looked in the mirrors and much to my puzzlement saw their reflections. Like the chairs, like the room, there they were. Why was I not there too?

I was much surprised as they started running straight towards me. I moved quickly out of the way and still they came on. I ducked this way and that, but it made no difference. I slipped behind the chairs and watched, as for a moment the children, perplexed, stopped their chase. I eased myself out and once again they started their game. I discovered that if I faced them they ran for me, if I turned away they stopped.

I put my hand up to my head.

‘It has gone,’ said a small boy, disappointed.

‘No, there it is,’ said another as I took my hand away. I did it again and again. The tiny blue light appeared. The tiny blue light disappeared. I felt excited, for if all that could be seen of me was a tiny blue light, then I could be bold.

I left the children and went out into the hall with a braver heart. I climbed the stairs, weaving in and out of the crowd, and sat in the gallery at the top, as I had done so often in our London house, to watch the guests arrive.

Here the ladies and gentlemen minded not how brilliant they appeared, feared not the laughter of others. They were as glorious in their colours as peacocks and parrots, as delicate as dragonflies and moths. There were gowns made of rose petals, jewels fashioned from dewdrops, silks so fine they could have been woven by spiders. What my father would not have given to buy such fabrics!

Since my mother’s death, my world had slowly tumbled and crumbled down around me, all the joy and colour rinsed from it. Arise had near defeated me with his hand of wrath. The tiny blue light had all but blown out. Yet here in this exotic world, amongst these fantastical people, I felt that I had truly come home and that the blue light could begin to dance in joy amongst the wedding guests, for here was my salvation.

My happy thoughts were interrupted by loud voices from one of the corridors that led off the gallery. I started along it but then, afraid of getting lost, I turned to make my way back again. Suddenly I heard a sharp crowing sound, and looked up to see a huge black feathery cloak of a bird flying towards me. Frightened, I bent down low as it passed. It was a monstrous raven, its outstretched wings brushing the sides of the wide corridor. It flew right up to the double doors at the end, which immediately opened as if waiting for its arrival.

I followed without thinking what I was doing or what danger I might be in, and found myself in a panelled bedchamber, the walls and ceiling painted with fairy stories, very like my room back at home. In the centre of it was a four-poster bed. Huge windows came down to the floor and looked out over the formal gardens. Sitting at a table at the other end of the chamber was a plump young woman. I had a feeling that this must be Unwin. I could see her reflection in the mirror, with double chins that spilled down on to her chest. She was dressed in stays, her flesh squeezing out like an over-filled meat pie.

The raven took no notice of her. Instead he hopped on to the arm of a wing-backed chair, the occupant of which I could not see.

‘My beauty,’ said a woman, her voice harsh, ‘where have you been?’

I moved slowly back, fearful of floorboards creaking, and put a hand over my forehead in case my blue light could be seen. I wished I had not been so hasty in following the raven into the room. Please, I thought, let him not speak. He must not talk. I did not want my fears to be confirmed.

‘Is the prince here?’ shouted the young woman.

‘He is on his way, Your Highness,’ replied the raven.

‘Hasten, Unwin, make yourself ready,’ said the figure in the chair.

‘That dress does not become me,’ whined Unwin as a waiting woman scurried into the room with a billowing cloud of white lace and satin. She started to pull at the dress so that the fabric ripped. The lady in the chair rang a bell and a chamber-maid rushed into the room.

‘I am not wearing it,’ said the bride, stamping her foot. She lifted the powder puff she had been playing with and hit it down on the dressing table so hard that a cloud of powder went everywhere, choking the poor maid. ‘Get out, you imbeciles,’ she shrieked. ‘See what you have done!’

The maids looked towards the wing-backed chair and I could see a long bird-like hand dismiss them. They curtsied and quickly made their escape.

The owner of the hand stood up tall and straight and walked over to the bride. I thought of the conversation on the cart. This then must be Queen Rosmore.

‘Be calm, my darling daughter. Such worries are not worthy of you. Nothing will go wrong this time. Trust me. Cronus and I have everything arranged.’

I knew then with a sickening certainty that I had met the raven before and that the lovely face of the Queen was only a mask. Behind it was the old witch I had met on London Bridge.

Queen Rosmore turned away from her daughter. She looked straight in my direction and said softly to the raven, ‘Make sure Medlar is kept away this time.’

15

The Fox Prince

I
ran down the marble staircase and out on to the gravel drive, relieved to be away from the Queen and her raven. I stood there not sure where to go, watching more wedding guests arrive.

Oh, what was happening? I was in a world where I felt I belonged, yet I had no presence. I had been brought here by a strange man who said he knew my mother. I had to find him to ask one question at least: was it my mother’s shadow they were talking about? I had a sinking feeling that I knew the answer.

I felt cross with myself. I should be braver. I should be bolder, I should be fearless. But I could not. I was too bewildered by what I had seen.

I made my way away from the drive and slipped behind some clipped bushes. From my hiding place, I could see a woodland path that flickered with the scattered gold of sunshine. I followed it until I heard a sound I knew and loved. It gurgled, it lapped, it ebbed and flowed. There, down steep banks hidden by trees and shrubs, was the opal green of a river.

What is it about water, I wonder, that it always calms me? Maybe it was growing up near the Thames. Seeing the river felt like being greeted by a long-lost friend and I felt a sudden pang for my home and all that I had lost.

I rushed and tumbled down through a thick clump of purple foxgloves until very near the bottom I stopped, seeing a flash of brilliant white. I stood still, sure my eyes were fooling me. There, standing at the water’s edge, was a white stallion.

The stallion looked at me as if seeing me, nodded his head and drank at the clear water.

I edged my way forward. A little way off, I could see a young man. He walked up to the horse and buried his head in its neck. I took a step closer. A twig snapped under my foot and the horse started, all white, all glistening.

To my alarm, the young man drew his sword.

‘Who’s there?’

I had never been interested in boys and had no notion that I ever would, seeing being in love and loving as a great tangle in which you could lose your head as well as your heart. Yet standing there that afternoon looking at the young man, I could well see how such knots in life were made.

‘Who’s there?’ he said again. ‘I know you are there. Show yourself. I fear you not.’

I stayed as still as I could. I knew then that this was the bridegroom they were waiting for. He was not meant to marry Unwin, of that much I was sure. The man in the cart had been right when he said it was like fire and water.

He sat down on the ground, his head in his hands. The horse came up to him and nuzzled at his neck and the young man rested his mop of black hair against the snow-white mane.

Forgetting I was no more than a tiny blue light, I said, ‘Please, I mean you no harm.’

‘Who are you? Show yourself.’

‘I cannot,’ I said.

‘Then you are not the Queen trying to trick me?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘my name is Coriander.’

I walked up to him. I could see the blue light reflected back at me. He had dark brown eyes. I felt a shock go through me as with great gentleness he touched my face, feeling my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears, as a blind man would see through his fingers.

I thought not to say this, for it embarrasses me to remember. But such tenderness had been gone from my life for so long that tears rolled down my face.

He took me over to the great white horse. ‘Do not be scared. He knew you were here long before I did.’

The horse raised his head and, trembling, I stroked his mane.

‘Where did you come from?’ the prince asked.