The Iron Tempest (23 page)

Her borrowed dress and surcoat were of deep green silks and her shawl a golden ochre that together splendidly complimented her honey-colored skin and weathered bronze hair; the long, draped lines made her slender height seem even greater—an impression not dispelled by the fact that the top of her head just brushed the low lintel. She looked like painted caryatid.

She began to fidget nervously under the silent scrutiny, suddenly feeling too clumsy, uncouth and obvious to dare move.

“Lady Bradamant!” cried a familiar voice, and she turned to see Fiordispina, dressed entirely in a white silk dress embroidered with silver thread and pearls, her sunny face embedded in a meringue of dark hair. She looked as transparent and insubstantial as a blown glass souvenir.

“My lords and ladies!” she said, ducking past Bradamant. “This is my friend, the brave Lady Bradamant, who saved my life this afternoon, when I was lost and feverish. I might have died if she hadn’t found me and carried me back home!”

There was a murmur of astonishment at this remarkable and unexpected speech while Bradamant blushed furiously, angry with herself for being embarassed and even more angry with the brainless princess. Fortunately, she was glad to see, most of the guests only glanced at her with dull, empty eyes—almost immediately losing interest in the newcomer.

Bradamant was guided to a seat between a large, greasy-looking woman on her right and an angular, ill-looking man on her left. She was disgusted at the latter’s snuffling as he unsuccessfully tried to stem a constant flow of mucus by the force of nasal inhalation alone. The sound alone was nauseating, though not half so stomach-turning as the sight of him swallowing after a particularly bulky-sounding snort. Bradamant was horrified when he turned his rheumy eyes toward her, her own eyes riveted on the green stream that drooled unchecked over the matted moustache.

“I don’t recall seeing you here before, my lady,” the man said, following this observation with a hacking, bubbling cough.

“I’ve only just arrived,” replied Bradamant.

“Are you related to the princess?”

“No. I’d never even met her before today.”

“You don’t look anything at all like her, you know.”

“I don’t suppose I do.”

“I’ve not been well lately.”

“So I can’t help observing.”

“I’ve got boils on my bum.”

Bradamant hurriedly dropped her knife on the floor and used the effort to pick it up as an excuse to turn to the woman on her right. She found the fat face regarding her with hostile curiosity.

“Do I know you?” the woman asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Bradamant.

“You’re staring at me in a very familiar manner—familiar for a stranger, that is.”

“Pardon me, my lady, I meant no offense.”

“You’re a rather strange-looking young woman.”

“Pardon?”

“Your nose is much too large you know. Men prefer petite noses. See mine? Isn’t it just the most perfect little button?”

“Yes, my lady,” replied Bradamant, who thought it looked more like a doorknob.

“What happened to your hair? It’s all every which way.”

“I had to cut it, my lady.”

“Well, that was a very bad idea. You should never do it again. It looks just too dreadful.”

“I don’t have any such plans, my lady.”

“Is that it’s proper color?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Funny-looking color.”

“Do you think so, my lady?”

“I believe I just said so. It’s rude, you know, not to listen when you’re being spoken to. You’re very dark-complected, for a blonde. You have some Moorish blood in your veins, I suspect.”

“I spend a lot of time outdoors, my lady.”

“It’s very bad for the skin, you know. The sun is. The most genteel young ladies—I mean those of the best breeding—would never consider going out in the sun. They have skin like milk; it’s a mark of their quality. I,” she said, offering a puckered, cheesy-looking arm for Bradamant’s regard, “have such skin. It’s like a baby’s.”

A baby
what
?
Bradamant thought unkindly.

“Oh dear—our hands are terribly rough—and your nails! Do you bite them?”

“Of course not!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bradamant hated this persistently negative catalog of her physical insufficiencies. She had always thought, even if in the inevitable error of unobjective self-opinion, that she had no illusions about an appearance that she had always assumed was mediocre at best, yet it hurt and aggravated her to hear her failings listed with such cold-blooded criticism. Until that moment Bradamant had been able to feel more or less insulated from the rest of the company, secure in the knowledge that the foppish and gaudy costumes and cosmetics served only to emphasize the shoddy materials they decorated—like cheap paint on a poorly-constructed house. Now she was made to feel paltry, ugly and oafish. She looked at her hands and imagined horribly that their darkness came from the stain of old blood.

The woman leaned back in her groaning chair and regarded Bradamant intently. “I’ve seen you before, I think.”

“I suppose it’s possible, my lady, though I couldn’t hazard where.”

“Yes. You are
very
familiar. Just a moment . . . it’ll come to me! Don’t say anything!”

The fat woman’s face screwed itself into such a knot of concentration that beads of heavy oil were squeezed from it.

“Yes! Now I remember! I saw you earlier this afternoon. You were with the princess! That was
hours
ago and I can recall it vividly. My memory never fails me, you know.”

“I don’t suppose it does, my lady.”

“There was something strange about you then. Whatever was it? I seem to recall mentioning it to someone at the time. I wonder who that could have been? What was it I said to them? Just a moment . . . I know: you weren’t a woman then! That’s it!”

“I’ve always been a woman, my lady.”

“That’s certainly not true! Don’t you dare to doubt me! Whoever do you think you are, young lady? I’m perfectly aware of what I saw. You were armored all over, just like a knight. Ladies
never
wear armor, you are obviously a lady—though just as obviously not of the
very
best breeding—therefore you must have been a man! That was logic, wasn’t it? I’m sure it was logic.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m a woman now and I was a woman then. I was wearing armor because I
am
a knight.”

“Impossible!”

“But true, nevertheless.”

“Have you ever heard of such a thing?” the woman asked her neighbor.

“Eh?” that person replied from a vinish stupor.

“I said, have you ever heard anything so preposterous as what this young lady just suggested?”

“Eh?”

“She just told me she was not only not a man, but that she’s a knight, of all the most ridiculous things. A self-contradiction if I’ve ever heard one! She must be trying to make a fool of me!”

“Fool?”

“It’s true, my lady,” said Bradamant.

“What’s true?”

“That you are a fool, my dear,” said the man.

“I beg your pardon!”

“No, no, my lady,” said Bradamant, “I meant that it’s true that I’m a knight.”

“Oh? And I’m to suppose you’ve slaughtered Christians from one end of the empire to the other?”

“Oh, no! my lady! Not Christians!”

“Who, then? I suppose you’ve slaughtered
somebody
if you’re a knight?”

“Saracens, my lady.”

“Saracens?
Moors?
”

“One or the other. The difference seems a moot one.”

“You are a
Christian?
”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good heavens!”

“I owe my allegiance to Karl the Great.”

“Karl?
Not
Agramant?
Karl?
Oh, this is just too shocking! Do you hear me?” she fluttered to her neighbor. “Just too shocking! Whatever will Fiordispina think of next! I haven’t been so thrilled in ages!”

“I can well imagine,” said the man.

Bradamant was embarrassed beyond all measure. She passionately disliked being made a public spectacle, and now she had achieved the level of conspicuousness usually reserved for people with sidewalk fits. She did all she could to demure, to defuse the fat woman’s bloodthirsty enthusiasm, to no avail. It seemed that the more she protested, the more she tried to mumble self-deprecating replies, the more she piqued curiosity. And the more the fat woman’s curiosity was piqued, the noisier she got.

Fiordispina, Bradamant was distressed to see, was getting drunk and obviously could not be relied upon to give her succor. Indeed, the princess seemed to be in a distressing state, her face flushed, her movements broad and wild, her hair tumbling around her olive face, her voice loud and strident, her gown rapidly becoming shockingly disheveled.
She can’t be like this when her father’s home,
Bradamant thought.
Why, half her bosom is visible
. She wondered briefly if was wise for the princess to act so brazenly in front of her guests, but then decided that few if any of the people in the room either cared about or would remember anything that the princess did. In fact, she noticed that except for the princess’ immediate coterie no one seemed to be paying much mind at all to her indiscretions.
Heathens
, concluded Bradamant, who decided that the very best thing she could do would be to set a good example and refuse to take part in any such decadent ribaldry or even listen to the licentious and suggestive words that filled her ears, let alone stoop to acknowledge them. She would show them how a Christian behaved.

Fortunately, Bradamant’s steadfast refusal to encourage interest in herself or to take part in any of the inane conversations that surged around her with that unpredictable turbulence characteristic of shallow water caused Fiordispina’s guests to eventually ignore the laconic, aloof stranger, leaving her to enjoy as best she could the remainder of her meal relatively undisturbed. The food was for the most part unfamiliar to her, and her nose revolted at the cloying, over-luxurious odors. There was ragout of venison, calves’ feet and innumerable permutations of beef, mutton, chicken, turkey, duck, goose and pheasant (there was, of course, no pork); there was a heron stuffed with woodcocks and peacock with
cameline
sauce; there were meat pies, pasties and fritters; stews and soups; meat custards such as
blankmanger
, a thick chicken paste mixed with rice and sugar and garnished with almonds, and
mortrews
, a dumpling of fish pounded with bread crumbs, stock and eggs and poached. There were beef ribs in honey and filet of venison with sweetbreads. There was preserved cabbage and a purée of figs and quarters of hare in sweet wine sauce. What she may have recognized was likely to have been buried beneath rich sauces of mustard, vinegar, onions, verjuice, cinnamon and saffron. Of fish there was fresh herring pie prepared with ginger, pepper and cinnamon; mullet, sole, plaice, ray, salmon and trout, the royal sturgeon and whale, crabs, crayfish and jellied lampreys. There were steaming bowls of beans, disguised for the gentry with onions and saffron; honey, apples, pears and plums; loaves of rose- and violet-flavored sugar; figs, dates, raisins, oranges and pomegranates. Bradamant had never seen many of these before; she was at a complete loss as to what to do with the latter fruit, for example. There was wine in vast quantities, but in spite of the fact that it had been sweetened and spiced was not very good—Bradamant thought it sour and moldy and tasting of pitch.

“I know my father’s going to ‘prove of you ver’ much!” said Fiordispina, with theatrical enthusiasm. Her breath was sour with wine, the words slurred.

“Yes, Princess. Where is the king? Isn’t he here?”

“Oh no! This’ just a place he comes to for re-relaxation, though he comes’ often as possible. You jus’ missed him leaving, as it happens. He was s’posed to be back here tonight, but he sent a message that he’d run across some wounded knight or ‘nother and he’s taking th’ man directly to Agramant’s head-headquarters, Allah only knows why. He never tells me
anything
. In th’ meantime, I try to maintain th’ château as bes’ as I can.”

“You are obviously doing very well.”

“Thank you! I know it’s a poor effort, but I do what I can.”

“I really do appreciate your hospitality, Princess. It was kind of you to welcome me here.”

“Oh, it really
is
entirely
my
pleasure, Lady Brada-um-Bradamant. Is y’r meal satisfact’ry? The wine?”

“It’s very good,” Bradamant lied. “Thank you.”

“D’ you like your dress? It was one of my mother’s.”

“It’s very lovely. It’s been a long time since I dressed this way. I have to admit it feels peculiar. I’m a little more accustomed to my armor.”

“And I mus’ admit to you that I hoped you would look as beautiful in it as you do.”

“Now you are being too kind, Princess,” Bradamant said warily.

“No, not at all! You
are
ver’ lovely, Lady Bradamant. I hoped you would be. Y’r armor’s so—so
hard
and I wanted to be reminded of your fem-femin-ininity.”

“Do I succeed?”

“Eminently! Seeing you now, I can’t
imagine
what possessed me earlier today. Yes, you are ver’ much indis-indisputably a woman.”

“The incident is as good as forgotten, Princess, I assure you.”

“Then you are as kind as you are lovely, Lady Bradamant.”

“Kinder, I hope.”

The princess laughed and, to Bradamant’s immense relief, turned her attention to her other guests.

It was quite late when the dinner finally broke up and the guests began drifting unsteadily to their various apartments and, no doubt, further pleasures Bradamant prefered not to imagine. She climbed the stairs to her room with unaccustomedly leaden feet. She was surprised to find Fiordispina already there, sitting up in the big bed.

“There aren’t enough rooms in the lodge for everyone, so I gave the countess mine,” the princess said, sounding perfectly sober, much to Bradamant’s disappointment since she had expected that the girl had drunk herself into a sleepful oblivion. “She’s a very old friend of my father’s, so I could hardly have given her anything less. I didn’t think that you’d mind if I shared your room, since it’s only for the one night.”