The Catswold Portal

But not until the next morning in the scullery did she hear that the king had taken ill before the banquet, and of course she said nothing. The scullery was a turmoil of confusion as pastries and hams, sweets and sausages were prepared for the booths, as loaves were pulled from the ovens, and venison and game birds put to broil for royal breakfasts. As dawn touched the scullery shutters, Melissa stacked warm pastries onto a cart. She had been chosen to have a booth, and under the envious glances of the other girls, she wheeled her cart away to the courtyard. She was wearing one of the new dresses—a plain green wool that pleased her.

The courtyard was bright with draped booths and with colored banners blowing against the granite sky. When she had settled into her booth and laid out the pastries, she watched folk streaming in through the gates. The crowd was a mix of queen’s peasants and visiting servants. Soon she was busy selling turnovers and meat pies as folk flocked to break their fasts. In the booth across from her, cider was sold, and in the next booth a jester juggled silver balls. Farther down the row, the puppeteers were warming up with smutty jokes. The music of lute and rota, horns and vielle echoed against the sky like a dozen bands.

How quickly her pastries vanished. Twice she sent a page for more. It was mid-morning when she saw King Efil descend the marble stairs, swinging a red cape over his purple jerkin and trousers. He began to tour the booths, stopping to throw darts, then to laugh at the puppets. He was so young, hardly older than she. She wondered where his partner was from last night, which of the visiting young women. Though it was common practice, she found the promiscuity of royalty unsettling. This was not the way of the peasant families; there could be nothing of loyalty or deep love in such a life. When the king turned suddenly toward her booth, she felt her face go hot.

A young page followed him, carrying two mugs of ale.

“Pastries, then!” the king said, laughing, his dark eyes fully on her. “A dozen pastries. The lamb, the currant—four of those peach—some scones.” His gaze never left her. As she wrapped the pastries in a linen cloth, he leaned close across the counter. She backed off, handing him the package, but his hands lingered on hers and his voice was soft.

“Come out from the booth, Melissa. My page will relieve you. You’ve been in there since daybreak.”

“I—I can’t do that.”

His eyes hardened. “Come out now. You will join me for a picnic in the orchard.” He took the mugs from the page and nodded, and the boy slipped under the counter into the booth beside her. The king balanced the mugs in one hand. The twitch at the corner of his mouth deepened, his eyes darkened with excitement. “Wander the fair for a moment, my dear, then come through the east gate to the vineyard. Don’t be long. Come while the pastries are still hot and the ale has not gone flat.” He gave her a last deep look that made her giddy, then he turned away and was gone into the crowd.

She looked after him, cold and still. She felt heated. Shamed. Uncertain.

One did not defy a king’s orders.

Beside her the page was rearranging napkins over the pastries. He didn’t look at her. She supposed he knew every lover the king took. Embarrassed, she slipped under the counter and moved away.

She watched the puppet antics of stag and dragon, hardly aware of them. She told herself she would share the king’s picnic, that she need do nothing more. He couldn’t force her; she didn’t think he was strong enough to force her. Yet beyond her resolve her own heat built, and she saw again the dark, needing look in his eyes. She moved nearer the gate, but then paused beside the stall of a jeweler.

She need not go to meet the king. She need not if she was afraid.

Idly she examined the old dwarf’s jewelry. It was plain, unremarkable work. But suddenly a different light shifted across his necklaces, suddenly she saw a brighter jewel shining above the common jewelry like a thin dream: she saw in a vision a tear-shaped emerald, a magnificent stone. It was a pendant: the oval emerald was circled by two gold cats standing on hind legs, their paws joined as if they guarded the gem. The pendant was so lovely she reached…

The vision vanished. The dwarf’s jewelry lay dully across the counter.

She stood clutching the edge of the booth, trying to understand what she had seen. The dwarf looked at her absently as he traded with a peasant family, taking their uncut diamonds in exchange for a small pig he had tethered inside the booth. Giddily she moved away, confused and light-headed.

Had the jewel been a true vision? Some heightening of perception she didn’t understand?

Or had it been a memory from her past?

Still seeing the emerald pendant, she moved unaware through the crowd until she realized she was approaching the east wall. She stood uncertainly before the small gate.