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Chatham's Ubiquitous Dream
Night had fallen... bereft of splendor, no hounds abay, lunar stillness abounding. Scant light crept over heather patches, revealing their multitudes as the close-cropped, gorse-thatched heads of homely children. Summer's breezes had taken wings, warming other climes; leaving in their absence only subtle, vague remembrances of sweltered August midnights. Reminders of winter’s proximity were everywhere in evidence.
Robert of Chatham reclined against his pack. Placed beneath shield and mace, it provided support for his weary back. Too long in saddle would do that to a man... any man, truly, but more so to one of his advancing years. His fingertips positioned themselves against each other, as his hands supported his chin, and there he sat... motionless; an unconscious response to years of conditioning, countless hours of waiting for combat in service of a master he would never meet. One unaccustomed to his habits might have thought him in prayer; it would not have been unseemly to presume it. Such was not the case tonight, all his thoughts were of her.
Solitary was his concentration. If ambushers overtook him as he sat, so be it. Tonight, he would not move to repel it. If wolves ripped out his throat, he would not take up sword against them, so long as her memory cast even faded recollections upon him. His eyes, yet closed, could see her as clearly as if she stood in elegance before him, calling to him. Her arms outstretched, clad in fine blue silk, her long gown shimmered even in lowlight moon. Loveliness, thy name is Arica... royal by nature if not by birth, virtuous beyond reach of all but him. Wretched fate put miles upon miles between them. Robert silently cursed all who kept them apart. Before his God he vowed to find the path to her. Steadfastly, he summoned all powers to act as guides.
Somewhere in the night, his vigilant guard breeched, he was summoned to Morpheus. The dreams began. She beckoned to him from some faraway place, a shadowy netherland of dreamers and lovers. There, she gently took him by the hand and guided him deep within her soul, to a secret haven where no one could ever threaten them. Renewal through her became his only wish. No thoughts exclusive of her could find haven in his mind, and sublime feelings of warmth overcame him as he slowly claimed her as his own. Their ritual dance of love swayed rhythmically to the beat of their hearts, ebbing and flowing as channeled energy gave rise to passions only they knew. Crescendo rose and fell, again and again, as Eros carried them deeper and deeper, oblivious to all but their ardor. Then, as he heard her cry out, his eyes opened to the dawn of a new day. Though his sleep had been fitful, he was nonetheless invigorated and his journey could continue.
****
This morning, the dew lay heavy on the moors. Filtered rays of sunlight tried desperately to pierce the heavy fog, with no success. Robert prepared his tack, softly brushing the gathered debris from the back of his mount, Lucifer. The somber, dank atmosphere reeked with foul sentiment, and scarce breeze was present to blow it away. The horse whinnied as Robert stroked him, reminder that they must move on. He realized the animal could not think, in any human sense, but at times, Lucifer seemed to sense trouble. This was such a moment. Robert swung the saddle onto Lucifer's back, and the animal stiffened a little, as if startled by some unseen presence. As he tightened the cinch under the horse's belly, the knight suddenly removed his broadsword from its sheath and whirled, parrying and hacking at the air, hoping that the unseen invader might be fool enough to venture near.
Nothing. Robert chastised himself, Are you but an over-anxious page, some boy who has nothing better to do than smite ethereal dragons as they threaten your imagination? Perhaps it was time for him to consider Lord Pendragon's generous offer of land and alms. He couldn't fight forever, he knew that... but every day he delayed the inevitable was yet another day of service to his King, and why else was there breath still in his body? Enough! If I make it back, there will be time enough to make such decisions.
Could he become a man of gentry? And what of Arica, would she be waiting for him? Robert shook his head to clear the disquieting, unwelcome thoughts; reality forced decisions he’d chosen to forestall. Only a fool stayed too long in battle, but the beat of a warrior's heart was different from all others. The coursing blood was there only to invigorate him, to remind him of his duties, to sustain him for what must ultimately come. If my blood is spilled on some unseen countryside, pray God that mother Earth will accept it as payment for bounties provided, from a man who has ridden so brazenly across her breast.
The signs of time's scourges, ever-present these days, forced him to acknowledge his weaknesses. Every movement paid tribute to battles past as he went about his routine, such as it was. His once-magnificent body, now but a shell of its former self, ached with realization. So did his mind, and this brought a fear he'd never known. Too long from battle, the aging knight sensed doom, an emotion never before allowed to surface from a primitive bastion deep within him. Robert breathed deeply through his nose to clear the cobwebs and pulled himself up onto Lucifer. The elegant stallion only weakly protested the intrusion. The tanned leather saddle, made for him by the finest leathersmiths in Chatham, formed grooves where his legs and rear sat; today, as he lowered himself onto it, the leather squealed in pain from the extra weight it was forced to endure.
Stop it! Robert swore under his breath, chastising himself for the foolish indulgences presently consuming him. For God's sake, man, get hold of yourself! Are you a knight or some foolish woman who didn't get her morning cake? As clear as it was becoming that time was stalking him like a thief in the night, he mustn't allow it foothold during the day or it would mean his demise. He rode in silence, mind wandering. But now, it was filled with quiet thoughts, the expansive renderings of a palette too vivid for reality, too lush and promising. He dared not give them credence, for the mere thought of losing them to stark reality was not an option. These memories were too dear, as much a part of him as morning prayers offered to the Blessed Mother. In a way, they were no different, for Arica had taken on goddess-like presence to him. Robert was not delusional, but when he thought of her, his thoughts were of a goddess who had enchanted him throughout his life. Even if he never had the good fortune to hold her in his arms again, he would hold her in his heart. It was all he was allowed to dare ask for, and love cherished would never be allowed to fade.
Fortune was the idle child of destiny this day. Even the wind bore inklings of danger. Robert silenced the progress of his mount, listening. All his senses were heightened. He trained his ears to the wind, but could hear nothing. As sure as Pentecost followed the Resurrection, something was awaiting him. He snapped down the visor of his faceplate and gripped the hilt of his broadsword. No man would take him this day for want of readiness. If a fight were to ensue, his foe would claim no victory from ill preparation. Every muscle in his body was now taut, every sinew prepared for the impending ambush. It seemed queer to him, somehow. Midday was not the time for such a strategy, certainly not a scene that would favor an experienced sniper. Only a young or pitifully inexperienced fool would dare to attack him under such circumstances. He felt only insult as he swung his leg down off Lucifer. How dare some whelp try to gain reputation at his expense? He gathered the reins in his hand, and as he walked, suddenly he stopped. The trees were still, even the birds mocked him with their silence. A cold chill overtook him as he felt his body stiffen slightly. He shook violently for a few seconds as the sensation passed. What was happening to him? Sensing danger when none could possibly be present, incorrectly reading the signs of the wind and the forest... what could be next?
The path was well defined here. Foot traffic had worn down the grass and weeds. He saw no signs of spoor. A shadow flashed in his peripheral vision, and a faint rustle of twigs confirmed his suspicions. He was being watched. Finally, the first sign that he wasn't losing his mind! The realization buoyed him, steeled him for confrontation.
More rustling-- this time from his right side and slightly behind. Robert tethered Lucifer to a low-hanging branch, watching the horse's reaction. Lucifer, too, was uneasy, his head turning from side to side, looking for an intruder. Slowly, Robert walked between Lucifer and the tree. The only possible avenues of attack were from above or the rear. His hand on Lucifer’s neck soothed the animal, willing him to be still. With the tree at his back and his equine sentinel at his side, Robert lifted his faceplate and stared out into the forest. It was then he heard the voice.
'Trusting souls never need protection.'
Was it really a voice? Surely not. It was distant, yet the words were clear, he was sure of it! A man's voice, certainly, yet not identifiable…his conscience chastising him, perhaps? Robert was now more afraid than he could ever remember. Is this God's way of warning him he's about to die?
A glance at Lucifer revealed nothing. Quickly, he gathered the reins and stepped into the footholds of the saddle. Pressure applied to the reins turned his mount around and he planted both feet in the horse's flanks. Lucifer began to make his way through the trees, his rider ducking and dodging low-hanging branches. Robert felt a disquieting sense of despair. He was running from a foe he couldn't see, as much as the thought sickened him. Once again, he felt his body start to shake involuntarily.
Without command, Lucifer slowly stopped and began to graze on succulent undergrowth. Bewildered by the action of his mount, Robert tried to utter a command, but issued only a grunt, a blow striking within his chest surged pain through his arms and legs, causing him to lose equilibrium. Robert tasted the earth as he fell, and lay silent at Lucifer’s feet, unable to move.
The work of demons, surely. The pronouncement gave him no pleasure, but knowledge was the servant of action. In the distance, he could vaguely make out a form of human proportion moving toward him. Was it a nobleman’s cape ruffled by movement or was it a lady’s gown? Why couldn’t he move, there was nothing holding him. In the silence, his lips slowly mouthed his Act of Contrition and he prepared to die.
*****
The morning rose soft upon her, bathing her in tones of muted gold and beige. The chantilly-draped windows allowed only the entrance of shimmering sunspots falling upon her supine body, signaling the onset of day and revealing the midriff and shoulders of a lady in repose. Her bedclothes were askew and the goose-down covers heaped around her, looking ever so much a mountain of fluff she had deposited as the long, continuing night had brought her dreams of him. Her eyes had not yet opened and her hazy thoughts were only half-aware of any distinction between dreams and reality.
He was there and he was gone, yet she could feel his breath on her face; but when she tried to reach out for him, she grabbed only the pillow so firmly locked between her thighs. Even so, it could not stop the ecstasy stirring deep within her. Soft purring soon gave way to loud moans emanating from her throat, as her body thrashed against the pillow. A frenzied rage overtook her as she bucked harder and harder against him. Sweet release gripped her, freezing her in suspended animation as her energy burst forth in the fever of white-hot fulfillment.
Was it but a memory? Were they only the vivid recollections of a foolish girl who had nothing else to hold onto than memories of the man who had made her life complete? Reality came calling. Robert would not fail to return, were he able; without him there could be no life in her heart. Fulfilled, she ceded her will to God and closed her eyes.
In a trice, she was walking in a verdant glade, a place more beautiful than any she could recall. Arica saw him lying in the meadow and offered her hand. No longer would time and space impede their devotion, no longer could the whimsies of purpose keep them apart. Together they walked into the light.
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