Once Upon a Time: The Villains (22 page)

I am speechless at his anger. I am offended by his opposition. How can he blame me? Within that stretch of stunning opposition, my tongue stays silent no more. “You are vexed? I am the one put upon. For three intolerable years have I been paraded in front of a bevy of greedy men and bade to choose one for a husband. Why do you hate me so? What have I done to turn your heart against me in callous indifference to my happiness?”

“Have I not scoured the world for a fellow of standing? Have I not tried to bring you youth instead of the aged? All have been through a rigorous test of virtues. All have suffered your wicked tongue in silence. I find I admire them more than my own offspring. How utterly proud I would be to call one of them son. How I wish for such dignified grace from my own child. Aye. You have shamed me for the last time.”

My jaw drops. He is ashamed of me? Me? I turn to my mother. Her face is pale and downcast. “Mother? Do you not support me? Do you not wish me well?”

The doors to the dining room open, cutting off any reply she might have, and in walks a beggar man, filthy and ragged and wholly unacceptable to come into our presence in such a state. Under his arm he tucks a lute as he crosses the room in a long and purposeful stride.

My father stands and waves him to the chair opposite me. I am speechless for the second time tonight. Who is this beggar that comes to our table?

“Ah, I see you have brought your lute,” my father says. “What a fine instrument. We so enjoyed your performance this afternoon. A meal is hardly enough recompense for the delight you have given us.”

“Your pleasure and a few coin is all I ask.”

“Humble and honest. You please me much. Unbeknownst to you, I have made a vow, which I must keep. And because of this vow, it is my pleasure to offer you my daughter for a wife,” he says, motioning towards me.

I leap to my feet. My breath suspends in my throat; shock stifles my mind. I mustn’t have…nay, I did not just hear my father offer me as a wife to this hideously grotesque man. If all the men in the world were laid at my feet, I would still not pick him. By the look of him, he must have some horrible illness to make him appear so utterly wretched.

I turn pleading eyes on my father, unable to speak for the food churning dangerously in my stomach.

Our eyes meet. He looks at me, knowing my horror and turns away. No boon is given. No word of warning handed to me. I am simply and quite easily set aside.

I suddenly gasp for air and cover my mouth with my hand. I’m shaking, for I see my father is serious, and the man nods. “I have no wife of my own and could certainly do with a little help about the home. Thank you, my lord. I accept.”

The scope of the hall narrows within my sight. Pinpricks of light dance before my eyes. I faint. It isn’t the pretty collapse of graceful limb and body, but a plunge to the floor where my gown is crushed beneath me and my head smartly hits the marble. When I am roused from my collapse, a priest stands nearby. I moan. All the horror of the past few moments rush back on me. This is not happening. They are trying to scare me, to teach me a lesson. I begin to laugh. It is high and trembling, and I cannot control its sharp edges. It cuts through the air like a loon’s crackly call.

I am not given a reprieve, but am hauled to my feet to stand beside the beggar. The priest clears his voice and asks, “Do you, Abrial Nadine Joëlle du Rainier, take this man to be your husband?”

I am numb. I am living a nightmare. They do not want me. I am being forced from my home. I have been abandoned to fate. I may be a princess, but I am like all other women — a chattel to dispose of as quickly and as conveniently as possible.

My father nudges me. “I do, Abrial. Say I do!”

My lips move and my whisper shatters the quiet. “I do.” There is no use arguing. My fate is sealed.

What more happens, what more is said and done, I do not know. When the priest bows, closes the Bible and says amen, I am no longer me. I am a wife with a life no longer my own.

With a hearty clap on the back, my father smiles at the beggar. “Be it not said I’ve kept you here against your will. It should not be suffered that you spend one night beneath my roof. Go! Take your wife and travel to your home where you shall find the comfort and privacy by which God has blessed you.”

I am truly wedded. I am no longer a ward of my father but of my husband. He smiles and clasps my father’s outstretched hand. Conspirators, the two. One is most joyous to see me gone and the other to see me abed. I am sick. What I wouldn’t do to call on a faint to save me from my fate.

“We cannot go now,” I say. “I must pack.”

“What need you with fancy gowns?” my husband replies. “A minstrel’s wife need but three to see her good. One for church, one for cooking and one for wash day.”

My father nods. “A most sensible notion.”

I cannot fathom what has taken hold of my father. He alone has a trunk stuffed with clothes he wears only once every two years. I cast my mother an agonized look. Surely she will disagree. Her silence is frightening. My father bustles us into the foyer and toward the castle doors. “We will send a choice selection of her belongings along shortly.”

“Nothing too fancy, mind you,” my husband insists.

He shall be highly disappointed for I have nothing but. My stomach clenches at this new shock. To be banished from my home is unthinkable, but to be reduced to a beggar is unbearable.

The castle doors open, and I turn to find my mother hovering at my father’s elbow. “Mother?” I cry.

She kisses my cheek and mutters, “God grant you peace, my love.”

Before I can say anything, a strong push finds me suddenly out in the evening air, along with my husband, and the doors firmly closed behind us.

That is it. My life is changed forever. I am disowned, disillusioned and soon to be completely disgraced.

The minstrel tucks his lute under his arm. “Such an agreeable family you have. So solicitous to our wants.”

I cannot agree. My family has thrown me from my home with little regard for my future. From this point on I face a life of destitution; cursed to wander the land with a husband who has all the manners and bearing of a beggar. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them. This is all a horrible mistake. By morning, I will be reinstated into the life I deserve.

The lute strings sound, and I look to the man I must now call husband. I can barely see his face for the ragged, thick stubble growing on it. His cap is low, shading his eyes, the windows to his soul, from me. What if he is a madman? What if evil lurks within his heart? I find it hard to swallow around the lump lodged within my throat.

His nimble fingers pluck at the lute and he looks at me. “We must be off. Your new home awaits.” With that announcement, he takes off toward the yawning gates. Should I follow? My mind tells me I have no choice, but my heart is fair ripping in two at the prospect of leaving. The tether of love has been snipped. I have nothing to cling to here. My parents have made that humiliatingly clear. With as much dignity that has been left to me, I follow, a woman gowned in royal raiment, now a beggarwife with a beggar life. Hopeless despair is all I can look forward to now.

I have never been overly fond of walking. I have a horse to carry me where I will ... I used to have a horse. Now I must rely on my feet to get me to my destination. By the hour when all good people are asleep, we enter a thick forest and my beggar husband is still jovially trotting along, strumming his lute and singing cheerily.

I hate him.

Is there nothing so irritating than a man who cannot see another’s sorrow? If I could, I would wrench that lute from his hands and smash it against the nearest tree. I cannot. Not that I couldn’t reach it, but that I no longer have any strength for the deed. My fingers are cramped from holding up my gown. Mercy! Who would have thought it so heavy? I never noticed before. The train is a nuisance, getting caught on twigs and rocks and under my own feet. Unkind words tumble from my mouth in quiet misery.

My labored breathing fills my ears. I must rest or die. A stump calls to me, and I willingly take its offered seat. Lifting my gown, I examine my feet. They ache in such a way that I search in the dim moonlight for the hot needles that have surely imbedded themselves into my soles. I moan as I ease out of my shoes and rub first one foot, and then the other. I feel blisters rise and deform my feet. Never has anything so unattractive attached itself to my body. My breath hisses as I slip my feet back into my shoes, for I don’t know what else to do.

I glance down the road to the far off bend. Dried leaves tumble across its surface, but that is all. Where has the beggar gone?

“Husband?” I call.

Nothing. Not a sound. I call again. Louder.

Again, no reply, no faraway image greets my eye.

Panic infuses my being. “Husband!”

I know not what else to call him. If he has a name, I am ignorant of it. All I can do is call the title my father, the priest and God unthinkingly granted him. “HUSBAND!”

Real fear presses against my heart. I look back from where we’ve come and think of the journey home. We have traveled so many different paths, I would be lost in a moment. I am lost now. I truly have no home. No family. I am at the mercy of the world and it terrifies me. I swing my head back and yell with all my might, “HUSBAN—”

My call dies in my throat. He is there. Out of nowhere, he appears and I am suddenly found. I have a place in this world, though not of my choosing, but a haven none the less.

He scowls at me. “Does a doe bellow for her mate in such a way? Nay. She mews softly for him and he willingly returns.”

“You left me,” I accuse. “Alone.” I don’t point out he returned after hearing my cries.

“You stopped without warning.”

“I am in pain.”

“You are dressed impractically.”

“I was given no choice.” I cannot help the tears that tumble from my eyes for I am spent, emotionally and physically. “I cannot walk a step more. I cannot.”

He sighs and grabs my hand. I pull away. He takes hold again and this time, I cannot wriggle free. I am pulled to my feet and dragged off the path and into the forest. My feet cannot bear my own weight, and I suck in a sharp breath. Worse, I have no wish to be alone with my husband in the eerie darkness of these woods. I wish to cry loud, annoying sobs, but I don’t. It is not dignified.

He stops and points. “Sit,” and he is quickly gone, but not for long. He returns with an armful of twigs and in no time a fire is lit. He pulls from a pocket a bunch of herbs and chews on them. Spitting them out, he pulls my shoes off and covers each blister with the goo. I am sorely disgusted by the act. I have human spit on my feet. I wish to wretch.

“Stop your gagging,” he demands and pushes me to the ground. I lay wide-eyed and terrified. He picks up his lute and sits nearby, strumming out a song — a song of unrequited love. His rich voice resonates with deep emotion. He moves from song to song like a soft gentle breeze. Soon my eyes grow heavy and I sleep.

It is said, rest is the great healer. Apparently so are nondescript herbs wrapped in human spit. When I awake, my first thoughts are of my feet. They are raw, though they do not ache as much. Still, I dread today’s journey. How am I to slip my feet into those delicate shoes? I will refuse. I may now be a beggar’s wife, but I come from a long and noble lineage. I will do as I please, and it pleases me to stay here until my feet are either healed or I am found a horse. I sit up and glance about our crude little campsite. The fire is smoldering, the lute is nearby and my beggar husband is gone. Rustling sounds in the distance and a smart snap is followed by a loud grunt and squeal.

Through the trees I see the beggar man. When he reaches me, his gaze inspects me from head to toe, and he shakes his head. My hand goes immediately to my hair. I must look a fright. I have nothing to care for my appearance. But then, what do I care? I can’t look any worse than he. Without a word, my beggar husband slings the lute strap across his shoulders, then stoops and picks me up. I yelp and throw my arms about his neck.

“Put me down!” I cry. The indignity of the situation is too much for me to bear.

He ignores my complaints and trudges through the woods, dodging tree and bush, until we’re back on the road. Breaking through to the unobstructed light of the morning, I blink, blinded and disoriented by the sudden glare. Without a word, the beggar sets me on a crudely made litter and stands over me, a look of satisfaction on his face. “If the pig holds out, we should be home by week’s end.”

Pig? I glance around and see the litter is attached to the largest, most vile looking hog I’ve ever seen. And my view isn’t a pleasant one. Before I can complain, my beggar husband takes a switch and pops the swine’s hindquarters. It lurches forward with a deep grunt and I am slammed against the litter unceremoniously.

Where on God’s green earth did he get a pig? My question is soon answered as I am pulled through a small village only a few miles from where we spent the night. I am dragged past a most pleasant looking inn and my cheeks flame. “Why did we spend the night in the woods when an inn lay close by?” I hiss.

“It was not my choice, but yours, dear wife. You insisted you could take not one more step. I only accommodated your wishes like any good husband.”

I groan, for I cannot fault him. I did insist and he did accommodate me, but he did so with deception, for he knew I would walk a league more if I would find an inn at the end. My eyes skip over the village. I hear the snap of the switch, the squeal and grunt of the pig and the sniggers of the strangers who stop and stare at the woman being dragged by such a massive and filthy beast. I close my eyes to the pointing of children and the smiles of women less than me in rank. My life cannot get any worse.

Onward the pig drags me. We rest and eat a sparse noonday meal. The forest has grown thick and lush. I spy an abundance of game, and think of my own woods that I love which are not half as beautiful. “Who owns these woods?”

“A good and noble king. One you likely turned down in your quest to stay unwed.”