Bitter Dove

Bitter Dove

Lord Hrotha's castle cast a shadow over the south of the kingdom, its spiraling towers grasping the sky like the fingers of a clawed hand. The western tower was taller and thinner than the rest, sloping outward from the walls at a sickening angle. In the village the peasants said that this tower had no door and no stairs, yet contained a solitary room at its peak. No one could reach it except the raucous ravens who guarded the fortress heights.

"What terrible, precious thing does Lord Hrotha keep in the western tower?"

The young knight Guillaume de Santerre had come to the south to serve his patron Lord Clouzin. The sun had begun to set during the ride to the manor, and as he passed Hrotha's castle a single lighted window shone atop the pitch-black spike of the cursed keep. The sight had chilled him to the marrow.

"Lord Hrotha keeps a bitter dove in his dovecote," answered another knight. Guillaume started. The knight smiled. "At least, that's what the ravens say. Didn't you know? There lies the cause of the quarrel between our Lord Clouzin and Lord Hrotha."

"I know they quarreled over love. It was a disagreement about a boy or a woman."

"Oh, not a woman, my friend. It was a page, a boy like jewel. Lord Hrotha captured the child himself from the mountains of Lissulla-Lyah as spoil from the wars. You know how no human has ever seen a Lissullian woman? If you saw a Lissullian man, you wouldn't even care. You would believe all the old stories about how the Lissullians are the children of the fallen angels. The boy was whiter than ivory and brighter than gold. Needless to say he became Lord Hrotha's cherished pet. And needless to say, when he was brought to court he caught Lord Clouzin's eye. When our Lord grew so bold as to snatch the child away for himself, Hrotha was able to foil him but became deranged by jealousy. First he killed Lord Clouzin's squire in cold blood, an unspeakable retaliation for a love-quarrel. Then he locked the page away in the lonely keep — to preserve his innocence, he said! No one has set eyes on the boy since. He's still trapped in that tower today, if it isn't his ghost that lights the lamp at night."

"What strange cruelty!" Guillaume exclaimed.

"Lord Hrotha is a foe to be reckoned with," said the knight. "But put these morbid thoughts away. Tend to your horse and your armor, and consider how you may best serve your Lord."

But Guillaume was young. Dreams of love, beauty, and vengeance began to seduce his mind.

Whenever he was able Guillaume would sneak away to Lord Hrotha's lands and hide in the rocky hills by the western tower. Even at the highest point, even at night when the lamplight flickered like a lost firefly, no face appeared at the window. Guillaume's despair grew but his obsession did not ease. One night as he lay on a lofty pine bough, Guillaume sighed aloud. "Human or not, spirit or not, how I wish you would show yourself to me!"

With a tumultuous rustle of branches and wings, a huge raven alighted on the branch beside him. It turned its head to fix Guillaume with one beady, staring eye, and snapped its great black bill.

"Hush, noisy thing!" Guillaume hissed. "Do you want to give me away?"

"You have come to the dovecote late, Guillaume de Santerre," croaked the raven, and clattered its beak again as if in laughter. "What business have you here?"

Guillaume quickly mastered his surprise.  "If you're wise enough to know my name, nosy bird, you can surely guess. I want Lord Hrotha's silver dove. Something he has taken such pains to protect must be of immense value, and I want to avenge my Lord."

This seemed to please the raven. It flapped its wings and cawed softly. "You are a noble vassal, Guillaume de Santerre, but you are a fool! Everyone knows that the western tower has no entrance. If you tried to scale it alone you would fall and break your neck. But go ahead and try! I'll pluck out the eyes from your smashed skull."

"You can have my eyes! Only promise to help me. Let me see the face of the boy whose beauty caused Lord Hrotha's savage madness. Then, being mad, I can at least die content."  

"A brave answer!" The raven crowed. "For that, I will help you. You must come back when the moon is full."

High in the western tower, another waited and watched the waxing moon.

The child who had been locked away many years ago was now a young man. Hidden so long from the sun, he was as delicate as a cut gem. His hair was as soft as corn-silk and his skin had the luster of moonstone, glowing faintly with light trapped beneath its iridescent surface. His eyes were the color of a frozen cherry petal, and his hands and limbs were turned so finely they could have been spun from glass. But the page's loveliness was wasted on his only companions, the chattering ravens who brought him the news from the village and the gossip of the guardsmen.

On the night of the full moon, a shadowy bird glided in through the windowsill and croaked, "He's back! He's back! The foolish knight is back!"

The page ran to the window and peered outside. "Is it really true? Everything you've been telling me?"

"Night after night he stands below your window, bewitched by the stories of Lord Hrotha's dove. And to think, he's never even seen you! But perhaps in the moonlight you'll be able to get a look at his face."

The raven flew away and sought out Guillaume in the rocks below. "Now's the time, he's watching now!" Guillaume held up a polished mirror, and when the moon struck its surface, his face was illuminated in its light. In response, Guillaume saw a movement atop the the tower as a slender figure leaned out from the windowsill.

Guillaume cried out as if struck through the heart by a swift arrow. "Wise raven, I was mistaken. I cannot die content now that I have only seen him. I must have him for my own."

"Cease your complaints, foolish knight, and look! The page is beckoning." Guillaume scrambled down the hill and ran to the base of the castle. Looking up from the ground to the tower's somber pinnacle, he saw a pale hand release a sliver of silver into the sky. The object fluttered to earth in a shaft of moonlight. When Guillaume plucked it from the air, he saw it was a strand of the page's hair, as bright as crystal.

"The dove sheds a feather," the raven cawed. "Why don't you use it to fly?" The raven darted forward to take the hair in his beak and flew up into the night. To Guillaume's amazement, as the bird winged away the strand stretched along its length until the raven had pulled it all the way up to the tower window.

Guillaume wound the hair around his glove and tugged at the end to test its sturdiness. The silver thread was miraculously strong, enough to bear his weight.

"Go on, Guillaume de Santerre! I will not eat your eyes today."

Guillaume pulled himself up the castle walls with the aid of the magic strand. The hair was so thin it looked like the mere glint off a knife-blade in the moonlight, but it was so firm that it did not shift in the breeze and so supple that it did not cut into his hands. Very soon the knight reached the top of the tower. He climbed over the sill of the open window and found himself in the prisoner's room.

"Oh, Guillaume de Santerre, why have you come here?"

Guillaume was speechless at the sight of the young man who stood before him. His milky-white hair fell in thick sheaves around his face, and his rosy eyes were wide with fear. The pearly glow of his pallid skin seemed to reflect the sheen from his suit of brightly colored silk. Even cowering in surprise, his frame was as lissome as new shoots of willow. Looking upon the boy, Guillaume felt as many men before him had felt. He was filled with the urge to draw this frail thing into his arms, and to gently and lovingly shatter it to pieces.

"So you are Lord Hrotha's prisoner?" Guillaume took the page's trembling fingers in his own. "Tell me, are all Lissullians gifted with this strange and sharp beauty?"

"I do not know, Sir Knight. I was taken from Lissulla-Lyah when I was very young, and I have no memories of my people."

"And pray tell me, what is your name?"

"Lord Hrotha calls me the Bitter Dove. He visits me every morning, ascending the tower by my hair. Ah, you must take care! For he will surely kill you if he finds you here, and me as well if he finds I have betrayed the secret of his magic."

"And yet," Guillaume smiled, "you did it all the same. Are you lonely, Bitter Dove?"

The page sighed, and a tear glistened on his cheek. "I have seen no human but Lord Hrotha for seven years, and even now he bears a grudge and treats me harshly. The ravens told me there was a knight who had fallen in love with me, but it thought it was only senseless chatter. Then I saw your face, and you looked so honest and so distressed..."

Guillaume embraced the page, and felt the boy's tremulous heartbeat shuddering through his clothes.

"But tell me, Guillaume de Santerre! Why have you come?"

"To give, and to take."

"But what do I have that you could possibly want?" Bitter Dove glanced uncomprehendingly around his chamber.

"Your innocence."

"I do not know quite what you mean. But as a reward for your bravery I will give you anything of mine that you desire."

"Your answer assures me," said Guillaume, "that it is mine for the taking." He kissed Bitter Dove and brought the boy to his bed. Soon he was able to claim his reward. For the rest of the night they continued to give and to take in the way that lovers do, delighting in each other's touch.

When the sunlight glowed in the east Bitter Dove woke the knight who lay entangled in his graceful limbs. "You must leave quickly," said the page, "before Lord Hrotha finds you here."

"You must give me another hair, then, so I can descend the tower safely."

"I will," said Bitter Dove. "On one condition. That you return to me tomorrow night, and every night as I wish." Guillaume happily agreed.

The knight kept his promise. Each night he would appear below the western tower, and each night Bitter Dove would spin out his hair to let his lover ascend the tower. Over time, Guillaume's warm hazel eyes and ardent caresses melted the iciness of the boy's beauty. With each eager kiss and each passionate coupling the once wan and timid page became brighter, a wild chick tamed to enjoy human touch. It seemed to Guillaume that Bitter Dove's skin, once near translucent, was clouding to a milky alabaster, and that even the contours of his slender body were softening under his lover's care.

Bitter Dove took care to keep the visits secret from Lord Hrotha, who continued to visit the tower during the day. For two months Hrotha suspected nothing. He brought the page plenty of food to eat, sumptuous clothing to wear, and books and instruments to pass the time. But what a contrast to the brave knight! The brooding Lord had always been haughty towards his captive. One day he fixed the boy with a hawk-like stare and said,

"I have kept you hidden, Bitter Dove, so that someday your beauty will be useful to me. Until then it is a burden, and I am the most jealous man in the world. I was the one who saved your life, and I have kept you all these years in luxury. When you are full-grown you will serve me, but for now it is I who serve you. In all this time you have never asked for a single thing. Tell me, my pet, is there some trinket you desire? Whatever it is, I will give it to you."

Fearing that Lord Hrotha was testing him, Bitter Dove answered modestly. "My Lord, thanks to you I lack nothing. Still, if I may, I would like to ask for one thing: a new shirt, for my old one no longer fits."

"Is that so?" A dark cloud crossed Lord Hrotha's face.

Bitter Dove unbelted his tunic and pulled it back to reveal where the cloth was pulled tight over the round, jutting dome of his belly. "My shirt has become smaller and smaller," said the boy, naively, "and I don't know why."

When Lord Hrotha realized what had happened, he uttered a roar. He struck Bitter Dove across the face, sending the boy reeling. "Slattern! Is this how you repay me? Who has come to see you in the night?"

"No one!" Bitter Dove sobbed, but Lord Hrotha grabbed him by the hair and growled, "Do not lie to me! The proof is the child that grows within you. Now tell me your lover's name before I dash you from the tower!"

Bitter Dove cried and would not answer. Lord Hrotha opened the chamber window and shouted out to the sky, "Who has defiled my pure dove?"

A cacophony of ravens rose in response, shaking their wings and clattering their bills in mirth. "Sir Guillaume de Santerre, vassal of Lord Clouzin, has climbed the dovecote and poached your dove!"

Lord Hrotha turned back to Bitter Dove and struck him again. "A servant of my enemy? You are even more of a whore than I feared. But this knight has set eyes on you for the last time."

That night, just as before, Guillaume waited below the tower window for the magic hair to spool itself down into a climbing rope. On his ascent he looked up, but instead of the face of his beloved he saw the merciless glare of Lord Hrotha. Guillaume cried out in surprise and lost his grip. He plummeted to the castle roof below, and Lord Hrotha's men swarmed out from the ramparts. They captured Guillaume, flogged him, and put out his eyes with hot pokers. All this Bitter Dove was forced to watch, weeping silently while bound and gagged at Lord Hrotha's side.

Even that was not enough to placate the cruel Lord's rage. He stripped Bitter Dove of his fine clothing and cast him in the dungeon. Every day Hrotha cursed the page and beat him viciously, trying to kill the life in his womb. Every night Bitter Dove would weep over his torn and bruised body until he was wet with tears. To Lord Hrotha's dismay, no matter how savagely he beat the boy, in the morning all his wounds would be healed. As Bitter Dove's belly grew larger and larger, so did Lord Hrotha's rage.

In dreams it was revealed to Bitter Dove that he was carrying twins, Guillaume's mighty sons. He could feel new life fluttering and churning within him. Each movement sent a hot current of thorough him and revived his aching limbs. As Bitter Dove staggered and fell under Lord Hrotha's blows, the twins kicked in response, drawing power from some unknown source. Though he spent his days delirious with pain and sorrow, Bitter Dove knew that at least his tormentor could not hurt Guillaume's children.

At last Lord Hrotha could no longer stand the sight of Bitter Dover's swelling body. He set on the page with a sword and aimed to cleave open his head. When the blade hit the boy's hair, it bounced away with clang like steel striking steel. Lord Hrotha threw aside his sword in disgust. He knew he had been bested by Lissullian magic.

"You may live," he said to Bitter Dove, "but you will be a wretch, debased and destitute. When winter comes, bear your mongrel whelp on the frozen ground and die." With that Lord Hrotha had Bitter Dove thrown out of the dungeon and into the midden-heap.

With the last of his strength Bitter Dove crawled to a nearby stable and collapsed in a pile of straw. The twins stirred inside his great belly, now the size of a bushel basket, and Bitter Dove stroked his heavy load. He thought of how Lord Hrotha's plans for him had been disappointed, and he laughed; he thought of the punishment of the brave Guillaume, and he cried; he thought of the fate that awaited himself and his unborn children, and he shuddered with fear.

Bitter Dove heard the squawk of a large raven watching him from the rafters. "Mother Raven, friend of my captivity, why are you still here? If you're waiting for my breath to leave me I'm afraid you must be patient. I have a little time left, bitter though it may be."

"You were always gracious, Bitter Dove," the raven replied. "In fact you have already done me a great service. Seven years ago Lord Hrotha captured me in an enchanted net and bound me to guard his dove in the western tower. Now that he has let you pass beyond the castle wall the spell is broken. Careless fool! At last I have regained my powers, and I can change back into my true form."

Mother Raven hopped down from the beam. Her feathers bristled and crackled, and her shape was obscured in a dark whirlwind.  When she landed she had transformed into a hook-nosed woman robed in black, with a bushy head of black hair and glittering black eyes. Bitter Dove gasped in amazement. The sorceress embraced the boy, shielding him from the chill with her shaggy cloak.

"Mother Raven! All this time, and I never knew!"

"The greatest power is always hidden the deepest, my child. Take heart! I have come to tell you that Guillaume de Santerre is still alive, living in exile. To repay you for my freedom I will travel with you until you find him."

Tears welled up in the page's eyes. "But how can I travel now? The autumn grows colder and colder. I am dressed in rags. I have no money. And I can barely stand for the weight of the children my lover has begotten in me."

"Give me one of your hairs and I will show you Lissullian magic that even the foolish Lord Hrotha does not know — though he knows more of Lissulla-Lyah than any human man alive." Bitter Dove plucked a hair from his head. Mother Raven rolled it between her palms, pulling and twisting it until it had stretched into a rod of silver. Then she broke the rod into pieces until her lap was filled with gleaming coins. With these clever Mother Raven went to the market and bought new clothes for Bitter Dove, a broad-backed horse to carry him, and provisions for the journey.

They set out the next day and travelled towards the mountains. They were guided by the gossip of the birds, who remembered Guillaume de Santerre when men had already forgotten him. The journey brought them to the end of the royal road and into the hinterlands.

At each place where they stopped to ask the way the locals were treated to a sight none would soon forget. Atop a dappled palfrey rode a small figure wrapped entirely in a dove-gray woollen mantle. The horse was led by a drably dressed woman with a large nose and a keen, crafty gaze. When they halted, the mounted figure lifted his hood to reveal the sorrowful face of a fragile boy whose white hair was streaked with silver and whose skin was as pallid as a lily.

"I seek the exile Sir Guillaume de Santerre. Tell me, is the road to mountains passable? How far is it to the next stopping post?"

The one who was addressed would then notice the boy's fatigued condition, and that the folds of his cloak imperfectly hid a hugely gravid stomach as large as a mare's about to foal. "You must be tired, child, carrying such a burden. Won't you stop at our inn and rest the night?"

"I have no time to stop," the boy would say, shaking his head sadly. "Our time is nearing, and I must find him before the snow." And the mysterious figures would ride on.

The weeks passed. The sky grew cloudy and ashen, pregnant with snow. The leaves on the trees burst into red, then withered to brown, and at last leaped from the branches to rattle down the road in the shrill wind. The children in Bitter Dove's womb grew impatient. As they kicked incessantly, Bitter Dove winced and prayed for more time.

At last some sparrows told Mother Raven of an abandoned farm where a blind knight was living as a hermit. The path was remote and rocky, and as they made their way into the valley the first flakes of winter snow began to drift down from the blank sky.

The solitary man crouching in the tumbled-down shed heard the approaching hoof beats. His heart was filled with grief. Since he had been blinded he dreaded the company of others. What use had he for the world when he could never again look upon the face of his lost dove?

Guillaume stepped out from his shack. "You are far from the road, travellers, and there is nothing in this direction for many miles. Why have you come here?"

"To give, and to take."

Guilluame cried out in anguish when he recognized his lover's voice. "You should not have come here, my Bitter Dove. I am maimed and ruined, and I have nothing to give you."

"Then I will take your pain."

Guillaume felt the boy's steady, slender hands grasp his own, and then the hot droplets of Bitter Dove's tears falling upon his face. The darkness that had enveloped his sight began to lift. When the fog cleared, he saw with eyes restored his lover standing before him. The boy's hair had darkened to the color of burnished silver, and his skin was as glaring white as the snow-clouds overhead. His gray cloak parted to reveal a belly heavy with child, the result of their tender nights past.

"And I give back the gift of love you gave to me. For when you took my innocence, you gave me your children, strong twin sons who will grow into fine warriors like their father. It is thanks to them that I have escaped Lord Hrotha and I can bring them here to you. They have pained me, and will pain me more yet, but I regret nothing. Love is both sweet and bitter, and I love you with all the life I have."

Bitter Dove smiled through his tears. Guillaume was overcome by wonderment and joy. He knelt to embrace the boy and children within him, and in sighs and sobs they let respite and happiness rise from their tribulation and despair.

Mother Raven let out a crow of triumph. It was at that very moment, they say, that all the ravens deserted Lord Hrotha's castle. From then on his fortunes declined sharply until one by one his towers fell and the stone rotted back into the earth.

Guillaume de Santerre was seen no more among men. When spring came he crossed over the mountains with Bitter Dove and their children to settle in Lissulla-Lyah. The Lissullians remember them in their own legends to this day. And among the Lissullians, though still rarely glimpsed by humans, there are some whose icy features are warmed by hazel eyes like those of a Frankish knight from long ago.

Or at least, that's what the ravens say.