Capture the Moon Read online

  “What a goose!” Adrien cried. She had begun to feel some sympathy for the princess, but it seemed the lady was nothing but a spoilt child after all. “But what does this pampered princess have to do with you?”

  Felix smiled proudly. “I am the one who can give her the moon!” He reached into his saddlebag and, with a flourish, took out a long, thin tube of highly polished bronze. It seemed like a poor tool to fetch down the moon from the heavens, and Adrien told him as much.

  Felix’s smile grew broader. “Ah, but you have not yet seen what it can do. Put it to your eye and look through it—but whatever you do, do not point it towards the sun, or you’ll end up blinder than I am!”

  Adrien did as he bade her—and gasped in astonishment. Everything she looked at seemed to be brought close by the strange instrument. She felt as though she could reach out and touch the tops of tall trees, brush snow from the peaks of the distant mountains, even catch the tail of a hawk circling overhead. “What magic is this?” she asked in wonder.

  “Not magic, but science, good Adrien. It is the science of Opticks, of which I am proud to call myself not the least of students.” Felix preened, and Adrien smiled to see his innocent joy in his own accomplishment. “I have built this instrument, which I call a telescope, with my own hands. I have spent long hours closeted in my monastery cell deciphering ancient texts from Araby and grinding lenses of glass to fix into this tube.”

  And Adrien could well believe it, for truly he had the look of a man not overexposed to fresh air and sunlight in recent years. So far, in fact, was he from looking as though he took regular exercise, it seemed as though a sudden breeze might snap him in two.

  “So you mean to present this to the princess,” she guessed, handing back the novel artefact, “and she will feel as though the moon is in the palm of her hand? You’re cleverer than I thought, Felix!” she joked, giving him a playful punch upon the arm that almost made him drop the precious instrument. Then she grew puzzled, recalling what he had said earlier. “But why travel all the way to the castle and give her your invention if you intend to take your vows straight after? You can’t marry a princess and be a monk, you know!”

  Felix’s delicate features fell. “‘Tis not for myself I’m doing this. I have a dear friend at the castle, a member of the royal guard. We have been friends from birth and were never apart until the day he left for the castle and I for the monastery, in accordance with our families’ wishes. I’ll let him give the princess the telescope and marry the lady. At least then, though I cannot be with him, I’ll know he is happy and prosperous.”

  He looked so sad that Adrien yearned to comfort him. “Here,” she told him kindly, “why don’t you carry Ferkel for a while?”

  Felix accepted the squirming and slightly smelly bundle with a look of surprise, but underneath his seeming reluctance, Adrien was sure he was grateful.

  * * * *

  The rest of their journey passed without incident. They spent their days walking and their nights sleeping soundly on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Felix was well supplied with provisions for them both, which they supplemented with blackberries, chestnuts, and tart wild strawberries. Like a sapling that has been too long enclosed by weeds and has grown thin and pale, the young monk seemed to flourish in the fresh air and the autumn sunshine. Or perhaps it was the regular exercise that filled out his frame and deepened his colour until there was in him less of the cloistered monk and more of the carefree village lad he must once have been.

  She wondered, then, if he regretted having left that life. “Friend Felix,” she asked, as they paused to drink at a stream, its cool waters fast-flowing and clearer than the glass in her companion’s telescope. “Does it grieve you, to contemplate a life spent locked away from these simple pleasures?” For by the stream grew tiny woodland mushrooms, which they ate raw, savouring the nutty flavour, and the air was filled with soft birdsong to charm their ears.

  Felix shrugged, his expression resigned, yet it seemed to Adrien, a little sad. “It was at the wish of my family that I entered the cloister, and although, perhaps, it is not a life I might have chosen—still, I think, there is satisfaction in doing what will please others.”

  “But what of pleasing yourself? Had you no hopes of seeing more of life—perhaps even,” Adrien said cautiously, for she felt her knowledge on this subject to be sorely lacking, save for the stories her father had told her of her parents’ courtship, “of finding love?”

  Felix sighed and petted Ferkel upon the snout. “Ah, friend Adrien, is that what you hope for yourself?”

  “It is—though I wonder sometimes, whether I’ll know it when I find it,” honesty compelled Adrien to add.

  “Fear not,” Felix said, his gaze still cast down to the softly babbling stream. “When love finds you, you will know. But I put aside all thoughts of love long ago.” He sighed again, perhaps lost in memory.

  Adrien let the subject drop, for it grieved her to see her friend so sad. Some village maid, she felt sure, must have broken poor Felix’s heart, but she would not for all the world cause him more pain with her questions. Rising from her mossy seat, she laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Come, let us be on our way, for there’s more to see on our journey.”

  “Indeed, yes,” he agreed, and he smiled with something of his wonted cheer as he gathered up the now sleeping Ferkel in his arms.

  Adrien felt sure she too must have been altered by this outdoor life; but whether for good or ill, she neither knew nor greatly cared. It was enough for her that her stride grew longer and more confident, and that she awoke each morning eager for the new day and whatever novel delights might be in store. She noticed, however, that her companion’s steps grew ever slower the closer they came to their destination, and he seemed ever more eager to carry Ferkel whenever the piglet’s young trotters tired. Still, however much Felix’s steps dragged, it was not many days before they found themselves within sight of the king’s castle.

  Adrien called to her companion to halt a moment. “Did you ever see such a sight?” she breathed, for the castle was mighty indeed.

  “No,” answered Felix with a rueful shrug. “And alas! I cannot see it now, save for a looming, grey cloud that glowers upon the horizon. Sketch it to me, good Adrien, I pray you, that I may see it through your eyes.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Adrien answered. “But I fear my words will be too puny and commonplace to do justice to its grandeur; I’ve never seen the like. The castle, friend Felix, lies across the plain from us, perched high upon a rocky outcropping as if it has grown up from the stone, rather than been built by mortal hand. And indeed, ‘tis so large I can scarce fathom how man might build such a thing. Tall fir trees stand like sentries all around it, but are yet dwarfed by it, and its many towers—some round, some square—wear pointed hats like witches. The walls extend down the hill to a point where stands the gatehouse. The castle has more windows than I can count, but they’re of a narrow sort—for defence, I’d guess.”

  Felix nodded eagerly. “And do soldiers patrol the walls?”

  Adrien laughed. “I’d wager they do, but they’re not to be seen at this distance. Perhaps your wondrous invention could pick them out?”

  “Perhaps,” Felix said, but his brow creased with worry and he looked around furtively, as if he feared even now that the brigands might return. “But perhaps ‘twill be safer to keep it hidden while we are so open to view.”

  While Adrien doubted greatly that the farmers in their fields or the children at play would take much notice of the telescope beyond an indulgent chuckle at the sight of a monk putting a metal pipe to his eye, she was not one to laugh at another’s fears. “Mayhap you’re right,” she said. “And in any case, you’ll be close enough to see them with your bare eyes soon enough.”

  So they carried on across the plain, through golden fields of harvest-ripe wheat and hay, and indeed, garnered more interest than Adrien would have credited. For this being a country at peace, the lives of the p
lains folk were not so eventful that they could afford to pass up the opportunity for gossip afforded by two young men (as they thought) travelling to the castle with the gleam of purpose in their eyes.

  “See that?” one young man called out to his friend as he leaned upon his pitchfork, the better to watch the travellers pass by. “That’un’s so sure of hisself he’s brought his own friar to read the weddin’!” And they both laughed heartily, and Adrien joined in, for to be sure she and Felix must have presented a comical picture when interpreted thus. “And the ‘oss, to carry the bride away,” returned the second farmer. “But what’s the pigling for?”

  “Ah!” said the first. “That’ll be for the bride-feast.”

  At that, Adrien ceased to laugh and covered Ferkel’s floppy ears with her hands.

  “And the stick?” the farmer persisted.

  “That’ll be to knock the moon down from ‘er perch.” And they laughed once more.

  At this, Felix grew quite incensed. “Good sirs!” he cried, starting out in their direction. “If you had seen this young man’s actions with that stick, you’d not mock him like this! For I tell you, he knocked down two ruffians armed with knives and saved my poor life into the bargain.”

  The two farmers began to look somewhat more impressed. “Knockin’ down brigands? That’s good work, that is, for a lad so young. Come and share a bite with us—we’ve fresh apples and cheese aplenty.”

  So Adrien and Felix sat down in the shade of a gnarled old oak with the farmers. Felix, being prompted, told the tale of the knife and the psalter, at which the farmers’ eyes grew as round as the apples around which Ferkel snuffled greedily. They demanded sight of the book and exclaimed with astonishment as they placed their fingers in the hole pierced by the knife. “‘Tis a sign, my lad,” the elder of the two said to Adrien. “God favours your quest, and I’ll wager we’ll have a wedding before the harvest-home.”

  Adrien might have protested and told them the truth, that ‘twas not she who sought the lady’s hand—but she saw that Felix did not wish their business spoken of, and so she merely shrugged and smiled.

  At length it came time for the farmers to return to their labours, and the travellers to their quest, and Adrien and Felix stood. They thanked the farmers for their hospitality and set off once more, leading the horse and with Ferkel scampering at their heels. Full of good food and good cheer, their path seemed all the shorter, and ‘twas not long before they reached the castle’s lowest point.

  They knocked at the gate, which was broad and high, constructed of ancient oak and stout iron nails, and so solid that their raps made but a paltry sound, like a beetle in a far-off rafter. The gatekeeper, a gruff, portly fellow, asked them to state their business. “I come to visit an old friend, Ned Longbow,” Felix said, a strange hesitation in his voice.

  “Ned!” the gatekeeper bellowed. “Here’s a monk and a boy claim friendship with you!”

  And within minutes a great bear of a man stood before them; tall, broad-shouldered, and with a full, black beard. He was armed to the teeth with a great array of weapons that Adrien judged neither she nor Felix would have been able to carry, much less wield. This giant greeted the monk with a strange light in his eyes that Adrien would have sworn was a tear he fought not to shed. “Felix! Good friend, I thought I’d never set eyes on you again in this life!” He folded Felix in his great, hairy arms with a gentleness that belied their girth. “What do you here? And who is your companion?” he added, giving Adrien a look of great suspicion.

  “Ah, Ned, my friend!” Felix’s voice was rough, and he too appeared to blink back tears as he clutched at the soldier. “This good fellow is Adrien, who saved my life on the way here. I was set upon by a band of brigands, and he stepped in to save me, though I was then but a stranger to him, beating them off with the strength of his arms and almost losing his own life in the fray.”

  Ned’s rough mien softened. “Then, friend Adrien, you are welcome here! Come with me, both of you, and take a cup of ale and a bite to eat.”

  The large man led them to the guardroom, where he sat them down with great tankards of ale and more food than any mortal man or woman could eat. It was plain to see that Ned Longbow commanded great respect among the King’s guard, for his brother soldiers treated Adrien and Felix with deference and friendliness for his sake.

  “But you must tell me,” he said, when Adrien and Felix were supplied with every comfort the guardroom could supply. “What has brought you to the king’s castle? For when we last parted, it was I for the sword, and you for the cowl. Have you forsaken your vows? And if so, for what reason?” Although the soldier frowned, it seemed to Adrien that she could see something of hope in his broad, honest face.

  “No, Ned,” Felix said. “I am not foresworn, for I have yet to take my final vows. I come here with my abbot’s permission, in response to the king’s proclamation regarding his daughter. For I believe I have in my possession a means of satisfying her demands.” He smiled up at his friend, who seemed for his part far less pleased with such news. Ned’s face paled, then darkened.

  “You would marry our princess? You, Felix?” His voice was filled with incredulity and hurt.

  Felix shook his head slowly. His eyes shone, and it seemed to Adrien that he blinked a good deal more than one might expect in a room that was neither brightly lit nor excessively smoky. “Not I, friend Ned. This telescope,” and here he withdrew the instrument from his pack, and laid in it Ned’s bear-like hand, “is my gift to you, that you may find happiness and prosperity.”

  Ned’s face darkened still further above his beard, and Adrien would even have said he regarded the monk with a look of betrayal. “Felix, old friend, is this truly what you wish? That I marry the princess?”

  There was great sorrow in Felix’s expression as he answered his friend. Adrien was now certain that the glimmer in his eyes came from unshed tears. “I simply wish you to be happy,” he said with humility, lowering his eyes to the scarred wooden surface of the table at which they sat.

  “I’ll not do it,” Ned told him firmly, setting down his tankard with a thump that looked likely to add another dent to the table’s tally. “My heart is given to another,” he added more softly. One large, meaty paw came to rest for a moment on Felix’s more delicate fingers, and the soldier’s hirsute features settled into a meaningful look which the monk received with a dawning joy.

  Well, thought Adrien with no little surprise, it seems I was right to suspect I might meet a different sort of man beyond the boundaries of my home village. For she had never heard of such a thing as two men loving one another in this fashion, but love it most clearly was. But then, she reasoned to herself, who should appreciate a man’s gruff ways, if not another man? Feeling that her company could only be unwelcome to Felix and Ned at present, she gathered her pet into her arms. “I think Ferkel needs a run,” she announced brightly to anyone who would listen and took the piglet outside with her into the courtyard.

  There she looked at the stars that sparkled in the darkening sky and wondered whether all her love had died with her dear father. For here were two men who clearly loved one another, yet she could not find it in her to love any man she saw. “Oh, Ferkel,” she sighed. “I’m happy for them; of course I am, but I find it hard to watch them together, sharing what it seems I may never have.” The piglet snuffled at her knees and reached up with its front trotters, and she drew the little beast into her arms once more.

  She stood there a long time, oblivious to the bustle of the castle folk around her. At length she saw a window open at the top of the tallest tower. The light that spilled from the room showed Adrien the shape of a slender young woman who leaned out to gaze at the just-rising moon, her face veiled in shadow. She had a graceful silhouette, long-necked and full-bosomed, and it seemed to Adrien a shame indeed that such a lovely young lady might not find love.

  “Well now,” Adrien told her squirming companion. “This is a pretty pickle and no mistake. Ther
e’s a princess yearning for the moon, and two men here who might bring it to her, if they would. But since neither of them wishes to wed her, I’ll take the telescope to her myself. For be she spoilt or not, I’ll not begrudge anyone happiness. Perhaps when she has her moon, she’ll find a man she likes well enough to wed, even if I cannot.”

  And so Adrien returned to the guardroom and announced her intention to take the princess the telescope on the morrow. The guards all slapped her back and raised a mug of ale to her success, and Ned and Felix gave her a grateful smile and all the attention they could spare from one another, which was not much, to be sure. But Adrien did not mind their neglect of her. For the guards regaled her with tales of the foolish lengths other suitors had gone to when they tried to give the princess what they claimed to be the moon, and Adrien laughed heartily at their stories of round paper lanterns, massive rocks hauled to the castle, and suchlike. That night, she slept in a borrowed cot and dreamed once more of soft hands and voices. They caressed her skin with the gentlest of touches, but far from soothing, left her aching for more. And this time, all sparkled in the moon’s silvery light.

  * * * *

  Adrien wondered, next day, if she should disclose her true sex, but she decided against it. “They cannot force me to wed the lady,” she told Ferkel as she prepared for her audience. “So I came here as a man, and I’ll leave here as one, too.”

  She stood proudly, telescope in hand, as the major-domo announced, “Master Adrien Weaver,” and then she walked into the throne room with her head held high.

  And there she stood stock still, suddenly tongue-tied, for the princess who sat at the king’s side was like no creature Adrien had ever seen before.

  Her skin was the colour of the toffee that coated the children’s apples at the autumn festivals, her hair blacker than the darkest winter’s night. Her neck was long and graceful like a swan’s, her hands slender and well-formed. Her feet played like kittens under the hem of her rich gown, and her waist was so tiny Adrien would have sworn she could span it with her own clumsy hands.