Love's Sweet Song

By Nora M. Mulligan

My excuse was Gwendolyn. As soon as I'd arrived in Lord Dranger's court, I'd picked Gwendolyn out as my next bedmate. How could I resist? She was exquisitely beautiful, one of those golden delicate blondes. Her eyes were sky blue, her smile was bewitching, and her voice was soft and alluring. She was Lord Dranger's niece, which made her all the more attractive as a potential partner. Risk has always appealed to me, especially when it comes to women. I saw her in the hall, surrounded by ten or twelve young men of varying station. She had merely to express a desire, and men would fight for the privilege of serving her. I noted this with a practiced glance, and that just made me want her more. I'm at my best when I'm faced with a real challenge, and Gwendolyn was clearly that.

Whatever small attention I could spare from Gwendolyn's golden loveliness I gave to Lord Dranger. I had never performed in his court before, and I wanted to make a good impression. This looked like a place where I could stay for a while, especially if things worked out the way I hoped with Gwendolyn.

That night, I was in fine form. My lute's rich mellow voice harmonized with my own. The Great Hall grew silent as I sang. I noticed, delighted, that Gwendolyn was so absorbed in my music that she brushed aside one of the young knights who had brought her some delicacy. I looked at her from across the hall, and sang three songs in succession to her. I didn't expect to win her with a mere three songs, you understand. I just wanted to see which was the best technique to use on her. She dabbed her eyes when I sang "The Golden Fields," so clearly sentiment was her weakness. She also seemed to like "Only Where You Are," which suggested that a little flattery would help melt her. All this was useful information, indeed.

"Philip," Lord Dranger said when I finished, "the tales have not exaggerated your prowess. We are lucky to have you here at our court. Stay with us." He tossed a leather bag, which I caught deftly. Gold, by the weight, though I wasn't so gauche as to open it in his presence.

"Yes," said Gwendolyn in her breathy voice, looking me in the eyes, "please stay."

I considered it a very successful opening.

The following night, I again sang my most romantic, sentimental songs, looking directly into Gwendolyn's eyes. She gazed back at me, and even from that distance, I could see her rapt expression. I carefully dawdled on my way out of the hall, walking past her table. She reached out to touch my sleeve as I passed.

"That was so beautiful," she breathed, batting her golden eyelashes at me. Such gorgeous eyes! Such long lashes! I couldn't look away from her. I felt, rather than saw, the other young men at the table glaring at me. "Were you singing those just for me?"

"Only for you," I said, with a sigh that nearly always worked with the sentimental ones.

A young knight pushed past me to get to Gwendolyn. His clothes were ripped and his face badly scratched. "Your Elyee eggs, my Lady, as you had requested of me," he said, extending his cupped hands.

I was impressed. Elyee nest in the highest points of cliffs or towers, and are notorious for the ferocity of their defense of their nests.

Gwendolyn wasn't impressed. "That's very nice, Roderick," she said, barely giving him a glance. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was talking to this wonderful bard."

Roderick flushed a dark red. He placed the eggs gently on the table before her. "Well," he said, his voice strained, "I will be happy to undertake any other challenges my Lady wishes."

"Right now, I would just like you to entertain yourself elsewhere," she replied, waving her hand at him as if he were a pesky insect. "All of you. Go. I wish to speak to Philip."

The eight young men jostled me as they pushed themselves from the benches and stumbled away from her. I made a mental note to watch out for them in any dark halls or other isolated parts of the castle.

She tossed her golden hair. "I thought I would never be rid of them. Now, about your music. You were really singing to me? All those beautiful things?"

"No song can describe your loveliness," I said in my soppiest voice. "The most beautiful song ever written could not begin to approach your splendor."

She giggled. That giggle set my teeth on edge. For a second I thought better of pursuing any person who could giggle that loudly, in just that off-key, high pitched way. But then I reassured myself. I could put up with the giggle for a short time, when the reward was likely to be so great.

"Would you make up a song for me?" she asked, leaning closer to me. She had washed her hair with lavender, and the scent nearly overpowered me. "Something sweet, and beautiful? And would you sing it in the Hall tomorrow?"

I pretended to think about it. "I am paid for my songs, my Lady. What will you give me if I create a song in your honor?"

"Why would you need to be paid?" She looked surprised. "Wouldn't you do it just because you can't bear to have me wanting for anything?"

"I am merely a poor bard, unworthy of satisfying you," I said. I figured that faked humility would work with her. "I ask for payment."

"What kind of payment?"

"A kiss," I said boldly. "One kiss from you would make my life worthwhile, and overshadow any rewards I have received from kings and lords."

She giggled. I clutched the table, schooling my face to stillness with great effort. "All right," she said. "One kiss. But the song must be a lovely one. I must approve of it, and if it is not up to my desires, then you shall not be paid."

"It will be," I said, bowing elaborately, "exquisite, a work of art that will attempt to convey the wonders of your person."

"Good," she said. She smiled and for a second I was afraid she would giggle again, but she restrained herself. "No one has ever written a song about me before. I can't wait."

"I shall neither eat nor sleep until I have created a masterwork in your honor," I said. That ought to impress her, I thought. I would stay up later than usual, I decided, and absent myself from the noon meal, so that I would appear suitably rumpled when next I saw her.

"Really?" she asked. "Would you suffer for me? How sweet. Now go, Philip, and make up that song. Remember, I want to hear it tomorrow."

It's always a good rule to leave the audience wanting just a little more. I bowed again, with a flourish, and walked out of the hall.

I heard movement behind me. I spun. Probably it was that Roderick, or one of the other men at the table.

So I was relieved when she approached me and I realized that it was just a woman, veiled and dressed in black. In that first second when she emerged from the shadows, I could have sworn I knew her, but I dismissed the notion.

I should have paid more attention to that feeling. But as I say, I wasn't thinking.

"I saw you with Gwendolyn just now," she said without any greeting. "You saw the way she dismissed Roderick." That voice struck some dim chord in my memory, but I couldn't quite grasp it. "She has had him dancing attendance on her for weeks."

"If you're going to warn me to look out for Roderick, I thank you."

"Nothing of the sort," she said. "Your Gwendolyn isn't the most constant of women, you know. Doesn't that bother you? Aren't you concerned that she could use you as she did Roderick?"

I drew myself up to my full height. "I am not Roderick. I am not some clodhopper knight. I am Philip, a bard of great renown. Women do not use me."

She laughed then, a low, sultry laugh. It was as different from Gwendolyn's giggle as could be imagined. I felt the hairs rising on the back of my neck at this sound. "Oh, Philip," she said, "you haven't changed a bit!" Then, so quickly that I couldn't have stopped her if I'd tried, she reached out and drew the tips of her fingers across my throat. The touch was light, almost teasing, but I couldn't imagine why she had done that.

On my guard, I took a step closer to her. "Why do you say that? Do I know you? Who are you?"

She laughed again, that same laugh, and slipped away, into the shadows. I'm sure she didn't actually disappear. I just couldn't see her anymore, but that was probably the result of the poor lighting.

My throat tingled where she'd touched it. I examined the outside of my neck when I returned to my room, and then sang a few scales experimentally to see if anything had happened to my voice. As far as I could tell, nothing had happened, but I still felt unnerved.

I felt a sort of tingling all night, as I worked on the song for Gwendolyn. It wasn't exactly a tickle, not was it exactly an itch, but some annoying combination of the two. It distracted me.

Or perhaps I just wasn't very inspired. None of the songs in my repertoire seemed quite suitable. Gwendolyn would be a demanding audience, I knew, so I would have to present something extraordinary. Perhaps I would just have to make up a song for her, rather than adapting a lesser known ballad.

I'd composed often enough in the past, songs for special occasions or special patrons. I'd even created a few songs for likely women, and been quite successful with them. This should have been no trouble, especially considering my inspiration. Gwendolyn, with that golden hair, those lovely eyes, that figure that turned my brain into mush. Gwendolyn, who had touched me that very evening. Gwendolyn, who had turned down a present of Elyee eggs to talk to me. I hummed, remembering all the wonders of that woman, and the song began to write itself. It was a bit flowery, but nothing too good for a pearl like Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn the fair, Gwendolyn the pearl, worthy of all the suffering it would take to achieve her.

I was surprised when the dawn sun reddened the windows of my quarters. I'd spent the entire night composing one song. I was usually more efficient than that.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I looked at the words I'd scribbled. They didn't look like things I would write, even to win the most desirable female. I thought I had more self-respect. She was, after all, just a woman, though a lovely one. A spoiled, demanding, lovely woman, I added mentally. I reminded myself of that giggle of hers, and shuddered.

Tuning my lute, I ran through the song again, and as I sang, I began to forget whatever I'd been thinking moments before. I dimly remembered that I'd had some criticisms of the song, or even of Gwendolyn. Preposterous! How could anyone criticize Gwendolyn? How could anyone do anything other than worship her?

I spent the rest of the day practicing that song for Gwendolyn. I couldn't bear to think that she might not like it, that I might fail her. It had to be perfect. I didn't eat or rest all day. Funny, I thought. I'd told Gwendolyn last night that I wouldn't eat or sleep until her song was finished. I certainly hadn't intended that as a promise, but it seemed to have come true anyway.

Gwendolyn was surrounded by a group of men, as usual, when I entered the Great Hall. I noticed, with a pang, that Roderick was prominent among them. Boldly, I walked right over to her table.

"Fairest of the fair," I said. For a second I was surprised that I'd chosen such language. But it was true, I thought. Surely Gwendolyn was more fair than anyone I had ever seen before.

She smiled at me, though I noticed she didn't dismiss her other admirers. "Philip," she cooed. "Have you written that song for me?"

"Yes, dear Lady," I replied. "I shall sing it before all others at the feast this evening."

"Good," she said. "I'll tell my uncle that I want you to perform before we even eat."

"I will come with you," I said. "I can't bear to let you out of my sight." She minced across the floor, and I followed her every step, like a well-trained dog. My eyes started to water. I realized that I hadn't blinked them since I'd spoken to Gwendolyn. What had I said? Something about sight, wasn't it?

While Gwendolyn spoke to Lord Dranger, I caught a glimpse of that woman in black, standing behind one of the tables, her arms crossed. I couldn't really see her expression, but I had the strongest feeling that she was smiling, perhaps even laughing. Prickles of cold ran over my skin.

"You may come to my table after you have finished singing," said Gwendolyn sweetly, brushing her fingertips over my hand as she walked back to her table. I stood, stupidly, in the front of the room, watching her every move.

I've been a bard most of my life. There isn't a crowd that can intimidate me. But that night, when I tuned my lute for Gwendolyn's song, my fingers were thick and clumsy as sausages, and I could feel myself shaking for fear that she wouldn't like the song. If she did, there would be a kiss. The thought drove me forward.

The words of the song seemed inspired as I sang them to the hall full of people. Every word was true: when I compared her hair to spun gold, when I sang of the way she had pierced my heart, when I described her perfect constancy, my never-ending adoration of her. I believed every word, as I had never before believed any song I'd sung. I didn't even hear the applause at the end of my performance. I focussed only on Gwendolyn, and when she smiled, I felt pounds lighter, as if I could fly.

Brainlessly, will-lessly, I stumbled away from the dais towards Gwendolyn's table, where she waited for me. The veiled woman intercepted me, grabbing my arm.

"Before you go to her and you tell her that there has never been another for you but her," said the woman, "I just wanted you to remember." Still holding my arm with one hand, she lifted her veil with the other. I gasped as I saw her face. "I see that you do remember me, Philip, though you won't for long. Yes, I am Alara, or I was. Alara, to whom you made all those promises before you disappeared into the night. I vowed that I would find you again, and get my revenge."

My throat nearly closed. "What...what did you do to me?"

She smiled. "A little spell, very simple. Now all your promises, all your sweet words, are true. Go to her. Throw yourself at Gwendolyn's feet. Tell her how much you worship her."

"I...I won't do it! I'll resist!"

She threw back her head and laughed. "You poor fool, you can't resist! It's already working. Go to her. You know you can't help it. Enjoy her giggle." She dropped her veil again and turned away from me, disappearing into the shadows.

I stood still, horrified. It couldn't be true, I wouldn't believe it. No one could do that to me. I would be strong. I would resist.

"Philip," Gwendolyn called. "I'm waiting for you."

"Gwendolyn," I breathed. My feet moved without my volition. "My sun, around which I orbit. My star, that lights up the night."

She giggled as I reached the table. That giggle! For a second I felt as if she'd dragged her fingernails against glass. But then I looked in her eyes. It wasn't that bad a giggle, was it? For a goddess?

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