by Tala Bar
I
“Why don't you go to the Castle, Finbar?” asked the Farmer's wife. The Minstrel had been staying the night on the farm, filling his belly with the woman's good, sound cooking and granting her and her family a sample of his tales and songs. “They would appriciate your stories even more than we do, perhaps even give you money and presents.”
“I don't think that's possible,” he grinned at her, being familiar with the tight generosity of the rich. “What can they give me that you haven't, that I would really need? Good food, comfortable bed, hearty company, and most of all – an enthusiastic audience.” In his memory of castles he had visited in the company of the Old Minstrel, to whom he had been apprentice, with all their glory and finery, the people there were never so friendly as the members of this simple family.
Still, it did not mean he was not going to visit the castle in the vicinity, as he always liked to get a variety of audience for his performances, and meet different kinds of people to meet and talk to. So, as he left the farm and its genial people behind him, he walked in the direction that would lead him to the Castle.
***
The day was fine, the hilly meadows were green, with colorful blossom scattered here and there. As Finbar was feasting his eyes, a sight gradually took shape in front of them. It was a woman, not very young but quite impressive in appearance, tall and full of body, with curves in the right places. It was difficult to tell whether she herself was made up of flowers, or whether it was the colorful dress that coverted her body from neck to feet. Her face seemed to be carved from the rocks of the hills, and a lively light emanated from her large, brown eyes and her red, glowing lips. Although she looked heavy, she seemed to be floating above the ground, her bare feet barely touching the earth.
“Ah, Finbar,” she said, her voice full and throaty, “I see you're going to the Castle.”
“Indeed, I am. They say it's the right place for a Minstrel to perform his arts.”
“It could be a good place,” she nodded, hair brown hair moving like waves around her head, “but you should be careful. You never know what might happen in castles...”
“True,” Finbar agreed, “but there are people there who may have a use for my arts, as I have a use for them as an audience.”
“Indeed,” she said, “more than you'd think… Now, why don't you pick the last flower you find on your way there and keep it in your pocket? It could help you in your business at this castle, at least.”
“Ha?” The Minstrel looked at her in astonishment, not understanding. But she was already vanishing in the same sudden way she had appeared, melting right before him until nothing was left but the green hills scattered with colorful blossoms. Finbar shook his head, looked around him, and continued in the direction of the Castle, which loomed dark on a hill at some distance. As he was looking, it seemed to him the day darkened somehow, though the sky was still clear of clouds.
Finbar hurried his step a little, as if wanting to finish an unpleasant task he did not quite understand. Approaching the wall surrounding the Castle, he stopped for a moment and looked back, as if remembering something he had forgotten. Then he retraced his steps, stopped and bent to pick up what seemed to him the last blossom on his way. It was rose in color and soft to the touch as he caressed it gently. Absentmindedly, he put it in his pocket, then turned and gazed in the direction of the edifice before him.
It was not as large a castle as Finbar had seen before, but it looked very old, its stones eroded and darkened by the weather, with a greenish tint from the moss covering them. There were hardly any people outside the walls, no more than one old horse and a couple of sheep. He saw no fields or any vegetable patches – perhaps, he thought, doubtfully, they were situated on the other side of the Castle. More than anything else, it was the feeling he sensed about the place, an atmosphere of desertion and abandonment, as if nobody lived there at all. But the farmers knew the Castle was inhabited, and besides, there was a guard at the gate of the wall... To that gate he turned to go now, with doubts in his heart.
The Minstral stopped before the man, who was stocky and heavy-looking, brandishing a thick stick he had in his hand. “Can I come in?” he asked, politely.
“What for? What are you selling?” asked the guard, more rudely than Finbar had expected.
“I am a Minstrel, as you can tell by my appearance, I sell songs and tales for people's pleasure. Don't they like to hear tales inside this place?”
He was not sure the guard was able to answer such a question, looking as if he had never encountered a minstrel before. After a moment's hesitation, though, the old raffian lowered his stick and scratched his head, then said, “When the Old Lady was alive, there was plenty of entertainment here. But now, with the Old Master – “ he shook his head in doubt.
“But if the Old Master is sad about the death of his Lady,” argued Finbar, “he may want some entertainment even more, to enliven his days?”
“I ‘ll have to ask the Commander, though, it's not a thing I could decide on my own,” the guard said at last. “You stay here!” he ordered the Minstrel and turned to go into the yard, leaving the gate locked behind him.
Soon the man came back and said, as he was manipulating the heavy lock, “The Commander of the Guard says you can entertain the servants in the kitchen – they may do with some light in their gloomy life.” Then the lock sprang open, the guard pushed the heavy gate, and the Minstrel went in as it was shut behind him.
“I hope you also come to hear me when you're replaced at the gate,” he said to the man – it always paid to be polite to people in a position of power. But the guard growled under his thick moustaches and only stretched his arm to show the direction for the Minstrel to go into the Castle.
***
Closer by, the Castle looked even more old and neglected. There was not one whole stone in its walls, all covered with green slime that seemed to have set there a long time ago. The atmosphere of depression was even heavier now, and the Minstrel walked more and more slowly, crossing the yard in the direction of the double doors, which stood partly open.
Very few men were in the yard, and Finbar could see that most of them were not ordinary workers but obviously soldiers, busy with their various weapons. Some of them raised their heads to look at the stranger, but none said anything at all, to him or to each other. Keeping silent as well, Finbar quickened his pace, climbed the few steps and entered a dark corridor.
So dark, he could not even see the walls or the distance between them. In front of him, though, Finbar could discern a dim light, toward which he walked now with a quicker pace. He was not actually afraid, but prepared himself for anything that might happen. Nothing happened, however, and after some minutes of walking, he arrived at the source of light.
The corridor ended with a large hall, opening before the Minstrel a scene of past glory. It was a spcacious room, hung with beautiful tapestry and a magnificent ceiling candelabra; here and there stood some elegant furniture, and the floor was made of a beautiful stone mosaic. But the tapestry and the furniture looked decrepit, and were covered with dust and cobweb; the candelabra, bare of candle, had not been polished in ages; and the mosaic floor was crooked and dented in many places, the scenes it presented absurdly distorted. The light, which seemed bright only in contrast to the darkness of the corridor, emanated from a few torches hung on the walls, which had been blackened from smoke and soot. It was evident that the place had been cleaned for a long time.
An old man in servant clothes approached the Minstrel. “The Commander of the Guard had given us notice of your coming,” he croaked. “But the Master cannot see you now. I'll show you the way to the kitchen, where you can eat and rest until you're called by his lordship, if he feels like being entertained.”
“It's all the same to me,” Finbar made a motion with his arm, “whether my audience is composed of servants or of masters, as long as I have one.”
The servant did not seem impressed by his words. With an feint expression of contempt he turned to go, not noticing whether the Minstrel is following him or not. He led the way to a staircase near one of the Hall's walls, through which they descended on more weathered stones; Finbar had to watch the way he was going so as not to slip on them. After some twenty stairs, they reached another wide hall, which was better lit than the one upstairs. The atmosphere here was much more cheerful, crowded with men and women were doing their chores, talking and joking among themselves in a lively way.
All the same, it seemed there was not much for them to do, because the Minstrel did not see many provisions they could work with. Two men were halfheartedly plucking feathers off some fowl, but no four-legged animal was being prepared for cooking, either farm or game. A large pot stood over the fire under the supervision of one woman, and he assumed there were vegetables being cooked there. Three women were kneeding dough for bread on the large wooden table standing in the center of the hall, and other people were bringing in chopped wood or carrying in water in wooden pales from the open door at the side of the kitchen,
“Sara,” the servant called out to one of the kneeding women, “take care of this man.” Then he turned to go back up the stairs.
***
Sara was a tall, thin woman, her movements energetic and her eyes lively. “Sit,” she ordered the Minstrel, “here is bread and cheese and a cup of ale. While you eat, you can tell us who you are and how come they let you into the Castle. We don't see many strangers here these days.”
Finbar sat down, broke the bread and cheese and sipped from the ale, wiped his lips and sighed in pleasure. “I am a minstrel,” he said, “I've come to amuse you with songs and tales.”
“Ha ha,” another woman burst in laughter, “he's come to the Castle to tell tales! We can tell you some tales ourselves, if you want!”
“Shush, Nillie,” Sara ordered. “He does not know us and there's no need to tell him wild tales.”
“No,” Finbar agreed, “I've come from a long way away and indeed, I have been told it's not easy to amuse the pepole here, in the Castle. Has it got a name, by the way?”
Two men, who have put chopped wood in one corner, came and sat at the table, filling their cups with ale. They and the women looked now at the Minstrel with what seemed to him a meaningful gaze.
“They used to call it ‘The Joy of the Hills',” said one of the men, “but that was before the Old Lady died.”
“Now we call it ‘The Gloom of the Hills', since…” a woman began and stopped, turning her attention back to the dough.
“Don't work so hard, Sheril,” Sara told her softly, “you'll get the bread too sour. Let's put it aside now, to rise.”
The three women folded the kneeded dough to one lump, put it on the side of the table and covered it with cloth. Then they gathered at the table and sat down. “Only for one cup of ale,” Sara warned them, “we still have much to do.”
“I cant see why we have to work so hard, when there's not even one piece of game to prepare for dinner,” one of the men complained.
“There's always something to do, and you also should go back to work, Gavin. Get up, then, get away with you.” She shooed the men out with a movement of her arm, then sat down by the Minstrel's side, poured herself a cup of ale and broke a piece of bread. “So, give us some of the treasure in your bag, to amuse us, Minstrel,” she said, pleasantly, “for I'm not sure you'll be able to reach the Master for that purpose.”
“Something happened, then, since the Old Lady died, as I hear?” he asked.
“Not just the Old Lady,” another woman remarked – Finbar thought she was the one called Sheril – “the young one as well...” Sheril was prettier than Sara, younger and with bright, light-color hair peeping from under her work bonnet, and shining blue eyes. “After the Old Lady died of an illness, no one was looking after her daughter Helena, who was a beautiful girl and was going to marry the son of the Commander of the Guard. One day they went hunting together, the Young Lady's horse started galloping wildly, she fell off, hit her head and died. In my opinion, that's when all the troubles began.”
“What are you talking about?” another woman cried out. “Helena has not died, she's been lying in bed for some months now, still breathing, that's why she can't be buried, though she looks like dead. Her nurse Cora is taking care of her.”
“But how can she live, without eating and drinking?” Sheril demanded.
“The nurse manages from time to time to get her to drink, beer or milk. Indeed I've heard that she's got very thin, and is not as beautiful as she used to be,” the woman answered.
“I see you know it all, Bertha, so tell us, what's happening with Gerard, the son of the Commander of the Guard?” asked Sara with interest. “I heard he is not the way he used to be.”
Bertha's face clouded. She was older than the other two, her hair gray and her face wrinkled, and the Minstrel wondered why the younger Sara was in charge of the kitchen work and not she. But Sara's eyes expressed great deal of energy, while Bertha's were dim with weariness. “I know what Cora tells me when she comes to fetch something for the Master's daughter. But when I asked her about Gerard, she would not answer. I have a feeling something very bad has happened to that young man.”
“What d'you think, Sara?” Sheril turned to her boss. “I have an idea you've always liked him, didn't you? Maybe now you can realize your dream with him?”
“Shut up, Sheril, you don't know what you're talking about. Bertha is right, I know something terrible has happened to him but I don't know what…” She fell silent, and for a few moments the whole kitchen was quiet. Then she recovered and started giving new orders to the workers, who rose and turned to their various chores. Sara turned to Finbar, “What do they call you, Minstrel? We'll have to find you a place to rest and sleep at night, for you can't use any of the guest rooms of the Castle.”
“They call me Finbar. But d'you think there's any chance for doing my job upstairs tonight, after all that I've heard here?”
“I can't say. But if you can't go to them, we'll be very happy to listen to you here – unless it's beneath your dignity?”
Finbar laughed. “There's no difference to me who listens to my words and music –
masters or servants – as long as the're ready to hear me at all.”
“Good,” Sara said, giving him a sympathetic gaze. She then led him to a niche in one of the kitchen's walls and signed for him to put his bag there. “I'll bring you a blanket if you haven't got one, and as long as the weather holds you can wash in the stream flowing down there,” she pointed toward the open kitchen's door. “If it changes, we have enough water in the kitchen, and perhaps you can help us bring in some more.”
“Gladly,” the Minstrel replied, “I won't object doing something useful, as long as you haven't got time to listen to my tales and songs.”
II
At sunset, the servants gathered in the kitchen for dinner from all parts of the Castle. Some twenty people sat at the large wooden table, took part in the stew of vegetables with offals (the good meaty parts, Finbar assumed, were served up the stairs), bread, ale and a few fruits. The meal was enough for all, even if not particularly rich – much less than some of the meals served to Finbar and the Old Minstrel in other castles. The Minstrel talked little and mainly listened to what was said, in particular what was told about the goings on at the Castle. He was bothered by the sketchy words he caught and did not know what to think about them.
Two things happened toward the end of the meal, when the Castle's servants were still sitting with their cups of ale while the kitchen workers rose to clear the table and wash the dishes. First, the weather clouded over, the wind stirred and soon after it started raining. Second, the nurse Cora came down the stairs, approached the Minstrel and told him he was called to amuse the masters at the Castle's hall. Without delay Finbar followed her up the stairs and entered the same big hall he had passed through, when coming from outside. It was better lit at this hour, candles were alight in candlesticks on some of the tables, and a greater number of torches on the walls; but the great candelabra was still dark.
Finbar, happy for the lights, was astonished to see the hall almost empty of people. A young man came to meet him, tall and handsome with dark hair, finely cut face and large blue eyes. But the beautiful eyes seemed empty, no living light showed in them, as if his very soul had been extinguished. His voice sounded dead as well, when he invited Finbar to approach the corner where the few people in the hall were sitting.
“I am Gerard,” the man said, then presented the others before Finbar, “This is my father Rolf, Commander of the Guard; and this is my mother, Xenia, the Casle's housekeeper.”
The two of them bowed their heads before the Minstrel but did not rise, and Finbar noticed the woman's worried face. Her husband's face was blank of emotions, but he sensed anger clouding the man's light-colored eyes. The young man continued toward the very corner, where another man sat in a deep armchair. He seemed to have once had a handsome stature, but now he looked shrunk and lifeless. The man did not look at the approaching Minstrel, or anywhere else but inside himself, as if he was pondering on his fate, unable to waken from his reflections.
“This is Lord Manning, the Castle's Master,” Gerard said in his dead voice, “and this,” he continued to the other side of the Master, “this is – “ at this point he faltered, as if he had lost his words and was unable to present the man before him. Finbar looked with interest at that man, who was sitting in a straight-back chair, whose personality had such a deadly effect on young Gerard. The man rose from his seat, looming to an unusual height; in addition, his body looked unnaturally thin under the dark, wide cloak he was wearing. His hair was long, mixing with the long beard that grew to his chest. His thick brows covered his eyes, which looked like two black holes in his gaunt face.
“This is,” the man said in a voice that echoed throughout the Castle, “Cosmo the Knight, and don't let anyone mislead you to think otherwise.”
For a moment Finbar felt as if he was being hypnotized by the gaze of the black eyes; then he shook his head, dispersing the fog that was beginning to gather there. In a clear and pleasant voice he said, “Aye, Cosmo,” his voice almost singing the words. “I have a feeling I've heard about you and your enormous power.”
“Then,” the Knight said as he sat down again, “perhaps you can amuse us with the tales you've heard about Cosmo and his great power.”
“I would be happy to, providing I could accompany my song with some instrument. Is there such a thing in this Castle?” He turned his question to the world at large.
To his astonishment, the answer came as Cosmo turned to the son of the Commander of the Guard, “Gerard, fetch the Minstrel your guitar,” he ordered, adding with a sneer, “you are not using it, anyway, in these days.”
“Your son can sing?” Finbar asked the Commander and his wife.
The woman's face darkened even more as her husband answered, “He used to, once, but not since Helena was hurt and she's lying in her bed, barely alive. They are betrothed, you know?”
“So I've heard,” Finbar replied, looking sympathetically at the young man. “Is there no cure to her illness?”
“Cora is doing her best,” the housekeeper replied with doubt. “It was better if we could send to the nearest city for a doctor, or some good medicine, but –“
The Minstrel then noticed the Commander laying his hand on his wife's knee and she fell silent. Absentmindedly, he put his hand into his pocket, feeling something unusually soft to the touch there. As he took his hand out, he was holding the rosy blossom he had picked on the way at the suggestion of the Flower woman. Something stirred in his heart as he looked at it, a tune sang itself in his ears and he knew what he was going to make his audience hear.
Gerard returned with a guitar in his hand, which he offered the Minstrel; Finbar took it in his hand as he put the flower back in his pocket. Then he held it in both hands, admiring its beauty, caressing it and finding it was made of the best wood and well taken care of. The singer who had used it knew well what he was doing, Finbar thought. He passed his hand over the strings, strumming a chord, but they were too loose, as if not having been played for a long time. Having tightened the the strings, the Minstrel listened for a moment to their fine tune.Then he strummed a proper chord, played an introductory tune and began his tale.
Once there was a wizard. He was not old nor young but ageless. The wizard
was a great scholar, with much experience in magic, but it's hard to say whether he was wise or not. He always did what he wanted to do, and after many years, books and experience his power grew very much. With the raising of his wand he was able to dry a river, to cleave a rock and get water out of it, to make a tree grow in a moment, or to destroy a whole forest. With a movement of his little finger he was able to turn a man into a frog, to make a worm start singing, to make an angry lion crawl, or to turn a pretty young girl into an old ugly hag – or vice versa. Only two things he was unable to do – and because of that he wanted to do them more than anything else: to get the stars down from heaven, and to make a young and pretty girl fall in love with him. When the wizard saw that in spite of all his studies and experience he was unable to reach his final goal, he decided to come out of the fortress where he had been living and tour the land, perhaps he would find the magic which would give him the power to reach his ultimate desires.
The wizard wandered the roads, and everywhere he passed he left remnant of his magical doings. In some places he caused floods and in others he turned the fertile earth to a desert; in one place he killed off the men and left all the women widows, in another he drove the women to a deserted place beyond mountains and valleys. But nowhere he found the magic which would get him the stars down from heaven, or make a young and pretty girl fall in love with him. Until he reached a castle, where a noble widower lived with his young and pretty daughter, who was betrothed to the son of the Commander of the Guard. The nobleman, who was constantly in mourning over his late good and wise wife, he received well the man who knew how to entertain him, without recognizing the power of his hidden evil plots. And his main plot was to work the best of his powers over the nobleman's daughter. He actually decided to marry her and become Master of the Castle, even if he could not make her fall in love with him. The girl, of course, did not pay any attention to him, all her heart and thoughts directed to her young, handsome and brave lover, the son of the Commander of the Guard. So, the wizard directed his magic first of all against the young man, casting over him such a spell that his heart was sealed against the whole world, and particularly against his own love. The girl had to exert all her power of love to get him to do what she wanted, because he became unable to pay any attention to her. One day she persuaded him to go riding with her in the hills, where they galloped together. But the wizard had put a spell on her horse, and when it ran wild she was unable to control it, while her mate was unheedful to what was happening. The horse stumbled over a rock, the girl fell off it and hit her head on the rock, and the young man returned to the Castle leaving her lying in the field. The soldiers, seeing him coming back on his own, went to look for the girl, brought her home lifeless and put her in her bed. Only her old nurse, seeing she was still breathing, prevented them from declaring her dead and burying her. The Old Master, feeling powerless to do anything, started mourning her as well. The young man made no reaction to his betrothed fate, and no one could understand what had happened to him. The wizard, who had made his way into the Old Master's heart, was able now to marry the girl, but even he could not bring her back to life. He felt himself in a quandry, not certain whether he should take her as she was and assume the rule over the Castle and its lands, not knowing for sure if there was anyone who would stop him from doing what he wanted...
With a flourish of a full questioning chord the Minstrel finished his song-tale, and silence fell throughout the big hall. For one moment it seemed to Finbar that the lights were dimming, as if all the candles were extinguished. Then Cosmo rose, and Finbar thought, ‘He is the wizard in the story, full of power, and how can I stand against him?' But he kept standing where he was without moving, his face turning toward the wizard, who now raised his hand. In it, he was holding a short wand, and as he moved it, the storm broke into the Hall from outside. Winds blasted around the Hall, creating havoc; lighnings raged, flying everywhere, their electricity raising people's hair. Heavy fog lay on furniture and people, who started coughing, shoking on their breath. Freezing cold took hold of them, mixed with burns from the lightning, making them shiver in both physical and mental misery.
Fighting against his own suffering, Finbar raised his hand and hit the strings of the guitar. The storm halted for a moment, the lightnings dimmed. Then the wizard raised his wand again, and the turmoil resumed with more strength. Again the Minstrel made the chord, quietening it down, and again the wizard answered with his own power. Thus the war raged between music and magic, with both sides ignoring their surroundings, concentrating on using their powers, which seemed equal with no one the stronger or the weaker.
Still, it seemed there was essential difference between the two powers, and that was the motivation behind them. While Finbar knew he was fighting for people's lives, the wizard knew he could go on living as he had done before entering the castle and the battle, and he could always find other victims to his wiles in other places. So, at last, his hand dropped and his hold on his wand relaxed. Making a last jesture, he turned to the door and waved it open, and with a stretched arm which cleared his way he broke out into the stormy weather. As the door shut itself with a bang behind him, the storm calmed, the lightenings vanished and the fog cleared. The torches resumed their proper flare and the Hall looked as Finbar had never seen it before. The dust vanished from furniture and tapestry and they gleamed in lively colors; the floor straightened and the mosaic scenes looked true, and in the great candelabra many candles lit up the Hall.
With a sudden stir, the Old Master woke from his reverie. “What was it? What's happened? What are you doing here, Gerard, without Helena? And who is that man there, holding your guitar?”
The Commander of the Guard rose from his seat, approached Lord Manning and kneeled before him. “Sir, don't you remember what happened to you since this terrible man came here?”
“Which terrible man? That one, with the guitar? He does not seem so bad to me…”
“No, he is the one who saved us from the wizard who had put a spell on you, on my son and on your daughter. Xenia,” he turned to his wife, “I think you may go now and see about Helena, I have a feeling…”
The housekeeper rose and left the hall. “Gerard?” the Commander turned to his son.
“I am all right now, Father,” the young man said in a soft voice, and Finbar saw his blue eyes shining as he had not seen them before. “I knew what was happening to me but I could not stop it! It was terrible, Father, you can't imagine…” And the Minstrel heard a shoking weeping in his voice. “If anything has happened to Helena, I could never forgive myself.”
“You know it was not your fault, Gerard, but I'm glad you feel like yourself again,” said his father and hugged his son.
“But what was all that about. Explain it to me, Rolf!” the Master of the Castle ordered.
“It was a wizard who had come here, wanting to take over, Sir. He sealed your own soul and my son's to anything in the world, and made your Lady daughter fall off her horse and lose her consciousness. I hope she will recover now.”
“But how did you overcome him?” the Old Master asked.
“Not us – we were powerless against the wizard. It was this Minstrel, here,” he pointed at Finbar, who was still standing with the guitar in his hand.
“A Minstrel, eh?” the Master turned to him with interest. “I love music, and Gerard here used to make our nights pleasant with his songs. But I never knew you could fight magic with music.”
“Neither did I,” said Finbar and bowed his head before the Master. “But I think there was probably another force in action here.”
“What d'you mean?” asked the Master. At that moment he turned his head and cried out, “Helena! You're all right! Come to me, Daughter, I have a feeling I haven't seen you for a long time.”
Finbar looked at the two women who appeared at the door, an old kind one and a young glorious one. But when he looked at the face of the young woman, he saw in it what he thought was the other force that helped him win the fight against the wicked wizard – the force of love.
THE END
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