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1 - The Ivory Plain |
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2 - The Journey Begins |
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3 - The City of Princes |
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4 - The Mountain Village |
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5 - The Road Divides |
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6 - Comrades in Arms |
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7 - The Pass of Silence |
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8 - The Ivory Towers |
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9 - The Union |
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9 - The Union
Chapter 9: The Union
The train of the Princes of the City drew closer to the Ivory Towers. The escorts and the Royal Family themselves marvelled at the beauty of the surrounding countryside. The Ivory Plain was now a lovely, peaceful ride through fields of flowers and wood with shady glens and quiet waters. Scattered just beyond the castle walls were cottages and small-holdings with neatly fenced off gardens and paddocks. The beginnings of a great City could be seen. The atmosphere exuded welcome and happiness to the people of the City of Princes. Even the Holy Forest had at last earned its name, goodness and beauty sprang everywhere. And the Ivory Towers themselves rose majestically magnificent in the centre of the fields of bright spring flowers. Compared to what the Plain had been like before, it was surely a miracle.
In the leading golden carriage Prince Ambrose lay against the blue velvet cushions, his eyes alone did not search out the loveliness of his surroundings. For his eyes were closed and his handsome face held a look of despair and misery. Behind those closed lids Ambrose wondered what his new bride would be like. He had not wanted this marriage when it had first been proposed to him and now, as the carriage bore him inexorably towards his unknown bride, his thoughts were only of the girl in the city last autumn, and the overwhelming love he experienced as he kissed her. His father, Guinard, was the one who had wanted this alliance and pushed the marriage. Yet nothing was known about the new ruler of the Ivory Towers. Nothing except that she was the legitimate daughter of King Aldin. The rumour was that the lady had been brought up in a foreign court which was why no-one had ever seen her, but Aldin’s last will drawn up some twenty years earlier clearly stated that the Lady Ferindor was his lawful heir and upon his death all his lands were hers.
Ambrose wished he knew more about her, even perhaps what she looked like, but he had heard nothing but gossip. Some said that the Lady Ferindor was mad like her father before her. Others said that she was so ugly she had to arrange a marriage of alliance and convenience rather than a marriage of love. None of which rumours caused Ambrose to wish his wedding day any nearer. Ambrose had made no secret of his feelings towards the unknown girl and an arranged marriage. He had only agreed to it because it did at least mean that he could leave the City and rule a land himself as King. And yet, Ambrose’s thoughts still drifted unwillingly back to the girl who had come as a sprite in the Palace gardens that night of the autumn ball. He would always love her, part of his spirit was lost in her. He had informed his father that he wished to have a search made to find her and wait for her, but his father was adamant and told him that love was not necessary for a marriage to succeed. By now, with the wedding only a day away, all of the court knew of Ambrose’s aversion to the marriage, including his prospective bride.
Inwardly he shuddered again as he thought of his wife-to-be. When they neared the Ivory Gates, they found an escort of sky blue and silver clad guards waiting for them. An ambassador halted the Princes’ train to welcome them,
“The Lady Ferindor is well pleased that you have made the journey so quickly, and trusts that you travelled in comfort. We welcome you to the Castle of the Ivory Towers with peace and love. I regret to say that my Lady is unable to greet you. Modesty forbids her to see her bridegroom until the wedding ceremony”.
At these words, any hope that Ambrose had been holding that his bride would at least be pretty, vanished. In his mind she was wizened and ugly and he believed that she must be afraid that he would not keep to the arrangement if he saw her first.
That night, after the royal family had partaken of a lavishly delicious feast in the magnificent banqueting hall of the Palace, Ambrose went out into the newly landscaped grounds for a walk. He walked down the main steps from the terrace onto the lawn below. His feet sank into the grass as if it were a soft velvet mantle. But it need not have existed for all the notice Ambrose gave it. He walked slowly, his steps as heavy as his heart. His thoughts were a long way from his marriage which was to take place the following morning. Unwillingly he had found that he liked the Ivory Towers and the only compensation to the marriage was that the Princess Ferindor would give him rulership of the place. Little did Ambrose know that that line of Ancarar only followed the true born descendants and so he would never be called “King” of the Ivory Towers, but only the Queen’s consort, unless she chose to share her throne with him. Sighing disconsolately he sat down on a marble bench set in a tiny arbour of climbing roses. He sighed again and, plucking one perfect rose from the bush beside him he slowly began to strip it of its beautiful snow white petals. The gentle fragrance of the torn petals rose to his nostrils and he remembered again another night, the soft sweetness of a woman and the first leap of passionate love in his heart. Suddenly he thought he saw a small grey shadow flit across the garden. Snapping upright he watched through half closed lids the approach of the shadow towards the arbour where he sat. He did not dare to move or almost breath in case the vision he hoped to see was not really there. Then he felt a warm hand touch his wrist and heard a voice whisper softly against his ear,
“Why Ambrose, my love, I thought you would be more pleased to see me”.
The voice trembled with love, longing and anticipation. Ambrose reached up and stroked the long silken chestnut hair that fell over his arm and he pulled her down to the seat and kissed her, then whispered her name in joy, “Eldar, my beloved”, and kissed her again.
For a moment they held each, Eldar letting her head rest on his shoulder breathing in the scent of the roses surrounding them. His eyes eagerly devoured her. Eldar wore a blue velvet dress similar to the one she had worn the night of the autumn ball with lace at her wrists and a white petticoat peeping beneath the scalloped hem. Her hair this time fell wildly free over her white shoulders and back, the dark red tendrils curling round her face and falling to her waist. Her eyes sparkled with love and life and passion. Her lips were slightly parted and moist from their first passionate embrace. To the Prince she had never looked so beautiful. Ambrose looked into her eyes and saw how deeply she loved him. Despair against his imminent marriage rose in his throat, she had come back too late! He could not back out of the wedding now. It was too late! He buried his face in the wild tangle of her hair with a muffled cry. Eldar edged a little closer to him and held her arms tight around him.
“Ambrose”, she said at last, “What is wrong? You seem so pleased to see me, but yet so sad. Why?”
“Because I am to be married tomorrow against my will, to the Princess Ferindor”. Ambrose held her tighter, dropping a light kiss on her brow,
“Oh Eldar, I would have waited a hundred years for you, but my father has already cemented this alliance with the Princess, with a treaty of peace and money, the future of the City of Princes lies in this. How can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive?” She whispered, “There is nothing to forgive. I love you, and I love your honour and obedience to your family”. She kissed him again deeply. When he could again speak, the prince asked Eldar wonderingly why she was in the Ivory Towers. Eldar replied evasively,
“I’ve known the Princess for many years. But please, let’s not talk about her, just kiss me and tell me you love me”.
Once again their lips met with love and they kissed sweetly and deeply. They sat together on the marble seat, arms around one another. Ambrose thought for a moment then said,
“Tell me what the Princess is like. I have heard rumours about her, but no-one can even tell me what she looks like. Is she pretty?”
Eldar was pleased the garden was in darkness, she could feel her cheeks grow hot with blushing as she tried to modestly describe the Princess Ferindor.
“Well, I believe she has been called attractive. She has brown hair with touches of red gold in it. Her eyes are a natural hazel, she wishes they were blue, do you prefer brown eyes?” Her voice was a trifle anxious.
“I love brown eyes, how could I not when yours are as warm and beautiful as polished chestnut.”
Eldar smiled contentedly and snuggled into his shoulder, then went on.
“Her figure is shapely, she is fairly buxom but her waist is narrow. She is a little like me”. She concluded simply.
“Does she have your spirit my darling Eldar, does she have the fire in your eyes? Oh Eldar, if I could but have chosen I would have waited for you to come back to me forever. Why did you never return like you promised?”
Eldar was silent for while, her brain churning furiously as she sought for a suitable answer, eventually she replied,
“Dearest Ambrose, I did return, I am here now aren’t I?”
Ambrose frowned, but in the semi-darkness of the garden Eldar could not see his face. She pressed herself against him and lifted her face for another kiss. Ambrose startled her by suddenly gripping her shoulders and gazing intently down into her upturned face. When his spoke his voice was rough with an angry edge.
“Eldar, I know you are hiding something from me. I know it. What have you not told me? Tell me, I want to know.”
“I do not understand...” Eldar’s voice quivered with hurt.
“Do not play the innocent with me. You are holding something back from me. Tell me now.”
He shook her and Eldar burst into tears. Horrified at having hurt her Ambrose gathered he in his arms and cradled her against his broad chest, while she sobbed. Ambrose stroked her soft hair and said gently,
“Hush my love, I did not mean to frighten you, I love you. When I am King here I shall see you never work for the Princess again, I shall take care of you.”
Eldar gulped and said something under her breath, Ambrose caught the words, not king unless she wishes.
“What did you say?” He asked. Eldar looked up at him. His voice had been so stern she knew that she would have to tell him. So she told him about the Crown of Ancarar and how it could only be worn by a direct descendant and that daughters could be Queens in their own right, their husbands would not be King unless crowned with the Queen’s permission. Ambrose was speechless for a moment seeing the only reason for going ahead with this marriage slipping through his fingers.
“Has she said anything to you about how she feels on this matter? Am I going to be King in truth or just a mate for this Princess?”
Eldar was silent then whispered,
“I do not know. Please Ambrose let me go back. I will be missed”.
Ambrose’s thoughts were far from Eldar now. He recognised at last that he was truly trapped. He loved Eldar and he was being forced to marry someone else on the morrow. That being so, he knew that for both their sakes he could not see Eldar again, never hold her or kiss her again. Slowly he freed himself from her arms and said,
“Eldar, I am getting married tomorrow. Whether I am King or not, I am still going to be married. I will not break my word. I can never see you again. I dare not trust myself with you, I want nothing more than to make you mine here and now, but I must not. The Princess Ferindor and I must try to make this marriage work for the sake of our kingdoms if nothing else. I am sorry with all my heart, and I will always love you.”
Eldar shivered in her velvet gown as she rose from the bench. She whispered,
“Do you mean that? Will you be faithful to Ferindor because she is to be your wife? Faithful even though you know that you can never kiss or speak with me again?”
Miserably, his heart aching, but knowing he must hold to his resolve, Ambrose nodded. Eldar looked so sad and unhappy as she stood there in her lace and velvet with the white roses around her that he longed to hold her, to comfort her. But he did not. Swiftly he rose and turned away from her striding across the lawn to the castle and his lonely bed.
For a moment Eldar stared after him, the tears that glistened in her eyes tears of overwhelming joy. Then she too ran back to the Towers hugging to herself the knowledge that Ambrose loved her. Singing softly to herself she prepared herself for bed and knelt by the feather mattress to say her prayers, thanking God for His love. Blowing out the candle she climbed happily into bed and went to sleep to dream of her Prince.
The day of the wedding dawned fine and glorious. Guinard, Prince of the City, awoke in the fine apartments allocated to himself and his wife and stretched yawning. His eyes admiringly followed the magnificent choice of hangings and furnishings. Whatever else she may lack or possess the Princess Ferindor had excellent taste. As he lay there dreaming of the day ahead and all the festivities that he would not have to pay for, a manservant scratched at the chamber door. The servant bowed respectfully to the ruling Prince and gleefully offered the information that Ambrose was refusing to get dressed for his wedding day.
Infuriated and feeling angry with Ambrose, Guinard threw on an elaborately embroidered bed robe and stormed from the room, intent on shaking some sense into his errant son. When Guinard got to the sumptuous apartment set aside for his son he found Ambrose seated by the fire in a robe and snapping at all his servants.
“Ambrose, what on earth are you doing? What are you trying to do to us? The Princess will be furious. She may even consider herself jilted and refuse to have you after all!”
“How I wish she would”, Ambrose replied and shrugged his shoulders. Deliberately he turned his back on his father. Guinard stared at his son with an exasperated frown and asked,
“What is wrong with the girl for goodness sake. She’ll bring wealth and a kingship to you, she will bear you sons, Ambrose, your sons, you will be able to make your own dynasty, here at the Ivory Towers. You are a fool and a dangerous one. We are guests in her house, she could easily clap us all in the dungeons for all we know.”
“Father,” said Ambrose quietly, “I just do not believe I can go through with this, I do not love her, I do not even know her. My heart is with another lady and will always belong to her. Release me from this promise you have made on my behalf, please”.
Guinard shook his head vehemently,
“I can’t do that, I owe the Princess already. She needs a husband and one of a royal blood, there is only you.”
Ambrose got up and paced to the window,
“Do you know that there is no kingship with this marriage, that the reigning monarch must be of direct descent of the House of Ancarar? That unless Ferindor permits it, I will be nothing more than a consort?”
Guinard was silent for so long that Ambrose turned to look at him in surprise,
“You did know! You held that before me like a carrot knowing it was the one thing that would make this acceptable to me, and it is a lie.”
Guinard shrugged and held out his hands to his son,
“But if you suit, she may well have you crowned. But the rate you are going, you’re not going to even get a whisper of a kingship.”
“So we have so much riding on this that you have given me no choice.”
“That is correct,” answered his father, “now, call your servants and get dressed. You will be married today.”
The bells of the new church rang out over the quiet Plains, Ambrose held himself stiffly at the altar as he heard the multitude of guests stand at the entrance of the bride and the music swell the building with a joyous sound. He could not even bring himself to turn and look. Then he saw the shimmering ivory gown pause beside him and he held out a hand to take his bride forward. She did not move and he turned at last to look at her. The veils over her face were so thick that he could hardly make out her features but he saw the long hair that had been left loose to flow over the shoulders of the dress and saw the colour, deep red with faint gold lights. His heart thumping he reached out a shaking hand to lift the veils but she stepped forward to stand beside him and faced the strangely clad man who stood in front of the altar clutching a slim black book to his brown robed figure. Ambrose had not quibbled at the arrangements for the religious side of the marriage and had agreed to anything the Princess had requested.
At last the ceremony was over, and the missionary concluded by saying,
“You are now man and wife, you may kiss the bride”.
Ferindor turned to Ambrose and lowered her head, slowly she lifted up the veils and threw them back looking him fully in the face. Ambrose’s eyes widened as he leant forward to give her the customary peck on the cheek. His mouth dropped open.
“Eldar! You?” He whispered, “My wife!”
She nodded, her love glowing in her eyes,
“Yes my love”, she said softly, “I am Ferindor, your wife now”.
There was no chance for them to talk then, the wedding party had begun and they were swept up in the feasting and dancing that went on into the small hours. The newly wed couple danced and ate and drank and danced again. All eyes were on them for they made a magnificent pair. She so richly dark and he so angelically fair. At midnight came the bedding ceremony and they were taken to the master bedroom and put to bed with laughter and ribald, bawdy jokes before they were at last left in peace. When the doors had eventually closed on the last noisy revellers, and the room was in darkness save for the tiny glimmer of pale moonlight that fell through the heavy closed drapes and the flickering soft light from candles, Ambrose turned to look at Ferindor. She was shaking. At the look on his face she trembled and a low moan escaped her lips. Ambrose was angry, elated and bewildered and all these emotions showed on his face.
Abruptly he swung his legs to the floor and rose, flinging open the heavily brocaded draperies that shrouded the queen-sized bed. Moonlight flooded in through the open window bathing his beautiful nudity with silver. Eldar trembled anew with longing as she gazed at him. For a moment Ambrose stared down into the rose garden below and drew a deep shuddering breath. When he spoke it was with careful calmness,
“Eldar, I mean Ferindor, will you explain all of this to me?”
Haltingly, from the comforting shadows of the bed hugging her knees close, Ferindor told him what had befallen her. She told him everything, of her tragic birth, the reasons for the long journey over hundreds of miles to find and defeat her father. How she had fallen in love with him when she first saw him in the City of Princes. And then the marriage to the man she loved. She told him that her mission had needed ultimate secrecy for it to work because of spies and fear of the Demons of Shadray. Ambrose listened, the stony set of his face growing softer as she told him everything.
“Yet when I saw you last night in the rose garden, why did you not tell me the truth then?”
“I was afraid, I wanted to know that you loved me for myself. I needed to know if you were marrying the Princess Ferindor for a kingship, for all that she could give you knowing you did not love someone you had never met. I just wanted to hear you say you loved me as I was then, not what I had become”.
When she had finished she began to weep softly, fearing that through her deceit she had lost him. Ambrose came back to stand by the bed, “I never stopped loving you and I will always love you my darling Ferindor.”
He climbed back in and put his arms tight around her.
“We have a thousand tomorrow’s my darling to talk and learn about each other. Tonight I want only to love you.”
As the moon shone silver beyond their high arched window, the nightingales sang their sweet song, and Ferindor and Ambrose loved each other with a passion. And when they finally feel asleep in each other arms, a future blessed by God stretched before them in all their tomorrows.
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