The Beginning of a Long Walk Home
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Image by Lars_Nissen from Pixabay
For years, I have heard Ella Bandita described as the ugly seductress no man could resist.
I always thought that strange, and not simply because she had always been so lovely to me. Beyond the beauty held in my eyes, the vagabond seductress never had to be beautiful and her savage features made her a legend.
Woman was the most fascinating creature I had ever known. She was also the most dangerous, even in that time I knew her before she became the Thief of Hearts.
So to reduce her to a lack of prettiness always seemed to me the pettiness of an empty mind.
And then there is Adrianna.
Adrianna the Beautiful, the most legendary Courtesan of the Capital City, and they say she grows more beautiful with time.
Thank you for understanding and for your grace, Wanderer.
The time has long passed that I should tell you the story of my Woman who would become your Ella Bandita. But I can no longer do that without sharing the extraordinary stories of the Courtesan who wanted to destroy her.
So much has happened since we parted that this tale will take many days and nights to unfold.
I must start from the beginning, in which you played a crucial role.
I hope you forgive me if I talk about your part in this as if you hadn’t been there. I know it’s irritating, but I need that kind of distance to make sense of the stories I lived through and the stories I heard during these past few months.
So…Wanderer, may I walk with you on your long journey home?
****
The Courtesan’s beauty was staggering.
I had never seen so much flesh in my life as I did in the massive portraits on these walls.
Standing, reclining, full front on, in profile, her back to the artist, the Courtesan was naked in every pose, her silhouette that of an hourglass.
Her full breasts stood high on her chest, her torso curved to a slender waist above rounded hips, her legs were long and tapered. Her skin was creamy and luminous; and black hair cascaded to her waist. Her features were noble; hers was the classical beauty of the highborn class.
But her eyes made her unforgettable.
Beneath arched brows, her large eyes angled on a tilt and mingled the hues of gold and amber. Her steady gaze held the controlled ferocity of a wildcat.
Such fierce scrutiny replicated in portrait after portrait overpowered my senses for a moment.
I turned my back to gather my bearings, only to come back to the incessant pink of the foyer.
How in the devil did I come here?
That’s what I wondered as I encountered again the cavernous entry into the home of Adrianna the Beautiful.
The atrium had soaring ceilings with pale pink satin lining the walls, while mottled pink marble stretched along the floor and up the steps of the sweeping staircase in the middle.
Maybe even the ceiling was pink.
It was impossible to tell because the massive chandelier hanging in the space between the ceiling and the floor reflected pink everywhere.
Hundreds of candles and thousands of crystal droplets married fire and ice when the tiny flames coupled with the glimmering teardrops, then flickered along the marble floor, the stairs, and the walls.
Such a pairing had cast rosy radiance throughout the foyer to render everybody inside timeless and ageless.
Instead of gaining my balance, the glowing majesty of the entryway stirred the memory from that afternoon, which made me light-headed.
I turned back to the paintings.
This time, I found it easier to focus on the portraits lined along the wall north of the wide elegant staircase that cut a dramatic swathe in the center of the foyer.
The woman peered intently at the artist who had painted her.
The loving attention to detail made me wonder if the artist had caressed his lover with each stroke of the brush. Carnality and lawlessness emanated from the Courtesan’s portraits. I could easily imagine a handsome, tormented soul painting with fevered intensity, a creator hopelessly in love with his libertine muse who would only cherish him in the moment.
Perhaps they had made love in between sittings?
Before me were nine paintings displaying the glory of a legendary Courtesan in all the phases of her life.
About five years must have passed in between each portrait.
Her features matured and grew more defined with each painting, as she left the plump bloom of youth behind. Her body ripened to her prime, then past it; silver streaked her glossy black hair more and more in each portrait.
Yet in all the paintings, her expression was much the same.
Those golden eyes sparkled with defiance and unrepentant joy.
Her generous mouth curved in a knowing smirk.
Had she anticipated her future audience when she posed for her portraits? Did she see past the artist, looking to those who would later gaze upon her?
Her stare was relentless.
She dared me to judge her, the scarlet woman who should have been an outcast.
A Clever Piece of Blackmail
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Image by press 👍 and ⭐ from Pixabay
“If you speak a word about tonight,” the Patron’s Daughter hissed, “I will destroy you!”
“If I talk, your ruin will come before you could get at me. There’s sure to be some deep and dark bruises on your bottom. That’ll prove the truth I’d be telling.”
I couldn’t resist mocking her a little.
“You filthy little grubber! I hate you!”
Underneath her viciousness, I heard the tremor of fear in the Patron’s Daughter voice. She would never be able to bring me to shame or rage again.
That was when I understood how much power I now had over the nemesis who had cast my life in shadow.
That moment has always been the most exquisite intoxication I would ever know. I’ve enjoyed much power since that night. But nothing has compared to how I felt in that moment because it was my first taste of power.
“Likewise.”
With one word I was free from the bondage of hypocrisy, and the relief sent another luscious shiver through me.
“Don’t you dare tell anybody about tonight!”
“What are you going to do to shut me up?”
“What!”
“Don’t play dumb. How many times has your father paid for silence? If you want mine, you also have to pay.”
She stared at me, her mouth agape.
Honestly, I was as shocked as she was because those words were out before I knew what I was saying. Fortunately for me, years of stoicism enduring brutality and overwork made it easy for me to hide my feelings.
“What did you bring for the Brute?”
Her eyes widened as understanding set in.
“You set me up!”
“There was no way I could have set that up,” I retorted. “If I had known you had a yummy for taking a beating, I would have taken it upon myself long ago.”
“You ugly, repugnant, little tripe!”
“If you think I’m ugly, do you see the Brute as handsome? You sure cleaved your pin pretty good rutting up against him.”
She slapped me hard across my face.
It was everything I could do to not slap her in return. If I had, I would have left my mark on her for certain.
Instead, I pushed her down hard.
“Either give me what you meant to give the Brute, or there will be lots of exciting conversation to be had after morning worship.”
She practically snarled at me.
“No! You rot with the devil!”
“I think you’re likely to meet him before I do,” I said, and turned my back. “It’s your ruin.”
I took five steps before she relented.
“Wait!”
I stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“I brought three gold coins and two jeweled rings I never wear.”
I came back and held out my hand.
“I am not giving you all that!” she protested. “That’s what I brought to marry the Noble Son! What you saw is not worth that much.”
“The gold coins will keep me quiet. On my honor.”
“You have no honor, you greedy little snipe.”
“Takes one to know one,” I repeated the Brute’s retort.
I had no choice but to admit she was right.
My connection with her was dishonorable from the very beginning.
But I didn’t care.
As soon as the cold gold touched my palm, a shiver went down my spine. In my hand was more money than my family had ever possessed in our miserable lives.
I almost fainted from the thrill of it. The sacrifice of integrity was worth it.
“Next week, I suggest you be fully prepared to guarantee my silence.”
“I won’t be coming next week.”
“If you insist,” I replied. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
Her response to my audacity was spit to the face when we came out of the woods.
But I knew the Brute was right.
I also knew the Patron’s Daughter would never be able to strip me of my dignity again.
At last, I looked into my palm.
The coins were larger than I expected and I had no idea what they were worth.
I was buoyant, skipping through the woods to go back to the cabin as the Sorcerer and I had previously agreed upon.
I expected the Brute to be there when I walked inside. Instead, the Sorcerer waited.
His ancient face looked almost pleasant when he saw me.
“That was a clever piece of blackmail,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“You practically handed it to me. Thank you, by the way.”
“Perhaps I made it easy, but you were intelligent enough to take advantage of the opportunity. Most people don’t. You have a sharp instinct.”
He peered into my palm and whistled.
“I think you will do supremely well in the next phase of your life, Addie.”
“I don’t even know what these are worth,” I admitted.
“With the money you have in your hand right now, you could live in very elegant apartments with a servant or two in the Capital City for three months.”
The Perfect Moment of Weakness
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Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay
Ironically, the perfect moment came from my suppressed irritation.
I was already in a dreadful mood when I met up with the Patron’s Daughter.
It was the peak of harvest season and that day had been viciously hot.
Working the fields had been pure misery. Even the most stoic of workers cursed as we pulled vegetables from the ground, drenching the earth with our sweat.
I almost passed out, and several others did.
So there was no holding my tongue when I met with the Patron’s Daughter, who was especially petulant that day.
“Aren’t you getting bored with this?” I declared. “Do you ever think about what you want, or do you simply like to complain?”
I can still remember the pitch of irritation in my voice.
I was both aghast and exhilarated by what I said.
I have no idea where those words came from, but what I said was perfect. I knew from her first reaction.
Her blue eyes grew wide for a moment. Then she glared at me.
It was clear I had offended her. Yet what she didn’t do was storm off in indignation.
“How dare you!”
“If you want to marry the Noble Son that much, I know somebody who might be able to help you.”
“That is absurd. How could you, Addie, possibly know anybody who could help me marry the Noble Son?”
The Patron’s Daughter had recovered enough to regain hauteur. She puffed herself up and looked down on me.
“The same way I came to know you and all your secret sorrows.”
What I said next made me writhe with self-loathing for days, but it sealed my change in destiny.
“People confide in me because I don’t matter. Just like you do.”
The ruthless honest stopped the Patron’s Daughter in her tracks. Her expression could best be described as frozen.
“Everybody needs to confess,” I continued before she could recover. “And I’m no danger to anybody. So I know things and I know people.”
“All right,” the Patron’s Daughter said hesitantly. “Tell me more.”
I had her.
This was her moment of weakness that I had been waiting for.
This moment was also the first time I felt the delicious thrill of power.
It made me giddy for days.
“There’s a cabin deeper in the woods-”
“Nobody goes into the Ancient Grove,” she interrupted. “Everybody knows that.”
“We’re in the Ancient Grove right now.”
“We’re at the edge. That’s not the same thing.”
“We’re deep enough that nobody can see us here,” I countered. “So what difference does it make if we go a little further in?”
The Patron’s Daughter paused. Before she could argue further, I pressed my point.
“As I said, there’s a cabin in the woods and the man who lives there swears he can see inside a person’s soul and know their true desires.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know, but he swears he can bring people what they truly desire.”
She frowned.
“That is ridiculous!”
I swore inwardly.
I had known the Sorcerer’s bait was weak when he told me what to say. I protested that it wouldn’t work.
But the Sorcerer had insisted that’s what I would tell her.
The Patron’s Daughter was stupid, but even she wasn’t so easily fooled.
Yet the Sorcerer had insisted on a certain script and that I follow it word for word, even in the face of her resistance.
So I did.
I shrugged as the Sorcerer told me to, and kept my tone light and casual.
“Well, that’s what I heard. I also heard he only takes visitors on the eve before the holy day of rest.”
“And what does he want in exchange?”
“I don’t know.”
The Patron’s Daughter shook her head, and gave a rather unladylike snort.
“I’m only trying to help. I know where the cabin is. I can take you there in a few days if you want.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Suit yourself,” I said and shrugged again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I cursed the Sorcerer and his paltry script when the Patron’s Daughter flipped her long raven hair and walked off.
The savory taste of invincibility and power disappeared, leaving bitterness in my mouth and my being filled with despair.
I had actually had the Patron’s Daughter where I had wanted her. Yet because of the Sorcerer, I had blown it.
I still went to the cabin as I was supposed to.
When I walked in, it struck me how barren this cabin was, only one room with meager furnishings. Perhaps a monk might have been comfortable there, but it was incredible the Sorcerer believed this could be the setting for the seduction and downfall of the Patron’s Daughter.
To my surprise, the Sorcerer was almost beaming when I walked in.
“Excellent work!” he said. “Addie, that could not have gone any better!”
“Are you mad? She said no.”
“Of course, she said no today. Everybody resists at first. She’ll say yes, probably by the end of the week.”
“I really doubt that.”
“You underestimate yourself. How many times have I been right when you’ve disagreed with me?”
I said nothing.
“Trust me,” the Sorcerer cajoled, his tone almost soothing. “You hooked her. She won’t stop thinking about what you said. She’ll even start obsessing about it. Chances are she’ll look exhausted by the time she comes to you. Keep up your melancholy walks in the woods.”
False Friendship
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Image by anncapictures from Pixabay
As summer progressed, the polite chats between the Patron’s Daughter and I grew more personal.
Within a few weeks, I became her confidante.
The intimacy did not increase my sympathy or respect for the Patron’s Daughter. If anything, she became even more contemptible to me the more I got to know her.
She spoke of the Noble Son’s desertion almost every day.
She never referred to his going home as a rejection. All she thought of was the embarrassment and the loss of pride.
In the eyes of others, the Patron’s Daughter had always been unattainable. That was a state that she craved to the point of ravenous. So for a girl like her to be on the receiving end of a young man who was unattainable to her was unspeakably humiliating.
She did not handle the switch with much grace.
When the Patron’s Daughter spoke of the Noble Son, she never expressed longing or heartache.
She never asked about the reason why the Noble Son would leave without a proposal or an invitation to come visit the Southeast, as was the customary etiquette amongst highborn families.
It was clear that the Noble Son and his parents had no desire to pursue a connection with them.
I would be lying if I denied to you the pleasure I took hearing all this.
Getting to know the Patron’s Daughter had a bizarre effect.
Although I certainly didn’t like her any more, I was finally able to stop hating her. Not only was she as spoiled as she had always seemed, her conceit rendered her pitiful.
It was very freeing, really.
Although the deceit of this friendship made me feel foul, there were many gifts I received from it. Besides the peace of mind that comes when hatred dies, I learned much about the danger of vanity.
Over the years, especially in the Life, this wisdom was absolutely priceless. I’ve received much in the way of lavish praise as a Courtesan, especially in the early years when I was new to the Life.
Of course, I enjoyed the extravagant compliments. Who wouldn’t? But I saw them more as an amusement. I never digested them into who I thought I was.
This is a pitfall many courtesans fall into. I watched many a beautiful and luscious woman render herself absurd from taking flattery far too seriously.
Many a promising career ended prematurely this way.
On a practical note, the vanity of the Patron’s Daughter also made it easy for me to betray her. Her arrogance was awfully tedious.
I was often provoked.
More than once, I nearly bit my tongue off restraining the urge to suggest the Noble Son might prefer a happy marriage to an advantageous one as she whined about his desertion time after time.
But I didn’t dare.
One moment of honesty and the Patron’s Daughter would be lost, and I would be doomed.
Every few days, the Sorcerer would appear out of nowhere.
He never asked questions about how things were progressing with the Patron’s Daughter. Instead, he suggested ways to increase her trust.
One time, after a particularly vexing walk and talk, I confided to him that I had been right to despise the Patron’s Daughter all my life. I complained that my tongue was wounded from my self-restraint over the little snit.
By then, her tears were dried up.
The anger of wounded pride had set in.
For the first few weeks, the Patron’s Daughter held out hope for an invitation once the Noble Son and his family were settled at home. Within that time, our patrons received eloquent letters of thanks for the gracious hospitality extended to them.
But, as was the custom when a friendship is desired between two families of influence, the Noble family from the Southeast made no invitation to visit in return.
Courteous and elegant in the execution of the potential connection, it was clear that a friendship was not wished for on their end as they wished our patrons and their beautiful daughter health and happiness in the future.
The reason I heard these details was because the Patron’s Daughter brought the letter with her and read it aloud to me, sprays of spittle coming between her enraged lips.
I didn’t hear one word in ten of the venom she spewed afterwards about the Noble Son who had not wanted to marry her.
How could I? My heart was soaring.
That afternoon, I was quite distracted.
But I digress.
Back to the Sorcerer and his scheming.
“I don’t care of your tongue becomes thick with callouses,” the Sorcerer snapped. “You will continue to bite it for the sake of being all that is agreeable and comforting. You are to express nothing but gratitude to be in her presence and in her confidence.”
Bile rose to my throat and I opened my mouth to protest.
But the Sorcerer held up his hand.
“That is what she expects from you, Addie. In her mind, you have no right to treat her with disdain. You do that that even once and you will never get another chance.”
Desperate For a Way Out
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My initial resistance must have caught him off guard.
To convince me to sacrifice my heart, the Sorcerer promised to cast a spell that would endure the test of time. I would grow more beautiful as the years passed.
At the time, I thought that a frivolous temptation. Youth never considers the brutal reality of old age, and vanity is not an indulgence available to the ugly.
I only gave in because the Sorcerer wouldn’t.
Now, I am grateful and relieved I took all he offered.
The winter, and sometimes the autumn, of life has often been described a woman’s hell.
That is usually the outcome for the women of my sisterhood, especially those who don’t leave the life to marry well.
Perhaps that humiliation may be mine when I am close to death, but thankfully, I have not suffered any loss of status or income, even though I am in my sixtieth year.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
To go back to that moment when I was offered the chance to change the dreariness of my fate, it may surprise you to know, my dear Shepherd, that I took a few days to think about it. To be made over into the image of beauty and grace was a dream I never had the audacity to imagine for myself.
Yet I couldn’t fathom how this could actually come to be.
First, how could I possibly lure the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer of the Caverns? We absolutely loathed each other.
Second, how could the odious Sorcerer possibly seduce such a vain and arrogant creature as the Patron’s Daughter, given how ugly and ancient that he was?
“You need not concern yourself with that,” the Sorcerer actually laughed when I asked him. “I, too, have my methods of transformation.”
Since we are here now, we both know I accepted.
Really, how could I simply resist the reward?
I would never be ugly again.
I need not have worried about finding the possibility to influence her.
I started running into the Patron’s Daughter on my solitary walks through the Ancient Grove not long after meeting the Sorcerer.
The first time I ran into her, she was in tears.
She glared at me, of course.
But I was too stunned by the spectacle of her showing any sign of pain to take offense.
Apparently, the rejection of the Noble Son made her had gotten to her, and that made her vulnerable. That had never happened to her.
At first, I wondered if she now understood how her suitors felt in how she treated them.
But I would later find out that she didn’t give that any thought.
The abandonment left her dejected, but it also made her petulant.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
After that first unpleasant meeting, I ignored her and kept going on my way.
The next day, the Patron’s Daughter rode past us working in the fields, her demeanor as haughty as ever. But on this afternoon, she looked me in the eye and gave a slight nod as she passed.
That she had never done before.
The forbidden Ancient Grove must have been a favorite place for tearful girls suffering romantic disappointment.
Every time I went for a walk amongst the massive trees, the Patron’s Daughter was also there.
I wondered if the Sorcerer cast some kind of spell to make these frequent meetings happen.
It hardly mattered if he did.
After a couple of weeks of running into each other every time I went for my evening walk, the Patron’s Daughter finally spoke to me.
It was the first time I had ever heard her sound somewhere near pleasant.
“Do you come here every day?” she asked. “I imagine you would be too exhausted.”
“I do and I am exhausted,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
To my surprise, she almost apologized.
“I beg your pardon. I did not mean any offense.”
I accepted her self-correction with a nod and a thank you.
After that, we started to chat lightly whenever we ran into each other.
That was rather awful for me.
From what I’ve already told you about my former life as Addie, darling Shepherd, would it surprise you to know I was not particularly liked?
Anger, resentment, and envy were the strongest traits of my personality.
Who loves the bitter?
I was consumed with bitterness long before I turned eighteen.
Looking back, I don’t like who I was at that time.
Now, it shames me to admit I was every bit as petulant as the Patron’s Daughter, and that was without being spoiled. I thought myself above my company, the other peasants who worked as hard as I did under miserable conditions.
Yet I was the one who complained incessantly.
It was impossible to be held in esteem or respect with such a ridiculous attitude. Even my parents thought me a fool. For an indentured peasant born to a life of servitude to want more than I could ever have, instead of making do with the life that was offered me, seemed to everybody a state of lunacy.
And looking back, they were right. It really was.
But one thing I had never been was a hypocrite.
The reason the people around me knew of my envy, bitterness, and angry desire for more was because I let it show.
So to act in such a way to encourage the trust of the one girl I had hated and envied my entire life to get what I wanted made me feel vile.
To make my point, the only baths I knew during those years were the ones I could muster at the edge of the river, scrubbing myself with the scraps of meager soap that were left after doing the wash.
Most of the time, my personal stench made me nauseous.
Yet my pretense of friendship with a girl I couldn’t stand made me feel so much dirtier in a way that a lifelong deprivation of baths never could.
But I had a choice. Between the promise of beauty and the freedom of an unknown future, and a meager integrity that would keep me in a life of misery, what would you have chosen? Really?
I chose beauty and freedom.
I was truly desperate.
Please remember that, Shepherd, in case you feel tempted to judge me as my story unfolds.
The First and Most Dangerous Gamble
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Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
“Now that I’ve shared with you a little something from my life,” Adrianna murmured, “I’d like it if you let me see your drawings. I’m very flattered you took such an interest.”
The Shepherd looked down, startled by the strange shapes he saw.
Adrianna was there, but not recognizable in the flurry of shapes in motion on the paper.
“Ok,” he said. “But I’m not sure you’ll like it. I can probably have a better one for you later after having some time to focus.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Adrianna replied.
Glancing to his cache of drawings, she grinned wickedly.
“By the way, I would like to see all your drawings, not just the one of me.”
The Shepherd said nothing, but scowled.
The Courtesan threw her head back and laughed when she saw his expression.
Again, the slightly masculine mannerism disconcerted the Shepherd. The familiarity of it unnerved him, as much as how unexpected it was every time she did it.
“In case you’ve forgotten, my dear Shepherd, we made an agreement to trade stories. Perhaps your drawings would be a good start to open you up.”
“You do this every night?” the Shepherd asked in an attempt to veer the conversation.
Adrianna nodded, and finished off her water.
Without warning, she took his pad with his latest sketch and spent a few moments peering at it
“This is really quite good,” she declared. “Are you sure you wish to keep drawing only as a hobby?”
The Shepherd remembered how much the Butler boasted of his mistress as a benevolent and influential patroness of the arts, and was alarmed.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Adrianna laughed again.
“Sweet, shy Shepherd. As you wish. Please let me know if you change your mind.”
A maid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a long fur coat draped over her arm.
The Shepherd did not hear the girl enter.
“Ah yes,” Adrianna said. “It is the cocktail hour. I don’t feel a pressing need to change for supper. Do you?”
Without waiting for an answer, the young maid stepped forward to help her mistress into her coat.
Then the Courtesan looked at the Shepherd expectantly, slowly raising her brows when he didn’t move.
The Shepherd flushed when he realized she expected him to offer his arm.
Adrianna smiled and linked her arm through his once he did.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I think dinner promises to be quite lovely. And of course, I will entertain you with another of my stories.”
“I look forward to it,” the Shepherd said, suddenly remembering the details of the intrigue from the night before and eager to learn more.
*****
You are very fortunate, dear Shepherd.
I’ve shared this story when occasion called for it over the years, which gave me the perspective and ability to articulate all that I witnessed and felt.
At the time though, I couldn’t because I lacked the insight to understand the madness that happened. So you get to hear my perspective seasoned with the wisdom of experience.
My world blew apart and wide open during those next few months. I gained much wisdom that would serve me well.
But the most unexpected and shocking lesson was the insidious power of hatred, and the ties created from it. The blind loathing and envy I cultivated for the Patron’s Daughter had bound my soul with hers, and therefore my destiny.
I had no idea that’s what I had been doing to myself. If I had known, perhaps I would have found another release for those violent emotions.
Then again, perhaps I wouldn’t have been able to.
The Sorcerer of the Caverns must have understood this because he certainly used that to his advantage.
He was the must cunning monster I have ever known.
I had no idea how to get him what he wanted.
If you know anything about the Sorcerer, you must know he would never have wanted to seduce an ugly peasant girl named Addie.
Of course, it was the Patron’s Daughter he wanted.
Beautiful and vicious, she presented an unusual challenge for the Sorcerer.
He had always ensnared his conquests through desires that were out of reach.
The Patron’s Daughter had been indulged and pampered all of her life. Never wanting for anything, she had no yearning.
Since the Sorcerer had no way to tempt her, she would never give up her heart to satisfy a forbidden longing.
So I would have to give up mine. But only if I was able to deliver the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer.
You look confused, darling Shepherd. I get ahead of myself.
Our plan was both complicated and dangerous.
I was to lure the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer, so he could seduce her. After he claimed her maidenhead, he would transform me into the likeness of the Patron’s Daughter.
Except for my eyes, as I said yesterday.
But my heart would be the payment instead.
Although I was never one for sentiment, I resisted.
I didn’t understand why taking my heart was necessary since the Patron’s Daughter was the one marked by the Sorcerer, and I was risking death if anything went awry.
It was an argument I lost.
His premise was that I had the most to gain. Also, since I had been ruminating on death as a choice when we met, I had nothing to lose.
Much later, I learned that although the Sorcerer obviously savored the power that comes with a successful conquest, it was not seduction that kept him alive as centuries passed.
Feeding on the hearts of girls and young women - all of them virginal until he seduced them - was how the Sorcerer gained immortality.
Since the Patron’s Daughter could only be lured to the Sorcerer through deceit rather than her own choice, it was impossible for him to claim her heart even after he took her.
Since the Sorcerer could never have the heart of the Patron’s Daughter, he had to take mine in her place.
And I was definitely a virgin.
Oh the despair that would have followed if we had been caught!
I would have been publicly hanged, and my parents would have known nothing but disgrace for the rest of their miserable lives!
Don’t think I didn’t consider that as I made my deal with the Devil.
Adrianna's Dance
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Image by soundsonic from Pixabay
The Shepherd gazed at the double doors on the east side of the foyer, the doors to the cavernous theater.
He had loved the vastness in there.
Feeling hesitant without understanding why, the Shepherd turned the knob of one of the doors and entered.
Adrianna was there, dressed in pristine white bloomers and camisole, her long thick hair hanging in a long braid to her waist.
As the Butler said, she was taking her evening exercise.
Caught off guard, the Shepherd was embarrassed.
Stripped of her usual glamor, her simple garments were more intimate even than the revealing gown she had donned for dinner the previous night.
In this moment, Adrianna seemed more human, more vulnerable, more easily seen.
Yet Adrianna was clearly at ease. She waved when she saw him, without missing a step in her ritual.
“I beg your pardon,” the Shepherd said, turning to go. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Your presence is hardly an intrusion, my darling Shepherd. You can even join me if you like. I prefer to finish before supper.”
With her arms outstretched, Adrianna swooped low as she spoke, bringing her right shoulder down, the length of her arm reaching for the floor before she completed her turn with a rounded kick of her left leg in the air above her head.
Then her arms floated to her sides, as she sidestepped across the floor with long strides and a casual undulation in her hips.
Suddenly, she lunged forward with her right leg crooked at the knee, her left leg long behind her, her back arched and head thrown back as she stretched her arms toward her back leg.
Breathing in deeply and sighing audibly, she held the pose for a moment.
Then she swung her left leg forward and up, knee bent to her chest before lunging to her left side, her arms swinging over her head as she reached for the air beyond her grasp.
The dance was both graceful and peculiar in the silence that echoed through the theater.
“I think I prefer to watch,” the Shepherd replied.
“As you wish, dear Shepherd.”
Adrianna laughed, without missing a beat.
Her voice breathier than usual as she transitioned to the next leg of her choreography, abruptly coming out of the side lunge to jump high, bringing her knees to her chest before her feet came down with a soft thump.
Her grace was astonishing.
The legendary Courtesan became a dervish, moving with the agility and nimbleness of a woman more than half her age.
Within moments, the Shepherd was forgotten.
He could tell Adrianna had retreated into a world where nothing existed beyond motion.
Her lovely face was blank as she twirled, lunged, leaped, and spun around the magnificent space of the theater.
The Shepherd now understood how the legendary Courtesan maintained the youthful contours of her face and figure.
Watching Adrianna move to her internal rhythms was captivating in the quietude of a nearly empty theater.
She seemed to grow younger as the dance went on, years coming off her face that glowed from the bliss of freedom of motion. 4
It took strength and concentration, yet also surrender, to dance as she did.
There was so much beauty in the serenity and ecstasy of her expression, in the incandescence of her sparkling golden eyes, the simplicity of the black and silver braid falling to her waist.
Adrianna the Beautiful was exquisite.
That image seared itself into his mind, and the Shepherd picked up his sketch pad and started drawing furiously.
But he only needed to be reminded of the curve of her cheek, the muscles in her calves, the line of her arms stretched out.
He continued drawing even when she moved with the speed of a wood sprite, nimble enough to avoid getting caught.
The Shepherd didn’t look at the parchment at what he drew, so riveted was he by the dance of silence.
Suddenly, she was finished.
Adrianna became still and closed her eyes, her lower belly billowed as she breathed deeply and slowly.
Then she opened her eyes and took a long drink from a pitcher of water that had been left for her. She offered some to the Shepherd, which he accepted absently with a vague nod, finishing his sketch with a few bold strokes.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” she said, breathing deeply.
“Absolutely,” the Shepherd agreed. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“An indirect consequence of one of my favorite lovers of all time,” she said.
“One of the luckiest moments of my life was meeting him. We called him the Chinaman, even though he said he was Burmese. But it was the business of his life to travel all over the Orient and then the far parts of the world.”
Adrianna took another look drink from the pitcher before she continued.
“The Chinaman taught me some lovely forms of exercise he learned during his travels. Yoga and tai chi. Very exacting disciplines. Over the years, I found I enjoy them so much more if I use the postures as a dance.”
It Always Smells Like Roses Here
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Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay
Adrianna and I stood next to each other in the courtyard, where the lavish carriage stood.
The Wanderer held Celia in a long embrace.
Apparently, Adrianna’s protégée had stayed with the Wanderer in his rooms the two days I was trapped in the DreamTime purgatory.
I must have been in a dead sleep if their noisy lovemaking didn’t wake me.
Finally, the Wanderer kissed Celia on the forehead and stroked the side of her face, and let her go gently.
When Celia turned, I was pleasantly surprised to see the hint of tears in her eyes.
She stopped and curtseyed to us before passing back into the Casa.
I wondered if Celia used rose water as a perfume.
I caught a hint of roses as she passed, but the scent lingered long after she had gone into the house. I frowned and looked around.
Adrianna noticed too. She leaned her head back and smiled, her nostrils flickering as she inhaled.
Before I could ask her about it, the Wanderer approached.
“I’m not particularly fond of good-byes,” he said. “So I guess I’ll see you in a month or so.”
“Oh, you’ll see me much sooner than that,” I said.
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Adrianna quipped.
The Wanderer chortled.
“Either way, Adrianna, I’m flexible. Maybe send word out every week or so, and I’ll roam circles around the Capital City with his flock.”
He kissed her on both cheeks.
“Adieu. And thank you so much for the splendid hospitality, and the comfortable ride. I feel like a new man.”
“You are a new man, darling Wanderer. The pleasure was mine. Not as much pleasure as Celia got to enjoy, but I loved having you as a guest.”
The Wanderer chuckled again.
I clasped his hand and the Wanderer pulled me in an embrace. I was surprised at how comforting it felt to be held by my friend. Really, this man was more than a brother to me.
“Don’t worry about the Shepherd,” Adrianna said flippantly. “By the time I’m through with him, he may be too coddled to return to the natural life.”
“I highly doubt that, Adrianna.”
And then you left us, Wanderer. Your part as a character in this story ended and your role as listener began.
With a salute, you stepped into the carriage. Adrianna and I stood there and waved, the scent of roses growing stronger as the carriage disappeared from view.
My heart was heavy once you had gone.
“You are truly blessed in friendship, Shepherd.”
“I know.”
“I’m very pleased you’re staying. I didn’t think you would.”
I nodded.
“I take it the Wanderer talked you into this.”
“That is one way to look at it.”
The elder Courtesan threw her head back and laughed.
And yet again, I was disconcerted by the mannerism that seemed especially peculiar on her.
“Did he blackmail you?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“But you are not here willingly?”
I hesitated, and then shrugged.
“No, I’m not.”
Instead of taking offense, Adrianna sniggered. Her beautiful golden eyes sparkled.
“Nothing quite like a little benevolent coercion, is there?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As I said, Shepherd, you are truly blessed in friendship.”
As annoyed as I was with the Wanderer, I laughed with her. I couldn’t remember any other time I had been so adroitly backed into a corner.
“While you are here, my Casa is your Casa.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. I have appointments in town that will keep me away most of the day. I hope you can forgive me, for I never desert my guests. But I honestly didn’t expect you to stay.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Adrianna. I know how to entertain myself.”
The Courtesan paused, her head angled to one side as she peered at me with a strange half smile on her mouth.
“That makes a refreshing change.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Most men I know lack self-containment. They need excessive amounts of attention.”
Adrianna took my hand and squeezed it.
“The Butler loves to give tours of the house and grounds if you get bored, and there’s much you haven’t seen. But now, I must get ready. I’ll see you tonight for dinner on the back patio.”
“Again?”
“Of course. It’s my favorite place to dine.”
What a strange woman she was, this legendary Courtesan.
“Adrianna, do you ever miss the bracing challenges of hardship?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “Dinner is at eight.”
*************
After an hour or two, I understood why Adrianna’s guests needed so much attention.
The relentless luxury of the Casa made me restless, a sensation akin to being trapped and craving escape.
Instead, I crossed paths with the Butler and remembered Adrianna’s suggestion that the Butler loved to give tours of her Casa.
This was the first time I got a good look at the head servant of her household.
I wondered how he came to work here. The Butler carried himself with such dignity and grace I would have expected him in the finest houses.
He was almost as tall as I, and at least ten years older, but his posture was as straight as a rod. His long face was impassive, his pale gray green eyes held a neutral gentility.
Everything in his demeanor bespoke the soul of discretion.
We started in the courtyard before the front door.
The spring snow from a few nights ago had already melted, gone as if it had never happened. On this afternoon, the air was crisp and fresh and the sky blue.
I inhaled.
The phantom scent of roses was still in the air, just as it had been this morning when the Wanderer left.
“It always smells like roses here,” the Butler explained, as if he read my mind. “Even on the coldest day of winter.”
The Shepherd's Moment of Truth
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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
Where was that shaking coming from?
The Shepherd tried to pull away, but the hands gripping his shoulders were strong.
“Shepherd!”
There was the Wanderer! At last! Why couldn’t he see him in that riotous tower of stolen hearts?
“Wake up, Shepherd! You’re having a nightmare!”
The Wanderer shouted in his ear.
Finally, the Shepherd was able to force his eyes open.
The Wanderer leaned over him, quaking his shoulders until the Shepherd sat up and brushed his hands away.
He was trembling. That dream really had been a horror. He shook his head and rubbed his face.
“From what I heard you say, I take it you were back at the tower.”
The Wanderer’s voice was gentle.
Suddenly flooded with shame, the Shepherd looked away.
Even if the Wanderer had already figured out there was far more to the story the Shepherd had told him of the night he saw Woman kill the Sorcerer of the Caverns, his friend still must have been shocked from the revelations of the night before.
They had had no chance to talk it over. They had been so exhausted after the elaborate dinner and Adrianna’s tale, both retired to their quarters and their beds immediately.
“Yes, I was. What did I say? If I may be foolish enough to ask?”
“You were pleading with her to spare my heart. Where was I?”
“I don’t know. I wondered the same thing in the dream.”
“I take it you lost the fight.”
“I did,” the Shepherd replied. “Fortunately, you woke me up before your heart got eaten.”
The Wanderer smiled.
“I’m sorry,” the Shepherd said in a quiet voice. “I should have told you the truth years ago. All of it.”
The Wanderer took in the Shepherd’s apology for a moment, nodding slowly. Then he shrugged.
“Thank you, but it hardly matters now. I suspect everything went for the best – or as good an outcome as could be hoped for. We may not be here now if you had. I’d probably still be your talking Wolf.”
The Shepherd paused, then admitted his friend had a point.
The Wanderer nodded again, then hesitated with a subtle frown crossing his face.
“Are you ever going to tell me about her?” the Wanderer asked softly.
“I don’t know.”
The Wanderer smiled again and pointed to his breast.
“This heart wants to know. And this heart has a right to know.”
The Shepherd smiled.
“Such an obvious truth is impossible to argue with. But I wasn’t joking when I said I never talk about her.”
“Whether you like it or not, I don’t think you have much choice. Adrianna is relentless when it comes to getting what she wants.”
“So what if she is? I’m leaving today.”
“You would be a fool to do that, Shepherd.”
“I have to get back to my sheep.”
“I can take care of your sheep,” the Wanderer retorted. “How long were you with Ella Bandita?”
“She was not that wretched creature when I knew her!”
The Wanderer’s eyes widened at the hard edge that had come into the Shepherd’s voice.
He looked away from the Wanderer staring at him with raised brows.
“How long?”
“Five years.”
“Was this was the love ‘that wasn’t meant’ as you once put it.”
“Why must you ask the nosiest questions?”
“Why won’t you answer them?” the Wanderer retorted. “So, was my Ella Bandita your woman?”
“Yes.”
“Am I also correct in the assumption that you haven’t known a woman since?”
“Now that is none of your business.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ You’re staying. You need this.”
“The last thing I need is to keep company with a courtesan. I’m not a fool.”
“I insist you stay, Shepherd.”
“Last time I checked you were never the master of me.”
“In this particular instance? Like Hell I’m not. That very partial truth you told me was partial enough to be a lie. You owe me.”
“A lie for which I just apologized for. Since the greater good was served – and you said so yourself – I owe you nothing.”
“That’s a paltry way to pay a much larger debt. Not just to me, but to yourself. This part of your life has been chasing you since the day I found your drawing of Ella Bandita.”
The Shepherd was silent.
“It’s time for the story to come out,” the Wanderer persisted. “You might as well get lots of practice in with Adrianna before you tell it to me.”
“How many times do I have to say no?”
“This is not for you to refuse, Shepherd. I demand it of your integrity.”
The Shepherd swore under his breath.
The Artist Consumed
/
I needed to calm myself, to make sense of everything I had heard.
I pulled out my cache of sketches and singled out every one I had done of Woman in those pieces of memory of her that were so vivid, those images etched for eternity into my mind.
I looked through each one, especially of that first night when she was anguished and desperate.
I thought back to that moment when I saw her in the lair of Ella Bandita, the heart of the Wanderer in her hand, while the hearts of all the men she had conquered howled around us.
The raw hunger in her face revealed the kind of desperation that belonged to a predator.
As Woman had taught me that first night, I put my fingers to my throat where my pulse beat in a steady rhythm, and took a few minutes to listen to my heart.
Then I started to draw.
Using the colored pencils Adrianna had given me, I sketched everything that came to mind from Adrianna’s stories - Addie, the Patron’s Daughter, the Noble Son, the Brute, and even the Sorcerer of the Caverns.
All of them were drawn in the backdrop of the fields, the ostentatious Big House, the spartan cabin, the river, and the woods of the Ancient Grove.
I drew the vivid scenes that lingered long after the stories were finished, imagining what they had all been like in that moment.
I imagined the Sorcerer as the cunning manipulator he had to have been, as well as the benevolent mentor to a desperate, young peasant named Addie.
I drew the monstrous behemoth of the Brute with his crude features and cold-blooded gaze.
I drew the haughty and spoiled Patron’s Daughter riding around the fields, with the Noble Son at her side; her expression was smug with a gleam of cruelty in her small, blue eyes as she gloated over Addie with a smirk.
In that sketch, the focus was only on her.
Addie and the Noble Son reduced to blurred, faceless beings, for in this scene, they didn’t matter; the only player who did was the Patron’s Daughter.
I drew a scene at the moment when the Patron’s Daughter spurned a gentleman who had just asked her to marry him. The malicious glee in her face made her radiant while the rejected gentleman was stripped of his dignity, his shoulders fallen and his head bowed low.
Although I had no urge to depict the raunchy intimacies of the Patron’s Daughter with the Brute, I did a close up portrait of her expression in one of those moments.
With the mingling of pain and pleasure, the Patron’s Daughter looked like a patient in an asylum with her face contorted from agony, the glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, and spittle at the corners of her mouth.
Yet she still seemed hungry.
Then I imagined the scene at the river.
I made the figures shadowy as the naked Patron’s Daughter raged over the collapsed form of a sobbing Addie.
Then I drew the Patron’s Daughter and Addie sitting side by side at the river as she confided her reasons for craving the cruelty and humiliation the Brute offered.
There was bewilderment on Addie’s face, but serenity in the Patron’s Daughter.
Then I drew only Addie in various portraits.
I drew her while she toiled in the fields, imagining the tight clamp of her mouth and the bitterness in her eyes.
I drew her while she yearned for the Noble Son, her eyes wide and sparkling from desire, and the dreamy hope that often came with desire.
I sketched her while she grieved and despaired after the Noble Son had gone.
I drew the hatred and envy in Addie as the Patron’s Daughter rode past her, while she toiled in the fields.
I made many likenesses of her, doing the best I could with the homely face and powerful form she described. But I focused mostly on her eyes and the emotions reflected there, her rage, powerlessness, resentment, and that obsession for something better.
I didn’t know if I got her features right, so I concentrated on capturing the essence of an embittered, envious peasant who would have stopped at nothing to escape her miserable fate.
I worked from dawn to dusk, often getting up earlier and staying awake later.
I worked all over the Casa, in the Joy Parlor, in the back patio, the garden during warmer afternoons, and in the theater whenever Adrianna was not there.
Servants, the young courtesans, and a few of the artistic protégées passed me often while I worked. They peered over my shoulder, and made vague expressions of appreciation of the drawings.
I was too consumed with my work to hear or respond, but nobody took offense. Any time I was absorbed in a scene, I couldn’t rest until I was satisfied.
I didn’t stop drawing until I distinguished the story of Addie from the story of Woman.
There was no denying the two women were so much alike.
But their histories were separate, happened at different times, and one didn’t lead to the other.
Finally, I was done.
I made twenty drawings.
When I looked up I had no idea if the darkness was because it was late at night or early in the morning.
The Start of Sumptuous Delights
/
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
The scene that awaited us was like nothing I had ever seen.
I heard the music first.
Then Adrianna opened the double doors leading to the back patio, and the muffled trills and strums of the mandolin exploded into a sprawling echo as we stepped into the sudden chill of winter air.
The speckled pink of the foyer was replicated in the marble floor and pillars of the terrace that faced east.
On this night, how could one believe spring was near?
Snow came down in thick chunks that made a meadow stretching beyond the patio of the Casa, white drifts scattered along the patio edge.
The blanket of snow contained the sights, sounds, and scents within the terrace, so nothing was lost. No thrill of the senses would dissipate.
Any remaining sleepiness I might have had was gone.
The romantic ballad soared through the spacious back patio that stretched under the northern wing of the Casa.
We were spared the hard cold of marble with a trail of thick rugs the color of wine to cushion our feet all the way to where we would dine for the evening.
Adrianna’s household had created a sanctuary of warmth from the tenacious hold of winter at the heart of the patio.
There stood an enormous, open, square fireplace. Iron mesh curtains hung on all sides to contain the flaming spits of wood crackling off a mountain of logs.
Plump chimineas circled from one side of the hearth to the other, and the smaller blazes within made a ring of fire around a sumptuously relaxed haven.
There were plenty of lounging chairs and loveseats, small tables within easy reach, and plenty of pillows and thick fur blankets, anything we could possibly need for our comfort.
As if all this wasn’t enough, a dozen stewards dressed in gray uniforms surrounded the chimineas and the hearth. Half tended to the fires, while the other half slowly waved giant fans into our gathering place.
I finally saw the source of the exquisite music.
Three older girls were seated close together in front of the chimineas opposite the hearth.
Dressed in demure cream-colored gowns, their heads bowed low while their dainty fingers deftly tickled the strings and rode the necks of their mandolins, intent only on the trembling vibrations.
The players were unique in that they were female and quite young.
I had never seen women hired as public musicians, much less girls.
The Wanderer and I glanced at each other.
Could they possibly be under Adrianna’s tutelage?
The trio was extremely talented, yet also extremely awkward. The girls lacked the beauty and poise one would expect from an apprentice training in the pleasure arts.
Seated closer to the fireplace, and facing us, two comely young women stood up from their divans as we approached.
Dressed in diaphanous gowns that seemed to float about them, they were definitely courtesan protégées. Both smiled winsomely as we approached.
We followed Adrianna into the circle, and warmth enveloped me like a heavy blanket. Heat flowed to us in gentle waves from the steady back and forth of the giant fans of the stewards.
Adrianna’s protégées flanked her on each side.
“May I present Celia and Astrid to you? These are the most gifted protégées I’ve had in a long time.”
Following a wave of her mentor’s hand, Celia came forward.
A beauty with thick, coppery hair, she had a wide, generous mouth, long limbs, and a slender figure. The filmy red gold fabric of her gown drifted around her.
I was startled when she stepped close to the Wanderer and boldly kissed his cheek. Yet he returned the intimate greeting, while her lips lingered longer than was necessary.
I stiffened when she turned towards me.
Celia kept a polite distance and smiled, her tone as warm as the fires around us when she spoke.
“It is my privilege to make your acquaintance, Sir Shepherd.”
Then Adrianna beckoned Astrid.
Her allure was subtle in contrast to the blatant sensuality of Celia.
With her pale brown hair, powdery skin, and delicate hands, Astrid had a saintly air more than a harlot’s, even while dressed in sheer watery green that revealed hints of the petite figure underneath.
With a bravado that was surprising in one who appeared so fragile, Astrid came to me with an outstretched hand.
Her confidence was so absolute I gripped her palm without thinking.
“I’m honored to meet you, Sir Shepherd.”
She had a sweet voice, Astrid did. Everything about her was so angelic, her presence in this Casa was bizarre.
“Neither of you need address me as ‘sir.’ It’s strange.”
“Mi’Lady insists we address you with honor,” Celia replied.
“We appreciate the compliment,” the Wanderer added. “But I agree with Shepherd. It doesn’t feel right.”
Adrianna shrugged.
“As you gentlemen wish. We only want you to feel at ease.”
The Shepherd Starts to Share...Finally
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Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
Adrianna, please understand that Woman whom I loved was never Ella Bandita.
As I said at the beginning, she didn’t become that monster until later.
Over the years, I’ve wondered what my life would have been like if I had made different choices on that fateful night.
Here, Adrianna, you’ve already asked me about this sketch of Woman with blood on her face and holding my littlest lamb.
That is the first of many I drew of her, of us, and of that time in my life.
But what might have been if I had chosen to move on through the night once I realized where I was, in the Abandoned Valley and Ancient Grove of the Sorcerer of the Caverns?
What if I had left rather than stay the night with my flock after I knew I was in dangerous territory?
And what if I had stayed frozen when I woke up in the middle of that night to a young woman screaming from deep inside the Ancient Grove?
Or even if I had chosen to ignore that raging despair, rather than follow the wailing into the trees where I saw her for the first time?
Everything about that scene was bizarre.
A highborn young lady, dressed in elegant finery, pounding her fists against a large granite boulder and screaming for the Sorcerer, as blood covered the lower half of her face and stained her beaded, pale blue gown.
She was so caught up in her anguish, she didn’t notice the Sorcerer floating across the clearing from the trees opposite me until he turned her around and slapped her face.
I did not grow up amongst violent people.
I was so shocked I flinched, while the girl with the bloody face spat at the Sorcerer.
Their ensuing argument made no sense to me at the time, but I could tell that something between them had gone horribly wrong.
“Why did you bring my father into this?” the girl shouted.
“Because I can’t bring it back to life!” the Sorcerer snarled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your heart. Don’t you remember the request you made about your heart?”
The bloody girl froze. Her fury suddenly gone as confusion shifted to understanding, and finally dismay.
“If you can bring my heart back to life, then you must, Sorcerer. Please. I’m begging you.”
Her pleading fell on deaf ears.
The Sorcerer of the Caverns laughed as he shook her off and turned his back.
But he had finally met his match in this one.
After centuries of preying on the hearts and dreams of young girls and virgin women so he would never die, I was there to witness his fall when the Sorcerer’s last conquest destroyed him.
The Sorcerer waved his hand over the giant boulder the girl had pounded on, which moved to reveal the entry to his underground Caverns.
But the girl with the bloody face grew eerily calm. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small satchel.
With a pinch of dust from that pouch, she used the Sorcerer’s magic against him and turned him into a slug.
Then she stomped the slug to death.
What would my life have been if I had not seen any of that?
Would I have fallen in love with a robust, country girl with rosy cheeks and a cheerful laugh?
Would I have given up the roaming ways of a Shepherd and settled down to the hard-working farmer’s life?
Would I have had children?
Would I have been happy?
Either way, my time would likely have been more peaceful.
But I didn’t make those other choices. The choices I made that night cast my fate for the rest of my life.
I tried to flee the scene without being detected, but it was no use.
The girl with the bloody face heard me running through the trees, and followed. She caught up with me easily because my small flock had scattered during the night, and I lost precious time gathering them.
I tried to pass myself off as a Shepherd coming through on an overnight run, one who hadn’t seen anything extraordinary.
Of course, she didn’t believe me.
I could feel the tremor of fright in my throat every time I spoke, and my attempts to act casual failed pitifully.
The sketch of her holding my lamb by the throat was the moment she accused me of lying.
I was only nineteen years old that night. Still a boy, not yet a man.
The girl before me was my age, but she had already crossed the threshold into womanhood.
Addie's First True Friend
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
Just as I was about to fall asleep, the shock of an ice-cold compress on my head startled me fully awake.
Carla sat beside me and smiled when I gasped.
“You had a close call, dearie. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded and then grimaced when a shock seared through my head. I wondered if I would die from that blow after all.
Carla opened a small bottle, put a generous drop on her finger and held it to my lips. I drew back, reluctant.
“Relax, dearie. This will take the pain away in minutes.”
“What is it?”
“Laudanum. Now take it before it slides off my finger.”
She pressed against my mouth until I opened and sucked on her finger.
Any awkwardness I might have endured disappeared at the taste of the most horrid bitterness until Carla handed me a goblet of red wine.
Desperate to make the taste go away, I took a long sip. The bitterness of the laudanum made that drink unspeakably dreadful.
But it worked.
Once I swallowed, the bitterness went away, along with the headache.
“The con man was scum,” Carla said casually, “but he was fairly good at swindling, or he wouldn’t have been able to afford it here. Yet he’s not a thug. I’ve never known him to directly attack anybody.”
She peered at me with her all-knowing, swampy eyes.
“Do you mind if I ask what you did to make him so angry?”
“Nothing. I didn’t like him and I wouldn’t talk to him.”
“That’s it? You barely spoke to me and Filly.”
I hesitated and looked away.
“I didn’t snub you and Filly.”
“So he was friendly when you met him?”
“Oh yes,” I scoffed. “He was very nice and most welcoming.”
“I take it you refused to speak to him?”
I nodded.
“Well,” Carla sniggered. “It sounds like you threw a cog in his wheel. I bet he planned to chat you up until he was close enough to get to your purse. If the con man charmed you into bed, so much the better for him and worse for you.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Carla paused and replaced the compress that had already gone lukewarm with another icy one.
I winced when it touched my brow.
“You shouldn’t have paid six months rent with a gold coin. If you had paid the landlady with copper and silver, she wouldn’t have made a fuss.”
“What! How did you know that?”
“Everybody knows.”
“What do you mean by everybody?”
Carla swept her hand around her head.
“Everybody on the street, in the brothels, in the cafés, in the theaters even.”
I stared at her with my mouth open.
Carla looked at me and shrugged.
“What else can you expect, dearie? Here you are, a beautiful girl with a noble face and a goddess figure, yet you’re dressed in country clothes, you leave the house every day with your hair in a braid, with no gloves and no hat. You are never seen with any company. You have no servants, which is obvious when you carry your own chamber pot for ten blocks to dump in the cesspit behind brothel row. Yet you can pay six months rent your first week in town. The landlady said you knew quite well how to haggle with her; yet you always seem so lost. All this is very odd, and word gets out. People have been talking about you for weeks, trying to figure out what your game is.”
“I don’t have a game.”
Carla laughed.
“That much has become apparent. You certainly don’t lack for surprises, you fierce little minx. I promise you’re the most exciting topic of conversation tonight.”
“Already?”
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t be surprised if Filly cuts her evening short, unless her gentleman has an extraordinary time planned for her. Hell, he’d probably cut it short too if he thought he could be in the know.”
I couldn’t say anything. I simply stared at Carla who smiled at me.
“So how did you come to us, dearie? Landlady said you came straight to her boarding house. She doesn’t have a sign out, yet you knew she had rooms.”
I looked away from her, my throat tight.
Carla tilted her head to one side and peered at me.
“Like I said before, dearie, you already had a close call. Do you really want to leave yourself open for another?”
“No.”
“Then it’s time to stop hiding. You can’t be alone here in the Capital City, and survive.”
I opened my mouth to answer Carla, but my throat closed up.
“Talk to me, dearie.”
“Somebody gave me directions to the boarding house, and told me she would have apartments as well.”
“Who?”
I said nothing and shook my head.
Carla sighed.
“Okay. Then why?”
“I heard nobody asked questions around here if I had enough money to pay my way.”
“So you’re a runaway?”
“Sort of. Yes, I suppose I am.”
“You don’t have papers, do you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bet that slime downstairs figured it out too. He must have thought you’d be easy to take by force and that he could get away with it.”
The matter-of-fact tone in Carla’s voice brought home the magnitude of what had almost happened.
I grew dizzy when the blood drained from my face.
“I really can’t thank you enough, Carla! If you hadn’t come along when you did, I can’t bear to think of it.”
“That was not happenstance, darling girl. I’ve been following the con man following you for the last two weeks.”
“Why?” I blurted. “You don’t even know me!”
“And whose fault is that?” asked Carla, and raised her brows.
“Why would you go to that much trouble for somebody who barely spoke to you?”
“I don’t know. One day I saw him trailing you with a more repellent expression than usual. You seemed so alone and vulnerable, I guess I couldn’t mind my business and let some horror happen to you.”
I stared at her until my vision blurred from the tears.
“Carla, I can never repay you for this.”
“You don’t have to, dearie. But you do have to trust me. I want you to tell me who you are and how you came here.”
My life of the past several months flooded through me.
I relived everything from yearning for the Noble Son to my jealousy of the Patron’s Daughter and luring her to the Brute, then selling my heart to the Sorcerer to have this transformation into beauty. But I never foresaw the cost of my former strength as well as the loss of my identity.
I didn’t know who I was anymore, so how could I tell Carla?
I burst into tears.
How could I tell this marvelous, heroic woman everything I had done?
All I could think was that she would despise me, and regret saving my life.
As if she had read my mind, Carla gripped my hand.
“Everybody around here has stories, dearie. Judgment isn’t for people like us. Let the fancy folks who live near the Mayor be that stupid.”
There was so much wisdom in the swampy depths of her green brown eyes. There was nothing but understanding and acceptance in her gaze, freely given before she knew anything about me.
That broke me.
Carla and the Hawkish Gentleman
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Image by Yingnan Lu from Pixabay
Suddenly, I was freed from his clutches.
I didn’t see how it happened, but I heard a loud thump, and the con man lurched and his fingers released my throat.
The sudden intake of air was so intense I became dizzy and lost my balance. Rather than fall to the ground, a pair of strong hands caught me.
I knew this couldn’t be the con man from the gentle strength holding me in the middle of my back until I was steady.
I also heard the voice of fury coming from another woman, and then I heard a series of thumps.
When I could finally open my eyes, I saw Carla hitting the con man repeatedly with a long, dark cane.
“You worthless bastard! When a girl screams to let her go, you let her go!”
“This is none of your business, Carla! She owes me money, so stay out of it!”
In response, Carla whipped the cane around so the length of it careened into the con man’s torso.
He doubled over.
His rodent face went white from the pain and his lips curled back to reveal the full length of his teeth.
“You dirty whore!”
“You pathetic liar!”
The con man was stupid enough to lunge for her.
But Carla stepped aside.
Then whoever had held me up let go to grab the con man by the hair and press the muzzle of his pistol between his eyes.
The neighbor’s face turned ashen when he saw the hawkish gentleman.
“I don’t care to see a young lady attacked,” he said softly.
The con man heaved for air and pleaded in a raspy voice.
“I know this looks terrible, but please listen to me. The girl has been robbing me since she moved in. I’m only trying to get back what’s mine!”
I was so stunned I couldn’t speak to defend myself.
I was aghast when the hawkish gentleman raised his brows and brought his gun away from the brow of the con man.
Then he stepped back and turned to Carla with a sigh.
“Darling, I delighted in watching you thrash this piece of excrement with my cane. So have another go and make it count.”
With a savage grin, Carla twirled the cane before drawing it upwards with a perfect aim between the con man’s legs and the strike landed at the apex.
He made a strangled, growling sound and fell to the ground, curling into himself with his hand cupping that raw and tender place.
He glared at Carla then directed his hatred and helpless ire on me.
The hawkish gentleman raised his gun and aimed for his heart. The con man froze and whimpered.
“You are making a grave mistake, sire!”
“You really are the most laughable swindler in the Capital, aren’t you?”
“I swear to you I’m telling the truth!”
“We both know your word is worth less than nothing.”
“But sire-”
“We followed you as you followed that young lady,” the hawkish gentleman snapped. “We heard everything you said to her, and there was no mention of getting back anything that was yours.”
“You had a lot to say about what was hers,” Carla added, her voice filled with disgust. “Imbecile! You thought she was an easy mark.”
“Shut up, you filthy harlot!”
Carla raised the cane to strike the con man yet again.
It looked like she was aiming for his head, which might have killed him.
Yet the hawkish gentleman gripped the opposite end of the cane and shook his head.
“Darling Carla, I believe the young lady might need some care.”
Carla let go of the cane and came to me. She was very gentle as she felt around the side of my face where the con man had struck me.
I gasped when she touched the sore spot at my left temple, and the bolt of pain seared into my brain.
She swore under her breath.
“Do you have a headache?” she asked gently. “Dearie, is your vision blurry?”
I nodded.
“Tibodeau, I think she has a concussion!”
The hawkish gentleman looked beyond us to a kindly-looking man I hadn’t seen yet.
Nor had I seen the carriage that was less than a block away.
“Go get the Law,” he commanded.
“It would be my pleasure, sire.”
His steward turned towards the Avenue of the Theaters where the Lawmen would easily be found.
Their black uniforms with flared waistcoats stood out in the crowd of beautiful gowns in the colors of gaiety.
Somehow, the con man recovered enough that he jumped to his feet and ran.
Instead of aiming at him, the hawkish gentleman pointed his gun to the air and fired, which made my former neighbor run even faster.
As soon as he was gone, my limbs started shaking. I would have collapsed if Carla hadn’t held me up with an arm around my waist.
As lean as she was, she was strong, and I envied that. I hated being so weak and helpless.
“I don’t need to talk to the Law,” Carla said. “I don’t know dearie’s story, Tibodeau, but I suspect she wouldn’t want an interview with a Lawman either.”
“Oh dear god,” I muttered.
The blood drained from my face at the thought.
The first things the Lawmen in black would ask for were identification papers I didn’t have.
Addie Puts Up a Fight
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I cursed myself for not paying attention, and for not going into the café.
“That’s offensive,” the con man crooned. “And even rather foolish. I’ve been watching you, and you’re always alone.”
The pleasantry in his voice turned my stomach.
I forced myself to breathe slowly to quell the rise of panic. When I spoke again, I was relieved I sounded calm.
“I’m new here.”
“I know you are. Don’t you want a friend?”
“I’m selective.”
“It is rather intriguing,” the con man said with a slithering quality to his tone.
“How could a woman child like you come here all alone? You have no family and no connections. You have only two changes of clothes which you’ve worn out, yet somehow you can afford an apartment from one of the greediest landladies in the Capital City.”
His smell was the odor of rage.
The acrid scent wafted off the con man in waves.
Thus the easygoing manner of conversation made me desperate to get away from him.
“You have no visitors,” he wheedled. “Which means you’re not a fancy whore, like Carla and Filly. So where does your money come from, neighbor?”
My street was a half block away, and my building was two blocks down.
Even if I could outrun him, the con man lived there too.
I would have to get up the stairs, in my apartment, and lock the door before he could catch up with me.
So there was no refuge there.
I had no doubt the con man had cruel intentions towards me.
The memory came to mind of the Brute gripping the hair of the Patron’s Daughter in his fist as he pummeled his manmeat into her from behind. Somehow I knew I would suffer a similar humiliation if the con man had his way.
I turned and ran as fast as I could for the Avenue of the Theaters. Getting back to a crowd was my only chance.
I hadn’t gone twenty paces before the weasel-faced con man caught up with me and grabbed my elbow. I tried to shake him off, but his bony hand could have been a vise.
“Let go of me!” I snarled, relieved at the ferocity in my voice.
I was terrified, but at least my fear didn’t show.
“Well, aren’t you a fierce little snit,” he said.
“Settle down, neighbor. Let’s go home and have the kind of drink that will relax us both where we can have a conversation, and maybe come to understand each other better.”
The con man gripped my left arm and kept me close to him, turning me back towards the street of our building.
I had never been so frightened in my life.
But as that weasel with the river rat teeth pulled me towards certain doom, something else came up in me as well.
Everything I had endured to get to the Capital City surged inside with a force beyond memories and thought. The threat of losing all I had and much worse to this contemptible grifter brought up a wrath in me I’d never known before.
There was no way in hell I could have allowed that to happen.
“I said let go of me!”
I threw my right fist at him with all my might.
The con man didn’t see it coming and my strike landed on his jaw.
But to my horror, my body was now a traitor to my will.
I had acted as a hardscrabble peasant with a sturdy frame layered with muscle, and burly hands thickened from arduous work. But I no longer had such a form and therefore, I had no power behind my punch.
All I did was enrage him.
“You vicious wench!”
He gripped me by the throat and squeezed.
I clawed his arm and kicked at his legs. I tried to scream, but he held his hand over my mouth to silence me.
I bit down on the meat of his palm with my healthy, sharp teeth.
The con man howled and hit me so hard on the side of my face, I blacked out for an instant.
Suddenly, I was freed from his clutches.
I didn’t see how it happened.
But I heard a loud thump. Then the con man lurched and his fingers released my throat.
The sudden intake of air was so intense I became dizzy and lost my balance.
Rather than fall to the ground, a pair of strong hands caught me.
I knew this couldn’t be the con man from the gentle strength holding me in the middle of my back until I was steady.
Addie and the Con Man
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Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay
During these weeks of wandering and exploring, I finally crossed paths with my third neighbor, the con man.
Carla had disparaged him during our initial exchange, and even the landlady had advised me to steer clear, admitting she had made a dreadful mistake in renting to him.
Even if I hadn’t been forewarned, I would have kept my distance.
One evening, I passed the con man as I came in and he went out.
He made a point to stop, tip his hat with a smile, and welcome the new neighbor.
I paused after his greeting and glanced his way.
He looked like a rodent, even with his elegant grooming. The first thing I noticed about him was his pointed river rat teeth.
I knew the type.
He reminded me of those I could never stand to work with in my former life.
I used to curse aloud every time somebody like him had been on the same team as me. Lazy and cunning, these men never pulled their share of the labor and they never took a beating for it.
Somehow, no matter how diligently the rest of us guarded our bales and baskets, these louts always managed to steal enough harvest from the fastest workers, and filled theirs so much they always came in with the heaviest weights.
Often they received praise they never earned, while the true workers would take whippings they never deserved.
I hated him on sight.
Instinctively, I dulled my gaze to avoid truly looking at him, turned my back, and made my way up the stairs without saying a word.
Even with the soul-crushing loneliness I endured every day, I wasn’t at all tempted to make his acquaintance.
Looking back, I was a fool to be so rude. To slight someone has always been to make an enemy.
I had already divided the fortune I came with into several smaller satchels and hid them in the nooks, crannies, window seats, and hidden drawers all over my apartment.
As soon as I knew a crook lived downstairs, I was extremely vigilant.
I felt more secure knowing that the most likely misfortune that could have occurred would have been the theft of something, but not everything.
Yet by snubbing him so blatantly, what had been a casual awareness on his end became an intense focus. His vanity had been wounded and after that, the con man wanted blood.
He started to follow me on my long walks through the Capital City. He was adept at trailing me. Every day, a prickling made my skin itch in that way whenever I knew somebody was watching me, but I could never figure out who that was.
Not once did I see the con man following me.
One day everything changed.
I had been in the Capital City for several weeks.
Autumn was at its peak, the trees burst with color and vivid piles of leaves lined the streets. The crisp coolness and smoky fragrance in the air made me buoyant that day, so much that I wanted to relax and savor the pleasures of a season I had always loved.
So I let my guard down, even though that prickling sensation was ever present.
That day was especially agreeable.
During this amble, I finally mustered the courage to go into shops and galleries in the elegant neighborhood near the Mayor’s Mansion, and there I found clothes and furniture and art.
The clerks were so courteous and helpful I wondered why it had taken me so long to try them. Not once did anybody treat me like I was an outsider who didn’t belong.
One boutique in particular had some simple yet beautiful ensembles of blouses, skirts, and coats with matching hats.
The merchants there were a husband tailor and a wife seamstress, and together they designed and made the clothes.
They were so welcoming and encouraging, I immediately made an appointment to come back for a fitting, even though I wasn’t sure what that was.
I was fairly certain a fitting would entail leaving with lovely new clothes.
It was later than usual when I made my way back to my neighborhood.
I passed my usual café, and slowed down.
But the café was full, with the loud voices and laughter of the night crowd.
Also, I wasn’t hungry.
My last stop in the elegant neighborhood had been in a more peaceful café, where I had taken tea, sandwiches, and finished with a small cup of drinking chocolate.
The taste and texture were marvelous! The sensation after I swallowed was unforgettable.
I felt like I glowed inside. I had never had anything so divine in my life.
The young man who had waited on me had been most attentive, and always smiling.
I was very sated when I came to my usual café.
Also the rowdy gaiety inside didn’t mix with the mellow euphoria I was in, and I wanted to enjoy it.
So I passed the café without going inside.
This was the first day that I felt like I was a part of things in this splendid place.
I was happy as I made my way back to my apartment.
I didn’t know how it happened.
But within a minute after turning the corner past the café to head towards my street, I turned my head and there was the rodent face of the con man.
He had come up silently and fallen in step beside me.
My expression must have betrayed my surprised displeasure at the sight of him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “It looks like you enjoyed a marvelous day until right now.”
I quickened my pace without a word.
But he stepped his up as well.
“It’s very disagreeable living in the same building as one who is as unfriendly as you are,” he continued in a wheedling tone.
“I wouldn’t say I’m unfriendly.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say I don’t like you.”
What devil possessed me to express that!
I knew that was a mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Looking around, I realized the streets were quiet and empty.
Everybody was either at home preparing for a late night out, or was already out. I cursed myself for not paying attention, and for not going into the café.
“That’s offensive,” he crooned.
“I’d say it’s even rather foolish. I’ve been watching you, and you’re always alone.”
Addie Explores Her Avenues in the City
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I’d been in the Capital City for a month when restless boredom got the better of my intimidation.
Autumn was also at its peak, and the season seemed so strange in this city of majestic buildings where trees lined the streets, but there was relatively little greenery.
Therefore when the colors changed, I was rather confused.
In the country, the explosion of color meant we were in the hardest months of labor. But it also meant that winter was close, the season when everybody slowed down enough that we peasants weren’t worked to exhaustion.
For some odd reason, I got it in my head that I was losing my last chance to get to know the Capital City.
So I ventured out everyday and explored, ambling through my neighborhood of bohemians and the Avenue of the Theaters. Once I grew familiar with those streets and the hidden places there, I was comfortable enough to wander beyond those boundaries.
I had my daily ritual though.
I always started and ended my day at my favorite café where the waiters knew me. I’d have tea with muffins and fruit when I began, and tea with finger sandwiches when I finished.
I took my time as I observed the other people in the café, noticing the differences and similarities in the clientele there early in the day, and those who came in the evening.
Once I had my fill, I’d pick a direction from the Avenue of the Theaters and go.
The Avenue of the Theaters was in the northern half of the City.
The bohemian neighborhood where I lived was in the northeastern corner of the Capital, and east of the Avenue of the Theaters.
The northwestern corner was the most dangerous part of town, where the joyful decadence of successful harlots, gamblers, courtesans, and the creatives took a downturn into the wretchedness of addiction, seediness, poverty, and despair.
West of the Avenue was where the opium dens, the violent gambling houses, and the most wretched brothels were, along with the slums.
West was where the beggars and hustlers along the Avenue of the Theaters disappeared when they were done panhandling, picking pockets, or conning the gullible.
The Sorcerer had described this part of the city to me.
I only ventured two blocks in before I remembered what I’d been taught and turned around.
But I had already attracted attention I didn’t want when two men started to follow me. I quickened my pace and they drifted off when I was back in the crowd along the Avenue of the Theaters.
Then I ventured south of the Avenue of the Theaters, to the part of the Capital where business and government meet in the stately buildings circling the town square in a circumference three blocks wide.
South of the neighborhood of business was the wealthiest and most elegant neighborhood in the Capital, where the Mayor’s Mansion was flanked with stately homes of the diplomats, the Parliament officials, and the wealthiest businessmen all around.
East of that exclusive area were the more modest, but still comfortable homes of well-made merchants and middle officials.
And to the east of that neighborhood were the apartments and humble dwellings of the respectable serving class, everybody from teachers to waiters to the servants, stewards, and maids who didn’t reside with their employers.
Their neighborhood was safe, but their abodes quite small.
If I had chosen the safe yet undistinguished path for my new destiny, I could have easily lived in this neighborhood for the rest of my life without worry.
When I walked through those streets, I felt the most at home and that these people were the most similar to those I had grown up with.
This was also the part of the Capital where nobody looked twice at me, where the women and men dressed simply, not fashionably. So my country attire and braid that I wore daily did not attract any attention.
I finished each day’s exploration in the café around the corner from the Avenue of the Theaters.
Sometimes, I was tempted to go there late on those many nights I couldn’t sleep, but I was too shy to go alone.
And likely, it would have been dangerous anyway.
As the weeks passed, I started to recognize more faces of people who recognized me.
I often saw Carla there.
She was usually with other courtesans. Every time she saw me, Carla gave me that knowing half-smile of hers, followed with a wink.
But there was one gentleman who accompanied Carla to the cafe quite often. He must have been one of her lovers, but I also saw him with other women, including Filly.
He and Carla seemed very close, yet this gentleman also showed affection for every woman I saw him with. He leaned close and his gestures were intimate, his focus solely on his lady that evening.
He inspired my curiosity, for certain.
This gentleman was handsome in a unique way. He reminded me of a hawk with his lean face, stark features, and sharp-eyed gaze.
Like most gentlemen of fashion, which he was, he walked with a cane. But unlike those who carried canes for elegance, he needed his for support and he leaned on it discreetly.
He walked tall and proud with a long stride and no discernible limp, but that was only self-control. The tight grip of his hand on the knob betrayed his dependence on the cane.
I really liked the look of him.
He differed from the other fine gentlemen I saw daily throughout the Capital.
He wasn’t soft.
He looked like he knew what it was to suffer.
Whenever Carla winked at me, her hawkish gentleman usually turned around and peered at me, with a faint grin on his mouth.
He always nodded to me whenever our eyes met.
His regard penetrated, but never invaded. The sensation was not unpleasant.
Beyond Her Wildest Dreams - Adrianna's First Apartment in the Capital City
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
