FIC: The Desert Prince 5
Aug. 22nd, 2003 02:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable
Part: 5 (Back to Part 4.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Fifth
The next morning, my beloved friend and I made our way to the market place.
Although it was yet early and the last stars were only now fading from the domed desert sky, the market was already busy with bustle and sound. There were street pedlars hawking their wares, each with his own cry: the owl's hoot of the broom-maker, the crowing of the ironmonger, the long drawn-out 'eeee' of the seller of trinkets and toys. Dogs and chickens ran underfoot. There were livestock traders, holding their camels and mules by long, woven ropes and pulling back their beasts' lips to reveal yellowed teeth. There were tables laden with fruit: melons, lemons and pomegranates, peaches, grapes and the spiky-skinned pears of the desert, all spilling forth in perfumed profusion. Another table abounded in dried apricots, currants and sultanas; another displayed soaps and finely-blown flasks; a third, urns and bowls of azure blue; a fourth, carpets and rugs of brilliant hue and marvellous design; and yet another was spread with delicate boxes of sandalwood, inlaid with filigree patterns of mother-of-pearl and lined with the softest silk.
It was a market like any other, and yet unlike any other. It was more sumptuous than most I had encountered on our desert travels, the faces of the hagglers were shrewder, and the amount of coin that crossed palms much greater than I had ever seen. Betimes, I noticed another strange thing: there were no women in this market, none at all. I saw no ladies, veiled from head to foot, attended by their servants; I saw no crones, prodding the fruit or berating the salesboys; I did not even see any little girls, unveiled and out for a treat with their elders.
It was a market day like so many I had experienced, and yet unlike any other. For I myself was absent in mind. My hands unwound the boles and measured the yards but my thoughts dwelled still on the dream that had visited me in the night, on the boys I had seen, and most of all, on the approaching hour of noon. My ears resounded with the strange warnings I had heard, and my heart beat strangely whenever I thought of the mysterious Desert Prince.
But I was not long kept musing. A stream of purchasers came by our stall and kept us busy, doing deals in word and coin. My guardian and beloved friend, Sean ben Bean, attended to the more illustrious of our customers and sent me often to buy sweet, spiced tea from the vendor to loosen our buyers' tongues and their purse strings.
All that morning, gold crossed our palms and our pouches swelled with coin. We sold nearly all our cloths -- the embroidered brocades; the silks and organdies, light as feathers upon the breeze; the brightly-dyed wools; the close-spun muslins and the hefty worsteds and fustians. My thumb ached with holding down the measuring pin. My palms were rough with fibres and my throat hoarse with talking. But I rejoiced in our success. I loved working side by side with my beloved Sean. I loved sensing his profile just to the right of me and hearing his voice persuade a hesitant buyer in even tones. Most of all, I loved seeing my beloved's face fulfilled, for I knew what pride he took in our trade and how pleased he would be with our jangling coffers.
I knew also that of all we earned he always put the largest portion away safely, for me and for my future. He rarely mentioned it but I knew it well. I had once asked him to use the money for himself, to pay a dowry and found a family as befits a master guildsman and merchant but he had hushed me with a finger on my lips and asked me never to speak of it again. "All I have is yours, Orlando," he had said, "and all I wish for is that you may be safe and happy throughout your life."
I did not know then that our time in the market place of the desert citadel would be my last taste of safety and carefree happiness. And this is why still, as I recall that sun-filled morning, my heart goes tight with love and loss.
Our greatest order that day came from the palace itself. Two envoys of the Desert Duke and two more of his son, the Desert Prince, came to our stall. They wore robes emblazoned with the ducal insignia. It was the first time that I looked closely at that coat of arms. It showed the eagle of the desert, sharp of claw and bright of eye, its irises outlined with red embroidery, and the green mountain snake coiled about its feet. The envoys themselves had cold, sharp faces, a little like the eagles, and their beards were entwined with silver braids. They chose the most expensive and luxurious of all our materials. They did not spend time bargaining. They made their selections quickly, taking only the costliest wares, and they bought so much that two handcarts were barely enough to transport their purchases.
After they had left, my beloved Sean ben Bean turned to me, flushed with excitement, and smiled. "What an honour to be patronised by the Duke!" he said. "And how much his envoys bought! Even if we sell not another yard of cloth, our stay will have been well worth our while." He touched my wrist and in a different tone, he said, "Also, this means that we need not remain any longer in this fortress. We will spend this afternoon buying up new wares, and then, if fortune smiles upon us and the storms do not chance this way, we can be on our way tomorrow. For I do not like to stay too long in this citadel."
"Why not?" I asked. "What dangers are there here?"
"My heart," he said in a lowered voice. "I wish I knew for sure. Perhaps none. But I am beginning to feel that I should not have brought you here."
"Sean," I replied. "Beloved friend, do not speak thus. Look at our table: it is bare, the wood shines through, this is how much we have sold. We came to trade, and we have traded well. What is it to us if the masters of this castle, as you say, are cruel? They have showered us with riches."
"There may be a price to pay," said my beloved friend. "Let noon come quickly and let the day be done."
"What is it that you two discuss so solemnly?" boomed a jolly voice. It was my newfound friend and my beloved's old companion, my 'Uncle' John ben Rhys. He laid a hand on each of our shoulders and laughed. He pulled a bag from his voluminous robes and offered us sweetmeats and nuts. I laughed, too, for I was glad to see him again.
"We speak of the castle," said my beloved Sean, "and its masters."
"And I was wondering," I added, wishing to smooth away my beloved friend's anxieties, "why it is that there are no women about in this market."
"Aha," said Uncle John. "I might have known that you are one for the lasses, son!" He winked at me and made me blush, and that made him laugh and clap my back. "Well, my young friend, and so you should be, and so was I at your age. And so am I still, if you must know." And he winked again. "But you will not find any girls in this market, nor in this entire castle. Have you not noticed how there are no women anywhere to be seen? Not even a beggar girl, not even some ancient witch with crooked teeth. They lock them all up in their own quarters. They guard them more securely than anywhere else I know of."
"And why is that, Uncle?" I ventured to ask, still hot with blushes. But it was a topic that made my Sean smile, and I loved to see my beloved friend smile.
"Well, I can't rightly say," John ben Rhys replied. "Some say it is because the women here are so exceeding beautiful that the men are afraid that they might all be stolen away." I laughed, and my Sean laughed, too. Uncle John popped a sweetmeat into his mouth and went on, "Others say it is because they are so exceeding ugly that they would frighten off all tradesmen for miles." And at that we laughed even more. But then, John ben Rhys lowered his voice and said, "Yet others say it is because the women possess some secret power that defies the Duke's might, so that he has to keep them locked away."
"A secret power?" I asked as my heart all but stopped.
John clapped me on the back again and spoke in his usual merry loud voice, "Ah, son, your eyes are as large as saucers. But people say many things, and who knows what is true and what is not?"
Then my beloved Sean asked John how his wine trade had progressed that morning, and as they talked business, I stayed silent and wondered at the secret powers that the women of the castle were said to possess, and I thought of my own secret, locked deep within me but beating, beating, beating ever more strongly, to be let out.
A bronze gong sounded from deep within the belly of the fortress. It was the hour of the noon-time rite of hailing the Desert Duke. It was the hour in which I was to meet my destiny, my doom.
"We must go," said Uncle John. There was no laughter any longer in his voice.
"Orlando," said Sean and put his hand upon my arm. "Remember what I have told you. Remember what you have promised."
I did remember what he had told me. But I also remembered that I had not promised anything. I had not promised anything at all.
~~~~~
TBC
Part: 5 (Back to Part 4.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Fifth
The next morning, my beloved friend and I made our way to the market place.
Although it was yet early and the last stars were only now fading from the domed desert sky, the market was already busy with bustle and sound. There were street pedlars hawking their wares, each with his own cry: the owl's hoot of the broom-maker, the crowing of the ironmonger, the long drawn-out 'eeee' of the seller of trinkets and toys. Dogs and chickens ran underfoot. There were livestock traders, holding their camels and mules by long, woven ropes and pulling back their beasts' lips to reveal yellowed teeth. There were tables laden with fruit: melons, lemons and pomegranates, peaches, grapes and the spiky-skinned pears of the desert, all spilling forth in perfumed profusion. Another table abounded in dried apricots, currants and sultanas; another displayed soaps and finely-blown flasks; a third, urns and bowls of azure blue; a fourth, carpets and rugs of brilliant hue and marvellous design; and yet another was spread with delicate boxes of sandalwood, inlaid with filigree patterns of mother-of-pearl and lined with the softest silk.
It was a market like any other, and yet unlike any other. It was more sumptuous than most I had encountered on our desert travels, the faces of the hagglers were shrewder, and the amount of coin that crossed palms much greater than I had ever seen. Betimes, I noticed another strange thing: there were no women in this market, none at all. I saw no ladies, veiled from head to foot, attended by their servants; I saw no crones, prodding the fruit or berating the salesboys; I did not even see any little girls, unveiled and out for a treat with their elders.
It was a market day like so many I had experienced, and yet unlike any other. For I myself was absent in mind. My hands unwound the boles and measured the yards but my thoughts dwelled still on the dream that had visited me in the night, on the boys I had seen, and most of all, on the approaching hour of noon. My ears resounded with the strange warnings I had heard, and my heart beat strangely whenever I thought of the mysterious Desert Prince.
But I was not long kept musing. A stream of purchasers came by our stall and kept us busy, doing deals in word and coin. My guardian and beloved friend, Sean ben Bean, attended to the more illustrious of our customers and sent me often to buy sweet, spiced tea from the vendor to loosen our buyers' tongues and their purse strings.
All that morning, gold crossed our palms and our pouches swelled with coin. We sold nearly all our cloths -- the embroidered brocades; the silks and organdies, light as feathers upon the breeze; the brightly-dyed wools; the close-spun muslins and the hefty worsteds and fustians. My thumb ached with holding down the measuring pin. My palms were rough with fibres and my throat hoarse with talking. But I rejoiced in our success. I loved working side by side with my beloved Sean. I loved sensing his profile just to the right of me and hearing his voice persuade a hesitant buyer in even tones. Most of all, I loved seeing my beloved's face fulfilled, for I knew what pride he took in our trade and how pleased he would be with our jangling coffers.
I knew also that of all we earned he always put the largest portion away safely, for me and for my future. He rarely mentioned it but I knew it well. I had once asked him to use the money for himself, to pay a dowry and found a family as befits a master guildsman and merchant but he had hushed me with a finger on my lips and asked me never to speak of it again. "All I have is yours, Orlando," he had said, "and all I wish for is that you may be safe and happy throughout your life."
I did not know then that our time in the market place of the desert citadel would be my last taste of safety and carefree happiness. And this is why still, as I recall that sun-filled morning, my heart goes tight with love and loss.
Our greatest order that day came from the palace itself. Two envoys of the Desert Duke and two more of his son, the Desert Prince, came to our stall. They wore robes emblazoned with the ducal insignia. It was the first time that I looked closely at that coat of arms. It showed the eagle of the desert, sharp of claw and bright of eye, its irises outlined with red embroidery, and the green mountain snake coiled about its feet. The envoys themselves had cold, sharp faces, a little like the eagles, and their beards were entwined with silver braids. They chose the most expensive and luxurious of all our materials. They did not spend time bargaining. They made their selections quickly, taking only the costliest wares, and they bought so much that two handcarts were barely enough to transport their purchases.
After they had left, my beloved Sean ben Bean turned to me, flushed with excitement, and smiled. "What an honour to be patronised by the Duke!" he said. "And how much his envoys bought! Even if we sell not another yard of cloth, our stay will have been well worth our while." He touched my wrist and in a different tone, he said, "Also, this means that we need not remain any longer in this fortress. We will spend this afternoon buying up new wares, and then, if fortune smiles upon us and the storms do not chance this way, we can be on our way tomorrow. For I do not like to stay too long in this citadel."
"Why not?" I asked. "What dangers are there here?"
"My heart," he said in a lowered voice. "I wish I knew for sure. Perhaps none. But I am beginning to feel that I should not have brought you here."
"Sean," I replied. "Beloved friend, do not speak thus. Look at our table: it is bare, the wood shines through, this is how much we have sold. We came to trade, and we have traded well. What is it to us if the masters of this castle, as you say, are cruel? They have showered us with riches."
"There may be a price to pay," said my beloved friend. "Let noon come quickly and let the day be done."
"What is it that you two discuss so solemnly?" boomed a jolly voice. It was my newfound friend and my beloved's old companion, my 'Uncle' John ben Rhys. He laid a hand on each of our shoulders and laughed. He pulled a bag from his voluminous robes and offered us sweetmeats and nuts. I laughed, too, for I was glad to see him again.
"We speak of the castle," said my beloved Sean, "and its masters."
"And I was wondering," I added, wishing to smooth away my beloved friend's anxieties, "why it is that there are no women about in this market."
"Aha," said Uncle John. "I might have known that you are one for the lasses, son!" He winked at me and made me blush, and that made him laugh and clap my back. "Well, my young friend, and so you should be, and so was I at your age. And so am I still, if you must know." And he winked again. "But you will not find any girls in this market, nor in this entire castle. Have you not noticed how there are no women anywhere to be seen? Not even a beggar girl, not even some ancient witch with crooked teeth. They lock them all up in their own quarters. They guard them more securely than anywhere else I know of."
"And why is that, Uncle?" I ventured to ask, still hot with blushes. But it was a topic that made my Sean smile, and I loved to see my beloved friend smile.
"Well, I can't rightly say," John ben Rhys replied. "Some say it is because the women here are so exceeding beautiful that the men are afraid that they might all be stolen away." I laughed, and my Sean laughed, too. Uncle John popped a sweetmeat into his mouth and went on, "Others say it is because they are so exceeding ugly that they would frighten off all tradesmen for miles." And at that we laughed even more. But then, John ben Rhys lowered his voice and said, "Yet others say it is because the women possess some secret power that defies the Duke's might, so that he has to keep them locked away."
"A secret power?" I asked as my heart all but stopped.
John clapped me on the back again and spoke in his usual merry loud voice, "Ah, son, your eyes are as large as saucers. But people say many things, and who knows what is true and what is not?"
Then my beloved Sean asked John how his wine trade had progressed that morning, and as they talked business, I stayed silent and wondered at the secret powers that the women of the castle were said to possess, and I thought of my own secret, locked deep within me but beating, beating, beating ever more strongly, to be let out.
A bronze gong sounded from deep within the belly of the fortress. It was the hour of the noon-time rite of hailing the Desert Duke. It was the hour in which I was to meet my destiny, my doom.
"We must go," said Uncle John. There was no laughter any longer in his voice.
"Orlando," said Sean and put his hand upon my arm. "Remember what I have told you. Remember what you have promised."
I did remember what he had told me. But I also remembered that I had not promised anything. I had not promised anything at all.
~~~~~
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
*Shivers*
Date: 2003-08-22 11:04 am (UTC)Re: *Shivers*
Date: 2003-08-26 01:17 pm (UTC)*g*
Haven't read your Memphis Belle follow-ups yet due to parental visit! But I haven't forgotten, and I loved seeing the pictures!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-22 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 02:44 pm (UTC)But: icon???
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 03:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 03:41 pm (UTC)I just mean you don't seem to have one. An icon.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 03:54 pm (UTC)Oh, it's just Orli. As Pirate Will. Smiling a secret smile. Over and over again.
*gah*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 04:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-22 02:50 pm (UTC)I am filled with despair.
And with longing. With a need to rush forward, to see, to learn, to feel what, at this moment, is to come; and what must come, since this moment is passed. And filled too with a need to cling to this moment, to Orlando's "last taste of safety and carefree happiness."
And I will tell you something else. Something else compells me now. For I had thought, at first, that Orlando was narrating this from a place of something akin to regret, but darker. Now, though - and I can't say what exactly has twisted in me to think this - now I wonder if this is not so. Because I am learning to pay close attention to Orlando's words - he, himself, seems to invite and advise such. He has reminded us twice that what Sean believes Orlando to have said (promised), Orlando never said. So he says that this is his last taste of "carefree happiness" - perhaps he has found another kind...
Or perhaps I invest too much in words. ;p
Still, I will read on! Indeed, as you know, I must.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 03:05 pm (UTC)It is quite the heady experience, being read by you, because the reading is so intense. I feel quite dizzy and that I need to strive extra hard to stay true to the kernel.
I am also experiencing the vertigo of WIP. Once something is written it's out there, for you to deal with. This is both limitation and possibility. It limits what you can do: sometimes I think, shit, why did I decide to make it like this, now I'm stuck with it? But then I also think, put this behind me, it is as it is, and now I must make something of it. It is a constant challenge.
But I can deal with it better than with writing a whole long thing in an fb drought.
You have spotted the kernel of this particular chapter, and why it is included. The last taste.
Or perhaps I invest too much in words.
Oh but you must. You must keep me on my toes. After all, this is a word-fic; it gets much of its life's breath from the prose. For me, too, as I write.
I can't give credence or not to any of your speculations, of course, at this stage, but I am taking them to heart. Not the substance of the story which is in my head but how to lead the reader to accept and believe in that substance.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-22 04:28 pm (UTC)Wonderful, though. Thank you. Your words are like a magic carpet ride!
/cheesy.
psst: "pedlars" = "peddlers," and "staid" = "stayed"
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-26 03:07 pm (UTC)And thank you for the spelling advice! I do need it! I will take every and any spelling suggestion on board for uploading to my website. The 'staid': what a terrible boo-boo. But the 'pedlar' is correct, according to the Oxford Concise, anyway. (Perhaps 'peddler' is the American variant?)