Portrait in a darkened Mirror.

Her stillness was the first thing I noticed, though later I would remember details that eluded me at the time. Early evening light cast shadows from her seat at the window and spread in the deepening gloom of the parlour.
(Parlour and Pallor…they are so alike.)
I was loath to disturb what I thought were solemn thoughts, though even then I was curious about that half-seen profile.
Her hair was pale as moonbeams, a fair colour that was unexpected. Most was piled on top of her shapely head, though fine strands caressed a cheek with the faintest blush of a spring rose. Her nose was patrician, her cheekbones finely shaped, whilst that most alluring of facial features, apart from her averted eyes, the lips were sensually full and ripe as peaches.
I wanted to see those eyes…I thought maybe it would either deepen the spell or dismiss it.
(A fool then as I would be later).
‘Good evening, Mr Paul?’ her voice husky with the faintest trace of an accent.
‘Good evening Mme Elise,’ I replied, my instinct to match her own greeting passed over with a politeness that did not become my character.
She did not turn, even then, but indicated by a slight nod of that beautiful head that I seat myself nearby.
The angle of the armchair was such that I still could only see that profile, though she must have been aware of my curiosity. Monsieur Grenables had warned me not to make any overt movements or requests. Mme Elise would respond only to those she favoured and then even that favour would be slight.
As I made myself comfortable a servant entered the room bearing a taper with which to kindle the gas mantles, a new invention that took some time to get used to, though far superior to the old oil lamps.
I had hoped that she would turn her face to the light then, but she merely thanked the servant and kept her gaze on the view from the window.
As darkness settles it is customary that a window without drapes becomes as a mirror wherein we might see the image of the person looking in that direction. However, the glass remained dark and I was drawn from my musings by another servant carrying a large tray into the room and setting it on a nearby table.
Accustomed as I am to good food and even better wine, my nostrils flared with the aromas arising from the covered dishes.
‘Franek, would you please serve Mr Paul,’ once again she spoke in gentle command.
The servant glided silently around the table, uncovering dishes of game in rich sauces, vegetables steaming in fragrant butter, pies and pastries, hot and cold. These were laid before me as another servant entered with a flagon of crystal containing what appeared to be a fine red wine.
A goblet set by my hand was filled with this rich deep red wine and another set before Mme Elise.
‘Eat, eat and enjoy,’ she said as she raised the glass to her lips. I needed no second invitation, my journey had been long and arduous. Besides, as I have said, I have both a good appetite and plenty of braveur.
Even so I raised my eyes to her profile as much as was possible during that strange meal, for she took nothing but the wine, and that in tiny sips. More than ever I wished to see her full face, but she kept her eyes averted.
Her pale, long-fingered hands were folded in stillness on her lap, the rich brocade of her crimson dress accentuating that fragility. The dress was tight cut to show the swelling of her breasts, whilst it nipped in her tiny waist and flowed in many folds to her dainty slippered feet.
As I watched I became aware that my manners were not as they should be. Granted, I rarely use more than my eating dagger, but the French court provide both a knife and fork, which I must have overlooked in my haste to fill my stomach.
‘My pardon, dear lady, hunger and thirst have stripped me of courtesy,’ I attempted to explain.
‘It is of no matter, my father dines even so,’ she replied rising to her feet so that for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of dark eyes filled with an expression of such hunger that I momentarily dropped my knife, which clattered to the floor.
‘Goodnight Mr Paul, sleep well,’ she uttered in that smoky voice as she turned to leave.
And I? I was at once forlorn.

……………………….

Morning oft brings new council, so say the wise men. But I am not of their kind. My skill lies in battle, in arms and with the men I can command even unto death. So I had been lured here with tales of a deadly enemy and a need for a brave man to lead armies. High in the mountains the castle of L’Arcole stands on a promontory overlooking the sea. According to the legends it can never be taken from the sea and seeing it in the morning light I know that it is possible to defend for many years.
The route whereby I came here across the mountains is secret and highly dangerous. I have no fear, yet even I was wary of those deep chasms opening up below the carriage and horses that brought me to this place. No modern army with power-driven vehicles could hope to take these slopes and yet I have been told that a great army is about to lay siege to the castle.
So says Monsieur Grenables, though I have yet to meet the master, Elise’s father. What army could lay siege to this place so soon after the Great War which fired all of Europe? I cannot believe that such a war will ever be fought again. I proved myself worthy in that war and since then I and my men have fought as mercenaries gaining both money and great reputation. I am chilled though by the sight of this once great castle in daylight.
The servant, Franek, brought me a meagre breakfast of gruel and bread, whereupon I demanded meat.
‘’Tis sore hard to come by, my lord,’ he whined. Master needs meat for his troops.’
‘So do I and so will my men.’ I added. ‘Besides, I do not see any of your master’s troops here?’ I sneered.
He left me then to my solitary breakfast, though I found great store of wine. My men were only a few days journey away and then we would see whose bellies were filled with meat.

All day I searched for signs of the castle’s inhabitants, without success. As evening came on I was once again escorted to Mme Elise’s parlour , this time by the servant Franek, a surly man and a silent one.
‘Where are the Master and his troops?’ I asked in both French and English.
He murmured something in reply, but it was like the braying of a donkey. In stead I once more seated myself in the chair and awaited the return of Mme Elise. She must have moved very quietly as I had only glanced away once to turn back and find her seated as on the previous night.
‘You are well, Mr Paul?’ she asked in her strange mixture of French and English.
‘I am, Mme Elise, though I would be more content to meet your father and to organise our troop deployment.’
She seemed to know what I meant. Her slender fingers moved gracefully in a kind of speech and I could only guess at their function…for there was no one else there except myself and I did not follow what it was she wanted me to know.
As before she stared out of the window and as full darkness fell I was once again served a lavish meal. From time to time I glanced up from my repast, thinking that I watched her through shuttered eyes. Yet she seemed to know that I watched her, for now she spoke,
‘Monsieur Paul, you flatter me by your regard, but I warn you that you really do not wish to know me so well. You are a brave man and I am sure you will fight for and with my father, but pray, do not wish to fight by my side.’
I say again that I am not afraid. Women are distractions that I do not need. Yet she challenged me that night and I do not back away from such a challenge.
‘You dare look in the mirror?’ she asked of me.
To see her eyes I would have dared much more, or so I thought at that moment.
She sat in quiet repose, only now the window misted over and that regal profile took on further shape and form.
‘No! God in heaven, No! Even now I cannot say what it was like to fall into those dark depths. I fell for a long time while my limbs stretched and my face ached as if pierced with many nails. And still she held my gaze, that witch, that offspring from Hell’s own mouth.
Yet I love the lady and when it comes my turn to fight alongside her I only wish to see her true form, so that together we live or die, the Lady Elise Dracole and I, Paulus Maximus, he who was cursed many centuries ago by the druids of Ynys Mon.

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Note: I have always fancied trying a story that hinted of dark legends. I wanted to write this in an olde worlde style as well. All comments and helpful critiscm gratefully welcomed.