Chapter 12 #2
“You sweet, beautiful creature,” I murmured to her in Hebrew as I bent down to hug her. Jean returned, beaming with pleasure at the sight of my enthusiastic reunion with Brunette.
“She likes you very much,” he said in wonderment. “She typically reserves such playfulness for my children. She is not given to displays of affection.”
He sat down beside me. He was dressed, as usual, in shades of yellow and red.
A cotton tunic and silk pants tucked into boots of soft brown leather; a wide leather belt, from which hung various pouches; a long sword; and a bulging shoulder bag.
This time, he wore a simple brown hunting hat.
He looked something like the early illustrations of Robin Hood. I smiled. He smiled back.
“You are looking particularly spirited today, Lady édith.”
“I am in good health, Sir Jean,” I answered, perhaps overenthusiastically.
“I dare not ask how your journey here was …”
“Everything’s fine, it’s just that …” I hesitated.
“Pray tell, my lady,” Jean said, pausing the unpacking of his bags for a moment.
“One of your guards was here when … when I arrived. I suspect he thought I was some kind of a fairy. He began praying and seemed afraid. I acted as if I were an angel dropped out of the sky and forbade him from returning here for the time being,” I said with trepidation.
Jean cast a glance behind him, beyond the tree’s thick branches, then turned back to me, smiling. “The sergeants are very superstitious, so let us hope his story will sit well with the other legends they tell each other.”
I liked the fact that he was so laid-back and confident, lighthearted, and unshakable. My smile broadened, and I said in Latin, “May the Lord God bless you,” as I’d said to the poor pissing sergeant.
Jean began removing things from his shoulder bag: a large cloth, which he spread on the ground and upon which he placed a ceramic bottle, a few small apples, a thin sliver of hard cheese, half a loaf of bread, and a handful of sticky dates that he carefully unwrapped from a handkerchief.
“Would you care to restore your spirit with refreshments?” he asked, taking out two small ceramic cups.
“Certainly,” I replied. To my surprise, it all felt totally natural to me.
“I should like to take you riding today, if it pleases you,” Jean said, helping himself to a date.
“However, we must fashion something more seemly for you. I took the liberty of bringing you everything an honest woman needs in order to appear in public without giving the impression that”—he stopped himself and smiled at me—“she is of dubious reputation.”
“Do you always wander around with women’s clothing in your shoulder bag?” I asked, curious to know what he had brought. Jean snorted with laughter.
“Indeed, more than you might envisage,” he said.
“My wife loves fine garments, and on my voyages I try to procure exquisite fabrics, artfully dyed textiles, or interesting adornments for her.” This was the first time, I think, that he had mentioned his wife to me directly.
He did this in an offhand way, without avoiding my eyes or apologizing, as if I were his sister.
“You’re a great husband, then,” I said, helping myself to a hunk of bread.
“I do not think my wife is convinced of that,” Jean responded, his eyes twinkling. “But it is of no matter. See for yourself if the garments I borrowed from Thibaut’s chest are suitable for you.” He removed a beautifully folded parcel from his shoulder bag.
“But … but …” I stammered. “What do you mean? Do you want me to try them on now? Because, you know … someone might pass by.” I didn’t dare say I was too shy to undress in front of him. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure anymore. The mention of his wife had confused me.
“It is rare and infrequent for a person to pass here alone, near the ridge. If, perchance, a band of knights arrives, we will hear them from afar,” Jean assured me.
“And what about …” I glanced beyond the canopy of branches. “What about that guard?”
“There are two guards who survey the ridge and roads. If they are caught deserting their post for anything besides combat or alerting the inhabitants of the fortress to danger, they will be subject to twenty lashes,” Jean declared. “Fear not. Or perhaps my lady is suddenly bashful?”
“I’ve got my pride, you know,” I admitted. “I might be from another time, but yeah, I need privacy to change into those clothes.”
“It is not my intention to observe you disrobing,” he answered, horrified. “What do you think I am?”
I spluttered indistinctly, and Jean, perturbed, placed the bundle of fabric on the blanket by the tree.
“No need to get angry,” I said timidly.
“I have never met such a lady as you in all my days,” he muttered and left the canopy. I saw him through the branches, standing with his face to the sea, whistling a tune. I busied myself with the bundle he had left me.
There was a broad, light-colored shift, which I took to be the undergarment, and a loose silk dress in dusty rose.
It had a decorative hem and was adorned with exquisite gold embroidery at the neckline and around the cuffs.
There was also a long ribbon: a narrow strip of fabric consisting of crisscrosses in pink and yellow.
After staring at it stupidly for a while, I figured it was a belt.
In addition, there were two pieces of white cotton fabric—one thicker and a little stiffer, the other airier and almost transparent.
I guessed they were part of the headwear; I’d need help figuring out how to put them on.
I began to remove my clothes but realized I would never be able to open that damn zipper on my own.
“Sir Jean,” I said quietly. The whistling ceased. “I need your help.”
He came back in, and I stood there, my back to him, trying to point to the stuck zipper. “You need to pull it down,” I told him. “I can’t reach it.”
“What the devil is this?” he asked.
“We call it a zipper. Great invention, but sometimes it sticks. Just try to pull it down, okay?”
I felt his long, slender fingers take hold of the zipper, but because he had no idea what to do, Jean may as well have had his hands tied behind his back.
“In the name of the Holy Mother, this devilish contraption won’t budge,” he blurted out after several attempts.
“You need to hold the edges together and then pull gently,” I said.
Brunette appeared under the canopy, wagging her tail, and sat down next to us.
She looked up inquisitively. Finally, Jean succeeded.
A sense of relief washed over me. He froze as my naked back was revealed, and I turned around immediately to face him, my hands clasped to my chest. I wasn’t even wearing a bra.
I cleared my throat nervously and lowered my eyes to the ground.
“I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking right now” was the only logical thing to say.
“I must confess, I know not what to think,” he replied, attempting to get a grip on himself. We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“If your foreignness were less distinct,” he spoke slowly, “and if I had not seen with my own eyes your miraculous appearance and disappearance, I would have presumed you were a repenting whore on a pilgrimage from a distant land.”
“Last time we met, you said if I hadn’t insisted I was a mother and good wife to my husband, you would have presumed I was a bashful virgin,” I reminded him.
“There’s nothing like an experienced harlot to make a man believe she’s a bashful virgin,” he said without thinking, as if he were quoting a famous dictum, and then immediately caught himself. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to suggest that you are indeed a …”
“No problem,” I interrupted him. “I’m neither a harlot nor a virgin; there are a few other shades in between, you know.”
“I do not understand what you are,” he said, continuing to look me straight in the eyes.
“I cannot believe you are a fairy or a succubus. Your talk of a different time, of the future, indeed sounds like the ravings of a woman who has lost her mind.” He fell silent.
I meant to respond, but he raised one finger authoritatively and continued: “But I see your eyes are clear and your speech eloquent, and thus I try not to think about it too much, so that I will not begin to believe that I myself have lost my mind.”
I sighed heavily. “And the zipper? Does that do nothing to convince you that I’m from another time?” I asked in desperation.
“Verily, it is a most wondrous contraption,” he said slowly and took a step forward so he could scrutinize the zipper again.
Jean started to say something but stopped.
He passed his hand over my naked back; I took a deep breath and turned to face him.
Jean lowered his head, kissed me on the lips, and took an abrupt step backward.
“Please get dressed, my lady, before I lose my knightly restraint,” Jean said, and he walked out from under the canopy before I had time to respond.
I removed the red woolen dress—vowing never to wear it again—and slipped the undergarment over my head.
It was wonderfully comfortable, caressing my body in a welcome contrast to the tight woolen dress.
The undergarment fit me perfectly. I wriggled into the pink dress with ease and was sorry there was no mirror to see how I looked. I wound the woven belt around my waist and tied it in a big bow at the back.
“I think I’m almost done here,” I said softly, and Jean returned.
“Most becoming,” he said, impressed by my appearance.
He came to me, undid the bow I had made in the belt and retied it at the front, to the left side of my waist, leaving the two ends dangling down.
“I’m about to lose my own knightly restraint,” I murmured as his hands fluttered over my belly and his fingers tugged the material a little over the belt.