“They did but change the names—” Puck muttered, “the names—the names.”
Both Rupert and Oberon frowned at him, and the king continued hastily: “When Henry Eighth cast off the rule of Rome, to us’twas naught but mortal politics. The Church of England did not persecute us, nor care to end the Old Ways in the folk. But then—”
“The Puritans arose,” said Rupert, for Oberon faltered at the uttering.
“They did.” The king lifted a fist. No matter his height and handsomeness, it looked strangely frail, almost translucent to moonbeams and encroaching shadows. “That wintry creed where only hell knows warmth; where rites which interceded once for man with Mystery, and comforted, are quelled; where he is set against the living world, for he is now forbidden to revere it in custom, feast, or staying of his hand; where open merriment’s condemned as vice and harmless foolery as foolishness; where love of man and woman is obscene—there’s Faerie’s and Old England’s foe and woe!”
Jennifer gulped, clenched fists, stiffened herself, and piped timidly, “Oh, nay, sir, that’s not altogether true—” None seemed to hear her. Rupert stood stone-massive and moveless; Oberon and Titania kept their eldritch eyes on him; the elven lights danced blue, gold, purple, green, ruby, giving glimpses of tiny frightened faces.
Will Fairweather squeezed her elbow. Puck sidled to the fringe of the glade and around it, until he hunkered near her feet.
Meanwhile Rupert said, to those twain who were like swirls and currents in the moonlight that poured around him: “Your Majesties are not of human blood. What have theologies to do with you?”
Oberon drew his cloak tight, as if a wind had arisen—in the white wet stillness of the night—from which its gauze could shield. He spoke nearly too low to be heard: “A creed which bears no love for Mother Earth, but rather sees her as an enemy which it is righteous to make booty of, to rape, to wound, to gouge, to gut, to flay, then bury under pavement, slag, and trash, and call machines to howl around the grave… that creed will bring that doom.”
His head drooped. “But long ere then, with wonder, woods, and waters, we’ll be dead. Already soot and iron shrink our range. When every churchly minister abhors us and hunts us out… no longer are we strong.
We cannot stand before anathemas. First England, then the world—”
Elven swift, his resolve returned. He straightened and declared aloud: “The Royal cause defends the Old Ways, knowing it or not. Whatever be the faults—the arrogance of King and bishops, squalid greeds of nobles, lump-stodginess of yeomanry and burghers, and gross or petty tyrannies these breed—still, such are found in every human clime; and you’d at least preserve what keeps your kind from turning to a pox upon the globe, and would not scour the Faerie realm from off it.”
He raised an arm. “My spells, my wands, my secret silent wells descry for me a faint ambiguous hope, though not its form, borne by the three of you. Therefore we aided thine escape, Prince Rupert. Now we would give some further help and counsel, if thou’lt accept it. Then we’ve shot our bolt, and can but wait to see where it may strike.”
Though hardly moving, the man seemed to crouch. “By the eternal,” he whispered, “it shakes the teeth and bones when such a gauntlet’s cast before the feet. Yet Arthur took it. Dare I be afraid?”
“I am, I am,” Jennifer almost wept. “What dream has fallen on me? O Mother, come and help me to awaken!”
Will laid an arm around her shoulders. “Thou’st tumbled into eeriness, poor lass,” he murmured hoarsely, “but one grows used to anything erelong.”
“Why must they be this oratorical,” grumbled Puck, “and how, when chins are dragging on the ground? Be done, be off; and if the Roundhead shaves so ye can’t beard him, give his nose a tweak. Howe’er,” he added after a moment, “be sure to wear that gauntlet, Rupert, for’tis a sharp and thrusting nose indeed.” He cocked his head to look at Jennifer. “I feel an inkling thou wilt also ride on this adventure.” He delivered a gunshot slap to her bottom. “Well, thou’rt nicely cushioned!”
She jumped, gasped, and smacked his face in return. He leered. Indignation burning out terror, she stared back toward Rupert. The prince had not noticed the byplay. Standing as if at attention, he said, “Within the bounds of faith and morals, sir—and common sense—I’ll fare by your advice.” A smile drifted across Oberon’s lips. “No doubt we need a careful qualifier,” he said; then, grave again: “I fear I can but send thee on a search, and where and what to seek know only darkly. Thy King, thy cause, thyself cannot prevail unless the Earth herself may fight for thee. So spake the prophesying spells I cast. But how shall Earth, mere soil and rock and water, mere air and life, resist an iron Death?
“There once were words and tokens full of might. It may be these can raise their elements in threatened children of old Mother Earth. But the North’s great magicians long are dust, and naught remains save feeble country witches and such poor powers as we keep in Faerie.” Oberon shook his head, a slow back-and-forth weaving. “And yet,” he breathed, “what oracles that I could seek gave half-heard whisperings about an isle far to the south, in realms I do not ken—for they lie west of Greece where once we dwelt—an isle where was a mighty mortal wizard not many years agone—”
“Hight Prospero?” barked Rupert. “Then thou hast read the chronicle thyself.”
Oberon trembled, like moonglow on a lake when the breeze passes over. “I think’twas he. I could not learn for sure. Nor could my spells and sendings search it out. Belike he left the place invisible, that none might find and use his tools for ill, without foreseeing good would someday need them. Its friendly sprite knows nothing of our woe. If thou couldst fetch those things—”
“Where you have failed,” Rupert asked, “how shall unmagic I discover them?”
Queen Titania flowed forward. Rupert dropped to one knee. “I bow to beauty,” he exclaimed.
She smiled and touched his head. “Nay, to weakness, Prince,” she answered softly. “Thou must have read how I was made a fool.” Casting a mischievous glance at Oberon: “Though if, instead of Bottom, it’d been thee—” (Puck snickered.) She gestured the man to rise. Quickly as had the king, she grew solemn.
“Ye mortals do have powers, do know things, which are for aye denied the Faerie race,” she said. “Among them is the strength of mortal love.” Wistfulness tinged her speech: “Mine ageless, flighty kind knows love… of sorts… but simply pleasantly, like songs or sweets. True human love is not a comedy; time makes it tragic. In those heights and deeps rise dawns and storms beyond our understanding, the awe and the abidingness of death.”
She raised her hands. Abruptly in the fingers of each was a ring. One was larger than its mate, but otherwise they were alike: circlets of silver in the form of an asp which bit its own tail, its head the bezel crowned by a many-faceted jewel.
“These rings which I uphold before thy gaze were forged in Egypt centuries away, by the last sorcerer of that old land, to aid a lordly pair who were in love. So long as each stayed true to plighted troth, the glowing of the stones would guide them on tow’rd where the means of fortune for them lay: the closer aim, the brighter was the light.” Titania sighed. “He proved too weak, too politic for it. The flames went out for both, who failed and died.
“By twists and turns, the treasure came to us, who lack that strength and purity of love which kindles it.”
Like a stooping hawk: “But thou art mortal, Prince! With this for compass, thou canst seek the isle, and on the way know where is help or refuge. Thy right hand wilt thou need for reins and sword. Wear this upon the left.”