Chapter 4.1

"You cheated him at dice?" Ison asked.

I shook my head.

"You touched his harp?" Charles asked.

Again I shook my head. Yes, I had touched his harp at times, but with his permission and never in a way that bought offense.

"You touched his wife?" Ison asked.

I was sure I had not done that, and shook my head. My guards had been questioning me ever since we sat at the table, and some of their suggestions made more sense than others.

"You didn't touch his wife," Charles suggested.

I lowered my head into my hands.

"Sing for us!" Lady Victoria called from the high table.

I looked up to see Sharp standing before her table. He bowed, to her, and asked, "Does my fair lady have a request?"

"I would like to hear Lady Dysie."

The other women at the table nodded cheerfully, but Lord Guerney glowered. Sharp seemed not to notice this as he tuned his lute, then held up his goblet as a request for a drink before he began. Elise was the serving maid who answered, smiling at him as she filled his goblet with wine.

She had roses in her hair. The roses from my bouquet.

I scowled into my almost empty mug.

Sharp drank his wine and set it down with a flourish. Then he lifted the lute, played the opening line, and sang out in his clear, sweet voice:

"There once was a king, a very great king,
A king of pride and fame.
He had a lovely daughter so fair,
Lady Dysie was her name.
Oh, the word’s gone up, and the word’s gone down.
And word’s gone to the king:
Lady Dysie’s belly’s gone so round
And she hasn’t got a ring!"

The audience snickered, but Lord Geurney pulled his thick eyebrows together and deepened his frown. If had been in Sharp’s place, I might suddenly found my throat too sore to continue – but that is the gift of hindsight. Sharp continued on, singing the story of a tragic love. The king searched his castle for the lover, and found him to be a lowly kitchen boy, a Heathen with an Outlander mother and a Wizardland father, a boy as unsuited for his daughter as a plowhorse is for a purebred mare. Not only was the boy killed, but the king cut out his heart and sent it, in a golden cup, to his daughter. The last two verses, sung in a high, sweet voice, was her final lament.

"Farewell Father, farewell Mother,
Farewell to comfort and joy.
He died for me, I’ll die for him
Though he was but a kitchen boy.
Farewell Father, farewell Mother.
Farewell my brothers three.
You thought you’d taken the life of one
But you’ve taken the life of three."

A dark song, appropriate for my dark mood. As Sharp smiled and bowed, I drank deeply from my mug – it had been filled without my noticing – and brooded.

***
Author's note: Lady Dysie is an old English ballad that I paraphrased for this story. I've tried to retain the meter while bringing it into modern English -- I can still sing it to Gilligan's Island.