said.
Priscilla when disrobing had not undone the high array of her brown mane of hair. Agilulf began illustrating the place of loose hair in the transport of the senses. “Let’s try.”
With firm delicate movements of his iron hands he loosened her castle of tresses and made her hair fall down over her breast and shoulders.
“But,” he added, “it is certainly more subtle for a man to prefer a woman whose body is naked but hair elaborately dressed, even covered with veils and diadems.”
“Shall we try again?”
“I will dress your hair myself.” He dressed it and showed his capacity at weaving tresses, winding and twisting them round and fixing them with big pins. Then he made an elaborate arrangement of veils and jewels. So an hour passed, but Priscilla, on his handing her the mirror, had never seen herself so lovely.
She invited him to lie down by her side. “They say,” said he, “that every night Cleopatra dreamt she had an armed warrior in her bed.”
“I’ve never tried,” she confessed, “they usually take it off beforehand.”
“Well, try now.” And slowly, without soiling the sheets, he entered the bed fully armed from head to foot and stretched out taut as if on a tomb.
“Don’t you even loosen the sword from its scabbard?”
“Amorous passion knows no half measures.”
Priscilla shut her eyes in ecstasy.
Agilulf raised himself on an elbow. “The fire is smoking. I will get up to see why the flue does not draw.”
The moon was just showing at the window. On his way back from fireplace to bed Agilulf paused. “Lady, let us go out onto the battlements and enjoy this late moonlit eve.”
He wrapped her in his cloak. Entwined, they climbed the tower. The moon silvered the forest. A homed owl sang. Some windows of the castle were still alight and from them every now and again came cries or laughs or groans or a bray from the squire.
“All nature is love ...”
They returned to the room. The fire was almost out. They crouched down to puff on the embers. Now that they were close to each other, with Priscilla’s pink knee grazing his metallic greave, a new, more innocent intimacy grew.
When Priscilla went to bed again the window was already touched by first light. “Nothing disfigures a woman’s face like the first ray of dawn,” said Agilulf. But to get her face to appear in the best light he had to move bed, posts and all.
“How do I look?” asked the widow.
“Most lovely.”
Priscilla was happy. But the sun was rising fast and to follow its rays Agilulf continually had to move the bed.
“’Tis dawn,” said he. His voice had already changed. “My duty as knight requires me to set out on my road at this hour.”
“Already!” moaned Priscilla.
“I regret, gentle lady, but ’tis a graver duty urges me.”
“Oh how lovely it was...”
Agilulf bent his knee. “Bless me, Priscilla.” He rose, called his squire. He had to wander all over the castle before he finally spied him, exhausted, asleep like a log in a kind of dog kennel. “Quick, saddle up!” but he had to carry Gurduloo himself. The sun in its continuing ascent outlined the two figures on horseback against golden leaves in the woods—the squire balanced like a sack, the knight straight, pollarded like the slim shadow of a poplar.
Maidens and servant maids had hurried around Priscilla.
“How was it, mistress, how was it?”
“Oh, if you only knew! What a man, what a man...”
“But do tell, do describe, how was it? Tell us.”
“A man ... a man ... a knight ... a continuous ... a paradise...”
“But what did he do? What did he do?”
“How can one tell that? Oh, lovely, how lovely it was...”
“But has he got everything? Yet ... Do tell ...”
“I simply wouldn’t know now ... So much ... But what about you, with that squire...?”
“Oh, nothing, no, did you? No, you? I really forget...”
“What? I could hear you, my dears...”
“Oh well, poor boy, I don’t remember, I
Priscilla when disrobing had not undone the high array of her brown mane of hair. Agilulf began illustrating the place of loose hair in the transport of the senses. “Let’s try.”
With firm delicate movements of his iron hands he loosened her castle of tresses and made her hair fall down over her breast and shoulders.
“But,” he added, “it is certainly more subtle for a man to prefer a woman whose body is naked but hair elaborately dressed, even covered with veils and diadems.”
“Shall we try again?”
“I will dress your hair myself.” He dressed it and showed his capacity at weaving tresses, winding and twisting them round and fixing them with big pins. Then he made an elaborate arrangement of veils and jewels. So an hour passed, but Priscilla, on his handing her the mirror, had never seen herself so lovely.
She invited him to lie down by her side. “They say,” said he, “that every night Cleopatra dreamt she had an armed warrior in her bed.”
“I’ve never tried,” she confessed, “they usually take it off beforehand.”
“Well, try now.” And slowly, without soiling the sheets, he entered the bed fully armed from head to foot and stretched out taut as if on a tomb.
“Don’t you even loosen the sword from its scabbard?”
“Amorous passion knows no half measures.”
Priscilla shut her eyes in ecstasy.
Agilulf raised himself on an elbow. “The fire is smoking. I will get up to see why the flue does not draw.”
The moon was just showing at the window. On his way back from fireplace to bed Agilulf paused. “Lady, let us go out onto the battlements and enjoy this late moonlit eve.”
He wrapped her in his cloak. Entwined, they climbed the tower. The moon silvered the forest. A homed owl sang. Some windows of the castle were still alight and from them every now and again came cries or laughs or groans or a bray from the squire.
“All nature is love ...”
They returned to the room. The fire was almost out. They crouched down to puff on the embers. Now that they were close to each other, with Priscilla’s pink knee grazing his metallic greave, a new, more innocent intimacy grew.
When Priscilla went to bed again the window was already touched by first light. “Nothing disfigures a woman’s face like the first ray of dawn,” said Agilulf. But to get her face to appear in the best light he had to move bed, posts and all.
“How do I look?” asked the widow.
“Most lovely.”
Priscilla was happy. But the sun was rising fast and to follow its rays Agilulf continually had to move the bed.
“’Tis dawn,” said he. His voice had already changed. “My duty as knight requires me to set out on my road at this hour.”
“Already!” moaned Priscilla.
“I regret, gentle lady, but ’tis a graver duty urges me.”
“Oh how lovely it was...”
Agilulf bent his knee. “Bless me, Priscilla.” He rose, called his squire. He had to wander all over the castle before he finally spied him, exhausted, asleep like a log in a kind of dog kennel. “Quick, saddle up!” but he had to carry Gurduloo himself. The sun in its continuing ascent outlined the two figures on horseback against golden leaves in the woods—the squire balanced like a sack, the knight straight, pollarded like the slim shadow of a poplar.
Maidens and servant maids had hurried around Priscilla.
“How was it, mistress, how was it?”
“Oh, if you only knew! What a man, what a man...”
“But do tell, do describe, how was it? Tell us.”
“A man ... a man ... a knight ... a continuous ... a paradise...”
“But what did he do? What did he do?”
“How can one tell that? Oh, lovely, how lovely it was...”
“But has he got everything? Yet ... Do tell ...”
“I simply wouldn’t know now ... So much ... But what about you, with that squire...?”
“Oh, nothing, no, did you? No, you? I really forget...”
“What? I could hear you, my dears...”
“Oh well, poor boy, I don’t remember, I
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