Monmur - The Enchanted Castle of Oberon
..::...Oberon awaits death in Monmur, but has refused to die before Huon is elected King of the Elves. Oberon heartily welcomes Huon and Esclarmonde, and a party is orgnized where wine is served to all guests from a marvelous Cup.
After the banquet, Oberon asks that his crown and javelin, the symbols of his sovereignty over the empire of the faeries, be brought to him. Huon and Esclaronde are then solemnly crowned sovereigns.
The following morning...before the entire faery world, Oberon declares:
"I cannot bear remaining any longer on Earth;
I want to go to heaven as soon as possible..."
-- Song of Huon
...Similarities between the 'Song of Esclarmonde' of the Huon Cycle and the Grail poems...(did) highlight the crown and javelin, which correspond to the Grail and the blood lance.
...still more shocking is the similarity between (those) who await their freedom and the angels of Parsifal:
"When Lucifer and the Trinity began to war with each other,
Those who did not take sides; worthy, noble angels had to descend to Earth..."
. . . . .
..::...In the rocky castle of Foix, the bards, guests of Arcantua, the chief of the Sotiates, sang Celtic and Iberian cantares de gesta, accompanied by Grecian-style lyres. In the 12th century, when monetary and amorous worries preoccupied the troubadours, they were always welcomed with great hospitality...
Almost all the vassals of the courts of Foix were 'Sons of the Moon', or 'Sons of Belissena', as they also called themselves. They claimed to be descended from the moon goddess Belissena, the Celt Iberian Astarte. On their shields were a fish, the moon, and a tower -- the emblems of the moon goddess, the sun god, and the power of the knights::..
Otto Rahn
Crusade Against the Grail
. . . .
'Diego, I cannot bear it...'
Emlyn and Daryl were seated in a small park near the outskirts of the village, increasingly desperate for some private time.
'It is now, 'official', as you put it!' she huffed, holding Daryl's arm tightly as she inched closer to him, unable to escape the creeping chill of the seemingly never-ending fog bank surrounding them. 'Surely, querido, we may, at last!-- find somewhere we can be alone together!'
Daryl sighed and put his arm about Em's shoulders. 'Cara...I feel no less frustrated, believe me!'
His feelings, in truth, were a mixture of wild desire for their utter abandon in each other, and sheer fright;
of being with Emlyn...his ward...in the here and now, as himself, Daryl -- in all his 56-year-old faded 'glory';(young, strong 20-something Diego, no longer).
-- Also, he had not yet found what he had come to this village to seek.
But, as he told himself, that was something Emlyn would not need to know. He also knew it was something of which she would not approve.
'...Diego...?' Emlyn raised a hand to his cheek, and turned him to her, eyes closed. She opened them, stared long into the eyes of her fiance, and grasping him by the hair, pulled him down into the warmth of her lips...
For a moment, Daryl was lost.
'Cara mia...' He breathed. Gods, they were like kids parked in a Lovers Lane...
'WHEN, Diego...?' Emlyn was near panting.
Daryl looked about wildly, seeing nothing but fog. 'Damn this insufferable, omnipresent frigging fog!' He ran a hand through his hair, damp with dew.
He looked at Josephina, hugged her tight. 'Sorry. Querida, if this were Sonora, we could...oh, head to the hot springs, no?'
Emlyn merely whimpered.
'That's it...' He stood, taking her hands, and Emlyn pressed herself against him, holding him tight. 'We are off! Devil take the fog and this town, we're gone!' They turned and began to retrace their steps to the inn.
'We may not be able to make it back to the City now, but we can go where no one knows us, where I've no business to conduct, and find an out-of-the-way inn.' Daryl picked up the pace, ache spurring him on.
'...Where we may be our gypsy selves, once more!' Em hugged his arm, relieved. 'Oh, toss convention and small-town mores!'
She inhaled deeply. 'I, I just do not know if I can
acclimate back into City life! I still feel too much the gypsy, too much Josephina! I never did fit the gadji mold, and, even less so now. What is to become of us, Diego?
-- We seem still to be neither here nor there...'
Neither Diego or Daryl had an answer to that one.
. . . .
Reaching the inn, Emlyn and Daryl were en route to the front desk when familiar figures suddenly loomed before them.
'Ah, here you both are!' Sebastiao and Raimundo had them cornered. 'We have been looking for you.'
Sebastiao seemed well-pleased. 'We, that is, some friends and I, would like to host a small fete tonight, in honor of your upcoming nuptials, here at the inn. In the back, of course; just a few friends, as were there last evening.'
Daryl held up a hand and began to protest, but Sebastiao put a heavy hand upon his shoulder, 'No, no; we may not be dissuaded!'
He then solemnly put hand to heart: 'I would feel most slighted, should you decline our offer! And,' he paused, eyebrows raised invitingly; even his mustaches seemed to lift somewhat skyward, 'tonight you may discover...something of interest to you, ah, professionally...' A knowing, satisfied smile slid across his pirate lips.
'Oh, Diego...' Em whispered at his side, clutching his arm in a death-grip.
'I, we, are most honored, Sebastiao, but...' Daryl began...
'Good! Good!' The pirate slapped Daryl on the back, 'The festivities will begin tonight around 6 o'clock.' He shook a finger their way, 'Do not be late, you two! Ah, it will be fine, you will see!' And, with that and a bow, the pirate and his first mate took their leave, having stolen away the tete-a-tete the Happy Couple had so looked forward to.
Daryl turned to Emlyn. 'Cara, I, I am sorry.'
Emlyn turned and began to ascend up the staircase to her lonely room. '...I give up...'
--Daryl paused only a moment, and then followed...
. . . .
Closing her door, hurt and outraged, Emlyn was somewhat surprised to find it burst open again...
Not Daryl, but Diego stood there, back against the door, a dark look upon him.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, like St. Nick bent on deliverance. (After all, it was nearly the night before Xmas...) He took off his jacket and flung it far.
Scooping Josephina into his arms, he took her to her narrow nun's bed and set about putting all wrong things to rights...
Kneeling astride his novia, and, placing hands upon soft cheeks of, no longer a seventeen year old, but a woman grown and groaning, he bent to her, finding sustenance at last...
'Cara mia...' he whispered, as he leaned into a kiss, which took hold of them both and transported them in an instant: back into time-out-of-mind, and a space of no-time, and no-where.
Falling...falling...
Diego fell like a snowdrift against Josephina and gathered her to him, pressing her closer than he'd ever dared, in this incarnation. He could not bear being a centimeter apart from his beloved, his other half...
Kisses, kisses like the rains from heaven...love reign o'er me; Daryl gloried in their kisses, remembering songs from days of futures past; 'Recalled to life', he thought, like a Tale from Dickens, as he gained spirit with every instant; insistent upon leaving no space between them.
Emlyn at last let her pent-up emotions flow like a river in full flood; she could bear it no longer and needed Diego like the air she breathed. Closer, closer...that's it...
She fumbled about his collar buttons and ripped his shirt in frustration...Diego grinned and tore his shirt off in haste, then gently lay beside Josephina and carefully undid the buttons of her dress...letting it slide, along with petticoat, to the floor.
They gazed at one another and saw only Diego and Josephina there. As far as each was concerned.
Propped on an elbow, Daryl carefully brushed loose curls from Emlyn's cheeks. Slowly, gently, he kissed her forehead.
Em lay still, quiet, eyes closed.
Then, softly as a raven's wing, Daryl lay kisses upon her eyelids. He slowly, gently pressed feathered kisses upon her earlobes, her neck; nibbling the edges of her open mouth. Gentle, faery kisses lit everywhere but upon her eager lips.
...It drove Em wild.
'Oh,ooh...' She reached an arm behind his head and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his greedily, feeling she could never have enough of him.
'You are the veryist devil...' She told him, aching still.
'...So I have heard...' Daryl Van Horn admitted.
Six of the clock came all too soon.
Daryl had, meanwhile, repaired to his room to dress for the fete, and now rapped upon Emlyn's door.
'Cara, are you decent?'
The door opened, and a voice answered, 'Never.'
He went right in...
Alas, however, he found Em dressed. 'You are looking lovely, my treasure.' Daryl reached beneath her curls and pressed a tender kiss upon the back of her neck, giving her shivers.
'You know how I feel about...all this,' Em sighed. 'I wish never to go downstairs again until we are quit of here!'
She put a hand to his cheek and rubbed against him, purring like a cat...
'Caramba...cara mia...' Daryl growled, taking her arms and spinning her round into a close embrace. 'Do you think it is any easier for me?' He whispered into her ear, 'Have you any idea how long I have waited...'
'As have I, querido...' Another kiss. Then another.
'We must go now, if indeed, we must!' Emlyn broke free, inhaling deeply. 'I suppose...we must?'
'I believe, we ought.' Daryl looked disappointed, but tried his best to rally for the cause. 'I promise you, we shall leave early. By eight, at the latest.'
'I shall hold you...'Em pressed against him, '...to this.'
'Oh, I should hope so...' Daryl's eyes flared.
. . . .
As they entered the pub and restaurant, all seemed much as the night previous, indeed, many of the same folk were in attendance once more. Approaching the great oaken door to the back room, they noted Sebastiao and Raimundo flanking the door's sides like sentinels. Neither were smiling.
'You enter here of your own free will?' Sebastiao asked them.
Mr. Orez, Raimundo, stared darkly at Emlyn; his eyes seemed to pierce her skin.
Odd sort of greeting, thought Daryl...like so much to be found herein this village.
He looked at Emlyn. She nodded.
'We will.'
Sebastiao opened the door. Daryl and Emlyn entered.
The door was shut; the bolt shot, then locked behind them.
Utter darkness greeted them. And that was not all...
Suddenly, they each found themselves blindfolded with a scarf, tied behind their heads.
Strong hands grasped theirs, and firmly wrenched them behind their backs. They felt a silken length of rope bind their wrists together.
A firm hand upon the arms of each, turned them about and urged them forward. They could then discern, only slightly, through the satin scarves, that a single candle had flared to light before them.
'...What --?!' Daryl managed to say, before a hand was clamped over his mouth. And then removed.
'Silencio,' they were told.
Meanwhile, Emlyn had begun to tremble slightly, nerves getting the best of her. It had not been so long ago that they had barely escaped such dangers with their lives...surely it would not all come to an end here and now, after having successfully fled the devils of the desert...
A warm hand found her shoulder, rested there a moment. Her shaking stopped for the nonce.
'It is a long and winding path, from Malkuth to Kether.' A deep and sonorous voice echoed from across the hall...obviously filled no longer with the chatter and laughter of dining and drinking patrons of the previous eve; it was mostly empty except for their occulted captors.
'So, too, is the quest of Parsifal. Many seek the Graal, and many fail.'
'There was once a couple, Huon and Esclarmonde, who were admitted to the castle of Oberon, the faery king. It came about that Esclarmonde became the keeper of the Graal, in Montsegur.' The voice continued:
'Oberon charged Huon de Bordeax thus: to "remain loyal to the beautiful Esclarmonde who awaits you and rejects all pretenders.
'"But any lord of the Graal who seeks love other than that allowed him by the Writing, will inevitably have to pay for it with pain and suffering fraught with sighs..."'
'Diego Rivera!' The voice brought Daryl up short. 'You will look to this woman as your Esclarmonde. She is the Chalice and the keeper of the Graal.'
'Josephina Page...to you is entrusted the Alabastrum de Magdalena. You will keep it safe, keep it secret. And hold fast to your chosen Knight, Diego. The blade of his eternal devotion will guard you.'
'Thus,' the Voice instructed them from the dark, 'shall be your charge. Thus you have chosen. And thus, also, is your task. Votum devotio. So it is written; so shall it be.'
'In pax, procedere...'
...Echoes of the voice died to nothingness. The candle was extinguished by a whisper on the wind...
Hands untied the bonds behind them both, scarves taken from their eyes.
Blackness, all about them...and silence.
'Josephina...?' Daryl reached out a hand to Emlyn. Em caught it as though a lifeline. 'Where...?'
They turned to where they thought the door should be; oddly not a crack of light pierced through the Stygian dark.
Feeling about the walls, at last they located the great door. Daryl found the handle and shot the bolt upward and across. The door gave an inch; they were free.
Entering into the common room, they found not a boisterous crowd of evening diners, but a ghost hall, full of nothingness.
Not only that, but it was certainly no longer evening; not even the gloom of the ever-present fog clung about.
In the stillness and silence, there shone the bright light of a new morning. Nothing moved but dust motes in the golden sun beams which cut stripes across the vacant room.
'Let us away from here at once!' Emlyn's eyes caught Daryl's and he took her hand, hauling her up the stairs at a trot.
'Agreed. I'll fetch Manuel, whilst you gather your things.'
In the now-still and unoccupied village, Daryl, Emlyn and Manuel were the only folk about, as they hurried to the stable and worked quickly hitching Galahad to the coach.
Fleeing the enchanted Village of fog, sopa and secrets, Daryl and Emlyn counted themselves lucky to do so.
"'In pax, procedere...'" Daryl breathed, glancing at Emlyn.
She merely shut her eyes, and took his hand, as she leant her head upon a pillow against the back seat...
They sat together, stunned to silence, watching as the road took them far from this place of mists and mystery.
On a hunch, then, Daryl leaned forward and poked his head from the coach window; as he had suspected, staring behind, he beheld terra incognita reigned there once more, as the familiar spectre of fog began to enclose the once-bright, sunlit village, back into it's inexorable envelope of gray haze and obscurity...
'"Neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring..."' quoth Daryl, as he sat back, wondering about the dubious innocence of questing for Sopa de Peixe.
. . . .
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