But was he truly in love? Or was he being beguiled, manipulated?

"Nay, True Thomas. I am but a Sylvan princess, come as my grandfather's herald."

There was a thrill of eldritch wonder when he heard her call him "True Thomas." Wait a minute, he asked himself. How'd she get inside my poem?

"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,

"That name does not belang to me;

I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland,

That am hither come to visit thee."

His poetry had always provided him with a frame of reference. For some people there was background music or a theme song playing in their minds. For him it was poetry that provided his theme. Now it seemed as though she'd joined him in "his" poem. As if she'd tuned in to his mind and started speaking to him at that level. Was it empathy or was he being manipulated?

It was as though a lonely man played solitaire in an empty room for his entire life, then suddenly someone sat down and played the game against him. Against him? Or with him? A partner, or an opponent? That was the question.

"What word from the king, fair herald?" he asked, standing up shakily, still holding her hand.

"Lift me down from my steed, Thomas, and I shall apprise thee of deeds done and offers made." Then she slid down to dismount. He reached up and caught her by the hips, setting her down on the ground, light as the frothy swirl of silk that enveloped her.

Her mount turned its head to her and she pushed it away. "Be off with ye, Daisy."

"Daisy?"

"Aye," she said, watching fondly as the dog circled twice and lay down, scratching behind one huge, floppy ear, "she is a great hairy beaste, but I do love her. And now," she continued, looking up into Melville's face as she stood before him, "Thou must know that the Westerness amba.s.sador encountered an accident on his way home last night. A distinctly Sylvan style of accident. Alas, he died of terminal stupidity. 'Tis the only universal capital crime. As always, the judgment was immediate, and final. There was no appeal."

Melville was suddenly gripped with amazement and horror. She looked so beautiful and innocent standing here in the peaceful forest. It was disconcerting to hear this seemingly gentle creature tell him so lightly, so blithely, of the diplomatic dispatch of an amba.s.sador.

" 'Tis truly fortunate that the sad little man refused to allow his guards to be armed. It would have been a shame to have to kill them. They tried manfully to defend him, even though they despised him. What magnificent warriors you do craft in that vast star kingdom of yours, my Thomas."

He could read between the lines. Incessant could well have tried to confront the Sylvan king. In his madness and self-righteous indignation the little mouse might have tried to beard the lion. And he'd been crushed without hesitation. Truly these were alien peoples. He reaffirmed his determination to maintain his distance, to resist her wiles, as she continued.

"O Thomas," she said as she reached out and took his hand. Perhaps she understood some of what was going on in his mind. "My grandfather would not have had it happen thus. But the amba.s.sador's manner was intolerable! In their anger, I fear that some of the King's Own Bodyguards took offense and killed him out of hand. Needless to say, their lives will be forfeit should Westerness demand it."

"Aye," he replied, for what more could you say. The Sylvan king killed the Westerness amba.s.sador, and now he offers the lives of his bodyguards as repayment. Well, no one would miss Sir Percival Incessant, who, in the end, didn't live up to his name. And sometimes there was something to be said for the Sylvans' straightforward approach to life. "I'd guess that Westerness response depends on who writes the reports."

"Aye, indeed, Thomas," she said, nodding her pretty head soberly as she stood looking up at him, now pressing his hand with both of hers. "The amba.s.sador's report had not yet been written. Thou art the senior naval officer, and as the military attach Colonel Hayl is the senior member of the emba.s.sy. 'Tis thy report, and his report that shall be sent to Westerness. However, Sir Percival did write orders dispatching you to duty on the far side of the Westerness star kingdom. The fool. The only Westerness Navy Ship on this side of the Grey Rift, and he would send thee to the far side of the galaxy for ignominious duty. But, Thomas, 'twas written, 'twas seen and known by all, and it cannot be changed. Colonel Hayl believes that to change the order would be to exceed his current mandate and he cannot help us there. He says that if thou art to remain under Westerness authority, thou must go."

If I remain under authority. Is that where this is headed? Maybe Hayl can't change it, but maybe the king wants it to stay that way so that I'm faced with this dilemma and will rebel. Will I?

"Aye, my lady. Thus were deeds done, and they cannot be undone. You spoke also of offers made?"

"Sit next to me upon yon mossy bower, and I shall tell thee, Thomas."

He unb.u.t.toned his jacket and spread it across the moss for her to sit upon. She watched with her head canted quizzically, and then laughed a clear, ringing laugh as she sat upon it. "Dear Thomas, we wear green to be one with our forest, to recline and repose without care. Now thou wouldst interpose thy jacket betwixt the Sylvan princess and her forest. Thou art truly dear and charming."

Then she took his hand and continued. "Now, Thomas, the first part of the offer is from me, not my grandfather. I offer thee my kiss. For if thou wouldst kiss me, I know that thou shalt be mine. I will not require it of ye, thou shalt not be bound, but I know that thou shalt desire to be mine."

Melville looked at her with wordless confusion.

She smiled and stroked his hair. "Thou knowest not our ways, my Thomas, so I shall spell it out. First ye must know that we are sorry for what my Aunt Madelia did last night. She is an eccentric woman."

Eccentric! he thought, So that's what they call it.

"She is twisted and alien even to us, and she must seem powerful strange to thee. We were beginning to fear her. Her minions were fell and skillful, but thou hast well and truly pulled her teeth."

Aye, we killed her teeth, but I fear that we didn't get them all.

"Enough of her. Just know that she is an aberration. Know also that in our lands, Thomas, when a lady gives a man her kiss, she is offering a challenge. She is wagering that she shall beguile the man. 'Tis a weird to us. Perhaps 'tis magic, perhaps 'tis pheromones, perhaps 'tis true love. A high-tech world would dissect it, and they would kill it in their effort to find out what it is. Whate'er it is, I offer thee this challenge. Kiss me, Thomas. After thou hast tasted, thou shalt be mine."

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said;

"Harp and carp along wi' me;

And if ye dare to kiss my lips,

Sure of your bodie I will be."

Alien. Unexpected, unheralded, yet consistently and inevitably, the reminders come. They are alien.

No, this is no creature of heaven. What she desires is to be kissed, worshipped, and adored . . . on earth. But what man of mettle could turn down such a challenge and still respect himself?

"What if I am undaunted? What if I accept this challenge from a charming lady, as any gallant gentleman would? What, O Princess, if I choose to taste the fruit of your lips and am not bewitched? If I'm not beguiled, what then?"

She reached out and stroked his face again, tenderly, with the tips of her fingers, with a tear in her eye as she replied, "Then ye wouldst gain even more honor amongst us, for few can summon the willpower, the resolve to do so. And I should still be, and ever shall be, a true friend to ye. My love is mine to give to whom I will. But if love is offered and rejected, 'tis still love. Otherwise 'twould be some selfish, twisted thing that surely is not love."

"Then for good or ill, for well or woe, I accept your challenge, and 'your weird' shall not daunt me."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,

That weird shall never daunten me,"

Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips,

All underneath the Eildon Tree.

Melville took his monkey from off his shoulder, and gently placed it upon Daisy's head where it scampered about, delightedly probing and exploring the huge, patient beaste. Then he wrapped his arms around his princess, and leaned her back onto his jacket, spread across the deep, soft moss.

The monkey had a very good time. . . .

"Now I am thine," she said, "and thou art mine. Ever and always mine. . . ."

"Now ye must go wi' me," she said,

"True Thomas, ye must go wi' me;

And ye must serve me seven years,

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be."

"Now rest thy head, and I will tell thee what it is that I offer to thee, my True Thomas. . . ."

"Light down, light down now, true Thomas,

And lean your head upon my knee;

Abide ye there a little s.p.a.ce,

And I will show you ferlies three."

"On the one hand, thou canst follow the path of duty to thy Queen and Kingdom . . ."