Master Walter

Play that ballad again, Master Walter.

The musician did not reply, but looked at her with great sadness.
Lady Alys could not be called beautiful, but her face was soft and pliant,
a perfect echo of the emotions racing inside her.
Now, when she said “Play that ballad again, Master Walter,”
the young man was told by her face that all her attention was directed elsewhere.

Her eyes kept glancing now at the door,
now at one of the windows
cut in the walls of hewn stone.

A tapestry hung opposite them,
a unicorn roaming in a lush garden.
There were so many flowers around the animal
that the musician always wondered how he could roam at all.
His hooves were entangled in gold-threaded grass,
clusters of birds clung to his legs, chest and mane.
The unicorn was embroidered with white silk.
He looked very proud and well-pleased with himself,
but his horn was sawn off.

With heavy heart, Master Walter picked up his lute and began to play.
He did so mechanically, allowing his fingers to do the job,
while his eyes followed those of Lady Alys.

Tintagel glowed with concentrated light, half-vermillion, half-violet.
There was a handful of barks anchored in the harbour,
and still some were approaching from the open sea.
They also gleamed, but differently, with a silver tint, because of their white sails.

A small garden rustled and chirped outside the house,
but Lady Alys never stepped out of her room at this time. She was afraid of the evening wind.
Master Walter's face began to burn.
He hurried here every evening,
his lute dangling behind his back.
His meagre repertoire was quickly exhausted,
and he spent his days learning new songs and ballads,
even composing new ones,
to the great chagrin of his father,
an honest blacksmith inundated with orders.
Stop!
Lady Alys jumped up from her seat, but then quickly sat down and checked her dress.
Master Walter, is someone coming? Do you hear the steps?
Yes, I do. Someone is coming. It must be Sir Rupert. The musician wanted to put the lute aside, but she made an impatient gesture, ordering him to play.

When noble Sir Rupert entered the room, she was all absorbed in music.
Sir Rupert was a man in his late twenties, with an aquiline nose and a curved, shaven chin.
His upper lip always twitched, and Master Walter couldn't quite get used to it.
He rose, bowed to Sir Rupert in silence and sat down, looking at the floor.

You are late, Sir Rupert.
The voice of Lady Alys was cold, but red spots unfurled all over her face.
I am sorry, my Lady. I was delayed at the stables.

All three of them sat down. Sir Rupert was not a talkative type. He was already in a vile mood and seeing Master Walter only added to his annoyance.
I understand, my Lady has taken to music? This man comes here too often.

A seagull screamed behind the window, and a whole cluster of bird voices suddenly invaded the room. The noise drowned the beginning of Lady Alys' reply.

...me company. It diverts me.
I understand, my Lady needs to be diverted from her thoughts of me?
It is becoming easier each day, my noble Sir.

The sun flashed one more time. The walls glared with pensive, condensed maroon. Three pale faces stood out, untouched by light.

Master Walter, would you play that ballad again? I find Sir Rupert unpleasant to be around.
The musician glanced at the knight with apprehension and reached for the lute.
Sir Rupert's lip was now twitching like a trapped moth. He turned pallid and straightened up.

Master Walter tried to play, but his fingers were shaking. He stopped.

We won't get any music from him. This man, my Lady, plays as well as you sing.
Now Lady Alys' eyes glared with anger. She became quite beautiful now. Her embroidery fell on the floor.
Sir Rupert made an instinctive gesture to pick it up, but Lady Alys said loudly:
I want Master Walter to pick up my embroidery. This is a scarf I was weaving for my noble Sir Rupert in the many lonely hours of waiting for him. I decided to give it to Master Walter when it is finished. Master Walter, why aren't you playing?

And the red falcon, the emblem of my house? I see it is already on the scarf. Will you give it to him, too?
Sir Rupert spoke slowly, sieving each word through his teeth.
I will undo your scarlet falcon. It is only a few hours' work. I will embroider Master Walter's emblem instead. What is your emblem, Master Walter?

The poor young man looked at her with imploring eyes.
I don't have an emblem, my Lady.
Sir Rupert smirked, rose from his cushion and went to the window.
Then I will embroider your lute. Do you agree, Master Walter?

Something told Lady Alys that it was time to stop, but she couldn't. Some force propelled her forward, towards the precipice. A tiny copy of herself sat somewhere deep in her head and observed as her whole being panted and blushed.

Master Walter, I decided to appoint your my personal musician. I will talk to my father tomorrow. You can kiss me.

If, instead of the handsome lautist, there was an ugly dwarf or even a peasant in front of her, she would have said the same, so great was her desire to hurt Sir Rupert.

Master Walter knelt and kissed Lady Alys' dress.
Sir Rupert turned around. He was very pale and his eyes were made of glass.
My Lady would excuse me. I need to go now.

She hardly looked at him and bowed back, barely and with disdain.
Sir Rupert left.

Well now, Master Walter...
Tears hung from Lady Alys' eyelashes.
Well now, Master Walter, play for me.

The sun had disappeared. Flocks of umber birds fizzed above the cliffs. Their wings flared up from time to time, reflecting the rays that still flowed from beneath the horizon, like the last embers of a dead fire.

Master Walter did not play anything, and Lady Alys did not insist.
They sat for a while, listening to the tide. The young man felt that he ought to leave. He stood up, picked his lute from the floor and bowed.
Already leaving? Come again soon.
She said this and turned away. He stepped out of the house.

The breeze was very pleasant. He stood still, his face fanned by the cobalt blue air.
A dark figure separated from the wall of the neighbouring house and approached him.

Master Walter? You are leaving already? And I was coming back when I saw you.
Sir Rupert appeared cheerful. He tapped the musician on the shoulder.
I guess it's late to go in now. Oh well, I'll come tomorrow. Where are you going? Home? I'll walk with you.

They went along the whitish path, along the cliff's edge.
Master Walter wished to take Sir Rupert's hand off his shoulder, but he didn't dare. He tried to walk quickly.
Women, uh? Sir Rupert chortled.
Can't be with them and can't be without them.

Master Walter's face jerked. He hated platitudes. His whole nature revolted against this brute who inspired in him nothing but fear and disgust.

Excuse me, Sir, if I offended you. I...
There is no need for apologies, my friend.
They already reached the edge of the cliff. A couple of sharp rocks stuck out of the silvery froth, as if some clouds had descended too low and became impaled.

And to show you that I am not angry at all... Here, take this.
Noble Sir Rupert pulled out his dagger and plunged it into Master Walter's belly.

The young man felt no pain. He looked at the knight with surprise and wanted to say something. His mouth opened several times, but no words came out. He fell on his both knees and tried to grab Sir Rupert's legs. His hands slipped off. A black stream trickled down from the corner of his lips. The knight stepped behind him, pulled his head back and cut his throat. He did this slowly and with a sure hand, careful to avoid being tainted by the gush of blood.

Master Walter's body began to shudder. His hands waved erratically, as if he wanted to take off like a bird.
Sir Rupert dragged him by his hair to the edge of the cliff and pushed him into the loud darkness.
He didn't hear a thud. The birds continued to shriek, still settling for the night.

The knight looked around, plucked some grass, wiped his dagger and clicked it back into the scabbard.
I am glad to see you, my noble Sir.
Lady Alys wore the same dress as yesterday. Even the expression of her eyes was the same. There was that shining in them, which could easily be taken for either love or anger.
Sir Rupert sat on the couch next to her.

I wonder where my Master Walter is. He always comes by sunset.
The knight's face expressed nothing.
He has probably found a fresh pair of ears among the pig-tenders, my Lady.

The young woman bit her lower lips and looked out of the window.
The sunset was ending. Clusters of birds whirred suddenly,
appearing out of nowhere and scattering like handfuls of grain
being sown by an invisible hand, to sprout at night in the sea
and then shoot their blades of light when the sun returns.
Lady Alys watched the birds for a while.

And yet it is strange. He has never missed our music. Did you see him today, Sir Rupert?
No.
Ah, I hear the steps! It is definitely Master Walter!
No, it is not.
How do you know?
The knight didn't answer.

The steps grew louder. Someone was definitely coming up the road towards the house.

I will scold him. He has no right to be so late.
Lady Alys was trying an expression of displeasure on her face. She didn't do it very well. Hers was one of those faces that cannot change at will.

The steps were quite distinct now. One could hear the grating of pebbles under someone's boots. Then the pebbles got quiet, and the steps continued more softly along the stone path leading to the door.
The door creaked and opened.

Master Walter entered the room.

Ah, here you are! I have already lost all patience. Sir Rupert, it is very rude to be so late, isn't it? Lady Alys' voice rang clear. She glanced at the knight, for she didn't hear his reply.

Sir Rupert sat on the couch, his face so pale it seemed green.
His eyes stared and stared, wide and frozen.
His lip twitched violently as if it wanted to fly off his face and join the birds still darting behind the window.

Master Walter made a step towards the couch.
The knight moaned. Then his mouth cracked open and a sort of a mewl issued forth.
He rose, holding his arms out. His face all crumpled, ugly. His mouth was open and his tongue hang out.
With faltering steps, he moved around the musician and towards the door.
Then he was gone.

Master Walter sat on the couch and looked at Lady Alys.
Their eyes hovered like this,
flashing now and then with faint vermilion.

A swallow flew in through the window,
made a few frantic circles under the ceiling and vanished.

How much longer, Lady Alys?
She didn't reply immediately, for his voice was different. It was heavily tinted by the sunset, it was velvety and calm. Not like before.
She whispered:
For as long as you remember us.

Each time I see less and less of you. Your dress is twilight. You hair is hissing wind. You face darkens with the night. There is more of you in me now than in you. Nothing can hold me here.

Her face glimmered in the half-light like a stray cloud. She shifted on her seat. Her dress rustled up, as does a meadow suddenly awoken by a few hasty steps, and then subsided into the monotonous rumble of the sea.

But Sir Rupert. He sees me.
He does what he does. I am no longer angry at him. Good-bye, Lady Alys.
No, you can't go! Can't you hear that he is coming again? He has already forgotten. He is coming again! Play that ballad...

The young man stood up.
No, Lady Alys. I have played enough.
Master Walter!
Her voice rang with anger and despair.
Can't you hear that he is coming? Play that ballad again, Master Walter!

He did not reply, but turned around and went to the door. Sir Rupert appeared.
Excuse me, said Master Walter, pushed the knight aside and walked out.

Once outside, the musician stood for a while,
inhaling the sea air that now seemed heavy and tasty.
The sunset had already ended, the birds were quiet. Only the sea kept casting clumps of white light to the shore, which was luminous enough to make the stone houses and the ruined castle visible. Not a single house was complete.
Bunches of dry grass rustled in the cracks of the walls. The moon hung very low, with irregular but sharp edges, as if carelessly cut out with scissors from a sheet of dark-blue paper.
He felt that some mechanism inside him, which kept working and pulling this resonant, torturous night round and round, had finally reached the end of its winding and stopped.
He didn't know what to do.
He watched the barks turning one by one into white-capped rocks rising from the water.

The door of the Lady Alys' house opened, and Sir Rupert came out. He walked past Master Walter, paying no heed to him, and leaned against the wall.
Then he detached and began to walk along the path, talking. His arm hung in the air, as if placed on somebody's shoulder.

Master Walter did not follow him, but somehow he could see everything.
Once on the cliff, Sir Rupert pulled out his dagger and made a stabbing movement. Then he stepped around, his hand stretched out, and pulled his dagger across the air, as if cutting a throat. There was no one in front of him, and he seemed a black, awkward marionette, performing a strange dance.

Master Walter didn't want to watch this any more.
He felt something had ended within him.
Master Walter was slowly dissolving
and taking along everything that was whole.
Only ruins remained behind, stones awkwardly piled one upon another,
dry swallow nests lying in the gaps where the stones had fallen out,
the gaps looking like the mouths of dead lions
who had eaten too much of these nests, and choked on them,
and couldn't gulp the last one,
before they expired, their hearts replaced with the irregular pulsation of the tide,
their manes of copper setting into the restless, brightening water,
and their golden skins merging with the afternoon light evenly dispersed by the low-flying clouds and making the hills, and the sea,
and what has remained of Tintagel
shimmer and tremble like patterned muslin flapping in the wind.
His hand was still pressing his chest. His heart ached no more.
It was a strange feeling, devastating at first, that quickly became a bliss.
The camera lay on the ground, between his legs.
Are you all right? Is it your heart again?
A blond woman in her forties was gently holding him by the shoulder.
Tourists crowded around them. Some Asians kept taking pictures.

Oh no, I am all right. Thank you.
He got up and shook dust off his white trousers.
Not a good day for a trip, is it? The sun is hardly seen at all.
I am happy we came. My heart doesn't hurt any more. I can breathe.
She smiled very happily.
It must be the sea air. But we must hurry. The last bus leaves in half an hour, or we'll have to stay for the night.
No, thank you. I have spent enough time here. I don't remember ever feeling so light. I think I can run all the way to the bus.

They went down the hill that seemed grey,
because all the green of the grass had ascended and joined the sun among the darkened clouds.
First drops began to fall into the dry stems, making loud hisses,
like beads of molten lead
falling into the water.