Tanith Lee by The Lily Garden

Author:The Lily Garden [Garden, The Lily]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-12T02:17:00+00:00

Camillo sought the worst help he could find, that of strong drink and old volumes.

For three days and three nights he did not venture to invade the garden, and all this absence fed his senses, as the wine and the books did. Soon he was in love with the mysterious maiden, the magician’s doll; lost. For he was in the story now, and what else might happen? I can make no further excuses for him. He was young and life had not been unkind. Those are two weak schools in which to learn the first reality.

On the third night, Camillo returned to the garden, and his plan was made. He would seduce the affection of the maiden— already he suspected her enamoured of him—and then he would induce her to flight. How he should shelter her God knew, he did not. What would become of them, likewise. Some instinct told him that if only he could get her out of the garden, vengeful pursuit would not travel beyond the wall. In this he was partly correct.

It was now a night of new moon, a slender silken light, like thin water.

The key turned with ease, the garden opened. There was no nightingale, but as he descended from the terrace Camillo saw all the lights of the house were out for sure, and the lamp in the arbour lighted.

The girl sat reading from a great book. He was impressed and pleased she had been lessoned in the wise arts. Probably she too had powers.

“Lady,” he said at once, “I’m here to entreat you. To come away with me. My heart is yours!” (Oh, did he not even once tremble at the fulsomeness of those special words!—No he did not.) “You must leave this place of your captivity.”

“I cannot,” said the maiden.

“Yes, if I am your protector. Fear nothing. The holy church is stronger than any dark gambit of his.”

“But all I need is here,” replied the obstinate girl, turning another page idly. “Here I first saw the light, and grew, and here I live.”

“His slave.”

“Perhaps. I do not mind it.”

“Mind it! You must. We are made free by God. Only trust in His name.” (He meant in the name of Camillo, which he had not even told her.) “Trust, and I can take you from this loathsome spot.”

This too was a lie. Never had the lily garden seemed so mystically fair or smelled so lovely.

The girl looked sad. She put the book aside and clasped her hands.

“Tell me of the world beyond the garden.”

Camillo then became the book. He told her of the world—or all he could, for he too had never left the walls of the city.

He spoke of the streets and houses, the mansions of the rich, the churches with their goldwork and the great cathedral. He spoke of the university of Ravenal, its courts and chambers and the library. He spoke of hunting on the hills, which he had never done, the racing of horses and sailing of hawks. He went further.

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