Tales of the Tree - In an enchanted park, in the heart of a modern city, an ancient oak whispers the tales of the ages. Listen carefully...you are invited to send us the tales you have heard, whispered on the wind.
It is early spring once more and my branches are again heavy with the first blossoms of May. I have spent many a long year within these gray walls, more years than I can now remember. I cannot recall how I came to be here and, quite honestly, have little recollection of my early life. Perhaps, with the passage of time, memories dwindle and grow dim, but some images remain forever intact, ingrained for eternity within the soul, and I can still envision her with amazing clarity -- a memory as fresh and new as the first day I saw her. Without doubt, it was long ago, but time is a concept I have always had difficulty in understanding. I only know that when the blossoms appear once again on my branches, I remember how she looked on that day as she emerged from the darkness of the tower into the bright sunlight of the warm May morning.
My courtyard was quiet even though it was full of people, many of whom I had seen before but never dressed in such finery. The men were magnificent in brocade jackets studded with sparkling jewels and rich velvet caps adorned with exotic feathers. The ladies were beautiful, attired in satin gowns heavy with embroidery of countless dazzling colors, and the casement windows were draped with banners of crimson and green and cloth of gold.
I heard people tell of how huge fountains had been constructed in the center of town, fountains that would be spouting wine instead of water, and how it had been decreed that, on this day of days, none should be allowed to go hungry and there would be food in abundance for one and all.
The ravens on the green hopped nervously between the small groups who had gathered and were whispering amongst themselves. I could not hear much that was being said, just a word or two here and there, and, despite the merriment with which the air was infused, I sensed an undercurrent of foreboding. Perhaps it was this aura of apprehension which was causing the ravens to behave so strangely, I cannot say. I only know that they were accustomed to people and, as is the way of ravens, usually ignored humans for the most part, but that morning, I felt sure, if they had been able, the ravens would have taken flight. I knew this was not possible because I had seen the falconer trap them with a net and then clip their wings so they could not fly far, but still, on occasion, they would manage the short trip to my lower branches and perch there, squabbling, fighting and jostling each other for a more advantageous position.
With the opening of a door at the foot of one of the smaller towers, a company of heralds, resplendent in costumes of royal purple and black, raised their clarions and trumpeted a ceremonial fanfare. The men standing about my courtyard swept off their caps with a grand gesture and bowed low, while the lades dropped deep and graceful curtsies, their skirts spread wide in picturesque array upon the lush grass. A man stepped out onto the cobbles with an air of great confidence and gaiety. His garb far outshone that of any other there -- man or woman -- with his short doublet of white jacquard, the sleeves of which were slashed with scarlet, and the weighty gold chain set with rubies the size of pigeon eggs which lay upon his broad chest. He laughed heartily, a sound which seemed to originate from deep in his throat, and placed his hands on his hips. Legs astride, he raised his eyes to a set of narrow stone steps which led to a massive oaken door above my courtyard. His eyes were bright blue, matching the deep hue of the sky, devoid of clouds, and he struck an imposing figure, quite obviously well adapted to commanding the attention of those around him.
"I see, as is customary, that the bride is forcing her groom to play the waiting game," he roared as he twisted a small ring crafted of gold about his little finger, "but the wait has been long enough!"
As if on cue, the huge door in the tower swung open and I saw the man, with a regal flourish, doff his white velvet cap, trimmed with satin and a curling ostrich plume, and bend at the waist with his left hand over his heart. The sun toyed with the opulent gems suspended from his neck, giving them the appearance of droplets of rich, red blood, and the and the sun gleamed upon his close- cropped hair which shone like burnished copper.
I heard the rustle of her flowing skirts before I ever caught sight of her. She made her way carefully down the stone steps, elegantly lifting the folds of her lace petticoats to reveal dainty feet encased in white satin slippers. She was small and delicately boned. Her long, thick hair cascaded past her waist and was as dark and lustrous as the plumage of the ravens, now huddled together in a corner of my courtyard, nodding their heads in time to the elfin-faced pansies which bordered the green, and strangely mute for birds normally as quarrelsome as these. Her gown was fashioned of patterned damask, the bodice of which was stiff with stitched decorations worked in threads of silver and gold and tiny flawless seed pearls. Her silk-lined sleeves were long and fell almost to the ground. I later heard it said that she had designed such sleeves herself in order to mask the presence of an extra finger growing on her hand and that the diamond and emerald choker around her neck hid a small blemish said to be the sign of the devil, but I know little of such things. I only know that on that day, her appearance was least akin to that of a devil than any I have ever seen, and if I had been blessed with the gift of speech, I would have declared her likeness to be more that of an angel than a devil. As she glided from the last step onto the cobblestones, the man came forward and took her hand. He was taller than her by far and looked down at her with adoring eyes.
"There is no man in the realm who can consider himself luckier than I this day," he whispered.
She smiled enchantingly and her small oval face, not exactly beautiful but somehow fascinating and compelling, took on a captivation all its own. I wanted to make her aware of my presence and was filled with a longing to have her bestow upon me that charming smile. A wayward breeze danced gaily through my courtyard and I captured it with my fluttering leaves. With an almost imperceptible shudder, I shook loose some of the petals trailing from my flowers and showered her with a scented bouquet. She laughed -- it was like the tinkling of silver bells -- and plucked some of the petals from her hair. She glanced upwards into my branches and then stood on tiptoe to breathe deeply of the fragrant blooms.
"The first blossoms of May," she said in a hushed voice as she led the grand and stately procession through the iron gates of my courtyard into the world beyond.
The sun was low in the sky when they returned and the moon was just beginning to creep over the horizon. The man entered my courtyard ahead of her, stamping his feet like a small spoiled boy who had been denied a sweetmeat and had fallen into an ill temper. The woman swept past him, tearing the jeweled crown from her hair and throwing it down onto the cobbles.
"What could I do, sweetheart?" the man asked, attempting to catch her in an embrace.
She gracefully and artfully eluded him, moving several steps away.
"I saw far too many caps on heads," she declared with eyes flashing fire, "and far too many whispers of the name, 'Katherine.'"
The man sighed heavily and spun on the heels of his buckled shoes.
"The people love her," he snapped, "there is little I can do to stifle that, but perhaps if you made more of an effort to endear yourself..."
The color in her cheeks heightened and resembled that of the dusky roses which grew with such profusion within my small courtyard.
"Endear myself," she laughed bitterly. "Pander to the whims of the rabble and attempt to placate such peasants. I think not! Sooner or later they will have no choice but to accept me and then, perhaps, they will realize how generous and charitable I can be when I am loved!"
She strode purposefully towards the stone steps down which she had descended hours before but caught the toe of her slipper on one of my roots protruding from the soil. She fell heavily against my trunk, disturbing the roosting ravens which flapped to the ground with protesting squawks. I was happy that I could offer assistance to her, but cursed that fact that it had been I that had caused her to stumble. Her hand flew to her stomach and she suddenly gasped with pain. The man hurried to her side.
"What is it?" he asked anxiously as he supported her about the waist.
"It is nothing," she said breathlessly, "the child, it became startled...."
He lay a strong yet gentle hand upon her stomach.
"My son..." he said tenderly.
"Our son," she reminded him, "the first of many -- all of them strong and healthy!"
He swept her up in his arms and she laughed happily as her long fingers trailed over my lower branches, laden with tiny flowers and overflowing with the first blossoms of May.
Several months passed before I saw her again -- possibly even years. As I have said, time has always been an enigma to me, but it was, once more, the month of May. She appeared with a small child whom she was leading by the hand. The child was enchanting; a tiny replica of the woman, but with hair the color of brightly polished copper. The woman seemed tired as she wearily seated herself on a marble bench in a shaded corner of my courtyard and took the little girl upon her lap. The child squirmed uncomfortably within the woman's arms and struggled to be free. The woman lifted the child and held her steady upon the cobblestones until she ceased to wobble. With a somewhat unsteady gait, she ran through the flock of ravens who were, as usual, bickering around my roots over crumbs of bread which had fallen from the baker boy's tray earlier that morning as he crossed my courtyard from the kitchen. The tiny girl chuckled with unsuppressed glee and made a vain attempt to catch the ravens with her small and eager hands as they flew up into her face, totally unafraid of their wildly beating wings, sharp talons and open beaks, which could so easily have alarmed a child twice or even three times her size.
"She has courage, this little one," said a voice from deep in the shadows.
The woman rose from the bench and then sank to a poised curtsey.
"Pay homage to your father, Elizabeth," she instructed the child.
Elizabeth clumsily held out her skirts, bunching the fabric in her tiny fists, and attempted the task but only succeeded in landing with a resounding thud on the fallen blossoms and abandoned breadcrumbs which littered the ground around my trunk. Nevertheless, she did not cry but merely began to scoop up handfuls of petals which she crushed in her hands and then let dribble through her small chubby fingers.
The woman, without rising from her position, looked towards the shadows from whence the voice had originated and replied with a strong and passionate tone, "Yes, as much courage as any male child could hope to possess...maybe even more!"
The man emerged from the dim depths of my courtyard. He was much changed since I had seen him last. He was exceedingly heavier and stouter, with eyes which were little more than slits in his face and a mouth drawn tight and pursed, almost prudish, belying his general air of debauchery.
"But it was sons you promised me, Nan," he said accusingly, "strong and healthy sons. I have need of sons...for the sake of my kingdom."
"Sons!" she exclaimed deridingly as she rose and began to pace back and forth. "You might have sons aplenty if you did not while away your nights in the bedchamber of the whey-faced wench who calls herself my lady-in-waiting! Let us see if that pale and colorless girl can give you strong and healthy sons!"
He took a step toward her, hand held threateningly high. Unflinchingly, she turned to face him and he slowly lowered his hand to his side.
"You will go too far with your arrogant ways one day, Nan," he told her, his eyes glittering. "You seem to forget that as high as I have raised you, I can also cast you lower than you have ever been!"
"Your threats mean nothing to me, Hal," she said contemptuously. "Do what you must, but remember this and remember it well. Any sons you might have with that harlot will never compare to Elizabeth for she had both your blood and mine mingling in her veins and mark my words, one day she will make this kingdom of yours one that you, in your wildest of dreams, could never have envisioned."
His face turned deeply purple and the veins at his temples began to pulse and throb as his hand flew to a small jewel-encrusted dagger dangling from his ample waist, but he left it sheathed.
"By God," he declared, "I was told you were a witch but I refused to believe. A witch you must be indeed...for unless you had cast a bewitching spell on me, I most certainly would never have taken you as wife!"
Elizabeth watched with some curiosity and no little caution as her parents exchanged the heated words, but still she did not cry. Struggling to her feet, she made her way painstakingly to her father and raised her arms towards him. His face softened somewhat and he tossed her high into the air, but her delighted laughter failed to ease the tension with which my small courtyard was steeped. She threw her arms around his broad neck and begged to be thrown again. The man covered his eyes with one hand, almost as though he were wiping away a tear. "Oh, Elizabeth," he whispered into her ear, "why could you have not been a son?"
He kissed her hair, so like his own, and set her back on the ground, whereupon she ran with shaky steps towards her mother.
"This is not the end of the matter, Nan," the man said as he clasped his hands behind his back and strode towards the iron gates. "You can be sure we shall again talk of this."
The woman took Elizabeth into her arms, "But I warrant it will not be on this fine evening, Sire," she told his retreating back. He hesitated for a moment but then squared his shoulders more firmly and continued on his way.
"Come, Elizabeth," she told the child, "the sun is too hot today to stay much longer. Let us go back to the great hall where it is cool and you can play with the new mastiff puppies."
I never saw Elizabeth again, but I remember how she stretched out her tiny hands to snatch at the flowers hanging in sprigs from my branches as her mother carried her away. I tried so hard to convey to her that she could take with her as many of my first blossoms of May as she wished, that they would be my humble gift to her -- a token or a prize that she could come back and claim year after year -- but she seemed unable to comprehend and simply rested her head on the woman's shoulder as she was carried out of my courtyard into the world beyond.
The last time I saw the woman, the month was again May. I have to idea of how many Mays had passed by that time, but something tells me that it could not have been too many since that first one. On this day, however, the sky was filled with clouds and threatened rain at any moment. The walls surrounding my courtyard appeared more grey and dull than they ever had before and everything seemed to be shrouded in shades of gloom -- from the overcast heavens to the dismal cobblestones.
My first glimpse of her took me aback; she was even more delicate than I last remembered her, almost fragile. She was dressed in a drab bombazine robe over a simple kirtle of white linen. She carried a small leather-bound black book in her hand and from her fingers swung a heavy crucifix suspended on a silver chain. Her hair, though still black and glossy as a raven's wing, was no longer loose and flowing but piled high upon her head. She had lost weight, her complexion was pale, almost ethereal, and her eyes were enormous ebony orbs, standing out starkly against her ivory skin, but I thought she had never looked more exquisite.
She descended the stone steps, slowly and deliberately, followed by four ladies similarly dressed in black, and a man who was reading from a book very like the one she was carrying. The wind whipped at her gown and caused a fluttering of my leaves which was most opportune.
"Remember me," I whispered on the breeze.
Her head tilted slightly to one side, much like the posture of the ravens who had settled in a row upon a low parapet and, in an uncustomarily silent manner, were surveying the scene with their small bead-like eyes. Suddenly and sharply, she turned towards me. I was overjoyed. She had heard! A small smile played about the corners of her mouth as her eyes drifted upwards to my branches, heavy with flowering buds.
"A moment, if you will be so kind," she said, seemingly to nobody in particular.
The man ceased his reading and inclined his head. Her heels tapped on the cobbles as she approached. The wind was growing more brisk with every passing minute, but it was not from the chill in the air that I was trembling. She stopped a few paces away and I showered her with a bouquet of petals, as I had on that day in May when I had first seen her. Some of the blooms spiraled on the wind and landed upon the small black leather book she was holding. It seemed as though she pondered on this for a short while before she gently plucked one of the tiniest flowers from the cover of the book and brushed the others aside. She looked at it wonderingly for only a moment and then placed it inside the gold-edged pages of the black book.
"We may proceed," she announced, as she pulled herself up to her fullest height and straightened her back, leading the small and somber procession through the iron gates. The last time I heard her voice, it was hushed and soft and pensive. "The first blossoms of May," she said wistfully as a sudden and violent gust of wind snatched at her parting words and repeated them again and again in ghostly whispers throughout my quiet and now deserted courtyard until the echoes finally faded into the world beyond.