Story entry again

Slowly it dawned on the young woman that the castle, all of it, was hers to explore. There had been a huge feast to celebrate the beginning of some undertaking of great import, and the enormous party she had seen was now off to wherever it was they were going. The men left behind had clearly continued to indulge after the departure of that great majestic company, and now lay in the oblivion of drunken excess.

She made her way to a large door. With some effort she opened it enough to gain entrance; when her eyes adjusted to the fading light, she saw that she was in the great hall. She looked up at the stone ceiling, but the heavens were not painted there. The stone walls loomed heavy and thick and dull. She moved in toward the massive table in the center to see the woven pictures on the walls. The straw beneath her feet was matted and made her progress difficult; but the pictures lured her on. She saw flowers; roses, and lilies too; and pomegranates and pears. There were ladies with tall pointed cones on their heads trailing transparent scarves from the top of them. There were dogs and deer, and in one corner there was a cat chasing a mouse. And the weaving; oh, maybe she could find a way to bring Maggie here, surely the work would be fascinating for her to see, she who never ventured farther than the garden and wove so patiently.

“What are you?” said a smooth and soft voice from somewhere behind her. She jumped; she trembled.

“Turn around and face me please. You are a female sort of thing, yes?”

She turned around then, and standing perhaps the length of two large horses from her was a girl of perhaps 14 years, she thought; but a girl of the Lord’s ilk, that was certain. Her skin was smooth and her hair was braided and done up in such a way as would take the efforts of more than one woman to work. She was dressed in a robe of deep blue, of a finely woven wool; a blue such as that was dear, too dear for anyone but an affluent young lady.

“You are indeed a female, and one I have never seen before, and a rather rude one, mouth all agape with not a sound in answer to my questions. Perhaps you might manage this then: What are you called?”

The young woman closed her mouth, swallowed, and … making sure to speak clearly and to keep the trembling out of her voice … replied, “I am called Helen.”