Masquerade

         Darkness. The silence of the tomb surrounded my dying body.  Moist dirt held tight the lid to my coffin, sealing me in.  My nails had sliced the soft velvet lining into ribbons, as I struggled to release myself.  Deep scratches dug into the paint beneath the lining, where I had continued to claw even after the cloth had fallen away.  My nails were bent and broken, blood still dripping from the wounds as I reopened them with every futile movement.  I had tried time and time again to tear my own throat, begging for the release of death, and yet it never came.  As quickly as I would tear the wound, it would again heal, leaving me whole.  Starvation had long since set in, and I could feel any life in me seep out.  I knew my skin had grown gaunt and hung on my bones, flesh and blood rotting away.  The hair I once had loved was now lying in knots around me, falling from my scalp in clumps.  I began to fall into death, and I slowly remembered my life before my Birth, and the many centuries afterward.  As it came flooding back, I slid steadily into the darkness.

Chapter 1:

         “Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!  Come here, now!”  I heard my mother’s voice calling me, and I hurried to her.  I was sixteen years old, and a very happy young woman, born of a wealthy baron.  We lived in northern France, owning a large territory for 300 miles around, our land gifted to us by King Henry II as thanks to my father.  I had been born in 1571, shortly after my family moved into the castle, from which Father oversaw many families, loyal men and women whom he protected.  Our great vineyard stretched to the south of our castle, worked by hundreds of servants and workers.  I was free most days to wander the castle grounds, but I rarely got to go into town and meet common folk, something Mother would have frowned upon had she known I had any desire to do so.
         When I reached my mother, I brushed my hands on my skirts, and she smiled as she held a hand to me.  A half-teasing sigh left her lips, and I grinned and looked into her light hazel eyes.
         “It is nearly Midday, and you, my Angel are covered in mud.  Have you been in the garden again?” my mother asked, waving a finger at me.  Her red-gold hair was braided behind her in a pearl-laced veil, reaching barely to her shoulders.
         “Only for a minute, Mother.  I wanted to talk to my roses.  They are wilting again.”  I had a beautiful garden to myself, full of roses and violets and lilies and every other flower of splendor.  I spent all the time that I could there, and, as my mother had so often brought to my attention, came inside streaked with dirt.  My red linen gown was now brown around the hems and up my sleeves.  It would take the maids all day to clean it.
         “Come along, then.  It is time for you to get cleaned up.”  I knew better than to argue, though we so rarely left the castle, I saw no reason to get cleaned up this early in the day.  Surely I would be out in the garden again soon enough.  As we walked up the path, I heard the drawbridge fall, and I understood why Mother was fussing.  I was dressed in a simple linen chemise, no gown to cover my body, and that linen was soiled beyond any quick repair.  A cluck of Mother's tongue turned my attention to her and she handed me the thick, fur-trimmed cloak she wore, gesturing to me to cover myself.
         “Do we have visitors, Mother?”  I looked again over the lower walls for a banner or flag of a nobleman.  I saw neither.  I found it confusing; we hardly had guests that weren’t of the same social nobility as my parents.
         “Yes, but they aren’t nobles.”  I watched my mother’s face for more explanations, knowing full well she saw the confusion in my eyes.  Her eyes were narrowed slightly, looking westward into the sun, though her lips were turned down, as if she were irritated by something.  “I did not think they would be here so soon.           They are here to deliver your new gowns.  I had Madame Sylvia make you some more.”  I made an excited sound, my eyes watching eagerly towards the gates, ignoring my mother's ire.  I saw a dozen men or more walk towards the entryway, my mother hurrying to meet them.  She tugged her purse from beneath her skirts, and began counting out coins.  When we reached the men, she greeted the foremost one, a tall man with a curling mustache.  I recognized him as Madame's husband, not one of her servants.  He was dressed in a puffed doublet, a somber brown and gray, though his long jacket was a deep mahogany with golden stitching.  His breeches were tight against his lower half, high boots reaching his knees, the clothing fitted perfectly to his broad frame.  He looked his age, however; his blond hair turned silver and dulled around his temples, his mustache and beard already silver with strands of gray. 
         Mother hid her annoyance well as she handed him enough gold to feed our family for a month.  She had never spent so much on clothing, and I knew each gown had to be more expensive than all the ones I had put together.  I did not question why, but simply stared at the many boxes.  I counted quickly, and a warmth grew in my cheeks as I realized there were over twenty boxes, and I was sure each box held gown and undergarments, as well as cloaks and such. My mother was always one to purchase a full outfit, never leaving anything forgotten. 
Madame's husband had caught sight of me, and he had a strange smile on his lips, as if he found me amusing.  I did my best curtsey towards him, though it was difficult with soiled skirts.  He only smiled wider, his voice deep when he spoke.
         “Ah, little one, I remember you when you were nearly half your size.  How beautiful you will look in my wife's handiwork.  She sends you her blessing, and hopes you and your family will come to dine with us within the fortnight.”  I knew he was being polite, as was fitting, and I nodded in return, as did my mother.  We both offered a slight bow of our heads.  Beckoning his men, he turned to my mother again.
         “And where, Mistress, shall I have them take these?”  My mother seemed to think a moment before calling out for two servant girls, ushering them ahead, leading the men towards the hall.  She followed closely, but I stayed back, a few feet behind the last man.  I knew I was going to have to try on every last gown for my mother, so she could be certain they all were perfect before letting the men leave, in case she would have to have them returned for alterations.  Why she still continued such things, I never knew. Sylvia had yet to make a mistake, and I hardly doubted she would start now.
         Yet, I stayed quiet, watching my mother make small talk with Monsieur, to which he politely responded, as we wound our way up the staircases to my bedroom.  I stood just inside the doorway as the men laid box after box on the dressing table.  Mother rang the small bell next to my bed, calling two more servant girls within moments.  She had them escort Monsieur and his company to the sitting room for tea, while the previous two tugged me into the washroom.  It was not that I disliked bathing, just that I wanted to stay and look at the fresh linen and lace my mother was unwrapping.  Our girls were trained well, however, and I knew I would be clean quickly.
         My washroom was smaller than most, with a fire crackling in a small alcove where pots of water hung.  A large tub sat on the far wall, into which the servant girls laid me after stripping me of my dirtied gown.  They scrubbed my body with a small bit of cloth, pouring large buckets of warmed water over my head.  I could smell the light scent of lavender in whatever perfumed bundle they had floating in the water, as well as in the soap they lathered into my hair.  Within minutes, any trace of dirt was gone, my wet hair wrapped loosely behind my head and covered in a small cap.  I wrapped a dressing robe around myself and returned to my mother.
About my room there now laid several of the gowns brought by the men, shades of blue and red, violet and white decorated my chairs and bed.  I quickly scanned the room, gazing over delicate embroidery, pearled veils, laced bodices.  Every gown was paired with an embroidered linen chemise, a matching basquine boned with rushes, and several petticoats. Many pairs of stockings lay near the gowns; garters and caps for my hair completing many of the arrangements.  I noticed a separate box which held new bum rolls, making my mother smile.  “It would not do to have your suitors believe you were unfit for bearing children” she would murmur to me in private. 
         Without a word, I was ushered behind my dressing curtain, and my maids brought me the first gown to try on.  They fitted my chemise over my head, the pale white embroidered with small roses and vines.  The high-necked collar needed arranging after the wires bent in travel, but the girls eventually got the high ruff to curve around my throat..  I wrapped my arms around the wooden stud built for such things while one of my maids laced up my basquine, the ribbed piece of fabric pressing my ribs together until I felt the air come hard and ragged into my lungs.  I could feel the small strips of whale bone digging into my flesh, but I would never complain.  A maiden's place was to show herself at her best for her men.
Stepping aside, I slipped on three petticoats, a standard number for such private dressings, and allowed the gown to be brought up my body from my ankles.  A deep blue, the gown shimmered against my skin, small beads sewn into each seam.  I was forced to show the gown to my mother, who nodded her acceptance, before I repeated the dressing again and again.  It took well over an hour, but I tried each gown on.  There were twenty-four in total, each more extravagant than the last.  I was allowed to keep the original undergarments on, but only because I refused to have a basquine tied more than once a day. 
         The final gown was a pale cream overdress, bringing out my already pale flesh, the sleeves puffed and full against my thin arms.  The golden linen underskirt shown through slashed sleeves and bodice, the skirt open along the front in a downward “V”, to show the same underskirt, hemmed with a shining gold lace.  Long veils were tied into the cap I wore, covering my hair, still damp, and flowing over the back and sides of the gown.  The ruff about my throat was high, but not as high as some I had worn, reaching up to the top of my head, framing my face in the white silk.  A jeweled cordelière hung from the bodice, a thin gold chain reaching nearly to the hem of the gown where hung a startling yellow gem, faceted and inlaid in a thick gold filigree pendant. Mother insisted I wear that one last, as to show Monsieur and his men how lovely I looked in Madame's handiwork. 
         I slipped on my shoes and allowed a maid to line my eyes with kohl, a gift from Father from his many travels to an eastern land he called Egypt.  Mother took my arm, leading me to the sitting room where the men waited.  I bowed low when we entered, as I was taught, and I was aware of every pair of eyes watching me as I stood back to my full height. 
         I was not a tall woman, only a bit over five feet as is measured now, and I had very few curves to speak of.  Mother and I shared our red-gold hair, an oddity in France in those days as much as it is today.  I was, as is said, a natural redhead.  I let my hair grow quite wild, nearly to my waist if Mother did not insist on braiding it around my head.  My eyes were green, a dark color, with flecks of brown and almost yellow, never the same, changing with every glance.  Even without curves, I knew men looked at me as desirable, though very few saw me without bum rolls and petticoats, and did not know I was so waif-like beneath.  In that age, I was an oddity in my form, as curves were something to be cherished.  Women with small waists and ample hips were fawned over, while those with perhaps more normal figures were often cast aside.  Mother refused to have any daughter of hers be seen as less than perfection, and thus I was forced into large petticoats, which were little more than wire or bone covered in a stiff pad about the hips.  My slender waist was made more severe with the addition of the basquine, little more than an expensive corset, laced up my back which pressed my body into the desired shape. 
         Even without full accoutrèments, I could still see the lust in Monsieur's eyes as he stood before me, bowing his head to kiss my knuckles.  My mother seemed pleased as she handed another few gold coins into the hands of Madame's men, offering promise of our visit soon.  So quickly she forgave their early arrival, so won over by rich fabrics and exquisite embroidery.  I gave a low curtsey as Mother and our girls led the men out and back to the front gates, only rising after every man had passed and given a nod in return. 
         I sighed as soon as they were out of earshot, thanking God that Mother had not chosen a fur-lined gown for me to show Monsieur and his men.  Midsummer was upon the land, and the heat was at its highest this time of day.  I watched sunlight stream into the open windows, and I took a seat at my dressing table.  Slowly, I unwound my hair, letting it fall in loose waves down my back.  I knew Mother hated my hair as it was, but I would give a fit if any tried to cut it off.  The silence had grown, and I knew I would not be interrupted for at least a short time, giving me time to brush out the waves of hair. 
         My hands slid through the strands easily, the brush following behind to catch the smaller knots.  I always spent hours brushing and scenting my hair.  A small vial of rose petals sat atop the table, soaking in a thin oil.  I dabbed a bit of the rose oil into my palm, brushing it into my hair easily.  I knew I would not have long before Mother called for me, so I was quick, taking only a minute to look at myself, my hair framing my cheeks and rolling down and over my shoulders. 
Little could be seen of the gown beneath my hair, but that was how I liked it.  My white skin looked nearly translucent against the orange waves.  Fire, that was what my hair looked like, curling around my body.  When my hair was down, my eyes seemed more gold, as if the  specks of yellow and brown overshadowed the green in ways that rarely happened otherwise. 
         Hearing voices at the base of my staircase, I shook my head, pulling my hair back and up, wrapping it about itself.  I had to push several pins into the strands to keep them tame before placing the small cap back over my head, the red-gold splendor all but hidden except a small frame around my face.  As was normal in that era, I wore nothing over my face except a line of kohl around my eyes.  Father was often traveling and I rarely saw him, so the gifts he gave during his returns were always cherished, and it seemed fitting to always have that piece of him with me.  Not to mention, the kohl made my eyes larger than they already were.  Father would say I looked like his little doll, and so I had been for years. 
I had only just finished with my hair when Mother walked into my room, a servant boy at her back.  He was one of the older of them, two years my senior, though one would not have guessed as his boyish cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson.  He was embarrassed, and I could not help but turn to my mother in confusion.  She only smiled, though her grip on the boy's wrist was harsh, tugging him to her side.
         “As you know, my darling, you are of age to receive proposals from the men of court.  Several have already made it known they desire you, and I would not have our family disgraced because you have never had any interaction with the other gender.  Come, come, do not be shy.”  I stood at her words, still not entirely understanding.  I knew quite well that men had sent gifts and baubles to my parents, asking for my hand or simply for a meeting.  Mother had refused up 'til now, saying I was not yet ready, though I knew the true reason was that they feared for my life.  As frail as I was, childbirth would surely be a death sentence without skilled care.  My question must have shown on my face, as Mother continued to speak, her voice slow, as if the explanation should be obvious.
         “I will have you practice certain customs between man and woman, things a woman must be well-versed in to please her husband.  Now come, say hello to Raul.”  The boy jerked slightly in her grip as she spoke his name, reacting as if burned by the mere sound of her voice.  He was truly uncomfortable, but he was our servant, and I was slightly offended by his actions.  Was I not desirable to him, did he not want me?  I had yet to come across a man who did not look at me in some sort of lust. 
         I did as my mother asked, though now more of my own curiosity than her orders.  I stepped until I was within a foot of Raul, and bowed my head to him.  He moved as if to take a step back and hesitated before lowering his head as well.  His movements were jerky, frightened.  Mother released his arm and I almost thought he would dart away, but he stood silent, unmoving as a statue.  Mother murmured direction to me, and I wordlessly obeyed.  A touch here, a caress of his cheek.  A soft kiss laid upon the corner of his lips, another along his lower lip.  I kept my eyes open much to Mother's annoyance, but I wanted to watch his reactions.  He made no movement to pull away, but he also did not respond.  His eyes glazed over, unseeing, pushing his mind away from what was happening to him.  I would not know why for months, finally comprehending when I saw him alone with another servant boy. 
         But as it were, I was here, stuck learning my skills on an unwilling partner, and yet I found no fault in Mother's teachings, nor in the torture of the young boy.  I was his mistress, my family paid for the clothes on his back and the food on his table, he would obey our wishes.  Besides, I was not unattractive, I did not see this as wrong or harmful to him.  He should be proud to have my hands and my lips on him.  To see him move away only made me all the more anxious to lay my hands over his chest or along his shoulders; only Mother's quiet instruction kept me from doing so.  I was her pupil, and I knew better than to do anything beyond what I was told. 
         For the better part of an hour this continued, the boy doing little more than stand still and quiet as Mother led me along the ways of his body.  Now, do not misunderstand.  Mother did not force me to touch more than was necessary.  He was still fully clothed when he left the room, as was I.  Kissing, she had said, was the true test of a maiden, and all else would come with time.  She would not have me spoiled before my wedding night.  I glanced at the doorway, where Raul had darted much like a timid rabbit, now far away from my bedchamber.  I felt no twinge of guilt, no sorrow for the fear I had caused him.  I smoothed my gown over my thighs and sat next to Mother on my bed as she began to tell me of my courtiers.
         “You will meet them all soon, my Angel.  Father has ordered a ball, to be held after the next fortnight, and all sons of nobility will be in attendance, to see you, and offer themselves to your judgment.”  If she said more, I never heard it.  My mind was far too busy processing what she had said.  A ball, held in my honor, with all the potential courtiers in the nearby villages and provinces, every last one here to offer me their hand!