The Reckless Oath We Made - Bryn Greenwood Page 0,146

Château d’If. He was aright in one thing. If I could tame ne my mind ne mine heart, I would make my body submit. Hour upon hour, I built muscle, strained sinew, said my prayers upon a bank of sweat and pain. Let Hildegard say what she might, in that place where there was dark but no night, I thought long on Lady Zhorzha’s milk-white thighs and the flame twixt them. I had beaten a giant, but I surrendered to lust.

My flesh was gratified, but my mind ran to confusion. Let the Witch be silent, but she would hear me. I cursed her, cursed the day she first spake to me, cursed even the day she set me to be Lady Zhorzha’s champion.

When those curses brought no solace, I cursed myself. For I failed Lady Zhorzha. For I failed Sir Edrard. For I failed my mother and father. I was Yvain in the woods, gone mad, and my hair and beard grew to suit my madness. I knew not how to gain an audience with Lady Zhorzha or the Witch, nor how to plead my case.

In my weakest hour, thrown down into the pit, he that was called Dr. Kimber came to me again. I met him first when I was sent to be assessed, and he had declared me an interesting case. I made the plea that brought me to Malvern, rather than submit to his physic. For I recalled the therapy of my childhood, when I was treated as a dumb beast that might be yoked.

“How are you, Gentry?” Dr. Kimber said. “I thought you might finally be ready to talk to me. Segregation can be a great time to set your priorities and make changes. A chance to start over.”

For some while, I could do naught but scratch my neck, seeking calm. ’Twas my wish that he should go, but he remained, and would have me speak. I knew not how to greet him when my mind was undone, and so first I repeated the prayer Hildegard offered up.

Jesu, with Thy precious Blood

And Thy bitter Passion

Aid me to be right and good

Grant me Thy Salvation

“It’s good that you have your faith,” Dr. Kimber said. “It can help you get through your time here, but I’d like to see you do more than just do time. I’d like to see you make progress. I could make things a little easier for you.

“Part of the reason you’re here is that you live too much in your fantasy world. You need to come back to this world, and we don’t speak Shakespearean English here.”

I dared not tell him nigh two hundred years lay twixt Shakespeare and my tongue, and I should not speak at all, if I was not allowed to speak as I would.

“Tell me about this person you’re so angry with. I was here yesterday and heard you begging them to talk to you. You seemed pretty upset. I’m curious what you think this person can tell you.”

Dr. Kimber came in the guise of a confessor, but ’twas for his own curiosity that he would peer into my soul. I dared not speak to the Witch aloud, but I made my daily plea.

“Give me some sign, some word. ’Tis mine own fault that Sir Edrard is dead. Had I listened to thee and come alone to Arkansas, he would yet live. Only tell me what I am to do now.”

After months of silence, the Witch spake: “This physician is a fool and easily fooled to thy gain.”

“I know segregation can be hard, but it’s possible I can get you out of here sooner, if you’re willing to work with me. Gentry, do you hear me? Are you okay?” Dr. Kimber said.

“Yes,” I said. “I am okay.”

’Twas a devil’s bargain, for after that, he came each day. In trade for playing his games, for taking his physic, anon I was given my clothes and my razor and then a book to read. My sojourn there was marked as good time.

True to his word, Dr. Kimber shortened my time of solitary penance, and the gaolers returned me to my cell. Tho small, ’twas blessed with a window and sunlight.

“Look at that,” Nate said in greeting. “Sir Lancelot done eighty days and don’t look too much worse for wear.”

Tho my mind was at ease, I had slept poorly in the dungeon. In the yard, the sun was as a white-hot coal upon mine eyes, but a blessing. I lay