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."But what?""Give food to travelers, minister to their hurts, tend their animals.” She shrugged.“I have taken only tertiary vows, my dearest dear.I am not a nun as the others are.” She put her hand on his arm, glad that now all he wore was a short Flemish houppelande instead of a surcote with armor beneath it."Oh, Philomine.” He stood still, hearing the movement of the wind in the grasses and the faint scratching of the trees as branches and twigs were jostled by the breeze.“There has never been a day when you have not been in my thoughts.” He paused.“I did not expect that.I assumed it would be one of those encounters that glow for an hour like the forge of a smith, and then fade to nothing but pleasant ashes.It may be that the fires are banked, but they only burn hotter.” He made no apology for his language, as he might have with another, for he thought of himself as a man-at-arms, not a poet.In words that were half melody, Philomine said, “I will never forget; how green the grass was outside the window where we met.” She laughed once, gently and freely.“I have wanted to make a song of it, but try as I will, I can find no more words.""The grass was green,” he agreed, and opened his arms to her embrace.They were silent for a time, content to stand this way, knowing only their nearness."You,” Philomine whispered at last.“You are what is real.And all the rest is.so much smoke.To have you here—oh, my cherished love—is so sweet it is almost unendurable.” Her arms held him more fiercely.“Everything else is shadows; you are the sun."He kissed the corner of her mouth, very briefly, but he did not let her go.“What of God, Philomine?""God, the Devil, they are just other shadows, less than the women I see every day.I touch them, I hear them, I see them, but it means only that they are there and they speak.Your memory is ten times more vivid than that, and to be with you.I am whole.I am immense and glorious.” Their mouths touched."Don't speak of it,” he said when he could speak again.“It's frightening."Her fingers pressed his lips.“No; never frightening.Enormous, perhaps, but.how could this frighten?” She never thought of herself as a bold woman—often she held back in the presence of others and had always been known for her good sense and modest demeanor.What drove her now was more than the intense hunger of her body to know him, the salt of him, the weight of him, but the need to reach his soul.The way her breast was covered was profound knowledge to his hands, a thing to be treasured more than the heft of a worthy sword.The shiver that traveled from her feet to her brow entranced him.The night was chill enough to make them gather their discarded clothes around them as they lay under the trees.In the clover and long grasses they welcomed one another, discovering the limitless delight in caresses and kisses, in looks that pierced the soul; each one different and complete while leading to other joys more fulfilling.No hesitation marred their union, no lingering fear of intrusion or betrayal or shame held them back.They were as graceful as creatures of the sea, carried together as the tide carried waves to the shore, they carried each other with an exaltation that neither had known.Philomine held Tristan on her, within her, caught in the rhythm of his love.Soft, joyous cries like the call of night birds came from her to blend with unexpected laughter.They lay joined long after their first passion was spent, murmuring loving, senseless words, finding their rapture undiminished, savoring the way their emotions and their senses met and blended with all the intensity of their flesh."And tomorrow?” he asked her as the resurgence of his need made her quiver."Hush.""I'll take you with me.” He wanted to say it before the words were gone again from his mind.“I should have."Her fingers trailed over his arm.“You would feud with my father for life, should you take me.Do you want that?""No,” he said, so quietly that she had to move even closer to hear him.“But if it were necessary, then.""Don't.I want no death touching us.That's for tomorrow, my ever-dearest.Tomorrow is a shadow.You are all the world right now, and nothing is.” She did not finish, kissing him instead, rousing herself though his desire."Philomine."Her mouth stopped her name; fingers, lips, a length of leg, the bend of elbow and knee, the rise of hip, each in turn glistened with moonlight and ecstasy in the new-leaved orchard.* * * *It was nearly dawn.They sat together, their clothes draped over shoulders so that they might touch a little longer.Both were pale and tired—both were so exhilarated that sleep would have been impossible."Let me take you with me when I leave,” Tristan said for the third time that night.“I will not feud with your father.I will petition the King to permit the marriage and even your father must bow to that.""But would he?” She shook her head.“You know what he is, and his pride.It is worse since the Plague took my brothers and uncles from him.He rages like a caged lion for the glory he has missed, and the battles he will be denied."But you are no nun,” he protested as he tweaked the soft curls by her ear."No,” she agreed.“I have no vocation.I never said I had.I was and will remain a tertiary Sister.” She reached to touch his face.“You are what I worship, you are my deity.""That's blasphemous.Or heresy.” He said it automatically, but the words meant nothing to him, not as he said them."If it is, then amen to it.Why should I give my life to shadows when you are here?"He took her hands in his.“You say that, and will not come with me?"Their eyes met.“Can you ask that, knowing the trouble that would come? Is it proper to give a god burnt offerings of his own House?” She rested her head on his shoulder in order to continue touching him.“You would hate me for that, in time.Your family would hate me from the first, and they would force you to choose.Not at the first, perhaps, but eventually they would insist, and you would have to decide what to do.I would follow you anywhere, Tristan, Tristan, but I will not go home with you.""Then I will leave France
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