Childhood Images
December 1700 to December 1701
Faces. Lights. A strange smell in the air - like outside, inside. Everyone sounds happy. Everyone except the tall, blond man and the red headed woman. The boy's parents. He watches, confused at the colours and not sure whether to be happy or frightened because of the sound of voices. He can see more people than he has ever seen before: his mother, his father, his father's sister, the red-haired man who seems to be Father's friend, an older man whose wife carries another child, slightly younger than the boy, the woman in the dark dress who normally cares for the boy, and other people he has no memory of. The red-haired man seems fascinated with the boy's mother, but the child feels that if his father were to realise, he would be cross. He seems to get cross with Mother so often.
It is the season of giving. A festival they celebrate even if they do not seem to know why. Father comes over, sits the boy on the floor and starts rustling paper as he opens the gifts. The child sees things appearing, as if by magic, from the wrappings on the floor and chuckles quietly to himself. Happy, not frightened now.
"He's looking well," comments the red-haired man and Father stands up, leaving the woman in the dark dress to finish conjuring gifts for his son.
"Yes," replies Father, a smile on his face, "he certainly seems strong enough."
"Do you intend to stay here while he grows up?"
"Yes, I think so. This is an interesting experience - not one I've had until now - and anyway, I find myself at home here."
Across the room, Mother watches the exchange, a strange expression on her face. The boy looks puzzled for a moment, but then he loses interest as the woman in dark clothes produces a large, white-furred bear from swathes of green and gold paper.
"This is from your father," she says, smiling. She hands it to him and he tries to put his arms around it. He finds he cannot get his hands to meet behind it, but he does his best before laying his head on it and closing his eyes.
"He's getting tired," the woman says to Father and Mother, "I'm going to take him upstairs, if that is acceptable."
"Of course," says Mother from across the room, "I will come up and see him later."
The woman in dark clothes picks up both the child and the bear and walks up the stairs to the balcony, to return the child to the nursery. With what little strength he has, he holds the bear tightly and drifts gently off to sleep.
* * * * *
The greenery is gone, and outside the world has turned white. The boy looks out of the window, held tightly by the woman in the dark clothes. Below him he can hear shouting and voices, and he watches his father and his friends preparing to go riding. The red jackets of the men and the dark dresses of the women stand out starkly against the whiteness. Then he hears footsteps coming up the corridor behind him, and he tries to turn. The woman in the dark dress helps him the last little bit, and they see Mother enter the nursery.
"That will be all, Alice," says Mother. The woman in dark clothes hands the boy to his mother, and then bobs a curtsey and leaves. Mother watches her go, then looks down at the boy.
"Soon," she says, gently, "soon we will leave here for good."
He looks up at her confused. He doesn't want to leave...he is happy here.
"There are far better places," she says, trying to reassure him, "and soon I'll take you to them. Your grandfather wants to meet you."
"You are not taking him anywhere," comes a voice from the door. Father, still dressed for riding, is leaning against the door jamb. His arrival was so quiet that he might as well have been a ghost, "most especially not to his grandfather. Now put the child down and leave."
"You can't make me do that. I am your wife and this is my son."
"We both know how that arrangement came about."
"Am I not allowed to share anything of myself with him?" she asks, upset.
"Of course," he replies, dangerously calm, "but if you try and take him to your father I will pursue you. No child of mine will become a denizen of the Courts."
"You agreed to the bargain."
"I have changed my mind. Now go - you should be seeing to your guests."
Mother looks down at the boy, tears in her eyes, and then lays him back in his cot.
"You will regret this, outlaw son of Amber," she sobs, and leaves. Father watches her go, and then crosses to the boy who is lying there looking up at him, a child's wisdom in his deep green eyes.
"Not as much as you will," he says quietly after her, before returning his attention to his son.
* * * * *
"We are going on a trip," says Mother to the boy as he lies dozing on a chair, curled up around the white bear, the curtains shut against the early Summer sun. His eyes open slightly at the sound of her voice and he reaches towards her. She picks him up, wraps him in her cloak and then seems to stop for a while. He watches, mesmerised, as she is surrounded by rainbow lights, and he sees everything around him change.
They are no longer in the nursery, but in a dark cave, lit strangely. In front of them is an old, old man who smiles when he sees Mother. The boy is scared, and begins to cry, but she tries to comfort him.
"It is good to see you both," says the old man, with a voice that transposes music and breaking glass, "why has it been so long? He is almost a year old, isn't he?""
"That son-of-a-bitch I married wouldn't let me alone with the boy," she replies, bitterly, as she quietens her son, "he means to keep the child for himself."
"That isn't according to plan," says the old man.
"No, but Delwin is more dishonourable than we ever figured him for," she says, anger in her words. Then, before the old man can reply, the boy in her arms feels her go rigid.
"How did they discover I had taken him so soon?" she asks, a touch of despair in her voice, "father, why did you make me do this...?"
The old man reaches for the child, but the strain on the mother means that she cannot hand him over. Then the boy sees other faces before him. His father, his father's sister and one other, somewhat hidden from him.
"Papa," he says, stretching his arms out towards his father. Mother's grip is too tight, and it is hurting. He tries to struggle, and feels hands reach for him. Then his father's sister has him and he cannot see Mother any more. She appears moments later, tears in her eyes, and doesn't seem to notice the other man disappear as she arrives.
"You bastard," she sobs, loosing her hatred on Father, "you didn't have to do that. What harm was I doing?"
"Did you really think that I would let you leave my son with...him."
"He is the boy's grandfather."
"So is King Oberon, and you don't see me running to him for introductions."
"That's because he will kill you if he catches you," she snaps back, trying to dry the tears. Father makes no reply, but the look in his eyes speaks volumes. She turns and leaves, not trusting herself to reply.
* * * * *
Weeks pass. Months pass. Mother and Father seem more unhappy with every passing day, and it makes the boy restless. The woman in the dark dress tries to comfort him, as does Father's sister when she is about. The other woman with the baby girl also seems to be around a lot, and he finds he is thinking of her with fondness. He remembers times spent in her house, rather than his own, and realises that those memories are happier than the ones he has of his home.
Why don't his parents want to be together any more? Why can't they make up their differences? He loves them both, but Father excludes Mother more and more, and soon the boy only sees her occasionally, and never without either Father or his sister present.
"This farce cannot go on," says Father's sister one evening as the last leaves fall from the trees, when they are in the nursery watching the boy's moderately successful attempts to walk unassisted, "for your sake or my nephew's."
"No," replies Father, shaking his head in frustration, "by the year end she will be gone."
The boy hears the threat in his voice, but he doesn't want Father to hurt Mother any more. He toddles over to and tries to tell his father how he feels, but he cannot make himself understood. He sits down and starts to sob in frustration, but still the man does not understand. He calls in the woman in the dark dress to quieten the boy, but he cries all the more. He doesn't want someone else there, he wants his parents.
His father does not realise this, and soon he and his sister have gone, leaving the boy sobbing in the arms of the dark-clad woman.
* * * * *
The boy cannot sleep. In the distance he can hear angry voices, and it upsets him, although he does not know why. He climbs down from the cot - they don't realise he is big enough to do that yet - and crosses to the door. It is a little ajar, so that the woman in the dark dress can hear if he cries. He isn't planning to, though. He just wants to see why the people are shouting.
He toddles slowly down the corridor. It is a long way, but he makes it to the balcony. The wooden hall below him is decked with greenery again, and lit with many candles, but in the centre he can see the source of the voice. Father's hand is around Mother's wrist, and he is angry again, but this time it is worse than usual.
"You bitch. You thought to use our son, my son, for your own aims," shouts Father, squeezing Mother's wrist. She grimaces at the pain of it, but remains defiant.
"I have the right of it," Mother answers, "you would not have a son at all if it were not for me. You agreed to the arrangement."
"I am not going to let you hand him over to the mercy of your thrice-cursed father."
"The boy is mine, and I will do as I please with him."
"The boy, as you call him, has a name. Or isn't that important to you? Perhaps he is just a plaything for you. A tool for your use."
"That is unfair," she replies, furious, "you know exactly how much I care for him."
"You care nothing," he answers, his voice cold and dangerous.
"That isn't true, and you know it. How could I not love my own son? He is as much a part of me as he is of you."
"Not if I have any choice in the matter," he shouts, angrily, "and if you have any sense you will realise that and leave here now, never to return. I know what your game is, and you are not going to succeed."
"I am not leaving without the child."
"You are lucky I don't demand your life, you manipulative cow," he hisses, his very stance transmitting hatred. The child sees his father's hand reach to his side, where he wears his sword.
"You cannot kill me," she says, calm in the face of the storm, "you wouldn't dare. If you did, my father would hunt you down...and he has a very long reach as well you know. There is nowhere where you would be safe."
"I would tell that bastard to go to Hell, if he wasn't already its chief denizen," he snarls in reply. His hand moves from the hilt of his blade and he raises it to strike her. The boy sees her gesture with her fingers, bringing them up in front of her face to protect it. There is a flash and Father is holding his left hand in his right.
"You bitch."
"As you can see, I will stop you if you try to prevent me leaving with the boy." She moves to the staircase which will bring her up to the balcony, to where the child is hiding, tears in his eyes as he sees his parents arguing so violently. Father reaches it first, and strikes out once more. This time he makes contact and she falls back, losing her balance and knocking her head on the ground as she falls. The boy cries out, and his father looks up at him, realising he's there. Their eyes meet, and the child freezes.
"Sand!" yells Father. His sister comes into the hall moments later.
"What?" she asks. She is calmer than either of his parents, but her gaze does not soften when she sees Mother, still getting to her feet from where she has fallen.
"Get him back to bed, now," shouts Father, indicating up at the balcony. She hurries up the stairs, and joins him moments later. Very gently she picks him up and takes him back to his room as he sobs in fear at what he saw. She lays him back in the cot, and hands him the white bear he was given last time the hall was decked in greenery. Then she looks down at him and their eyes meet, and he feels very, very sleepy.
"Don't worry," she says, quietly, "it will all be alright. We will protect you."
* * * * *
Morning. The day that gifts are given. The child wakes from a deep sleep, but the memories of what he saw during the night are still with him. The woman in the dark dress gets him ready for breakfast, and then takes him downstairs. Today he is allowed to eat with the grown-ups, rather than in the kitchen or up in the nursery. It is a special day.
The dining room looks festive once more, as does the large, old black and white hall. In contrast, Father looks grim, not the way he should at all. His sister seems happier, though. The child looks around, but realises someone is missing.
"Mamma?" he asks, confused.
"She is gone," replies Father, his voice cold and level, "and she will not be returning."
The child feels tears welling in his eyes again. She did not even say "goodbye". Father comes over to him, his face softening.
"Believe me, Robert," he says, taking the boy in his arms, "it is for the best."