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By evening, the heat of the day turned into suffocating heat, and the air into jelly. Not a cloud in the sky, you can't even count on a refreshing rain. However, Guy was not up to the weather. He wanted to sleep, because tomorrow he was waiting for a very difficult day, requiring strength and a clear head. But, despite the fatigue, it was not possible to fall asleep immediately, and not for long. Here, it would seem, just closed his eyes.
Again the same dream as yesterday, and the third day, and a week ago.
Guy caught his breath a little, then got up, pulled off the kameez, which was at least squeezed out of sweat, and habitually threw it into the darkness. The rest of the underwear also had to be removed, and it met with the kameez in a basket in the corner.
He drank the last of the ale from the pitcher and opened the shutters. The pre-dawn breeze, which entered the little room through the narrow lancet window, slightly cooled the heated skin and brought him a little to himself.
Guy stood at the window, inhaled this wind, listened to the night and thought what he should do next. And with visions as well. Of course, today's dream could be attributed to the full moon. The June moon is called the moon of roses and love, so the dream is just right.
But what about the others, of which there are already quite a few? And along with them, the questions have multiplied.
To tell the truth, Guy didn't have a good dream at first. It’s not that he didn’t dream about them at all, just rarely and all of them are somehow chaotically indistinct. I haven’t seen bright, good and memorable ones since childhood, and as for nightmares, frankly, it’s scarce and don’t understand what. Again, what are nightmares? He didn't even remember them!
However, one dream still stuck in my memory. And if we drag this very strange vision by the ears and other places to subsequent events, and even take into account that it was a dream when King Richard arrived in Nottingham, so that the devils would indulge him in hell with a frying pan ...
And the hero of the vision was a very disagreeable person in every way. Loxley, fuck it.
This dream could, with a clear conscience, be defined as a nightmare, put on a mantelpiece, and even attach a sign. Although nothing special happened in it: they seemed to be talking about something, but Guy did not remember what. And this, God forgive me, "king" was not like himself - neither his usual arrogance, nor impudence, nor those majestic poses, more reminiscent of a buffoon's farce and pheasant tail spreading.
Loxley from the dream, with all the painfully familiar face and other details of his appearance, had other eyes. And that shocked Guy the most.
Although with these eyes in general a strange story happened. Remembering how he saw it for the first time, Guy seemed to have experienced everything anew.
Two men run through the copse, jumping over tree roots and tussocks. One drags a dead deer on his shoulders, the second gets tangled under his feet, stumbles every now and then.
What happened next is more or less understandable, but only until the moment when the one with the deer (as it turned out later, it was Loxley) got hit in the nose.
And something unimaginable began: huge, sparkling and iridescent eyes of the color of young green stared at Guy with amazement and some bewilderment. The mug was an ordinary Saxon, which means it was quite human, but the eyes ... Guy was ready to swear by anything that they did not belong to a human!
Yes, what is it?
From such a trick, Guy already choked, and his reaction was immediately noticed: the amazement in his eyes was suddenly replaced by interest, as if the owner of these strange eyes did not expect to be revealed. And while Guy was dumbfounded staring at - okay, let it be Loxley - from this shaggy effigy, in turn, someone was already intently and with gambling curiosity studying him.
Well, just like a young fox on the first hunt - he saw a pheasant and set out to catch him. And not to eat, but to play. And Guy felt in his gut that he was a pheasant here.
How long these peepers lasted, he had no idea, but it all ended as suddenly as it began. And now the most ordinary Saxon with an uncombed, dirty mop of dark hair is wiping blood from his face, and eyes of the most prosaic color of ripe acorns are screwing up angrily - everything is ordinary and in place, as it should be. What happened now, the devil knows. And after all, there is nothing to blame the vision on - neither in the morning nor the day before, Guy did not drink anything except spring water. And even almost got enough sleep - a rare case.
What does it mean? That's right - it seemed. And the case is closed, that's all. All! Quite all, and do not think more about it.
Only while we were driving to Nottingham did he feel this inquisitive, studying and inquisitive look on his back, and he could not get away from him anywhere.
That was the first time, and after... Guy distinctly remembered how it happened again, when he found himself in a swamp in the company of the scoundrel Loxley.
And one is more mysterious than the other.
However, that strange dream was rather an exception, because all his other visions, on any topic, were a pitiful and unintelligible sight. But Guy was more interested not in them, but in how to quickly wake up completely and do things that they were not going to wait for. The task was not an easy one, especially in autumn and winter - not only did he wake up, he didn’t even want to stick his nose out from under the blanket. But I had to.
That is why the frequent vivid dreams of a very personal content at first greatly surprised him, and then puzzled him. But most of all, embarrassed.
Guy thought, when, in fact, it all started? And he realized that he couldn't say for sure. He had woken up several times before, excited, guessing what kind of dreams he had. But he did not remember the details. And to stutter about the very fact of such dreams is not only stupid, but also risky. Someone will hear, who does not need to hear and will have to confess. Guy learned this from a young age. Repent of sins not committed in reality? What more! In addition, he had long suspected that the monks had a lot of fun listening to confessions, or, worse, openly mocking. Take, for example, their strange questions about ducks. What is it with ducks, you ask? Over time, Guy only confirmed the correctness of his considerations with regards to churchmen.
It is clear that the monks want to have fun, yet the brethren live a boring and tedious life, one might even say hard. But at whose expense is the fun, and will this entertainment come out sideways to him specifically? After all, it could, and easily.
Therefore, Guy tried not to think about dreams of this kind once again. Moreover, he remembered only one relatively well, and even then in fragments. On the one hand, at least something, but on the other ... it did not become clearer. It happened to him after the "wedding" of the sheriff.
Was there a connection here? Guy didn't know for sure. But then he did not attach much importance to sleep - reality was enough. And he was occupied with something completely different, much more important than some shameful dreams.
Guy once again plunged into memories. Hoping, primo, to somehow get distracted, and secundo - suddenly he will be illuminated by an understanding of what is going on in general?
The whole week was rich in events, and that day in particular. But it was not the wedding itself, which Loxley and his gang had infiltrated, but what had happened the day before. Although it was also directly related to the robber. Why does everything revolve around Loxley in one way or another? This, God forgive me, King of Sherwood is just like a rat - it will crawl through everywhere!
On that day, he attacked in order to recapture the sheriff's bride with a dowry, and this was understandable, at least as a motive for robbery. But what happened next, Guy could not explain to himself. And the most terrible thing is that he did not remember one piece of these events absolutely. It was as if a hole had formed out of the blue, and he fell into this hole and fell back from some other, unknown and unreal side. And it all ended again as suddenly as it began…
He grabbed the reins of Lady Mildred's mare and rushed forward down the road, and something big and hairy fell out of the bushes, set out to stop him, but did not succeed. Hitting the head with the hilt of the sword is very effective, although Guy still couldn't figure out why he didn't just slash with the sword. So this damn Loxley would have had one less person even then. Suddenly, an almost unbearable pain cut through his chest, and he flew into some kind of dark bottomless well...
But this happened to his consciousness, and what did the body do? It didn't fall anywhere, but continued to ride the horse and galloped about half a mile.
Guy even arranged an investigative experiment later - two days later he returned to the place where he was ambushed, and drove to the very puddle where he and Loxley ended up as a result. They must have fallen in somehow. How it happened, Guy could not say.
From the fall, he came to his senses and saw something incomprehensible - as if in front of him was again an inhuman! But how is this possible?
The mind that then, that now repeated one thing - it seemed. Guy would have gladly agreed with him, only now the sensations were saying something completely different. And on the way to the castle, he could not get rid of these sensations, no matter how hard he tried.
He could, of course, ask Lady Mildred if she noticed or felt something - women are famous for that. But it was impossible to talk to her, because she, to put it delicately, was in a serious disorder. In short, she didn't care.
As a result, he had to rely, as always, on his own meager memories.
And if, even for a moment, we assume that it was not a dream... What did he see? So. There is a scoundrel known throughout the county, Robin Loxley, and at first glance he seems to be in his right mind, but in fact he is completely sick in the head. This is a fact that has been proven time and time again. But this is not a reason not to catch him, although at the very least it can explain all his statements that he is the Son of Herne and the King of Sherwood. What to take from the crazy?
Whether he himself quarreled with reason or someone "helped" him - the question, albeit an interesting one, is a second one. The first is his exploits in the field of robbery and poaching. As for the cries about freedoms and rights, they are quite understandable. Dad is a rebel, and the apple comes from the apple tree, as usual...
But this is all one side. And there is another one. When they both fell into the swamp mud and Guy accidentally looked Loxley straight in the eyes, it took one heartbeat to understand that the crazy robber was not here. His human body was up to his ears in mud, but he himself was not. Someone else instead. Or something.
Guy tried to find at least some reasonable explanation of how this is possible, and who was there. Maybe this he saw in a dream, when King Richard arrived? What if Loxley really is possessed by the devil?
Then, in the swamp, Guy blurted out to the sheriff the only thing that came to mind - he often heard such excuses. This version could save him from further questions, at least for the first time. And partly it worked - de Reno lagged behind. No, he did not believe, but lagged behind.
A lot of unexplained events have already accumulated. The history of the Jews and all that Guy personally witnessed. A suspicious incident on the way from the abbey to the castle, when he first entered the service of the sheriff. The case with the witch, where there were also enough oddities.
And if you put it all together, the picture turned out to be peculiar.
Guy was almost ready to admit that the devil had taken possession of the Saxon, and this is how he manifests himself. But something prevented him from agreeing with this, and he did not understand what it was.
Yes, the clergy, and above all Abbe Hugo, will insist on possession. They have lately become fashionable to blame everything on the machinations of the devil. And the rest willingly take an example from them, one might say, this has become the proper behavior for any self-respecting Christian. Almost a new rule of courtesy, damn it! But...
As the abbe himself likes to say, where is the proof? Those that are argumentum primarium. There was no indisputable evidence that Guy repeatedly saw the devil in the body of an impudent robber. Evidence to the contrary, however, too.
In general, Guy remained in the dark about what happened then. Although what's there to be surprised - he's a fool.
It was only after all this that he had a dream. Yes, “after” does not mean “due to”, but so many oddities in a row just don’t happen. Even if they are very different. This Guy learned long ago and firmly.
And the dream itself was exactly the same as now.
There was forest around. Or the garden? He couldn't tell for sure what the place was, but somewhere out in the open, because he could hear the birds and the rustle of leaves, feel the wind blow and see the stars. There were so many of them, unusually bright and large. However, something else struck him.
An unbearable heat of desire, a slender flexible body in his arms, a shock of dark silky hair in which he buried his face. And the smell... Freshly cut hay, ripe apples, some berries, and - so strange - a slight bitter aftertaste of campfire smoke. That's all he could recognize in the cloud of scent enveloping him.
The vision blurred, then returned - in fragments instead of a coherent plot. But is it really that important?
He kisses the soft skin of her small back, which is covered with light fluff. He touches the dimples on the sacrum with his tongue, grabs his lips lower, hears a quiet laugh, turning into a contented sigh, more like a moan. And he continues to caress, carefully penetrates his tongue into the hollow between the buttocks … And now they are throwing him over on his back, sitting on top of him. Hot and for some reason hard palms stroke his chest, fingers pinch his nipples, gently outline the edge of the scar on his side and the same one on the inside of his thigh. It's like an unknown lover knows how sensitive the place is.
But what her breasts looked and felt like, Guy could not say. And he couldn't see the face. He wasn't even sure he'd penetrated her, but that didn't matter. Completely different details stuck in my memory, much more shameless and delightful than the spread legs and what is in between.
Even now, the dream did not let go - Guy seemed to feel rounded buttocks under his palms, which he stroked and squeezed, felt the heat and taste of her skin, the smell of her hair.
The silk strands touched his feverish body, gliding from his shoulders to his navel, inflaming the already painful desire even more, and then... Oh, it was clearly not hair or fingers! The wet tongue slowly circled the scar on the thigh and above, but did not touch either the shaft of the penis or the scrotum - the hot breath only stirred the hairs, and it was almost unbearable. But it got worse (although how to look) when the lips closed on the excited flesh: the up and down movements almost drove him crazy - every time he was about to pour out, the unimaginable caress stopped. And it started again!
Guy was lost in conjectures with whom he indulged in love. What woman he knows has hair like that and smells like that?
Whom did he allow to touch him so shamelessly and surely caressed her in the same way? But no matter how much he went over the names in his memory, the answer was - no one.
Maybe Guy just wanted to get her? And I didn't remember anyone either. Out of sheer mischief, he even introduced for a moment the sheriff's bride, Lady Mildred. The hair is long, dark, to the touch, maybe silk. True, his lady from a dream, they seemed to be shorter. And the body... The one he held in his arms in a dream, it was larger. However, this no longer mattered, the main thing was that at the thought of Lady de Brassy, Guy did not even have a shadow of desire. Although she is young and very pretty.
The body immediately responded to the memory of gentle and daring touches in a very definite way, but a ladle of cold water from the wash bowl splashed on the head and shoulders solved the problem. For a while.
Guy stretched out on the bed again and closed his eyes.
These dreams now appeared almost every night. And no matter how many maids he took to bed to quench his lust, there was no sense. The dreams didn't leave him alone.
It seems to be nothing surprising - he is in good health and full of vitality. However, last fall, when he barely survived his wound and was weak as a baby, these visions still came, albeit not as often as now. And to be honest with myself, they brightened up his life in some way.
Was it not because of them that he then established himself in the intention to find a mate for himself in reality? Probably because of them too. But everything ended in failure, and a few days later the dreams returned. And since then they have returned, and not occasionally. And the woman in them was the same, and the place.
What that meant, Guy had no idea.
But from somewhere, a persistent thought appeared that he was dreaming of his true love, and all previous attempts to arrange his personal life had failed precisely for this reason. But does it happen?
And if even for a moment he admits that he has yet to meet his love? Will he recognize her in real life? He did not see the face, although he remembers the hair, the smell. The body... partly. Slender and lithe as a vine, but not small and not at all frail, his lady is undeniably tall. Perhaps not the same height as him, but certainly not to the shoulder and not lower.
Signs were scarce, but one subtlety could be an excellent clue - he allowed his lady to do all these shamelessness with him and was ready for reciprocal. This meant that he trusted her unconditionally, in everything.
And his lover was not embarrassed by anything about him. From this it followed that carnal desire was not in the first place. In general, in terms of this very carnal desire, Guy had an interesting paradox - with all the reputation of a terrible libertine, this desire arose in him far from everyone. Even to the young and beautiful. But if it did, Guy didn't care about a woman's position in society and her appearance. The main thing is that she agrees and also wants him. Or he felt that he could achieve her favor, if not immediately, but later - and he was never mistaken.
But such caresses as in a dream, Guy did not practice with his mistresses. Only once, back in France, I tried out of curiosity. And here it never occurred to him to repeat it.
In truth, he didn't even want to kiss anyone here. They tried to kiss him himself without asking - it was the case. And this exception only proved the rule. His bed was most often warmed by castle maids, mostly from the surrounding villages, that is, peasant women. Less often - free townswomen. Kiss them, right? No.
Another thing noble ladies. But Guy had few of them - so to speak, the cat wept, and such a stingy cat. Only with them, thoughts of those caresses did not arise, but then Guy knew why - in the depths of his soul he was afraid to open himself to someone, even a little. After all, you can only open up, trust someone equal to you.
The maids and townswomen were no match for him. And he was no match for the noble lady. There were enough reasons to think so - its origin. His secret, carefully kept from everyone, a name that does not belong to him by blood. Yes, status too. But his mother arranged a good trick for him, spreading her legs in front of some servant! And her son has to deal with it now.
There was one option that could be a chance to find a serious relationship. Perhaps love too. Of course, there are no guarantees, but ... If only he could get married, then! ..
So at one time his grandfather fell in love with his grandmother. When she already became his wife. And he loved so much that he didn’t need anyone else, even after her death. Guy now understood well what his grandfather had told him many years ago.
But grandfather was lucky, he met the right one when he was looking for a wife. What about his grandson? Is there such a woman for Guy?
Common sense suggested that in his case there were no miracles, there was nothing to hope for. And memory, as proof, mercilessly threw up memories of how his last attempt to arrange his life ended.
Guy sighed heavily, staring thoughtlessly at the ceiling. After all, he swore off to indulge in meaningless "if" and the search for non-existent answers. And here you go again.
The viscous stuffiness of the night gradually gave way to pre-dawn freshness. Soon the sun will rise, and a new day will begin, full of worries and hassle. One thing is good - the sheriff was taken away somewhere by the devils again, and Guy was left to his own.
The sky was lightening, and it was necessary to get up, do business. And to wait for the arrival of an old comrade-in-arms, it is not long left - Midsummer Day is coming soon. And there, having done what you have planned, you can start life from scratch somewhere far away from here.
Who knows, maybe he will get lucky and meet her? And she will react favorably both to himself and to what he can offer her. She will not be embarrassed by his past, the reputation that he is a rootless and poor bastard, he will not be embarrassed by ... bodily flaws. There will be no need to hide anything with her, and it will be possible to speak openly, do anything, if only she likes it, if only she accepts and appreciates his efforts. Even if she does not fall in love, but agrees to share her life with him, he himself will love her only for this. Yes, for the sake of such a relationship, you can turn inside out! If only...
Guy sighed again, understanding with his mind the unfulfillment of these dreams, but for some reason his heart stubbornly continued to believe even in the illusory probability of such a miracle. However, a difficult day lay ahead of him.
***
The man, who was sleeping on a bed of deer skins, shuddered and opened his eyes. And then he lay for a long time, looking at the predawn sky and listening to the chirping of birds. How many of these strange, incomprehensible, almost real and very personal, but from this even more mysterious and exciting dreams he had already seen.
The only thing that depressed him was that he could not understand who he was dreaming of.