So, remember way back when I said my love life was too pathetic to write about, and that I preferred to render it into charming fiction?  Well, sadly, this is still the case.  After the events of last week, however, I don’t even know if pathetic is even the right word—how about depressing?   Earlier Sleeping Booty suggested (or urged rather) that I write a blog entry about the things that have been bothering me.  And reader, I tried!  But somehow, once again, I have found I prefer to hide behind a fictional façade, it makes things more comfortable.  So please, bear with me, as you read of Lady Mareena and Herman and take from it what you will!

Chapter Three

It has now been long since we last heard tell of Lady Mareena.  When last we saw her she was burning with unvoiced rage.  She had seen Herman with another woman: her Herman!  Wounded in her heart she retreated back into her room in the castle.  She wept, flinging herself on her embroidered coverlets.  Oh Herman, she thought, how could you do this to me?  In her heart she decided, it would simply be for the best if she didn’t talk to him or see him at all.  She was tempted, even, to banish him from the castle but something held her back.  After all, maybe she was wrong: could she trust what she had seen?

Conflicted inside and sore of heart, Lady Mareena chose a middle path.  She distanced herself from Herman.  No longer did she receive lessons from Herman on plant lore and ancient books; no longer did they meet by chance in his favorite haunts.  No, no, she thought, Mareena you must protect your heart.

Herman surely noticed the change.  All of a sudden, it was he not she that was appearing around every corner,  He would even make excuses to come to her room and drop of a poultice or a drought that was hardly needed.  Part of Mareena liked this arrangement: it felt good to be chased, to feel wanted.  Slowly, as the weeks passed, Lady Mareena weakened in her resolve.  She began to forget Herman’s instance of treachery—it faded into a distant memory in the back of her mind.   Still, though, she was unhappy.  Try as might, part of her still longed for Herman—longed that they might have something truer, fuller than what they had now.  Yet, distant though it may be, she still remembered Herman’s words eons ago: of his desire to join a monastic life, of his lack of desire for her and for her love.

She had resolved: friends they must be.  But, Herman made it hard for her—he would suggest strolls in the moonlight and close conversation.  Did he not know how this tried her spirit?  Then, one day in early December, Herman took things too far.  “Please, “ he had said to her, “take riding lessons with me.  The air is so lovely and fresh, it would do you good—and besides, I so desire your company.”  Lady Mareena was taken aback.  Why would Herman petition her to such intimate outings if he did not desire her—did he not care whether he was hurting her heart?

Lady Mareena had given him no answer, but back in her room after their conversation, she picked up a quill and penned a few words:

‘Herman,

I really think it’s best if we don’t ride horses together.  I am afraid that spending too much time together is hurtful to me.  Please understand.

M.’

She sealed the letter, proud of her honesty.  Surely, Herman was a man who would understand—surely he wouldn’t want to hurt her.

The next morning, Mareena sat having breakfast in her room.  She drizzled syrup on her breakfast cakes with contentment—the sun was rising out her window.  Suddenly, however, she heard a light tap at her door.  Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she quickly answered the door.  Low who was standing there besides Herman himself!  With forceful strides he stepped into her chamber.  He bore her letter in his hand.

‘Mareena,’ he said, ‘tell me—what do you mean by this letter?’

Lady Mareena was taken back.  She had thought the letter rather simple.  ‘Well, Herman, you see—I just meant, well, that I shouldn’t see you anymore, at least, not as often as you would like.’

‘I don’t understand, Mareena.’ He answered, looking into her eyes.  ‘It seems as though you still love me—but don’t you understand Mareena?  I am rogue.’

Mareena tried to answer, to say that maybe he wasn’t a rogue, but he never let her finish.    ‘When we talked last summer, Mareena, I told you that I didn’t need a wife.  I no longer see the church as my destiny, Mareena, but I still don’t need a wife.  I don’t want the commitment and the energy.’

Mareena, tittered, she wasn’t sure what to say, other than that her letter was never meant to reopen the conversation again from this summer—it was simply, as it said, a sign that she needed time and distance to heal.  She didn’t get the chance to say this, though because Herman kept talking.

‘So, Mareena, I don’t need a wife—but there is something I want.  I want to end my long years of chastity.  Never before have I laid with a woman beside me.  So, as I see it, we can both get what we want.’

Mareena was shaking.  She couldn’t even comprehend what Herman was offering her.  How could he dare to say such a thing to a lady? Herman took her stunned silence as indecision.  ‘Feel free to think about it, my lady,’ he said, kissing her hand.  He stood up, walking to the door.  As he left, he turned to her: ‘please do still think about horseback riding, my Lady.’  With those last words, he was gone.

Lady Mareena was shaken.  She grasped the side of her bed. What had just happened?  Had her Herman really just spoken to her in that way?  Where had her quiet physician gone, the one who had longed for the church.  Instead, now, he was replaced by this dastardly blackguard!

Herman’s words circled in her mind.  He had been so cold.  So calculated.  She felt sadness, shock, and pain.  Her breakfast was now ruined, and her day ahead.  She canceled her sewing and her lessons for the day and called instead for a hot bath—wishing to wash away the foul feel of Herman’s words.

After she had cried, and bathed, and napped, she was ready for action.  Something must be done.  She had to expose Herman’s offer for the depraved and rancid thing it was.  She picked up her quill.

‘Dear Herman,

I am sending you away from the palace.  Today, you tried to solicit me as a whore.  This is affront to me as a lady and as someone who thought they were your friend.  I can no longer respect you and I no longer wish to see you or talk with you.

Please, go hence from here as quick as you are able.  If you reply to this message I will burn it.

Lady Mareena.’

Sealing it with her initial, Lady Mareena gave over the letter to be delivered to Herman.  With her deed done, she went back to her room and wept over the loss of a friend.