Scene Thirty Two
Miranda, walking through the forest, meets Proteus. They run towards each other.
Oh, how Miranda had missed Proteus.
Seeing him now, amid the swaying greenery, was like seeing an old friend among strangers, like knowing your home from a long distance, looking through sheets of dreary rain.
“Proteus,” she said.
“Miranda,” he said, and ran towards her, graceful and swift, skipping over roots of trees and jumping over low branches, till he met her with open arms and encircled her and twirled her. “Miranda. I was worried — I feared— the gods know what I’ve feared. But you’re here. You’re well. You’re well, my love.” Thus speaking, he set her down and ran his hands up and down her arms, caressing her. “My love, my Miranda.”
She smiled and cried, and crying she smiled through her tears, like a spring day when rain dims sunshine and sun shines through rain.
Her voice came out, high, strangled, telling him of the centaurs, how the centaurs had tormented Caliban and how they’d insulted her and how the little mortal — the ugly little mortal whom she’d assumed was evil because he was ugly — had come to her rescue.
Proteus held her in his arms and exclaimed at her tale, and kissed her tears as they fell, sparkling and hot, down her face.
She cried, and, her breath coming in gasps, she said, “And he was so kind. So kind, Proteus, and he says you have it all wrong. He says that my father was a villain and taken by the Hunter as the Hunter’s own dog and that it was when the Hunter took him that my father, craven and heartless, delivered me to the Hunter also.
“What father would do that, Proteus? How could you think him good when he did that?”
Proteus's kisses stopped. His arms still around her, he straightened. “How can I explain the mortal’s delusions, Miranda? How would I know what he thinks? Faith, they think little at all, being but little more intelligent than your pet monster, your Caliban.”
Miranda opened her mouth. She looked up and into Proteus's eyes. In them she found uncaring amusement.
How could he speak like that of the mortal who had saved her? How could he speak like that of the troll whom his erstwhile allies had so frightfully tormented?
How could Proteus smile thus at her, so unconcerned after all she’d revealed to him? Why was he not exclaiming over her hurt? Why was he not hurt on her behalf? Why did he not vow to hunt down the centaurs and avenge their offense towards her?
Through her mind, the mortal’s words echoed: a man may smile and smile and be a villain.
She’d been about to tell him of the flag on the castle, the emblem of the Hunter upon it. She’d been about to tell him of the boy, Hamnet, and the strange feelings he awakened in her.
For it was as though she’d met the boy long ago, or in a dream. She knew his golden falcon eyes, his features, his regal bearing. It was as though she’d waited all her life to meet him.
She’d never felt this way about anyone.
All this she was going to tell Proteus, all this reveal and in all this ask for her love’s comfort and his wisdom.
But that bright, uncaring smile, that disdainful of way of referring to the creature who’d saved her, it seemed to stop every thought within her head, every word upon her lips.
“But you’re well,” Proteus said and grinned. “And that’s what counts. All these questions of guilt, all these ancient, blood-soaked feuds can wait. For now, we’ll go to the castle, along the true path, and there find the boy and restore him to his father.” He winked at her. “And then the two of us will go to fairyland, where all might meet you and admire your beauty. And there, by peaceful means or not, I’ll crown you queen.”
Miranda looked at him, at his blithely happy face. By peaceful means or not?
Something there was behind his smile, his easy-going expression, like a shadow behind a curtain, hiding the window that would let in the blessed day.
Like a shadow, this patch of darkness hid who knew what. What thoughts did Proteus have and not share? If he loved Miranda, why hide his mind and heart from her?
Oh, Miranda hated suspecting her lord so, but she did. The words of the mortal came back to haunt her. If ugliness did not mean evil, indeed, why should beauty mean goodness?
What a fool she’d been, what a besotted fool!
All of a sudden, Proteus felt wrong, different, separate from her.
It was as though, both being in love, they’d lain side by side in the same bed but, upon waking, didn’t recognize each other. When they’d lain together they’d been lovers, but the ringing, pale morn found them strangers to each other.
“From fairyland I’ll conjure us food and water, for this water is not safe to drink. And then we’ll set out,” Proteus said. “Soon, my lady, soon, all this strife will be over. We’ll be married, and you’ll be my queen.”
Miranda nodded and forced herself to smile.
Why did his words put a shiver down her spine?