“Sooth? Thou wilt not send me away from thee?”

“I won’t. I promise.” Her voice was soft, and so by a venture she spake truth. “But how do you know you’ll be ready to defend me with your sword if you haven’t tried it?”

“She meaneth thy prick,” Gawen said.

“Yea, I ken she meaneth my prick.”

“What about your prick?” she said much amused, for I misspoke to her.

I knew not how to answer, for certs I was able, but was I willing?

“Finish your story, Gentry. So what about Pressyne? What the heck was she?”

“Some say Pressyne and Melusine alike weren water nymphs, like as the Lady of the Lake that stole Sir Lancelot when he was a babe.”

“A water nymph!” Lady Zhorzha laughed and coiled upon her side that I might see the phoenix burning upon her limb. I looked, tho Hildegard said, “Filth” and “Slut.”

I took up the tale again, tho ne my liver ne mine heart weren at peace.

“’Twas Melusine first among Pressyne’s daughters who learned why they lived exiled in Avalon. Quick as she knew it, she was wroth and swore to revenge her father’s slight against her mother. She betook her sisters to the place of their birth in Alba, whence they kidnapped King Elynas. They also took his riches, and secured them in a cavern until they might devise their revenge.

“When their mother heard what they had done, she was full wroth. For tho she loved him no more, tho she forgave him not, she would not that his own daughters shew him uncourtesy. She cast them three out and cursed them, but most especially Melusine that had plotted this act against her father. Melusine, like her mother, was cursed to take the form of a monstrous sea serpent, not only in her bath or in birth, but upon each Saturday, from sunup to sundown.

“Exiled from Alba and from Avalon, Melusine and her sisters wandered til, one day, they came upon a lone huntsman in the forest of Poitiers. He was distraught and unburdened himself of his sad tale. That morn, he and the Duke of Poitiers, that was his uncle, had made up a party of twenty men for hunting, and rode into the forest. During the hunt, they became lost. The duke and the young man, who was called Raymondin, weren alone together.

“The boar they sought to hunt burst from the trees. Raymondin raised his blade to strike it dead, but misstruck and swung again. When the boar lay dead at his feet, Raymondin saw that the first hit of his sword slew his uncle the duke. The boar and the nobleman lay side by side, both dead. In grief and confusion Raymondin wandered the forest until he found Melusine and her sisters beside a stream.

“What, he asked of Melusine, ought I do?

“Go, she said, and ride out of the woods. Pretend thou knowest naught of thy kinsman’s fate. Say only that ye two weren parted as well. None shall suspect thee.

“The lady was right, for in the confusion of the hunt, none had seen Raymondin and the duke together. The huntsmen returned to the wood and found the duke. He slew the boar and the boar slew him, they said. They took his body to the cathedral and laid him out. Some days after, Raymondin returned to the forest to thank the lady and entreated her be his bride. She assented but bade him swear never enter her chamber while she was under her mother’s curse.”

“Well, crap. Like mother, like daughter,” Lady Zhorzha said. She prostrated herself and lay her hand upon her eyes as tho she would shut out some horrible vision.

“Yea, my lady. ’Twas many years that Melusine and Raymondin weren steadfast in marriage. She built him up a great castle with mighty fortifications that still stand, called Lusignan. Because of this, Raymondin was made Count of Poitou. Melusine gave him also many sons. All weren strong and clever, but each was in some way disfigured. One with a great tusk like a boar’s. One with ears like a donkey’s. One called Horrible with a third eye upon his forehead. And so on.

“Raymondin loved her, but soon his brothers, who coveted his castle and his crown, cast into his ears suspicion that Melusine’s secret Sabbaths were of evil intent. That mayhap ’twas the devil’s work that her sons weren ugly. Tho he vowed never do it, Raymondin crept to her bedchamber one Saturday and looked into the keyhole. There she was, like her mother before her.”

“Disporting in the bath?” said my lady.

“Yea. Disporting in her bath. Raymondin gazed upon her monstrous tail and her white neck and her glistering scales and her high, round breasts. He saw and he loved her no less. For she was this mysterious creature, and yet she consented to love him and share his bed six days of each week. He went from her bedchamber with all care and silence, and for many years hence, spake no word of what he had seen, and would hear no more accusations against her.

“The sons of Raymondin and Melusine grew to manhood, and weren known as brave knights, most especially he of the boar’s tusk, that was called Geoffrey Big-Tooth. In a while, there arose a quarrel twixt Geoffrey and his pious brother Froymond. Geoffrey would not see Froymond taken into a monastery, for he scorned monks and feared they held sway over Froymond. In a great fury, Geoffrey fired the monastery. It burned and with it, the monks and his own brother.

“When the dire news reached Lusignan, Raymondin wept to hear the evil deeds of Geoffrey, and Melusine took herself to his side to succor him upon her white neck. In his grief, Raymondin remembered how it was that Geoffrey was birthed, from the great scaled nether parts of Melusine. He pushed her from him and cried out, Touch me not, odious serpent!

“Melusine’s grief and anger weren much at war, but she withdrew from Raymondin and said, Thou hast broken the only vow I asked of thee on our wedding day. By cause of the curse upon me, I must renounce thee. Tears upon her cheeks, knowing that the curse must part her from her dear husband, she transformed. Her tail lay in full view before all of the court at Lusignan, and from her back furled two great wings, scaled alike as her tail. Leaving behind two young sons in their cradle, she thrice flew about the castle ramparts, and cried out in grief. She flew thence and was nevermore seen by Raymondin.”

My lady was quiet, and for a nonce I thought she slept, for I feared my tale was not to her liking. Then she drew her hand from her eyes and looked at me, so that I averted my gaze.

“That’s really kind of horrible,” she said. “How hard was it for him to keep that one promise? I mean, it’s not like he thought she was grotesque. He still loved her after he knew she was a monster. They were still making babies, but then he had to throw that in her face. That’s cruel. Her son was dead, too.”

’Twas true, but I had no answer.

“’Tis late, my lady. I wish thee good night,” I said.

“Good night, Gentry.”

As I rose to go, the Witch’s breath fell cold upon my head.

“Art thou content to be a bloodless priest?” she said. “Another Froymond, who felt no heat til the church burned round his ears? This mayhap is the last path that lies smooth afore you. I gave her into thy protection believing thy blood was hot and thine heart strong.”