One Dove

  From the rampart it appeared as if a thin dark line had been etched upon the dusty sand colored plain.  Nothing of distinction grew out on that parched expanse.  Some scrub, a terrain hugging dark purple thistle clumped together, looking like smugglers conspiring together over the land plotting their next nocturnal exploit; sporadically suffused across the flat surface of the horizon; but that was about it. Only those, along with wadies from the dry seasonal riverbeds, interrupted the otherwise washboard expansive view from the heights of the keep anchored upon one of the three buttes in the valley.  It was a hot summer's day, yet the breeze invoked shivers to those standing at the ramparts.  With squinting eyes, it was clear to see the line was moving towards the sturdy walls of the fortress.  It was only a matter of time before there would be the report of hammered timbers, as a breach would be sought; such was the way of siege.

  Somewhere, someone was destine to befall upon one’s fortress. Then with brute force, or beguile, win passage to bring down all the breastwork protection fearfully constructed safe havens intend.  The land had its testament scars of the futility born by sequestering away and hiding from change.  The world would not tolerate any abomination to resist its will. 

   She stood silent while she watched the ever-creeping procession.  Still too far away to make accurate count of the strength, or the intent, of the approaching host.  Yet in her stomach, she felt the familiar queasiness before battle.  On the nearby earth before the scorched walls of her stronghold lay solemn witness of other invading efforts.  Spewed, torn, and rotting away the proud flags of previous vassals and their offers; discarded shields and broken swords of princes who had dared win entry. All perished, all were vanquished, by her determined force of will.  She was growing weary of this.  No matter the victory, there was yet another host approaching.  Sooner or later they always came. She had labored in her earnest effort to build a sturdy fortress; one where none could penetrate.  In this effort, she had measured success.  She was proud of her cleverness and ingenuity.  She had thrown herself into the building of the walls; thick and high.  She gave no quarter, and none was sought.  She was determined that she would perish in the defense of this keep, rather than take flight or yield to any conditions to surrender. 

   In past sieges there were many attractive offers. Spoken to seduce her, she considered, to have her let her guard down and let the interloper in.  But she was shrewd in ferreting out impostors.  She would exterminate them on the fields before her. She could survey and account for each and every attempt, then smile with satisfaction at her ability to always grasp victory. 

        Yet sorrow was her bane.  She had not deemed her life to be one of seclusion.  She had hopes and dreams like any woman;  those of a tender existence, a loving family, a man to be her comfort; her partner.  But she caught herself time and again falling into that softening.  She'd chide herself for being a silly romantic.  Then once more gird her armor, and become all the more resolute to be stronger…harder…more indifferent to her hearts mewing.  She sighed and placed a gauntlet hand upon the cold stone.  Even in the heat, the stone remained cold.  Like her heart, she told herself, it must remain so; and best to keep it thus.  For compassion is not for the warden of this keep.  It is her task to protect, and hold fast and control this world of rigid demand and appeasement.  Her goal set in the rubble of her hearts demise; she promised herself to never let that happen again as long as she drew breath.  She'd never again trust her heart, nor any other human's.  The cost was just too dear. 

        She shaded her brow, allowing her fair large eyes to open; to discern through the wavering heat waves what this army that approached was like?  He had sent messages of peace.  He had been sending them for some time, as she scoffed at the obvious ploy. 

  “Pretty words" she would sneer between clenched teeth of ridicule. 

  “Always, using pret-ty words." She would chortle at her thoughts of laying traps to ensnare his emissaries.  Each of their corpses now decorated the walls of her labyrinth within the very heart of her granite dungeons; deep in the lower catacombs where her treasures were safe and well hidden. 

  “He will come, and I will break him.  I will discourage him, just as I have all the others."

She uttered as she set her jaw in her determined stance.  Yet….this one….this one frightened her more than others from her past.  She had taken in many, and knew how to cut an exposed throat, or to maim. To cripple long before they were ever near enough to be a serious threat.  But this one; his words found passage to her heart.  Even in the success of her parries he would continue his ovation.  She had bled him too many times to count, yet he returned with renewed kind offers.  She would insult his purpose, his very existence, and still he persisted.  She was concerned, for in her resolve, he was supposed to have given up by now; as had the other less committed adversaries.  Better to find easier plunder elsewhere, they'd surmise, and give respite to her resistance.  Then, once more, she would win the day.  This one; was relentless.  That, and she felt…. destiny breathing down her slim regal neck.

  As the host drew closer she could begin to make out individuals.  She could see horses, and wagons.  His banner, flapping in the wind…. Is it? She pondered as the pall of dread  tightened around her throat like an invisible hand.  Accompanying the dread was a thrill, an excitement, as if, as if…her doubts, though they were strong, if perhaps just maybe they were wrong?  Her brow knitted in thought.  What if this offer for alliance were true?  Could there be just the possible inkling of hope?….

   "No" she'd spoke firmly. 

Her vanguard turned, startled to attention by her vehemence and determination as she spat the word.  They were preoccupied with the movement of the serpentine line, lulled to a passive watching without alarm.  Now, her fear galvanized them, as each set their jaw, and grasped their spears with determined hands, forearms flexing, leather squeaking in perspiration drenched gloves of her praetorians.

        Her hand wavered with a slight tremor, as she placed in on her chin, as she considered the intent of the approaching host.  She could see clearly now…it was the familiar light blue banner with the silver sliver moon.  Her shoulders dropped, yet in her ribcage, a slight flutter…it was him!  And he came, without invite.  Without welcome, and that arrogant fool; assured.  It was his very quiet determination that riled her most, as was the fear in her…along with the hope as well.

  " How come?" she'd ask aloud

  "Why does he persist here?" 

No matter, he was coming this time in force, and she'd take care of this once and for all.  Why was she so angry with his offer?

   She had done all the preparations she could, and would do battle, once more, to drive him off; just as she had done so many times before.  Weariness fell over her as she lowered her head.  Her chin touched her collarbone, she prayed softly, lips moving but for a whisper to any near to be heard. 

  " Let this be clear Lord, and help me see thy will"

Then she felt as if she would sob, so heavy was her heart, so tired of being afraid.  Longing to believe that somebody cared…to the degree she desired; to be sincere.

  "Look!" she heard cry

Then another further down the wall,

 "There!" and further still,

  "Yes!  There!" 

  She leaned out the battlement instinctively trying to get a closer look.  Along the defensive line a roar of voices built as it was discerned clearly for all to see that the host approaching was not bedecked in armor, nor battle leather.  No armaments at all!  No devices for breaching moats, or walls.  No ladders or battering rams. The entire host was clothed in….celebration attire; bearing gifts and colorful banners of every shape and design. There were women and men dressed in elegant garments, playing an assortment of musical instruments.  Children were carrying armloads of flowering bouquets tied with ribbons of every color in the rainbow.  The streamers caught and fluttered in the intermittent breeze that carried merry music.  A flock of white doves had been released, as was the custom of those parts to announce the approach of friend and family.  This vanguard was not an assault line, but revelers…not her fears host.  They were hearts and hands to hold her, to be joy with her.  They came, with him leading not to conquer but share in the gift of their companionship; sharing their love, their lives. 

   The music wafted on the breeze as the tune made any listening smile with ease.  The anticipation of battle dissolved as the shoulders of her guard relaxed.  Laughter of relief replaced the stern grimace of the war stance.  Her soldiers began to grin and slap one another good naturedly on their backs, in congratulations for avoiding peril.  She too was catching the good humor of the moment.  The Party fanned out along the outline of Keep’s moat, waiting for the drawbridge to be lowered to welcome them in.  At the head of the host he rode his steed.  Holding the banner he had carried in so many adventures launched for her, with her inspiration as his star; his hearts guide.  Sitting in his saddle patiently, he looked up towards the tower where she stood. Smoothly he lifted his hand to his brow, and rendered a jaunty salute in her direction, then reined his mount into a short circle, bent to gather a bouquet of spring flowers from a young girl near him, then coming around, placed the flowers to his face, then elaborately blow a kiss and toss the flowers into her moat as token gift of his admiration and affection. The collective eyes of the revelers and her own guards all silently riveted upon her.  For she alone held the command to open the drawbridge. She alone held the reins of the celebrations tempo….The music lowered, then came to staggering halt.  All were silent so that the only sound soon was the restless pawing of horse hooves and the intermittent snapping of the colored pendants banners in the breeze.  In the near distance, one of her guards coughed nervously…silent, but for the whistling wind.  The moment held its breath.

  Is she ready yet to let down the bridge….for the celebrations that awaits?

A lone dove circled the tower in a slow high arc. Seemingly as a heavenly glow amidst the azure, cloudless summer sky.  All of the other doves had departed to their own course, their own ways; save the flight of this one dove….