This book pulled off the near-impossible: making me fall in love with a couple who are not forthcoming with their emotions, who struggle to communicate, who are by no means tender-hearted, and whose relationship is characterized by lust and uncertainty. Right until the end, it seems as though Melanthe and Ruck might part ways.
Melanthe, in her efforts to spare Ruck's life at the end of the novel, has been unthinkably cruel to him, denying their marriage publicly. He is furious at her treatment. He tells her he will leave her to serve his former master, because he won't be controlled like a lapdog. She breaks down and begs him not to go. The novel's culminating scene is not of mindblowing sex: it is a negotiation of which tasks they will each be responsible for in their union. She will take care of financial matters, he of building concerns. He teases her that she will not be required to sweep hearths. And even though it seems a very modern negotiation process, Kinsale manages to convey the idea of historically-minded persons coming to this unconventional arrangement of power, between a minor baron and a much-more entitled princess, without betraying their historical outlook on the world.
The divide between the couple is vast. Melanthe has been raised in an environment in which she wields tremendous power, as a woman who has inherited her late father and late husband's lands. But that power is continually threatened by her rivals, who seek to entrap her in marriage unwillingly, or poison her to end her threat to their own power. Two rival spies have been installed within her service. She lacks the means to rid herself of them, since this will turn those she needs to pretend are allies. The entire atmosphere of her household is one in which truth can never be spoken; in which no one is faithful to her, and no one wants her for herself - they only want the advantages she conveys.
Ruck, the character with whom we're meant to sympathize, is the far more likeable half of the duo. He is devoted to his first wife, who is having a rather name-calling fit of prophecy when we are introduced to her. Ruck has taken Isabel to Avignon, seat of the Pope, so that she can confess to her holy visions, which she compares with those of famous female ecstatics. But Isabel's confession goes badly before the clergy. They at least suspect she is a heretic. Ruck is asked by the priest whether he believes in the holiness of his wife's words, and will swear himself to a lifetime of chastity as she commits herself to a nunnery. Melanthe, then a stranger to him, interrupts the session before he can answer. He cannot be trusted to make a vow of celibacy because he looked on her with lust, she tells the clergyman. Ruck's wife is hauled away while he is left in limbo, still married and thus forced into celibacy. Melanthe, in a token of apology, leaves him two large emeralds. With one of them, he buys a horse and armor. He then dresses himself in her colours, mounting the second emerald on his helmet, and swears himself to a lord's service.
This is the first of several scenes in which two characters present us with vastly differing perspectives on the same event. To Ruck, his wife is the apotheosis of feminine holiness, even if he would far rather she remained his wife without her vows of chastity. She represents all that is good and pure. The reader may wonder (as I did) whether Isabel's visions are truly motivated by holiness. Perhaps she was dissatisfied with rural life and wished for a more exciting adventure prophesying; perhaps she was actually mentally ill. Melanthe, recalling the event later, sees a greedy, dissatisfied girl who would throw away a good husband who loved her as no lord had ever loved Melanthe - with whole-hearted devotion.
It is this selfishness and jealousy that drives Melanthe's entire character. She thinks continually of the various untrustable mirrors provided by those the world around her, by the simpering lords who say sweet and courtly things insincerely which she cannot believe. She finds something else in Ruck: a naked longing for her as a woman, apparent even when he is furious at her. It is this she finds so enticing about Ruck - even when he hates her, he still really, really wants her.
Much of the novel unfolds as a detailed working-through of lust, not love. Ruck and Melanthe do not really know each other in some intimate, personal sense, not even at the very end of things. But this feels incredibly true to the world of the characters. How can Melanthe possibly convey or overcome the intense toxicity of the courtly world to Ruck? Conversely, how could Ruck find the will to persevere after thirteen years of celibacy without creating some vision of the world in which a good woman was worth his total self-sacrifice? Of course the only common-ground between the pair would be this raw, unthinking physical lust fraught with danger, as the marriage of a nameless man to a princess is inadvisable and politically destabilizing.
On many occasions Melanthe spurns and provokes Ruck just because she can. There is a thirteen-year gap between the introductory events of the novel and its subsequent scenes. We leave Ruck after he has lost his wife and all his money to the church's demands, rejoining him at a tournament where he has sworn to fight as Melanthe's champion. Melanthe, just for fun, decides to provoke the pompous lord Lancaster, who is trying to court her, into fighting Ruck. Ruck has sworn himself to both Melanthe and Lancaster's service, so he has everything to lose by defeating his own lord. Ruck disarms Lancaster, then injures him badly when Lancaster persists in fighting back instead of surrendering, and is on the verge of taking his lord's life when he looks to her for the command to stop. Melanthe will not relent. She laughs at them both when Ruck stops fighting of his own accord, enjoying their humiliation. She is sent from the city, Ruck along with her, after having embarrassed Lancaster terribly. Ruck, thanks to her behaviour, comes to realize that the woman he has imagined as a paragon of feminine virtue is more like a viper: capricious, ruthless, and completely without affection.
Melanthe accomplishes a rare feat of female villainy by being almost totally unlikable for every second she's on the page, yet still garnering my sympathy. She is absolutely selfish, with maybe a couple of exceptions made for Ruck; once when she gives him jewels, also when she contemplates finding a nice wife for him in thanks for his service to her. She is lazy. After their marriage, she takes to her bed for three days. Ruck good-naturedly teases her about how much she sleeps, even in the wilderness when any number of life-ending things could beset them. Even after Ruck is totally besotted with her and married to her, she still decides to capriciously deny him and play games with him to assure herself he really does want her; to be convinced of her own power. In the dark moments of the book, she calls him a deluded fool and has him shackled in a temporary prison. Yes, she does it to save his life, to save him from a vengeful lord's assassins. Ruck escapes and reclaims her as much in anger over what she's done as out of love for her. He is furious, and also still wildly besotted with her. I have to say I'm with Ruck: I was totally obsessed with Melanthe as a character. Her myopia, self-obsession, childish tantrums - even Ruck wonders how she can be so immature as to throw sand at him in a fit of petulance - speak to the narcissism of a person who has only learned to manipulate, rather than to love, as a survival strategy in a cruel world.
Meanwhile, Ruck, in his long journey towards Melanthe's bed as her sworn husband, is gradually stripped of his own naive delusions about honor and valour. This is an uniformly corrupt world, and only Melanthe seems to realize how deeply and broadly its corruption runs. The priest who tried Isabel sent her off to be killed for heresy while telling Ruck she was alive and demanding a yearly payment for her upkeep at the abbey. When Melanthe and Ruck arrive at Wolfscar, his late father's castle, Melanthe not unreasonably points out that he has allowed a group of minstrels to take over the estate and live there for free, who spend most of their time in circus-like amusements instead of making the estate profitable.She's accused of trying to overthrow them, but she has a point. On their journey to Wolfscar, Melanthe and Ruck seek hospitality at the estate of a lord, who turns out to be a usurper, posing as the ruling lord's brother. Everyone in the world of the book presents themselves with some degree of falseness, taking advantage of the fluid, hearsay-susceptible nature of medieval life to lie, cheat and estate-squat their way to profit, or, at least, survival. Ruck alone is honest in declaring himself a man of no name. He cannot prove his claim until he is finally recognized by the king, who confuses Ruck for his father. Even in a confession of truth, Ruck is thought to be someone he is not.
The central scene of this novel is a beautiful sequence of events that unfolds as Melanthe and Ruck progress on their roadtrip to Wolfscar. She asks Ruck to amuse her, so he tells her a story. It is a recurring joke that his former Lord, Lancaster, sent him off to "hunt dragons" all the time; a harmless amusement to waste his time with its futility. Ruck describes to Melanthe how, in a place very near to here, he did come across the signs of a dragon. He heard a roaring like its breath. He smelled a vile scent that could only be dragon-ish in origin. Melanthe, standing-in for the modern reader, posits several natural explanations for this phenomena. But no - he saw the dragon with his own eyes, he tells her. He slayed it himself. Producing some wonderful, alliteration-rich and rhyming middle-English verse, he speaks of his own triumph. He stabbed it in the heart right before it would have killed him. It seems too fantastical to be true. Then he takes her to a small chapel. Inside are the giant bones of a beast that does resemble a dragon. She's convinced, but then she touches them. They are not bone, but stone. It is a mockery of the truth; counterfeit.
She is furious at him. She depends on him to tell her the truth. Of everyone in the world, Ruck is the one man she trusts, she tells him in a burst of emotion. She makes him swear he will never lie to her. He swears, "on My Lady's Heart," that he will not lie to her again. Whose heart did he swear on? She asks him. "On my lady wife's," he tells her, meaning Isabel. As they discuss what constitutes truth between them, Melanthe drops her guard almost entirely. She tells him she would like to lie with him. "My lady; it is a church," he says. 'Then release me, monkish man, and I will lead thee astray outside," she says. (Did I mention how subtly funny this book is? Perhaps because the rest of the book is so somber, the funny parts are absolutely hysterical.) Ruck tells her he cannot be with her in a physical sense, but he swears, "on my lady's heart," which he holds more sacred than anything else in the world, that he will serve her for the rest of his life.
The reader may have noticed that the animal skull is most likely the real fossil of a dinosaur. Ruck's telling of how he slayed the dragon, in gorgeously inflated language, is a micorcosm of the story itself - too beautiful to be true, but we want its truth so badly, we allow it to seduce us, to bring the dragon to life. Only from our perspective can we see what they cannot: they are looking at a real, once-living thing completely incommensurable with the mentality of their age. Yet it once breathed, just like Middle English once sang and was alive, intelligible and perfectly capable of expressing the thoughts of the living.
Truth, in this novel, is inextricable from one's point-of-view. Even Ruck, becoming cannier as the novel progresses, recognizes this. At Lord Torbec's estate, he has dinner with the men to find out whether any of them are ambitious and clever enough to be pressed into service, accompanying Melanthe and him to her Bowlands estate. Instead, he finds that they posture as brave killers but in reality are only silly boys. The truth is something which must be negotiated and discovered in each instance, as one cannot count on the proper order of things to be upheld. In this respect, the book is extremely modern while simultaneously portraying medieval life in a manner that feels faithful to the time period.
Incommensurate points-of-view and performances meant to conceal true identities is a recurring theme of the novel. When Ruck and Melanthe stay at the supposed Lord Torbec's brother's estate, they are housed in a room fitted with spying holes. In this way, the occupants of the court can see if he is really a knight keeping company with a nameless wench bedecked in a lady's finery, or if something stranger occurs. In perhaps my favourite-ever execution of the "and there was only one bed" trope, Melanthe discovers the spy-holes from the appearance of eyes around the openings, which darken and brighten the apertures as faces are pressed to the holes. Another wonderful reproduction of what her life is, in essence: imprisonment observed by many pairs of eyes who do not regard her with any affection whatsoever. Ruck had planned to sleep on the floor near the door, to guard Melanthe, but because of the spy-holes, he cannot. So they retreat to the bed, closed off from all intrusion with heavy curtains. There, in the complete darkness, unable to see even a glimmer of each other's appearance, they speak of their feelings for each other. Falseness has been transformed to truth.
Through all his service to her, Ruck has not known whether he hates or loves Melanthe. She has been pure (in his imagination) and evil, a witch bent on seducing him. She has been the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, and at other times plain. She has been the highest, most unreachable princess, and masqueraded as a common wench. In the moment before she proposes to him, she is all these appearances and sentiments simultaneously in his mind: "But love and hate turned so close in his heart that they seemed to dazzle him together as one passion." After he has spoken his vows, Ruck is filled with "bliss and horror" at the irresponsible thing he has done.
In 1995, long before anti-airbrushing campaigns were thought of, Laura Kinsale has her hero caress the heroine's stomach to find faint, feathery scars inexplicable to him. They are stretch marks. We know it; he does not, and can only wonder at their cause. Melanthe is an unknowable mystery to him, revealed through these traces of experience beyond the depths of his understanding. This whole novel was that sort of experience for me; recognizing truth sometimes through the characters, sometimes in spite of their unseeing eyes.