Aileen and Jon
By Gordon Kearns
Part One
Historian's Prologue:
Five hundred miles off the western coast of Africa, along the Tropic of Cancer, the island of Saint Paul lolls in the gently massaging hands of soothing currents and sweet-tempered sun. It is believed that Saint Paul was settled by daring emigrants from Ireland. They set sail in open currachs, seeking peace, it is believed, from ever-warring tribal chieftains, and the constant tides of foreign raiders, conquerors, and settlers on their homeland. It is generally theorized that the pioneers' goal was the expansive territories beyond the sea (what we now call the Americas), which in all probability they had learned of from tales told by ancient adventuring sea-rovers. However, the poor emigres had little sailing skill, the most rudimentary of compasses, small and fragile crafts not meant for long sea voyages, and terrible aim. We assume they slipped easily into the southern drive of an Atlantic current, and crashed upon the beaches of this lush and inviting uninhabited island.
After scouting their new land, they surely thought they were in heaven. The island was rich in natural resources: minerals and ores; trees; a vast, and generous, close-to-the-surface, clear aquifer; a surrounding unending supply of salt-water fish; and great natural meadows filled with volunteer common farm plants ready for taming and cultivation, including staple foods, cotton, hemp, and flax --apparently seeded over the eons by steady winds and commuting birds. The weather was moderately tropical, with good annual rainfall.
The events depicted on these pages probably occurred in the early eleventh century, probably five hundred years or so after the landing of the original settlers. These dates are assumptions. To the practical people of Saint Paul, time by any planetary orientation meant little. Yesterday was to comfort them; today was to live as securely as possible; and tomorrow, while it must in some ways be planned for, was to be feared. They never bothered to write a history. Inexact word-of-mouth lore and legend were sufficient to provide them with some concept of their roots. To their way of thinking the past bore little relevance to their present life, and their present way of life varied so little from decade to decade that it was hardly worth writing about. As a side result of this disinterest in details of past events, there was no driving reason for bothering to keep up with a written tongue. Interest in practicing the old script gradually faded in the years after the original landing, and written communication disappeared from general use. A few individuals from every generations did keep the art of writing alive; in fact, the scribe was a recognized professional, albeit a little paid and little respected one. Still, it was important to the islanders to keep a minimal permanent record of births, marriages, and deaths. Thus, the contract scribes were assigned the responsibility of recording such basic vital statistics. Which they did --etched where the indefatigable sieges of time would be least likely to ravage the records: on the stolid granite elephantine boulders that had been strewn about the island way back in ancient volcanic eras. As there was no order to nature's placement of these behemoths, so the scribes chose them randomly whenever it was necessary to note those most basic landmarks of human living. The lack of any logical arrangement was no problem. Rarely did anyone research the data or make use of the information in any way, at least up to the time
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depicted in this tale. The separate scribes each knew where he had recorded specific data, but there was no overall index of what particulars could be found on what boulders. The people figured there wasn't really much to be learned from these mini-histories of their forebears. Ironically, even with our proud, cusp-twenty-first century high-tech resources, people these days would pay fortunes for the availability of that vast a storehouse of such simple ancestral information. To the islanders, the very existence of those centuries-old lists and lists and lists of the comings and goings of human life, etched on those everywhere stones, gave security to living on Saint Paul. It proved they derived from somebody. What more did they need?
Otherwise, life on Saint Paul was pretty much as life was on the European continent. Saint Paul was a small kingdom of some seven thousand inhabitants. It had a coin-economic system based on crafts, shops, farming, fishing, mining, and special service professions, such as scribes, teachers, herbalists, artists, ceramic workers, brick-makers and masons, weavers and tailors (the islanders prided themselves on their fine cotton and linens, the only fabrics available to them), carpenters, metalworkers and smiths (they were also experts at smelting, shaping, and molding bronze and iron). They appreciated art. Sculpting and molding were professions of somewhat more respect, but less dependable pay, than scribing. Often these arts would be practiced as a sideline by scribes or other low paid professionals as supplements to their small incomes. Unfortunately, all their sculpting was done in plaster or clay. As a result, time has claimed a horrendous toll of that art. Some figures still maintain a semblance to the original works. But most are irreparably in pieces, or eroded beyond recognition. Strangely, considering their skill with metals, they didn't turn to those materials to provide more permanence to their art. The time factor again, I suppose. As far as I know, there is only one sculpture on the whole island that was ever done in bronze. And it is indeed a masterpiece for the ages. More on this later. The people of Saint Paul did demonstrate a degree of practical inventiveness, an example of which was their simple but effective underground sewage system. And lacking any domestic or wild animal life -- excluding, of course, the always soaring sea-birds --they developed easy-pull carts utilizing men to act the part oxen, horses, and mules did on the continents. These carts were used primarily for hauling, but some were also fitted for transporting lords and their ladies in comfort, like the rickshaws of the far east. Commoners, and the middle and lower classes on the island, always traveled on foot.
Generally, the people of Saint Paul dressed according to a relatively permissive code of modesty. Keeping in mind they had a year-long fairly moderate tropical climate, it can be understood they had no use for heavy or layered clothing. Also, with no animals on the island, they had no wool or leather. As a rule, children went naked up to about the age of six. Above that age the islanders almost always had their groin area covered in public --even if often only minimally. Men wore airy cotton or linen kilts. They typically went shirtless when doing manual labor. But in social situations they usually wore a fancy blouse or vest. Girls over six and women wore ankle-length loose cotton or linen kirtles, usually cinched at the waist with a decorative rope. Full blouses and knee-length skirt combinations were also acceptable. This style was the rule for women at work or play (except while swimming, for which everyone went naked). No one wore underclothing in this society. Messengers, who were usually, but not solely, boys or men, wore only a brief wide-hemmed cotton kiltlet just long enough to barely cover the groin area, and no top covering at all. On very hot days some would run their routes completely nude. Their job entailed much running from place to place, and they needed
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to be unhindered in their pursuit of rapid message delivery --a vital aspect of island life. For the same reason, they never wore the usual island footwear of wooden sandals. The citizens on the island never concerned themselves with the messengers' nudity. They were the only form of long-distance communication the islanders had (the messages were all delivered orally, as the messengers memorized them from the senders), and they were much appreciated for that role. Messengers were ranked near the top of the scale of professions.
In at least one particular their isolation from the rest of human life on Earth was a blessing: they weren't tortured by the plagues that swept through other societies over and over in the dark ages. However, that same isolation lent itself to marriages often of close relatives. Hemophilia and birth defects were common on Saint Paul. Generally, they were a healthy race of people, however. While their basic diet lacked red meat, it was nonetheless rich in protein because of the abundance of fish around the island.
There was one major city on the island: Tara, named after the ancient center of Ireland. Tara on Saint Paul was a fortress city, even though there was no enemy to defend against. "But you never know," the noblemen of Saint Paul would often say. Smaller villages were spotted around the island at industrial and mining sites, and agricultural and fish distribution centers.
Poverty thrived on the island. And begging. The many crippled could earn their living in no other way. And there were many with incomes only barely adequate for the most necessary food and goods. And there was a large middle class of contract professionals, laborers, skilled workers, artisans, storekeepers, farmers, and fishermen.
And an established nobility. The nobles were the only property owners on the island. Lower classes paid tribute-rents to the nobles. The nobles also managed all the industries and professions, drawing a percentage of tribute from all profits and salaries of the lower classes. However, the nobles weren't, as in Europe, extended members of the royal family, which was the highest caste on Saint Paul. The royal family possessed all the privileges of the nobles, plus a much richer style of life, because they received tax-tributes not only from the lower classes, but from the nobles as well. The royal family consisted only of the king or queen, his or her consort, and his or her children; and his or her siblings, their consorts, and their children. The line of succession to the throne began with the oldest of the monarch's male children and followed in order of birth to the youngest male child, and then from the oldest to the youngest of the monarch's nephews, regardless of their parents' ages, and then from the oldest to the youngest of the monarch's female children, and finally from the oldest to the youngest of the monarch's nieces. Succession to the thrown never passed on to the same generation as the king or queen. Once a new monarch was crowned, all his uncles, aunts, and cousins were moved into the non-royal peerage.
The monarch was the absolute ruler of Saint Paul. He literally held his subjects' lives in his hands. He was the single judge and jury for all disputes between subjects and all violations of law and order. The profession of marshals acted as his law enforcement arm. Of course, there were no written laws; the definition of law and order was the monarch's to determine at his pleasure. It should be noted that although it was theoretically possible for there to be a queen, in fact, no queen ever ruled over Saint Paul; that's not counting ...but more on that later. Very often, as we shall see, daughters born to the royal family disappeared long before they could be considered for succession. As you'd imagine, there was little consistency from one monarch to another. Some were benevolent. Most were excessively spoiled and demanding. Some were vicious and cruel.
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Settlements of disputes were made in Solomonesque style at monthly audiences with the monarch, although there wasn't a following necessarily Solomonesque wisdom involved in the monarch's decision. Punishments the monarch deemed necessary for violators of law and order were usually extremely severe. Those deemed guilty of thievery, murder, and the broad category of treason were executed in quick order. The execution process was extraordinarily harsh. The accused would be spread-eagled naked on a frame built atop a platform in the middle of the city square of Tara, and the executioner would disembowel him in a most painful manner. Executioners, because of their importance to the island's welfare, ranked only slightly lower on the ladder of professions than cart-pullers for the nobles.
For all practical purposes there was no organized religion on Saint Paul. A noble usually was given the honorary title of bishop. Rather involved prayer rituals were held at the solstices; but that was about it for religion.
The culture of Saint Paul disappeared long ago. Some of what we know of Saint Paul life was derived from artifacts, crumbling buildings, and deserted mines and smelters. A little came from the short period of time after the island was found in the waning years of the eleventh century by ships blown off-course. Unfortunately, these sailing vessels brought with them small pox and other virulent diseases the islanders had no natural immunity to. The culture had virtually died out centuries before the first reliable historian stepped onto it's soil. The lost culture of Saint Paul remained just another of the many lost cultures that exist in other isolated areas around the world, whose lives and times faded into the mists of the ages. The lists etched on the boulders of the island were always assumed to be recordings of the island's vital statistics. But for the most part, the language, based on long-ago European and Mediterranean dialects, had always been too unintelligible for useful interpretation. Island life would still be a mystery to modern archaeology had it not been for the discovery just last year of "Aileen's Cave", an indentation between granite segments high on "The Tower," an almost inaccessible tor overlooking the ocean on the leeward side of the island.
"Aileen's Cave" measures about three meters across at its mouth, about three meters deep, and somewhat less than two meters high. The height tapers downward slightly towards the rear wall of the cave. At its entrance is a stone pedestal, topped by a small statue, the bronze busts, attached at their base, of two young teen-agers, a beautiful girl and boy. The boy sets to the side and slightly rearward of the girl. The pedestal is etched with the same kind of minimal vital statistic about the persons whose busts it supports as is found endlessly listed on the elephantine boulders scattered about the island. The countenances of the two youngsters seem almost alive, the cold bronze capturing well the warmth and reality of their true existence. Both are ranked as masterpieces in the history of sculpture. However, of more historical interest is the story, covering the entire rear wall of the cave, that accompanies the figures. It was etched with admirable craftsmanship in the evolved written script of the island. Translation into modern language would have been a daunting task were it not for the foresighted wisdom of the artist, who etched on the wall beside the story a picture/symbol/word key so that latter day students like me might also appreciate the beauty, honor, dignity, and devotion of the two people whose story it tells.
Aileen the messenger
Even though the storm was well passed, the city square of Tara was deserted, save for the three unmoving figures still spread-eagled on their execution frames. I sat at my table watching
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and listening to the boy who sat opposite. He was naked. And wet from the rain. And smeared all over with blood. As he drank the warm tea, he told the sad tale of this tragic day in the history of the island of Saint Paul. I knew this boy as if he were my own son. I knew his sister Aileen as if she were my own daughter. But he told it to me as if to a stranger, not wanting me to miss any detail. Because the details were so important to him and to his story that they must be spoken. He made no assumption of my previous knowledge. That was good, I think. Because there is so much about these two young people that in truth, even knowing them as I do, I did not realize. And also because he was speaking to history, I think. So I listened with patience, and wished I could have done more for him in those moments of his deepest sadness. He did not break down into tears. However, the eyes of this old man leaked often as the boy related the fateful course of this day.
He said:
I am the scribe Jon. I also do bronze molding of tools and weapons. And clay-shaping and plaster-molding. And stone-sculpting. All together they don't add up to one well-paying profession. Aileen is my twin sister. Aileen is a messenger, which is a highly paid and well-respected profession. She is a word messenger. Others carry packages from one place to another. Aileen isn't interested in such work. But she has the best memory of any messenger, and is depended upon to deliver word messages exactly as they were spoken to her, no matter how many words are contained. The nobles always turn to her first when they need the best messenger available. She can run to all the villages on our island in less than a day. Because she runs so much and so hard and wants nothing to hold her back, she does all her running nude, without even her kiltlet. She only wears her kiltlet sometimes for very formal occasions in the city of Tara. She never wears a blouse or vest. But more than for her reputation as a messenger, Aileen is very respected by the people in our land. Often in the evenings she brings pleasure to the people of Tara with her intricate and beautiful dances in the city square. She always leaves her kiltlet off for the dancing also. She says it would detract from the spirit in what she is trying to do. Aileen has always loved being nude. I usually play the rhythm drums for her dancing performances. She charges no fee for her dancing, even though sometimes a thousand people watch who would be very willing to pay for their enjoyment of her dancing. The profession of players and singers always charge fees for their work. It is how they earn their living. Aileen says she earns enough with her messenger work to suit all her needs. If she charged fees, then the poor people wouldn't be able to enjoy the beauty of dancing. This way she has in her audience not only the nobles and professionals, but the poor and the beggars as well. She has as many friends among the poor people as among the nobles and professionals. Aileen does much for people for which she charges no fee. One day a week she will carry messages free for people who otherwise couldn't afford her services. She will carry messages to friends and families no matter how far she has to run. Aileen says these people have need to communicate with those close to their hearts as much as those who can afford to pay her. In emergencies she will even carry messages for the poor on the way to one of her contract destinations. She must even run faster to accomplish this so that she won't fall back on her promise to do her contract messages on time. On her own time in the evenings she will sometimes watch over the children of people who can't afford professional governesses, so that they can be free a little time for themselves or for duties they are obligated to perform. And it isn't just the poor people that she does favors for. Her dancing in Tara's square is an example. And one time when a lord's wife died from the blood disease, the man was naturally bereft, as
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you can imagine. Aileen coupled with him a few times to ease a bit of his sadness. Another time she coupled with a lord whose wife was suffering a long illness. This so he wouldn't feel the need to leave his wife. The wife appreciated what Aileen did because she knew it kept her husband from leaving her for a healthier mate who could satisfy his need. The nobles had no obligation to Aileen for this service. There are no professional couplers in Saint Paul. The king doesn't allow it. At least half of what she earns as a messenger she gives to poor friends and beggars so they might have some food on their tables for their children. You can see why Aileen is so respected by the people of Saint Paul. Rich and poor.
On the morning of the fourteenth anniversary of our birth, I was on a hillside, etching on a boulder the news of an old man's dying the day before. I was so involved in my work I didn't notice that Aileen had climbed the hill and was standing behind me. "Hello, brother," she said to me. I was surprised for the moment, because for past two days the nobles were in much need of emergency messages between one another. Aileen was being kept very busy. But I was only surprised for the moment. I turned around to look at her. She was nude of course. And on her face was one of her wonderful grins.
"You shouldn't be working so hard, brother," she said. "Today is our birthday. We should be celebrating."
"I didn't forget, sister" I answered. "However, it is necessary for me to record this news on the boulder. Still, you are right. We should be celebrating. Our birthday is the most important day of the year for us. Just let me finish this last little bit of etching and I will join you for the rest of the day." I turned back to my work.
A few moments passed. I heard Aileen giggle. I knew she was going to play a trick. But I didn't turn yet. I was too close to being finished.
"Please stop your work, brother," she teased. "I am ready to celebrate right now."
I can play tricks too. So I pretended to ignore her and kept at my work.
"Please, brother," she pleaded as if she were desperate. "I am ready to celebrate right now. I am very, very ready. Right now."
I couldn't resist. I turned. There she was, lying on her back with her knees drawn up and her legs wide apart. Her hands were at her crotch holding the lips open for me. She giggled. "See how ready I am, brother," she said.
I put my etching tools aside and arose and walked to her. I couldn't help laughing very much at the sight. She was laughing just as much. Her eyes were twinkling like starlight in the night sky. And her grin reached across and held my heart. I threw my kilt aside. We both were still laughing.
Then, as I looked into her twinkling eyes, my thoughts filled with the beauty of her running and her dancing and her giving so much of herself to the people of the island and her gentleness and her truthfulness and her devotion to everyone. Including her worthless twin brother. I still looked into her face. But I wasn't smiling. It wasn't just the fun of brother and sister play that let her grin in to hold my heart. And it wasn't just the coupling we were about to do. We couple every opportunity we get. Even as little children we played at coupling. But this day as I stood above Aileen, with my penis now full and long and more eager than ever before when we coupled, it wasn't the fun of coupling I thought about as I looked upon the beautiful body of my sister, and into her beautiful heart. Aileen saw that my thoughts were going deeper. Her eyes kept twinkling and her grin was still holding my heart. But it wasn't a teasing sister's grin any longer.
I who am a student of words could think of no words strong enough to tell my feelings. I could only say, "I love you, Aileen."
Aileen said softly, "I love you as well, Jon."
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She lifted her arms to me. And I lay down upon her. And she held me with all her strength. We kissed, but not the playful kisses we always enjoyed when we coupled. We kissed as lovers. I kissed and suckled her lips, the ones whose grin took hold of my heart, and the ones between her legs that she had held open for me teasingly. And she kissed and suckled my lips and my unashamed penis. We kissed and tasted and investigated and fondled, each of us wanting to share our most private and vulnerable places with the other, and each of us filled with the desire to share in the other's most private and vulnerable places. Trusting and wanting to be trusted. And wanting so much for the joys of our sharings to last forever. Thus we learned more of each other's and our own bodies and hearts than ever before.
We coupled in a slow, graceful, tender, and loving dance, until the climax thrills took over our senses, and we pushed and pushed into each other much harder and faster. And my coupling juice was released inside her. We were the happiest of our whole lives.
Later, she rested on her side beside me and drew circles on my belly with her finger.
I said, "It is wonderful to love you in a way different than brother and sister."
"Was I not such a good sister for you?" she said. She was teasing. But I could also hear a seriousness in her words.
"We have been the happiest of brothers and sisters. Always. We helped each other in our growing-up problems. We explored the island together, with many happy adventures. We sat long hours each for the other when we were sick. And when I play the drum for your dancing in the square, I am so proud that you are my sister, and that I am able to join in your dance in that small way." Then I looked up at the sky, and the gathering clouds. "Remember all the fun times when we lay on the hilltop and imagined trees and funny shaped people in the formations of the clouds. Even now. Look! See that one." I pointed. "See how it is so chubby, just like ..."
Aileen, who looked up as I pointed, giggled for only a second. "Like old Lord Mosely," she said.
I turned on my side to face her, propping myself as she did on an elbow. There was a tear on her cheek, which she tried to sniff back with the last of her giggles. I couldn't understand how she could feel sad when we were the most happy of our lives. Then I tried to cheer her up. I laughed. "And as brother and sister we coupled in every possible place on the island there could possibly be to couple. What other brother and sister have ever had such fun. Remember the time when we coupled as we swam in the meadow pond?" She nodded. "And in the cave at the top of Tower Mountain? Oh, Aileen. No one could ever have had such wonderful times as my sister and me." I thought a little bit. "But now our love has gone beyond brother and sister. I love you for being the person you are. Being my sister is only a coincidence. I love you as well now, and you are my sister, as I would love you if you were not my sister."
"Truly, do you?" she asked, looking into my eyes.
"Truly, I do," I said.
A little time passed.
Then Aileen said to me, "This is the most wonderful morning for me, too, Jon. I found love with my own sweet Jon. If I could have no other happiness again in my life, to have had this morning would be enough until I die." She took my hand. "Let us sit together for a bit. We ...we may not have much time left. And there are things you must know."
I became a little frightened by Aileen's serious and worried words. But I would be patient and let her tell me what she had to in her way. We sat cross-legged on the grass facing each other. Our knees were just touching. We were still nude, and the sun was sending little pin prickles allover our bare bodies.
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"Because I am a messenger I know of many words that transpire between nobles. Ordinarily, it isn't an honorable thing for a messenger to reveal secrets learned from the messages she carries. But what I know I must tell the one I love. I must tell the things I know from the messages and from experiences of my own." She now took both my hands in hers. "There are big changes coming about on the island of Saint Paul," she began. I didn't understand what she meant, but I waited for her to form her thoughts. Then she said, "The king is dying. You know that."
"I know that," I said.
"What you should know is that for many years the nobles have been unhappy with the ways of the king: the king who now rules us, and the kings before. They say the system of monarchs is inconsistent. With some monarchs the people must live in fear for their lives. With others people can do anything they like. The kings sometimes have made strict laws that hurt the businesses of the island. Some kings have taken everything they could from the taxes for their own and their family's comfort. Some kings have demanded so many taxes that industries had to close. And the biggest problem is that the royal family, because of all its privileges, costs the businesses and people of Saint Paul too much for what the king is worth. After all, the nobles say, the royal family doesn't do any gainful work the way everyone else on the island has to in order to survive.
"But there was never anything the nobles could do about it. If you got rid of a king, there was always the rest of the royal family to contend with. Because the people are so used to following the rule of kings, as soon as they got rid of a king, there would always be another from the royal family who would automatically be king in his place. The people would just turn their allegiance to the new king.
"But now things are different. There aren't so many heirs to the throne."
I interrupted. "That is true. The king doesn't have any children of his own, so the succession next goes to his nephews. And he only has two nephews."
"That is right," Aileen said. "And because there are only two nephews, who themselves would have no heirs, the problem of ending the monarchy after the king dies isn't so great."
I said, "But if the king dies, it would still be the same as always. The oldest of the nephews would take his place."
"But what the nobles want to do this time," she said, "is execute the two nephews before the king dies. Then when he dies there won't be a king to take his place for the people to be loyal to. The people of Saint Paul are logical that way; if there is an heir alive when the king dies, the people would right away accept him as their monarch. But if no heirs are alive the people would understand the nobles organizing a new way of rule for the island."
"How could they execute the nephews? They haven't committed a crime. They haven't murdered anyone, or stolen anything."
Aileen shrugged her shoulders. "I think the nobles are going to accuse the nephews of being traitors."
I had to think about this news of Aileen's. Such a terrible thing, to execute the nephews. They aren't traitors. Why, they are but children: one is ten years old and one is nine. The only thing they've done wrong is to be born in the royal family. "The executioner would never agree to it, would he?"
Aileen laughed in a sad way. "The executioner doesn't care. As long as he gets a good contract for executing someone, all he needs is a legal charge against the person, even if it isn't true."
I was shocked. "When ...when are they going to do it?"
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"As I was leaving Tara this morning, I saw them putting up the execution frames. I think they planned to start the executions yet this very morning."
There was quiet between Aileen and myself again as I thought over these things. Life on our beautiful island was suddenly saddened. How could such things be done to innocent children by the ones who are supposed to be our wise and good leaders? But the worst of Aileen's revelations were yet to come. There were other secrets.
Aileen squeezed my hands a little. "There's more," she said softly. I bit my lower lip and waited.
"Something took place fourteen years ago," she said, "which was one of the most secret things on our island in many decades. It is something our mother told me when she thought I was old enough to understand. She felt it was important for me to know the truth about my family. She swore me to keep the secret. But I can no longer keep such a secret from the one I love. And things are happening so fast on our island." She stopped again. But not to think about what to say, I am sure. But because what she had to say was so big for me to understand. Finally she said, "You see, you and I were indeed born on the same night fourteen years ago today. But what few people ever knew, you and I were not born of the same mother."
My eyes widened as her shocking words sank into my head.
She squeezed my fingers again. "Jon, we aren't twins. Our mother raised us as twins. In every way we feel about each other as if we were truly twins. But actually I was born in the rooms of the royal palace. My blood mother was the king's consort. My blood father is the king."
Now tears were coming from my eyes.
"But I was never a princess. You know how the royal families never liked for a girl to become the ruling queen. Well, when I was born and the king found out I was a girl he told the professional midwife to 'Get rid of the wench.' He didn't care if she drowned me or gave me away. He never tried to find out. The king's consort begged the midwife not to kill me, and gave her some coins to find me a nice home. Ordinarily, it would look too suspicious if a baby suddenly appeared in a house where no woman had been pregnant. But the midwife knew there was another child being delivered that same evening. It was a very neat solution. I was given to that house, and the story was told that our mother had given birth to twins. As you know, we have a lot of twins born in Saint Paul. So nobody thought anything about it. Our mother is the only mother I ever had. And Brent the scribe has been my friend and father in the heart, as he has been yours since our infancy. And as far as I ever was concerned, you were my own and only brother."
It was so much for me to take in. My whole childhood was something different than I thought it to be. Aileen was someone entirely different than I thought her to be. I got up to my feet and walked away for a little distance. I needed to think ...but ...there was something else. I couldn't concentrate on the secret my mother and my sister kept from me. Other thoughts were getting in the way. Darker thoughts. Frightening thoughts. I turned around to look back at Aileen. She sat as she had been, her eyes now looking to the ground. I couldn't see the starlight twinkle. And the grin that reached across to hold my heart was gone. And I remembered my words. The words that were true from my soul: "I love you for the person you are." Being a royal family is nothing that shows in the heart. And my thoughts were darkening the more. And my thoughts were becoming even more frightening.
I ran to her and lifted her and pressed her to my chest. She wept; but not, I thought, from fear. We strolled along with our arms about each other's waist.
"The nobles don't know these things, do they?" I asked her.
Aileen answered: "They know there is a royal princess who would be next