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“Most sweet lady—”
This interview was not going as Viola had imagined. To speak truth, she could not think of one part of her plan which had not gone awry. It seemed, she reflected, that washing up on the shore of a foreign country and disguising oneself as a boy for protection was not quite the simple matter that old plays and stories would have one believe.
She had not imagined, for example, how often men took off their clothes in front of each other. What did they mean by it? Sporting, bathing, swimming, relieving themselves, it seemed that they were naked more often than they were dressed. Someone was eventually going to notice that the newest manservant, the short one with a soprano voice and no beard, was also exceptionally modest.
“Perhaps I should drop a hint that I’m a eunuch,” Viola had told herself the night before, alone and exhausted in her small chamber. But eunuchs were not the fashion currently, and she thought portraying one convincingly might be beyond her skill. She would simply have to blend into the background, be as unobtrusive as possible, until she was able to figure out what to do next.
This plan lasted for approximately twelve hours. “Cesario!” cried Orsino, the next morning after breakfast. “Who saw Cesario, ho?” Two dozen courtiers turned to look at Viola, who had been attempting to sneak off into a corner. “I have a commission which only you can fulfill.”
“My lord?”
“Betake thee to Olivia at once,” he said, “again to press upon her my love’s suit.”
“Perhaps,” she suggested, “your lady might prefer to hear your words of passion from your own lips?”
“I have tried wooing in my own person, to no success,” said Orsino mournfully. Indeed, he was morose at the best of times, and Viola had no trouble understanding why this lady had so often rejected his advances.
“And if she should not admit me?”
“I cannot be bothered with such details,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Return to me with good tidings of her reception.”
And now here she found herself, alone with a strong-willed woman who would not let her get a word in edgewise.
“Most sweet lady, I beg that you would allow me to proceed with my commission. I did promise my master faithfully to deliver a speech in your praise.”
“I have heard enough words of praise from your master,” said Olivia. “Is there any message in it?”
“Only the renewal of my master’s suit, madam.”
“Your master’s suit is intolerable,” she said. “I have told him that I cannot love him, and he must desist.”
“Madam, I—”
“To live with a man,” said Olivia, her lip curling in disgust, “to swear obedience, to pour my fortune into his purse, and as payment for those favors, to lie in bed and let him rut out his pleasure on my body! I see no purpose in it, I have sworn against it, and I keep my oath.”
“But for love, madam?” Viola felt she had almost entirely lost control of the situation, but made one last attempt to return to the topic of Orsino’s heart. “Surely to break an oath for one who worships you is no sin.”
“Darling girl,” said Olivia, “have I not made myself plain? The love of men holds no charm for me.” Viola started, sure she had not heard aright, and looked over her shoulder to see if Olivia was addressing some third person in the room.
“I know not who you mean, madam.” Her traitorous voice pitched upward, almost to a squeak, and she coughed to steady herself. “I am no girl, but Cesario, devoted servant of Duke Orsino.”
“Indeed,” said Olivia, “I have never rated either the Duke’s power of observation or his understanding very highly. Therefore, it is no surprise to me that Orsino sees you not.” She moved toward Viola, her voluminous black skirts swishing on the polished wood floor. Viola felt her mouth go dry. Coming closer, Olivia gently raised her arm and stroked Viola’s face with the back of her hand. “This cheek hath never known a razor’s touch,” she murmured.
“I am a youth, not yet one and twenty,” Viola insisted. Olivia’s hand traced down the line of Viola’s body and came to light on her chest.
“Again I say your master is a blind fool,” said Olivia. “What have you used here?” It was unfortunate that the rags Viola had used to bind her chest also somewhat restricted her flow of breath, because she suddenly felt that if she could not take in more air, she would surely faint.
“Bandages,” she heard herself saying, out of all reason admitting her darkest secret to this stranger. What evil spirit had possessed her to embark on this plan? Three days in Orsino’s court and already found out. Well done, Viola, she thought bitterly.
“Come with me.” Olivia pressed some hidden mechanism, a panel in the wall slid open, and Viola found herself standing in what was clearly the lady’s bedchamber.
“Tell me your real name.”
“Viola of Messaline.” Viola watched the dark eyes travel from the soles of her shoes to the top of her head.
“Take off your jerkin.” Viola’s fingers were shaking and she hesitated to obey. “You must trust me, Viola. That’s right. Now the shirt.” She was now clad only in her too-large breeches and the scraps of rags she had managed to salvage from the shipwrecked cargo.
“Oh, my darling,” said Olivia. “This will never do. You will harm yourself. Look.” She ran her finger over the chafed and bruised skin where the binding had cut too tightly. “May I?” Viola nodded. Olivia unknotted and unwrapped, and Viola let out a sigh as the pressure on her chest was relieved. Thankfully, Viola had never been troubled with excessive voluptuousness, but she had been a woman grown these several years, and hiding her figure had been more burdensome than she had expected.
Olivia was digging through a trunk at the foot of her bed, and now brought forth yards and yards of some material.
“This is linen,” she said. “It will bind tightly without stretching. Breathe in deeply and then tie it around yourself. Yes, I know you want it tighter but you must not restrict your lungs.” Olivia was wrapping and pinning as she spoke, and then spun Viola around to face the mirror. Her figure was flat, boyish, and perhaps more importantly, she could barely feel the restriction. “Is that not better?”
Viola smiled at her own appearance. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“Oh, a lady who wishes to do more than embroider and bear children must have a few secrets.”
“Thank you,” Viola said. “Truly.”
“Now take it off,” Olivia said. Viola looked at her in surprise. “You need to practice on yourself, you know. Unless you have a lady’s maid hidden away in secret somewhere?” Viola unbound herself slowly, then turned to face Olivia.
“Any marks?” she asked.
Olivia surveyed Viola’s body, and the look in her eyes was something which Viola believed she could recognize. The air in the room shifted, and exposed as she was, she felt a surge of confidence. This was not a woman who was about to call the guard and denounce Viola as an imposter; this was a women regarding her with unveiled desire.
“He is blind indeed,” said Olivia, “who cannot see that you are a maiden. Or perhaps you are not?”
“I have not known a man,” said Viola, truthfully. Very deliberately, Olivia reached out and stroked Viola’s nipple with the pad of her thumb. The sensation shot through her like a bolt of lightning, traveling from her breast to the place where her legs joined, and she gave a little gasp of pleasure.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“I would not wish to do anything you do not desire, Viola. You have only to tell me to stop.”
“Don’t stop,” Viola whispered, and she was the one who closed the distance between their bodies and kissed Olivia’s lips. It had been days since she had even the slightest control over her situation; weeks, really, if a shipwreck and the loss of a beloved brother could be added to the list of occurrences outside her power to change. Life in her father’s house had been oppressive, life at sea had been a brief period of freedom followed by devastation, and life in Orsino’s court was confusing and terrifying by turns. The elation of being seen, really seen, for who she was and what she wanted, lifted her spirits like a wave.
“Bed,” said Viola, decisively.
“Help me with this first,” said Olivia, fingers less deft now as she struggled with her own swathes of clothing. “I should adopt your style, much less troublesome.” Viola smiled.
“I like yours,” she said. She ran her hand over her clumsily close-cropped head. “I do not dress this way from any great desire to be a man myself.”
“Nor would I want you if you were,” said Olivia, who had managed to shed her outer gown and stays. Clad in only her shift, she laid herself upon the brocade coverlet.
“Tell me how you want me,” Viola breathed. Discarding her breeches with a kick, she climbed onto the bed and expertly notched her leg into that spot where Olivia would find the most pleasure. The other woman’s eyes grew wide and her hips jerked instinctively upward.
“You’ve done this before.”
“I said I had not known a man,” Viola said. True, this was no brief and fumbling tumble with a chambermaid or a gentlewoman in waiting, but she knew well enough what to do.
Her mouth found Olivia’s breast and her tongue circled the nipple through the thin fabric, while at the same time her hand dipped under the hem of the shift and traveled up Olivia’s body. Olivia’s head fell back on the pillow and she moaned as Viola’s fingers found the slickness between her legs and began to circle.
“Sweet Christ,” Olivia gasped.
“A blasphemer too?”
“The least of my sins. Jesu, don’t stop.” Viola had no intention of stopping, inserting first one finger and then two while continuing to circle Olivia’s center with her thumb. Olivia tightened and pulsed as she came, crying out and clamping her legs tight around Viola’s hand.
“You are perfect,” Viola whispered, nestling into Olivia’s side as her breathing returned to normal.
“That was rather unexpected,” said Olivia. “I thought myself the seducer and here am I, entirely beguiled.”
“I am not what I am,” said Viola.
“I would you were as I would have you be.”
“And how is that, my lady?”
“Undone,” said Olivia, “with my head between your thighs.”
Viola came apart almost as quickly as Olivia had, the fear and grief and confusion of the last several weeks all released as she tightened her hands in Olivia’s loosened hair and lost herself over the edge. Time seemed to melt, then, as the two of them clung to each other, warm and soft and safe from anything outside the walls of Olivia’s chamber. As she returned to her senses, however, Viola began to fear that she had been gone long enough for Orsino to send somebody in search of her.
“You will come to me again?” Olivia asked, as Viola collected her clothing and began the process of binding her chest in Olivia’s linen wrappings. Viola grinned.
“I shall tell Orsino that you are warming to his suit,” she said, “but that you will speak to no emissary but me.”
“I will give him proof of my affections,” said Olivia. “Take this ring and give it to your master with my compliments, but tell him that I expect you to bring me a token in return.”
“And what token is that, lady?”
“Your sweet self.”
“That is not in Orsino’s gift,” said Viola, “but happily for you, I give it freely. Farewell, fair cruelty.”
Viola made the journey back to Orsino’s palace with a far better spirit than she had left it. She was still damp and sensitive between her legs, and even perfumed water had not entirely washed Olivia’s scent from her hand. Her next steps, she reflected, were just as unclear as they had been that morning, but at least now she could believe that one person on earth was on her side. Inventing a plan for getting herself away from Orsino’s court would have to wait for another day.
“Time, thou must untangle this, not I,” she thought. “It is too hard a knot for me to untie.”