The More Is My Unrest
Benvolio: Away, be gone,
The sport is at the best.
Romeo: Ay, so I fear,
The more is my unrest.
Her dark hair is flying as she twirls, she is so light on her feet, like one of those fairies she talks about. Her saintly pale face is laughing, laughing at the world – and at me.
She is dancing with one of my brothers, while I look on in jealousy. Her own sovereign brother glances at me warningly. He has given me many such looks tonight. He does not trust me with his beautiful sister. I would that she were a mere serving maid! I could have her then – could have her now, if her accursed brothers were not so selfish. They are keeping her for themselves, to grace their court, so people will speak of their court as the home of the dazzling Queen Susan. People will flock to their court to see her – and I, the eldest son of the Tisroc, cannot even cross their borders!
She is cold, this barbarian queen. It is fitting that one from the icy northern lands of snow should be so remote, so haughty. Her brother, he is nearly as bad. He looks at me so disdainfully! Here in Calormen, the men desire, they take, and they leave. In Narnia, it would seem, feeble protestations of love are made, favours are worn in tournaments as the greatest prize of all, and a kiss is seen as daring! It makes you wonder that their race have survived so long.
One of the poets hath said: "The sweet wine of my mistress's lips is more intoxicating than the strongest drink, and the flagon is never empty." I have not tasted her lips yet, but I know to the smallest detail what they are like, I have known many women, and she, I know, would be the finest of all.
A Narnian boy passes the table where I sit watching the barbarian queen. He is speaking to a Faun whom I have seen in the company of Queen Susan.
"What! Susan, marry that half-wit? That's a good joke!"
I stare after him. Who does he mean? Which of my courtiers has been pressing his suit? I swear, I will kill him, whoever it is…
The northerners have no love for us, we have never had much liking for their barbarian ways. Our two countries dislike each other – they cannot hate tonight, for they needs must be polite.
The sun is dark in my eyes, and always will be until I have her. She is cruel, she is so indifferent, but she will not always be so. I will have her – even if it costs lives to get her.
Some slave approaches.
"My lord Rabadash, the Tisroc (may he live forever) requests your royal presence."
I sigh and take one last, lingering look at Her Majesty Queen Susan The Gentle.
I will have her…