The true collar
is the one in the mind.
Mistress C
Fourth Night
When I woke we were deep inside Romania. In fact, we were approaching Brasov in the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania.
My Mistress was still asleep and I crept to the window and peered out at the rolling, thickly forested hills. We came out into a winding valley with a picturesque town - red roofs, cobblestone streets, church spires - and then started to climb again. Steep slopes rose either side of us as we wound further into the mountains.
I heard a rustling behind me and turned to see My Mistress regarding me closely.
"Hurtle, my sub, you are very dear to me." I confess that I blushed. "I do so value intelligence, humility, willingness to serve. And I like the meat of your flesh." My Mistress almost smacked her lips as she said this.
"I wish to dress now."
I laid out underwear, fresh trousers and a blouse as My Mistress had taught me, and waited for her to approve. She did, and I helped her into her clothes and then was allowed to dress myself.
We made our way to the dining car where My Mistress ordered coffee, croissants and fresh juice for us. She pointed out Bran Castle, rising out of the trees, clinging to its hilltop and we talked of Vlad Tepes and the existence of the evil spirits known as 'steregoi'.
"And what do you think of the legend of the Dracula, my sub?"
"Well, I'm not sure Mistress. But I do know that there are shadow realms in life that we dismiss at our peril."
"And would you live forever if you could?"
"I think that would be some kind of horror, Mistress. A tortuous ennui of endless days."
We fell into a silence then, which continued when we returned to our cabin. I was content to gaze out the window at the fabled mountains and leave My Mistress to her thoughts.
The outskirts of Bucharest were unimposing, like many cities, but the centre, as we drew closer to the Gara de Nord station, was a mixture of brutalist modernism and elegant classical buildings. We picked up a taxi under the portico, with its squat columns, and rode the short distance to the Hilton Garden Inn in Bucharest Old Town. My Mistress asked the driver to travel via the Splaiul Independentei so that I could see the Dambovita River on the way. I marvelled at the Palace of Justice and its ornate 19thC design and of the glimpse I caught of the imposing Palace of Parliament.
At the hotel, when we had settled into our room, My Mistress wanted to nap, so I took the opportunity to arrange for clothes to be taken to the laundry to be cleaned and pressed. They would be ready for her when she awoke.
I then sat by the window and read some more of the 'Tao Of Physics' and thought about the impenetrability of matter, and how time twists, and of how light can be both a particle and a wave. An old book now, but I did wonder if String Theory would succeed in being a template for describing the fundamentals of the universe.
When My Mistress woke, there was no more time to think about that.
I helped her into a sheer, black dress which moulded to her body like a sheath.
"You are very beautiful tonight, Mistress."
A smile creased her eyes, but she said nothing. When I was dressed in my simple grey we swept out of the room and made our way to the lobby. A car was waiting for us. The driver opened the door and, bowing, said: "Welcome to Bucharest, Mistress."
"Thank you, Iancu. It is good to see you again after so long a time. This is Hurtle."
We nodded to each other and a look of appraisal passed between us as we took stock of our joint servitude. What would this evening hold for the both of us?
Iancu drove the car carefully through the narrow streets and we alighted outside the King's Residence and were shown inside to a beautifully appointed restaurant. Our table was in a quiet corner. My Mistress ordered some Tuica, a Romanian raki drunk as an aperitif. When it came we raised our glasses, said 'Noroc!', and tossed our shots down.
"This is our last night Hurtle. Tomorrow our journey ends. We will celebrate."
My Mistress ordered for us all. The starters were a wonderfully colourful and delicious mix. Zacusca, a veggie dip of peppers, eggplant and mushrooms, along with some Cascaval Pane - deep fried, breaded yellow cheese. My stomach was already filling, my mouth a pleasure cave of tastes.
A bottle of Fetesca Neagra, a dark ruby red wine with deep blackcurrant characteristics, was brought to the table, and we sipped while we waited for the mains to arrive. My Mistress was intent on catching up with Iancu, so I let myself drift contentedly.
For mains we had Sarmale of ground pork and rice, a Varza a la Cluj which was shredded cabbage with pork and sour cream, and a traditional Transylvanian stew - Tochitura ardeleneasca. We ate with relish. Every mouthful was like a journey of delight for me.
Dessert was a Papanasi, a donut stuffed with soft white cheese and topped with sour cream and a fruit compote. It was like colour quietly exploding in the mouth.
When we finally rose from the table, late in the evening, we all carried deep, satisfied smiles. Iancu drove us back to the hotel, gave the car into the care of a valet, and accompanied us to our room. I noticed he was carrying a small valise. Clearly, the night was not over yet.
"Wait by the window Hurtle, and look out over the city."
I did as I was told and heard a bag being opened and then a quiet rustling of clothes. There was no talking, but I sensed that Iancu was helping My Mistress prepare for the next part of our evening.