The Princess Spy

by Melanie Dickerson

  “If the guards still think I am you, and if they take me up to Claybrook’s chamber, they won’t be paying as much attention to you. Then you can slip away, down to the dungeon, and through the secret tunnel.”

  “But what will Claybrook do when he discovers you’ve tricked him?”

  “Let me worry about that. I can take care of myself. I wasn’t always a sheltered duchess, and I might be able to hide something up my sleeve.”

  “Like a candlestick?”

  “What?”

  “I hid a candlestick up my sleeve. That is how Colin and Anne and I escaped. I hit two guards over the head with it.”

  “That is a good idea.” Her mother smiled mischievously, making her look like a young girl.

  They looked around the room, but there was not a single candlestick in sight. “He must have heard that story as well.” Margaretha’s heart sank a little as they continued to look for anything that might be used as a weapon. They searched and searched, but nothing was small enough to fit in their sleeves — voluminous though they were — that was also hard and heavy enough to serve as a weapon.

  Then Margaretha noticed the iron cross hanging above her door. Her mother insisted that all their bedchambers have them. She carried a stool over to the door, quietly set it down so as not to alert the guards outside, and lifted the cross off the nail that held it in place.

  The cross was nice and heavy. Good.

  “Here, Mother. You can use it on Claybrook.”

  “You will have more need of it. You’re sure to encounter guards when you’re trying to escape.”

  They argued for several minutes, but Lady Rose finally won.

  Margaretha put on her mother’s dress, which was a dark emerald green. Then she found a black headrail, which she used to cover her hair and tucked into the collar of her mother’s gown. She took her black mourning veil, attached it to her mother’s gorget, and looked in the mirror.

  “I don’t even recognize myself.” Margaretha giggled at the deception.

  In the meantime, her mother had put on the over-decorated wedding dress, with its heavy gold brocade and layers of silk, which were embroidered with silver and gold thread. Then she fastened a fancier gorget to her head, attaching her most heavily embroidered veil.

  “No one will ever know you aren’t an eighteen-year-old bride.” Margaretha shivered a little inside. “But are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want to endanger you, Mother. He is so ruthless, he may kill you if he thinks I have escaped. I don’t think we should do it.”

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t allow him to kill me.”

  “Mother.” Margaretha felt ill. “I can’t let you do it.”

  “And I can’t let you marry that evil man!” She lowered her voice when she went on. “I lost one daughter, and I won’t lose another if there is anything I can do about it.”

  Her sister, the one who drowned when Margaretha was a baby. Margaretha’s chest ached at the pain her mother must still feel over the loss. She must trust God to keep her mother safe.

  “All will be well, Mother. I shall believe that God will make a way of escape for you.”

  “Yes, and I shall believe my plan will work.” Her mother held her by the arms and stared into her eyes.

  “Very well.”

  The guards pounded on the door and announced that it was time for them to come down for the wedding. Margaretha ran to the window and gazed out, hoping against her better judgment, knowing that they — her father, Valten, and her cousin and Colin — probably would not be there.

  The courtyard was nearly deserted. The only people she saw were two of Claybrook’s guards, and they looked as they always did — no one sounded an alarm, and no one moved or looked particularly vigilant.

  Her rescuers had not come.

  No matter. She would rescue herself.

  Chapter

  30

  Her mother opened the door to the guards and allowed them to lead her and Margaretha down to the chapel, where the priest and Lord Claybrook were waiting.

  The priest’s eyes were wider than normal, and his lips were pursed. No doubt he had been threatened with some heinous consequence if he did not agree to perform the marriage rites.

  Margaretha hung back while her mother walked forward to stand beside Claybrook in front of the priest. Soon, her family members were ushered in to stand as witnesses to the marriage. A glance over her shoulder showed several guards, all with swords drawn, standing by the door of the chapel.

  There was another entrance, but it was on the second floor. With an upward glance, she saw a guard standing at the top of the winding stairs, and another at the bottom. Claybrook was leaving no opportunity for escape.

  Margaretha felt the weight of the iron cross inside her sleeve. It gave her a measure of comfort, even though she could never hope to use it at the moment, with so many guards around them.

  The priest began speaking the rites, unaware that the “bride” before him was Lady Rose and not Margaretha. He spoke slowly, but he soon came to the part where the bride and groom would have to give their consent to the marriage. Just before it was time for the bride to consent, Claybrook suddenly took hold of her veil and ripped it off, revealing the face of Lady Rose.

  Claybrook turned and his eyes immediately focused on Margaretha, her face covered with the veil that was supposed to be her mother’s. “Ah! I knew you would attempt some trickery.” His lip curled in a snarl, showing his teeth like some sort of animal, and he pointed at Margaretha. “Bring her here.”

  The guards grabbed her elbows and pushed her forward. Claybrook threw back her black veil. “A foolish ruse. You cannot delay the wedding any longer.” He grasped her upper arm so tightly, his fingers bit into her flesh. But Margaretha was too relieved that his hand had just missed the cross in her sleeve to complain.

  Claybrook turned to the priest. “Get on with it.”

  The priest repeated the vows. When he asked her if she would vow to honor and obey Claybrook as her husband, Margaretha replied loudly in German, so everyone in the chapel could hear, “I will not.”

  Claybrook growled and said, “She agrees.” Claybrook’s voice was emphatic. “Now go on.”

  Margaretha waited to see what the priest would do. Would he stop the ceremony, defying Claybrook, since Church law stated that no one could be married against their will? Or would he continue with the wedding vows to avoid whatever Claybrook had threatened him with?

  The priest only spared Margaretha one quick glance before continuing with the ceremony.

  She could have protested further, could have fought Claybrook and run if she was able to break loose from his painful grip, but what good would that do? The guards would only drag her back. They might even hurt her mother just to force her to comply. For now, she would bide her time.

  The priest’s voice was like the drone of a hive full of bees, dooming her to marry him, whether she consented or not. There was no way out.

  O God, save me, save me!

  She must keep her wits about her, even though she was trapped and could see no way of escape. How could she ever get past so many guards?

  This pattern of thinking was not helping. She must keep looking for an opportunity. She must not allow herself to think that all was lost. God was her peace. Hadn’t she learned that on the long journey she had taken with Colin? By focusing on God’s power and goodness, she would not panic and her mind would remain clear so she could think of a plan. Instead of sending up prayers full of anxiety, she would trust that God would make a way.

  When the priest pronounced them “man and wife,” Claybrook took her hand, squeezed her fingers in a vice-like grip, and nodded to the witnesses. “Now we shall eat, drink, and be merry as you honor the marriage between the House of Fortescue and the House of Gerstenberg.”

  Each of Margaretha’s family members alternately looked horrified, disgusted, or angry, but Claybrook didn’t seem to notice. He dragged Margaretha forward.

 
; The marriage can still be annulled. She comforted herself with those words, but it was little comfort if she were forced to go back with him to his bedchamber. She simply had to escape.

  She numbly followed as he paraded her in front of his men. One of them looked at Margaretha with a lewd sneer. She glared back at him, then faced forward, refusing to look at anyone else.

  Throughout the feast, Margaretha calculated various escape routes. When she asked to go to the garderobe, he sent three guards with her and refused her request to allow her mother to accompany her. The guards never turned their back on her, and she wasn’t desperate enough to take on three of them — yet.

  She forced herself to eat a little bread and meat, to make sure she kept up her strength. But soon, her nervous stomach would not accept any more food.

  The only good thing was that Claybrook was drinking heavily, and had been all day. Perhaps he would make himself so drunk he would pass out and she could escape. She wouldn’t count on it, though.

  Margaretha’s sisters kept looking at her with tears in their eyes. She winked at them when Claybrook wasn’t looking. All would be well. She didn’t want them to think otherwise. Her little brothers also looked frightened for her, desperation and anger flitting over their faces. They wanted to defend her, which proved her little brothers did love her, even though they teased her.

  Margaretha refused to look at Lord Claybrook throughout the feast. There was little entertainment — only one troubadour and a juggler. No one seemed in a particularly festive mood. Even the few knights of higher rank who had been allowed to join the feast as guests were subdued.

  Finally, when Claybrook was well and truly drunk, he yelled at the guards standing by to take Margaretha’s family to their chambers and lock their doors. Then he motioned to three guards to come with him. “Come and escort me and my new bride to our wedding chambers.” He chortled drunkenly.

  Margaretha walked slowly, and, surprisingly, the guards and Claybrook followed suit and walked slowly as well. I can surely fight off a man as drunk as Claybrook. But she preferred to delay the moment of confrontation as long as possible.

  They began to climb the stone stairs to Claybrook’s bedchamber when Claybrook began to moan. He continued to climb, but he moved even slower. When they reached the top of the steps, Claybrook coughed, then bent over and vomited on the floor.

  Two of the guards took hold of Margaretha’s arms while the third asked Claybrook if he needed help.

  Claybrook ordered, “Take her to her own chamber until I send for her.” He leaned over and retched some more.

  Margaretha shuddered. She did not envy the poor servant who would be forced to clean that up. But . . . Thank you, God, for the reprieve!

  The two guards compelled her to start walking down the corridor to her chamber. When they had rounded the bend, they stopped.

  They were looking at each other. Perhaps this was her opportunity!

  “Men, if you will help me escape,” Margaretha whispered, “I will make it worth your while. My father, Duke Wilhelm, will reward you well — ”

  One of the guards interrupted her. “We will help you escape, if you have a plan.”

  “You will? But why?”

  “We have our reasons.”

  “Tell us,” the other one said.

  “You must take me to the dungeon.”

  “To the dungeon? My lady — ”

  “To the dungeon. Pretend you are bringing me there on Lord Claybrook’s orders, to clamp me in irons. I will tell you the rest when we get there.”

  They crept forward and peeked down the corridor. No one was in sight. Then they heard Claybrook retching again farther down the corridor.

  The two men compelled her forward. Once at the top of the stairs, they maneuvered around the mess on the floor and hurried down the steps, with Margaretha in the lead.

  “We should move more slowly,” one guard whispered, “so as not to create suspicion should the other guards see us.”

  Margaretha nodded and slowed her pace, allowing the guards to take her by each arm again, as though they were holding her captive.

  “Why do you want to help me?” Margaretha whispered. Could she really trust them? She was desperate for a way out, so she had little choice.

  She stopped and faced them, and they stopped as well, halting in the corner at the top of the stairs that led to the dungeon.

  The two men were burly, one with dark reddish hair and the other with light brown. They met her eyes openly. “We thought we could better our status by coming with Claybrook here, but we didn’t know what a brutal, unjust man he was.”

  The one with light brown hair and a crooked nose added, “And we regret being forced to kill innocent men. He promised that if we came with him, he would give us our own estates in exchange for helping him foist a usurper from his family’s lands.”

  “And then we discovered he had lied to us. We don’t like the man.” The redhead shook his head. “Also, we heard from the kitchen servants that the men of Hagenheim are sneaking out of the town, being lowered down the wall to go and join Duke Wilhelm. They say he is raising an army to fight Claybrook.”

  “Not only that, but we believe the kitchen servants poisoned Claybrook’s wine.”

  “So that is why he is sick!” Margaretha’s heart leapt at the news.

  “I heard them say that the last carafe of wine was only for Claybrook and his knights.”

  “I believe you are trustworthy,” Margaretha announced. “But you must tell me your names.”

  “I am Thomas Stephenson,” the red-haired one said.

  “Thaddeus Lee,” the other said.

  “Now I shall tell you a secret that you must not tell another soul.” Margaretha cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered in the red-haired man’s ear and told him about the tunnel in the dungeon that led outside the wall of the town. Then she told the brown-haired man, as he leaned down and offered her his ear.

  “When we get to the bottom of the steps, go to the right.”

  The men nodded, then escorted her down the dark steps.

  “Who goes there?” A guard stood at the bottom of the steps holding up a torch, his other hand reaching for his sword hilt at his belt. The old gaoler was nowhere in sight.

  Thomas greeted him and said, “Lord Claybrook ordered Lady Margaretha to spend the night in the dungeon.”

  Men — her father’s own knights and soldiers — lined the walls, chained hand and foot. She even recognized Britta’s sweetheart, Gustaf. The sight of them made her clench her teeth and itch to use the heavy cross in her sleeve.

  Thomas and Thaddeus had let go of her arms while they talked with the man guarding the dungeon. She heard a thud and turned to look.

  The guard sank to the floor. Thomas stood holding his sword at an odd angle. Apparently he had struck the guard with the butt of the hilt. The guard lay unmoving on the stone floor.

  “We must set these men free.”

  Thaddeus was already taking the keys from the large ring hanging from the guard’s belt. He systematically unlocked each man’s manacles.

  The men had obviously been shackled to the wall for quite some time. The ones who could barely walk were supported by the ones who were stronger and not injured.

  “Come this way.” They grabbed all the torches they could find and Margaretha led them all down the corridor to the chamber at the end, then pressed the trigger stone to open the wall and lead them into the secret tunnel. When they were safely through, they closed the stone wall back into place.

  Margaretha led them all as they moved, one in front of the other, in the narrow tunnel. Finally, without encountering any bats or even any rats, they came to the end.

  “Here is the door leading out,” she said to Thomas and Thaddeus. They put their shoulders up to it and pushed the door open easily. The dark of night greeted them, with stars and moon shining in the clear sky, as they all climbed out of the tunnel and onto the grassy meadow.

 
; “I want to go with you to find my father, but I hate to leave my family. It is possible Claybrook may kill them when he discovers I’ve escaped.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Thomas said. “He will use them for bargaining if things don’t go well and the castle is besieged. Besides, he’s too sick at the moment to order anyone killed.”

  That was certainly true.

  “But what will happen to these men?” Thaddeus asked her, looking around at the men who had been chained in the dungeon. “Some of them are not able to come with us.”

  “You are right.”

  “Lady Margaretha.” One of the men approached her, and she realized it was Sir Edgar. “The men who are not able to come with you to find your father will all find succor at my home, which is only a short walk from here. My wife and servants will personally attend the injured ones.”

  “Thank you, Sir Edgar. That is very good of you.”

  While Sir Edgar gave instructions to the injured, Margaretha turned to Thaddeus and Thomas. “Do you think we can find Duke Wilhelm without being captured by Claybrook’s men?”

  “I think so,” Thaddeus said. “Most of Claybrook’s men are either guarding the city gates or guarding the castle.”

  Thomas said, “Since you are with us, Lady Margaretha, we should find Duke Wilhelm and his men without much delay, as the people know you and will not be afraid to tell you. But we should hurry, since we don’t know how potent the poison was that Lord Claybrook drank. Perhaps he will only be sick for a short time.”

  As the injured started for Sir Edgar’s house, the rest of her father’s men that they had rescued from the dungeon joined with Thomas, Thaddeus, and Margaretha, and they started walking east, away from Hagenheim Castle.

  Margaretha’s feet were still sore from all the journeying she and Colin had done, but she was too grateful to have escaped Claybrook to complain. She walked through the trees, across meadows, crossed a stream, over hills, and still they walked.

  One of the men they had rescued from the dungeon knocked on the door to a family friend’s house to ask if he had heard where Duke Wilhelm, Lord Hamlin, and their men were. He did not know, but he told them the name of someone who might, and explained where to find him. So they walked on.