A Princess of Sorts

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  She waved back and nodded. It seemed to be all she had to do.

  “You may well want to keep the queen’s quarters,” Coltic said as they left the cheering villagers behind. “It has the adjoining roof garden, where you can sit outside in private. The king’s quarters are more exposed and offer less privacy. In fact, it overlooks the courtyard on both sides and can be quite noisy.” He stopped and bowed his head for a moment. “We of the Guard have spent many hours there over the years... It’s difficult to comprehend the castle without King Tobin... and the princes running wild.”

  “I believe the queen’s rooms are more suitable in general,” said Sorrell. “Should not the Guard continue to occupy the king’s quarters, for safety?”

  The princess shrugged. “I suspect you’re right.” Coltic continued to discuss the rooms with Sorrell, but Scylla closed her ears to the conversation and turned her attention instead to the kingdom’s flag. It was being carried by a soldier a few horse-lengths ahead and flapped lazily in the light breeze. Mostly white with a diagonal pair of stripes in blue, it was very stark, and she mulled on improving the design. Perhaps three red spots, for the blood of the king and the two princes... No need to include a spot for Queen Maris, she decided.

  When Mako rode back and slowed down once again to the mule’s pace, Coltic told him, “The princess may prefer the queen’s quarters as it’s more spacious, and has the roof garden.”

  “What do you think, Lady Sorrell?”

  Sorrell had been consulted by the chancellor several times now and was no longer surprised when he addressed her. “The current queen’s quarters are more suitable,” she agreed.

  “Princess?”

  “I’m sure they are. Whatever Sorrell thinks.”

  “You are agreeable to taking the queen’s rooms?”

  “Oh, quite likely,” she said impatiently. “Have the Guard stay where they are, do you all not occupy the King’s rooms? Minda can go ahead with... with whatever she thinks needs doing. The subject does not interest me at all!”

  “Are you still considering throwing yourself from the castle walls?” Mako asked with suspect politeness. “I only ask because of the roof garden.”

  She rolled her eyes skyward and ignored him.

  He rode alongside Coltic for a while, and she caught snippets of their discussion, which merely irritated her. She was tired of the whole adventure already. The mule, although it was smooth and quiet, was still a mule.

  ***

  The sun grew hotter. Princess Scylla wondered how long they had been traveling. Not long enough for the end to be near, she surmised. Her ankle felt as if it had doubled in size, and her head pounded despite the mule’s easy, rhythmic gait. She tried to stretch in the saddle.

  Coltic said, “We will stop for a rest soon, Princess. Just around that next bend, there’s a village roadhouse that will have refreshments ready.”

  She nodded.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Quite well. Will we reach better roads soon?” The forest had dwindled and transformed to a pretty but rocky landscape of small green fields and wooded areas, and the road, which showed signs of improvement in width and surface, wound along the bank of a small river. Sheep grazed in small flocks, usually with dogs and a shepherd watching.

  “Yes, quite soon.” His glance moved to Sorrell. “How are you holding up, Lady Sorrell?” She responded with an abrupt nod, which either meant she was fine, or that she was in pain but it was not bad enough to stop what she was doing.

  “We’ll be stopping for a rest soon,” he repeated. He stood in the stirrups and cast his gaze from the front of the column to the back, the end of which was nowhere in sight. Neither was Chancellor Mako. Princess Scylla wondered how the marchers were holding up at the rear of the long procession. The last ones would straggle in after dark, she suspected, while the soldiers would enter triumphantly, escorting the royal company in plenty of time to prepare for the coronation tomorrow. The wagons, carts and other riders would come trailing in behind. How would the castle town accommodate such an influx of people and animals?

  They jogged on, not at a fast pace, but one the animals could maintain for miles.

  The princess admired the view along the stream. The sun sparkled on ripples in the water, while birds flew and shrieked, even over the babble of voices, the jingling of equipment and the hoof beats. She looked at the sky. It was blue, intense, with the sun high and hot.

  “Oh, look,” she said to Sorrell. “See how the sky shimmers so beautifully.”

  Sorrell looked up and grunted, not a very lady-like sound.

  Coltic raised his voice to one of the soldiers riding alongside. “Tell the chancellor we are stopping. The princess needs a rest from riding!”

  “He’s up front with the Guard,” came the response. “With the roads converging up ahead, we are expecting a large addition to the procession!”

  “Get him!” said Coltic, and sudden, hard hoof beats took off, fading away up ahead. “Halt! Company halt!”

  Princess Scylla blinked, squinting against the bright sunlight and the shimmering sky. She realized her headache was suddenly much worse, pounding along in unison with the mule’s footfalls. Never mind, she told herself – they would be stopping soon.

  She closed her eyes. Perhaps that would help. Indeed it did. She felt much better. The noise and her aches and pains began to lessen, and she felt quite light and relaxed. Riding on the white... no, spotted... mule was like riding on a cloud. Why, it barely felt at all as if they were moving.

  “Princess, are you all right?” Sorrell’s voice sounded quite loud beside her.

  “Mmmm,” she nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “Although I may doze off for a moment...”

  She began to feel as if she were spinning, falling off the mule. “Oh, perhaps I shouldn’t... nap on mule-back...” Arms were suddenly supporting her, Sorrell’s from the right, Coltic’s from the other side. The mule had stopped. In fact, everything seemed to be stopping, and she drifted off into a most pleasant dream, of the cool river with its swirling ripples, carrying her downstream... towards the castle and her own bed... cool, dim, quiet.

  Somehow she could still hear Coltic. He seemed to be very close to her ear. “Soldier, hold the mule! You others, help Lady Sorrell to dismount! Get some...”

  Everything must have truly stopped because when she opened her eyes, everything was different. Above her a beautifully embroidered fabric hovered, supported by a bower of freshly cut saplings. She was still breathing fresh air, however, and the water lapped not too far away, with the scent of fresh cool water reaching her nostrils. The scent of water, however, was spiced with a conflicting waft of freshly dropped horse manure.

  “Hmmm!” she said.

  “Princess! Can you swallow?” There was Mako again as if he had never put the cursed cup down. She was propped up on some pillows... no, sheepskins. A cup pressed against her lips. She swallowed the liquid she was offered – water – because she knew he wouldn’t go away and leave her in peace.

  “Are we back at the smithy?”

  “No, Princess. Drink some more water!” He appeared close to despair.

  “Where are we? Look, there’s the blonde angel!” The blonde angel did not look at all amused, not like he had at the smithy.

  “It’s Coltic,” said Mako tightly. “Coltic and Sorrell. Princess, please. You’re not dying again, are you?”

  “Sorrell... you look like an angel too!” She gazed at the beautiful face of her handmaid. Were there tears in her eyes?

  “Sorrell may be an angel, but remember, Coltic is not!” Mako’s desperation had begun to lessen.

  The princess gave a faint giggle. “No, not according to castle gossip! Shall I get back on the mule?”

  “Not right this minute.” Mako sat back on his heels. He turned his head to look around. The princess saw that she was on the narrow riverbank under some trees, with the canopy of fabric for shade overhead. Across the road was a wooded
area and further on, a rocky ridge with a few trees clinging to it.

  “What a lovely tent! Who put it up in such a very pretty spot? Can we rest here for a while, or are we traveling on to the village?”

  “Princess...” said Mako, “please shut up for a moment or two. You have frightened us deeply.” He raised an arm in a wave, and some muted cheering ensued. The princess saw that all the soldiers and wagons had stopped, and many eyes were aimed her way. She raised her hand and gave a feeble wave, and she got a much larger cheer.

  “Don’t get them roaring again,” Mako told her. “We’re not even halfway to the castle. Let them save their voices for the coronation.”

  She snickered.

  His expression relaxed into relief. Coltic and Sorrell’s faces lost their look of strain and began to soften.

  “Did I faint? I’m sorry, I had a headache.”

  “Probably a bit of heat-stroke,” said Coltic. He looked chagrined. “You should have had a hat for some shade, and we should have stopped for water earlier.”

  “Has the princess been traveling without a hat?” A new voice was raised to reach them.

  They all looked around. Some yards away, a woman stood behind a ring of guards.

  “I believe that is Minda!” the princess spoke up. She wasn’t sure why she was being so talkative, but she said it anyway.

  “I am Minda.”

  The Chancellor beckoned her forward.

  “I do not recall,” said Minda, looking down at Scylla. She seemed very tall. “Has the princess been in ill-health these past years?”

  “Never, in recent years,” said Sorrell, shaking her head.

  “I haven’t let it be broadcast, but she took a blow to the head during her escape. She was also dehydrated and far too cold when we found her,” Mako explained. “The physician pronounced her well enough to travel. But she wouldn’t allow him to leech her.”

  “Leech!” The princess sat up. “I ban leeches from this kingdom. Is that the physician over there? Do not let him near me! Sorrell, do you still have the blade?”

  “Yes, Princess.” Mako put his hand on her collarbone and pressed her back against the sheepskins.

  Minda said firmly, “Of course there will be no leeches, Princess. Our more modern medicine does not involve leeches – besides, it would be a hindrance in this situation. Captain, you are probably correct – Princess Scylla needs shade and more liquids. Can you procure some chicken soup from the roadhouse up ahead? Have them add more salt as well.” Coltic went over to one of the soldiers and spoke to him. He rode off towards the nearby village.

  Chancellor Mako stood up. “We shall have to rig up a canopy for the princess... on the mule... until we reach better roads.”

  Minda shook her head, saying under her breath, “Men! Never mind, Chancellor Mako. I remember you as a young page...”

  “Ah,” said Mako. His cheek quivered. “Do you, Minda?”

  “Did I not catch you... well, never mind. No doubt you are much wiser now. Here, may I suggest...” She looked down at Scylla assessingly.

  “My husband has taken the liberty of sending for a small sprung carriage from our farm. It was made for a young child... well, never mind that either. The princess is quite small in build. I believe she can be transported adequately in the carriage, which I’m told is a very smooth ride.”

  “There are at least two miles left of this rough track,” said Coltic.

  Minda was thinking. “Can the mule carry her to the roadhouse? Once there, she may be able to revive and ride on until we meet the carriage. I do understand, Chancellor, the need to not waste time on this mission.”

  He was nodding. “The smithy was no place for an invalid. And the kingdom needs its queen.”

  “All very true,” Minda agreed, rather sharply. “That is, of course, as long as the potential queen is able to survive the journey.”

  “I’m fine now,” said the potential queen from her sheepskin throne. “May I ask you, Minda...!”

  “Yes, Princess?”

  “What handiwork did the queen take from you?” She looked up at the beautiful fabric flapping gently in the light breeze overhead.

  Minda looked up as well. “Yes, that one and some others, Princess – fabrics that were woven for my wedding. It does not matter now. My husband wed me despite the scandal and I never missed the handiwork.”

  “Excellent!” Scylla replied. “May I give it back to you?”

  “Not right now,” said Mako. “Can it wait until the need for shade from the sun has lessened?”

  “Thank you, Princess, I will consider it.”

  “Well, it is a lovely fabric,” she sighed, tilting her head back to admire the canopy.

  Instantly Mako was kneeling again at her side. “Princess, take some more water.”

  “I am merely admiring the canopy,” she told him sharply. “Did you think I was dying again?” She drank and felt strength seeping back into her body along with the liquid. “Thank you, Chancellor. The water is very refreshing.”

  He stood up. Minda said quietly, “The princess seems quite pleasant despite what I have heard. Is she always this pleasant?”

  “No,” said Mako.

  “No,” Coltic echoed.

  “No, but she can be,” said Sorrell loyally.

  Scylla ignored them. It was truly a novel experience to have so much attention from so many people. I may have to think about being more pleasant in general, she told herself. Or not. She would have to see what being queen would bring. If too much badgering took place, she would have to stop it, even if unpleasantness was required.

  Hoofbeats announced the return of the soldier. He handed down a small pot with the lid tied on. “As requested: soup from the roadhouse!”

  Some twenty minutes later, Scylla was assisted back into the saddle while the mule stood patiently. She had consumed most of the soup and felt much revived. On her head, she now wore a straw hat with a wide brim, borrowed from someone among the procession’s followers. In the lead, the soldiers were moving off again, with shouts and the flag flying. Then Mako and Coltic on their horses started moving, with the princess’s mule between Coltic and the stoic Lady Sorrel. Behind them, on the narrow track, a group of soldiers fell in as well.

  Once they were in motion, the whole cavalcade started forward again in fits and starts and with a new burst of excitement. The plan was to carry on until the carriage sent for by Minda’s husband met them, with Scylla having agreed to speak up the moment she began to feel unwell again.

  But plans do not always go smoothly.

  They had barely got back into the rhythmic jog that ate up distance when Scylla, who had tipped her head back to admire the soft white clouds in the sky, noted a familiar small shape perched in a tree along the side of the road. Keet! Was she dreaming again? She squinted in the bright light, the better to see him. The small stick-like creature was staring down at her urgently, and somewhere over the jangling noise of the horses and people, she heard his shrill cry.

  “Danger! Danger!” His sharp eyes pierced hers. “Defend yourself!” He jabbed urgently with one skinny pointing finger.

  Scylla looked in the direction he pointed and saw a bird fly overhead. The bird, or perhaps it was not a bird, crossed from a tree on the rocky ridge over the narrow road and dropped into the small river with a loud splash.

  The soldiers up ahead were alerted by the splash and looked back towards the stream. Mako and Coltic’s heads both turned automatically towards the splash as well. Scylla turned her head towards the tree from which the odd bird had flown.

  But something else flashed in front of her hat brim, and a feathered stick suddenly sprouted from Coltic’s shoulder. He grunted and his horse jumped sideways, running into Mako’s steed and forcing it towards the drop to the river, where it scrambled on the crumbling edge.

  From behind there came a shout, and the princess turned her gaze to see the nearest soldier, some ten feet behind, take an arrow to the throat. Blood g
ushed redly from the wound... He tumbled off to one side and his horse swung broadside, blocking the soldiers behind.

  Then a man slid down the rocky outcrop a few feet away and lunged at Sorrell, who was knocked sideways towards Scylla with a cry. She struggled to stay in the saddle but was much too far off balance between her horse and the princess’s white mule.

  It was all happening in slow motion, in which the princess could only reach out feebly to Sorrell.

  Suddenly there was a roar, and the man surged over top of Sorrell’s horse.

  “Attack! Attack on the queen!” From all directions, the cry was raised.

  “A blow for the House of Rellant!” came a hoarse shout from the attacker, his face twisted into ugliness. In his hand was a gleaming sword. The sun flashed off the tip as he swung it at Scylla.

  All that saved her was the mule’s lead rope in Coltic’s hand. His horse wheeled away, yanking the slower mule a foot or two sideways before he lost the grip on the rope. The sword cut a slice into the mule’s flank on the way down. The man slid back and pivoted to run his blade into the belly of a soldier who was upon him with sword raised.

  “Attack! Attack!” she heard Sorrell’s despairing cry. As she lost her grip and slid down under the horse’s feet, she flung something towards the princess’s saddle front. “Princess!”

  Without even thinking about it, Princess Scylla extended her hand to close on... what was it?

  She blinked at the object in her hand... the slim blade from Bart Smith’s swordstick. When the attacker scrambled up across Sorrell’s saddle and raised his bloodied weapon with both hands, she raised her own arm reflexively and thrust the point into one glaring, maddened eye with all her strength.

  The sword dropped from his hands. The man recoiled off the horse and fell away, with the blade sticking grotesquely from his eye socket.

  “That was a blow from the House of Rellant,” she said, almost conversationally. Then she drew a gasping breath of pure shock.

  Curses!