The Golden Princess and the Moon

by Anna Mendell

  As he stepped beyond the castle walls, he heard a strange keening song faintly floating through the trees, a weird mixture of lament and lullaby. He followed the sound, until he reached a glade of woven shadows illuminated by the pale and ghostly moon. There kneeled the princess with her breasts unbound, rocking a little bundle as if she were feeding it and singing it to sleep.

  Erik’s heart sank to his feet, and he softly approached Rosa so as not to surprise her. The little bundle she held was nothing but a sack stuffed with earth and twigs and leaves. Her eyes were open but unseeing, and he saw that she was still asleep. Gently removing the bundle from her groping hands, he shook her softly, trying to waken her. Rosa began to scream, piecing earsplitting shrieks, as she thrashed and flailed wildly. Erik restrained her as gently as he could, speaking soothingly to her all the while. A tremor passed through her body. She fell on his breast, heaving broken sobs, and he held her against him and wept. Then he lifted her up and cradled her in his arms and, covering her with his tunic, carried her back to the castle.

  He put the princess to bed and watched over her until the sun rose. Then he swore the guards to secrecy so as not to reveal that they had seen him and the princess in the night. From then on he kept close watch over Rosa, and his worry over her and his grief drained him of his strength.

  THE sun was setting in the prince’s study. He sat alone, clutching his head in his hands, snatching a brief moment of stillness before he returned to Rosa’s side. Looking up, he saw Dunstan’s figure outlined in the doorway.

  “Dunstan.” He rose swiftly. “What is it? Any news?”

  Dunstan shook his head, and Erik sank back down again in his chair. His friend stepped into the room and went to his side. “Erik,” he spoke in an earnest tone, “it is not good for the princess that she stay always in her room. She needs to go outside. The people need to see that she is all right.”

  “The people!” Erik exclaimed. “Do you know what the people say about her?”

  “I do,” Dunstan said softly.

  “And you would have me expose my wife to such slander?”

  “Erik, it is precisely because of what is being said about her that the princess must no longer be hidden from view.”

  “Dunstan, you do not believe in these mad rumors?”

  “Of course not.” Dunstan laid a steadying hand on Erik’s shoulder. “There was a time when I disbelieved in the princess, but she appeared miraculously despite my doubt. I will never disbelieve her again.”

  Erik bowed his head, weighed down by emotion.

  “But others must look upon the princess, taste her grief, feel the grace of her presence. Secrets only breed more secrets, my friend.”

  Erik wearily passed his hands over his eyes. “I am so clouded by sorrow that I do not know what to do. I am only trying to protect her.”

  Dunstan’s eyes shone with sympathy. “Let the people see their princess.”

  So Erik led Rosa from her rooms, and she would sit in the garden for hours, basking in the peace and the quiet. At the royal banquets she barely spoke a word, but her features were so stricken by sorrow that the rumors began to quieten, until they were only an echo in the wind.

  ROSA and Erik sat alone in the garden one hushed night. As she laid her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “I have endured much loss, my parents, my kingdom, my own time, but somehow I feel that the loss of a child is an emptiness that can never be filled.”

  Erik held her tightly. “But this is a loss that you do not have to bear on your own. I am here with you, and, though we will never forget, time may soften the wound.”

  They wept together, and from then on, Rosa began to slowly heal. The days passed, and Emma and sometimes Dunstan would sit with Rosa in the garden and draw a smile or two from her face, though her laughter was no longer heard ringing in the castle. Erik stayed by her side as she poured herself into the new school at the royal library, telling stories, and teaching young children their letters. He watched her look hungrily into the children’s faces and knew she was thinking of the child she had lost.

  Erik was surprised one day to see Kenelm, his old sword master, sitting with Rosa in the garden. The old soldier’s rough visage softened as he spoke quiet words to the princess and, when Erik joined them, he rose and departed.

  “He often comes to keep me company when no one is around. I believe he has endured much suffering and loss, for he knows what words will comfort me, and when silence is best,” she explained, responding to his questioning glance.

  Erik clasped her hand and turned to watch the receding figure of the retired Captain of the Guard disappear into the castle barracks. He reflected that Rosa’s sorrow had drawn forth kindness from a heart that he had always thought as hard as the mountain rock.

  THEN the time came when Rosa found that she was expecting another child. Erik felt a stab of joy mixed with fear. He did not know if he or Rosa could endure another loss. Rosa smiled more often now. He could hear her singing to herself when she walked in the garden. A heaviness that he didn’t know he had been carrying lifted from his shoulders, and Rosa clasped his hand and together they made promises to keep unceasing vigilance over their new child.

  Autumn came with its golden harvest, and a son was born. They named him Lucien, for he was like the light that dispelled the darkness of their mourning. The baby received love in double-portion, for his own sake and for the love that could not be given to his sister. Rosa’s laughter could be heard echoing through the castle as she cooed and kissed her lovely one. She never left her son alone, and Erik stayed protectively by their side. Guards were stationed directly outside their door, and both he and the princess took turns staying up with the baby tucked between them in their bed. One night they both started awake, Erik realizing that he had fallen asleep on his watch. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that little Lucien was sleeping peacefully between them.

  A FEW more months passed, and the castle, which had held its breath when the baby was born, began to feel that all was well with the princess and her child. Then the queen smiled her red, pitiless smile. She saw that Rosa and Erik had relaxed their vigilance, becoming just a little less cautious, a little less watchful. This was the moment for which she had been waiting. Queen Sigrid stirred her potions and mixed for the second time that soporific concoction whose cloudy vapors had lulled Rosa and the prince to sleep and enabled her to steal the first child away from her loving parents. She placed the glass vessel in their room as they slept and fanned the billowing clouds until their tendrils wrapped Rosa, Erik, and little Lucien in heavy slumber.

  IN the morning Erik woke from his stupefied sleep, his head throbbing. The ache was immediately forgotten in horror: Rosa lay sleeping at his side, smeared in ash. Their baby was gone.

  Suspicions that he had not even known he harbored in his mind stirred awake, and it was at this moment that Rosa opened her eyes and saw the bed cloths stained with ash. She sat up with a cry, her face a mirror image of the prince’s horror and pain.

  She reached out to her husband. “Our baby,” she moaned, but Erik recoiled at her touch.

  “Erik?” the anguish in Rosa’s voice took on a new tone.

  The prince sprang out of the bed and looked at his wife. “Rosa, he was my son,” he said hoarsely.

  Rosa stared at him in mute amazement.

  Erik went to the door, immediately ordering a search for their missing child, and the guards cast dark and suspicious glances on the princess. After her shut the door, Erik gazed at the tear streaked trails on his wife’s ashy face and then, with a groan, buried his face in his hands.

  The princess rose and went to him. “Erik, you don’t think that I…?” Her sentence trailed off.

  Erik looked up at his wife and could see that she read the doubt in his eyes. “Rosa, I don’t know what to think.”

  Rosa turned white beneath the ash and flinched as if he had struck her. Erik moaned at the look of betrayal on his wife’s face. “Rosa, plea
se forgive me. I just have to be alone for a while.” He left the room and Rosa stood alone, rigid with disbelief.

  ERIK was in his study, bowed in grief, when he felt the light pressure of a hand resting gently on his head.

  “Erik, forgive me, but I must ask. Has the princess done anything strange that you can think of ? Anything that bears the stamp of witchcraft?” The queen’s soft yet insistent words hovered ominously over Erik like a thundercloud.

  The prince peeled his clammy hands away from his face. He thought of the dark night he had found the princess in the moonlit glade, madly suckling a false baby to her breast. He did not say anything, but his silence was a confirmation.

  The queen wrapped her arms around him and whispered softly, “Erik, I am so sorry. Some women are unnatural mothers, like a cat eating its young. I am sure that she could not help it.”

  The prince gave a low groan and burst from her embrace. He ran madly down the stairs through the castle to the stables, where he leapt onto Lodestar’s back and rode blindly into the forest.

  WHEN Erik had rushed out of his study, the queen had smiled to herself and then went to join Rosa in her room.

  “Come, let me wipe the ash off you,” she said.

  The queen ordered a tub of water brought to her and wiped the princess clean. Then she changed her into a simple woolen dress and tied her golden waves into a knot on the back of her head. When she was finished, she took the unresisting princess into another, smaller room of which only she had the key. “Remain in here until I give word,” she commanded.

  Rosa gave no sign that she had heard, and the queen locked the door behind her with the key that she wore about her neck.

  Erik galloped through the forest, fleeing thoughts that were relentless demons chasing him down. He rode on and on, until the shadows lengthened and the trees seemed possessed by the very furies he sought to escape. He would have ridden Lodestar to the breaking point, if an inhuman cry in the wood had not startled the horse, so that he reared and cast Erik off. Lodestar turned faithless and fled, leaving the prince in the wake of his thundering hoofs.

  Erik lay in the dust and the withered leaves, and the gloom settled over him. The tall black boughs wove a canopy of leaves above him, and he lay unthinking in the darkness, until the sharp cry of a bird of prey brought him back to his senses. Starting, he realized that he was leaving himself vulnerable in the dark of the wood. He had left hunger and other human desires behind him at the castle, so he built a fire and kept a waking vigil. Sleep eluded him, and he did not wish to dream.

  He set off at dawn, his steps aimless, searching for something, but he knew not what. He trekked through the day. At first, he thought that he was searching for Ninny Nanny’s cottage, but after a while he knew that he was not, for the cottage would be empty, and, if he did find the witch or faery, her answers would be hollow. Was not Ninny Nanny herself cast into doubt? Would her riddles lead him on the true path, or were they traps in a labyrinth of lies? The very foundation of his belief was shaken, and he kept savagely pushing down dark thoughts. He did not yet dare think of her.

  Again he did not eat or sleep, but the next day he found an animal caught in a hunter’s snare and ate it, for still he clung to life. Yet he disliked that he was near other human trails, so he went deeper and deeper into the forest. Erik still did not know where he was going, but, if anyone had asked, he would have told them that he was heading toward the Shadowood. What he did not know was that the Shadowood had already come to him and had entered his heart.

  At last he thought about the princess. Better never to have found her, better to have gone to the tower and discovered it empty, than to take her home with him, love her, and find out that she was the lie. He had thought that, when he chose the lead casket during his trial underground, his choice to believe in her was final and irrevocable. He had not understood that he would have to make that same choice again and again every day of his life. And yet, even now, though he did not know the truth, he loved her still. But his stepmother had planted the seed of doubt in his heart with all the whispers and all the rumors and all her seemingly well-meaning words. The old question returned to haunt him: was Ninny Nanny a witch and the sleeping princess a subtle trap to ensnare the crown prince with a dark magic? He could not believe it of Rosa, with her musical laugh and the light of the sun in her eyes. Then the images of his two beloved children’s faces floated before him, and he fell to his knees with an anguished cry.

  The days blended into one long span of darkness, and the doubt gnawed at his heart, driving him mad. He wandered until he stumbled upon a large, grey pool of water shrouded in mist. Casting himself upon the ground, he stared into the still waters, which reflected the grey skies and the shadows of the trees above him, but the dark waters revealed nothing of the secrets below. He gazed through the fathomless depths into nothing. He saw nothing itself and wondered what it would be like to sink into nothing.

  ROSA stared blankly out her window, the horrible events of the morning settling into their places in her mind. She shuddered. Erik thought that she was responsible for the loss of their children. This thought kindled a flame of anger within her. She had not been the only one left alone in the room with their son, and she had never once doubted Erik!

  Still, Rosa realized that there were other elements at work, those that had stolen away her children and turned her husband against her. She would not think on the loss of her son. She must put away that grief for later. Deep within her heart was the hope that her children were not dead, but were being kept alive by whoever was plotting against them.

  She rose and paced the room. She must see Erik, convince him that they were caught in a trap, show him that someone meant them further harm in a way that they could not yet foresee. She understood this so clearly now and, if she could but speak to Erik, she could persuade him of her innocence. But Erik did not come, and, when she tried the door, she found that it was locked.

  Rosa sank impatiently in the chair and waited, but, when the door finally did open, it was not the prince but the queen who entered, bearing a tray of food.

  “Where is my husband?” Rosa demanded.

  “He is in his old rooms, he does not wish to see you,” the queen said coldly.

  “Tell him I wish to speak with him.”

  “I will.”

  The queen put down her tray and sat down on the bed, the only other place to sit in the small room. “Would you confide in me what you wish to say to him? It may help me convince him to see you.”

  Rosa did not speak, so the queen took the princess’ hand into her own long and beautiful hands, gleaming with gold and shining gems. “Confide in me, Rosa. I can help you. I know you are innocent of all the evil that is said of you.”

  “Do you?” Rosa asked, searching the queen’s eyes with a long, discerning gaze. The queen must not have liked the power behind the princess’ deep and clear eyes, for she looked away and said, “If you will not let me help you, then I am afraid you will remain here until the king decides what to do with you.”

  “My husband will protect me. Will you tell him that I wish to speak to him as I asked?”

  The queen gave Rosa a small, secretive smile that the princess could not interpret, and, after she had left the room, Rosa began to pace about again in agitation.

  Erik still did not come.

  The queen returned in the evening with more food and the simple message that Erik would not see her.

  Rosa sank deep into her chair. Had Erik abandoned her? Surely he would not. But then she recalled the doubt in his eyes and felt a shiver run through her body. He could not be so convinced that she murdered her own children? What sort of love did he bear if he could believe that of her? The princess felt ill at the thought.

  THE queen barred everyone else in the castle from Rosa’s room, turning a deaf ear to Emma’s persistent requests to see the princess. In despair, the handmaid went searching for Dunstan. When she found him, he visibly started at the dist
ress that must have been stamped on her face.

  “Emma, what is the matter?”

  She clutched his outstretched hand. “Dunstan,” she gasped. “You don’t believe the terrible lies that are being told about the princess?”

  “No, Emma,” he said soothingly, “I could not believe that of her.”

  “Then you must go find Erik and bring him back. The queen has the princess locked in a room and will not let anyone see her.”

  “I thought the princess had hidden herself away so she could grieve alone,” Dunstan exclaimed in surprise.

  “And there is more,” the handmaid whispered. “Yesterday, Erik left in secret. I heard the queen speak to the king against him. She said the princess is a witch and that she’s ensorcelled the prince to plot against the king with the Lord Gavin and the rest of the western lords. That’s why he left the castle.”

  Dunstan turned white. “I shall leave this instant.”

  Emma did not let go of his hand. “Take care,” she whispered.

  Dunstan gave her a reassuring smile. She released her grasp, and he left.

  ROSA sat alone in her room. Gone was the fire of indignation from her eyes at being innocently locked in a cage. Gone was the conviction that she could sway Erik to her side if she could but speak to him. Despondency and hopelessness traced her figure and left their outline impressed on her sunken limbs. At her side was the empty tray of food and drink that the queen left behind her after every visit. That morning, the queen had held the goblet of spiced wine before Rosa’s lips, whispering suggestive words of despair and loss, of the meaninglessness of the princess’ life, now that her children and her husband were taken from her. She would not leave until Rosa had drained the goblet of its contents. In her cloudy state, Rosa wondered why the queen would not leave her alone, but any stirring of suspicions was silenced by the lethargy that pressed over her like a heavy pillow, suffocating her.