Mojitos with Merry Men

by Marianne Mancusi

  "Ask no questions now. I will demonstrate its power," I say grandly, channeling David Copperfield. "Who would like to go first?"

  The three girls look at one another with uneasy expressions. Ha! They're scared. My act is working. Finally, the redhead timidly steps up.

  "I will," she says, her voice a bit quavery.

  "Very well," I say, giving her a once-over. She's actually very pretty, though a bit pale. I wish I had the La Style makeup artist on call. Or some lights, for that matter. But hey, I remind myself, these girls have never seen a digital camera before. I don't need to deliver magazine-quality shots. Still, I do have some professional pride.

  "Now," I instruct, getting into photog mode. "Look at me. Yes, right. Now turn your left hip outward. Good. Hands on your hips. Dip your head a little lower. That's right."

  My subject frowns and glances over at her friends. I realize they're giggling at her expense. She turns back to me, glaring. "What does all of this have to do with a magic mirror?" she demands. "God save you if this is some kind of trick."

  I shake my head. "No, no—no trick. I just want you to look your best. Just stay with me here. Back in position." I adjust a few settings on the camera and hold it up to my eye.

  Click!

  The shutter noise and the bright flash cause the three girls to jump back in shock.

  "What was that light?"

  "Did it come from the mirror?"

  "I think I may be blind!"

  I smile. Wait till they see what I've done.

  "Okay, the magic mirror has captured your image in its aura. Now you shall see yourself, caught in its mystical eye." I motion for my model to come over to me. She hesitantly steps forward, her eyes wide and looking more than a bit scared.

  "I see green spots," she says, "dancing in front of my eyes. Did you blind me, witch?"

  "Nah, that goes away in a minute. Don't worry," I assure her. "Do you want to see your picture—er, reflection—or not?"

  I hold out the digital camera, turning it so she can see the LCD screen on the back. She takes it in her hands and stares down at her image. Her eyes widen, and suddenly she's squealing in a mix of delight and horror. She throws the camera back at me, as if it were a hot potato, and runs to the other side of the room.

  The other two girls crowd in behind me to see what has frightened their friend so much.

  "'Tis her!"

  "Captured in the mirror!"

  "How is it possible?"

  "She looks beautiful!"

  "I want a turn!"

  "No, I am first."

  "No, me!"

  I grin. Mission accomplished. I'm in with the in crowd. Accepted, safe. Bed, bath, and beyond.

  Chrissie, one. Medieval fashionistas, zero. If only Kat could see me now!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  That night there's to be a banquet in the main hall, celebrating some random saint or another, and I'm to attend as a guest of honor. Which is pretty cool, actually. I mean, obviously I've never been invited to a fancy party held in a medieval castle before. (No, my friend's second-grade birthday party at Medieval Times does not count.) If I'm going to experience 12th-century life, I might as well experience it to the fullest. And since I've already done the sleeping on the stone-cold ground as an outlaw in the forest thing, I think it's about time to see how the other half lives.

  At least, this is what my Pollyanna inner voice tries to convince me. The devil on my shoulder is a lot less interested in the whole deal. Truth be told, I miss Sherwood Forest. I miss the Merry Men…

  Ah, who am I trying to fool here? I miss Robin. Plain and simple. And I can't help obsessing over what's going on with him and Marian. Are they tucked away in his tent this very moment, making up for lost time with some wild and crazy sex? Or are they cuddling in one another's arms, vowing eternal devotion? Does Robin think of me at all as he traces her soft, white cheek with his callused finger? Does he wonder where I went? Does he even notice I'm gone?

  Did I do the right thing? Should I have stayed, fought for Robin? No. If you love someone, you have to let them go.

  If Robin comes back to me, he'll be mine forever.

  Yeah, right. I'm so not holding my breath for that one.

  "Princess Christine," Susan, the blonde, says, coming into the sitting room. "We must get you dressed."

  Heh. Princess Christine. I kind of like the sound of that.

  I push all outlaw thoughts from my brain and follow Susan into one of the bedrooms. She presents me with a gorgeous gown and explains it's mine to wear to the feast. It's made of the palest blue silk and has tiny crystals seeded into the embroidered sleeves. It's so delicate—ladylike—that I just know I'll end up spilling mead all down the front of it before the night is over. And sadly, stain-removing Clorox Bleach Pens have yet to be invented.

  I don the dress and Elaine, the brunette, combs and braids my unruly hair. Then Avelyn, the redhead, drapes a silver necklace around my neck. Susan grabs my hand to slip a few chunky, bejeweled rings on my fingers.

  "So, where is this kingdom of Hoboken that you come from?" Avelyn asks as she combs.

  "Yes, you speak with such a strange tongue. It must be very far," says Elaine. "I have never heard anyone talk as you do."

  "Oh, yeah. It's far. Really far. Across a huge sea." And oceans of time, too, but we don't need to go into all of that.

  "How did you get here?" Avelyn queries, draping a matching cloak over my shoulders and attaching it under my neck with an intricate silver dragon pin. "Was it by magic?"

  I think for a moment before answering, then nod my head. What the heck, right? Might as well keep up the mystique I've built up. "Yes. The matchmaker in my…kingdom…cast a spell and sent me here to find my true love."

  The girls' eyes all light at the mention of true love. So predictable. Who cares about magic when you've got potential hooking up to talk about?

  "I daresay you'll have trouble finding it in this castle," Elaine says with an exaggerated sigh. "Your matchmaker should have sent you to France."

  "Oh? I figured there'd be tons of guys around. I mean, even that knight earlier. The one who brought me up here. He was pretty good-looking."

  "Aye. There are many handsome knights residing in the castle, but most are disinterested in courting a lady." Avelyn shrugs. "They'd rather rut with village girls on flea-infested bales of hay than chastely pursue royal ladies worthy of their love."

  "'Tis not the knights' fault," argues Susan. "Prince John has ruled that they must not approach us. He enjoys the idea of having a castle filled with virgin brides, should he ever decide to take a wife."

  "That seems kind of unfair to you guys," I say. Wow. None of these women have ever hooked up with a guy? No wonder they're so catty. "Wait till King Richard comes back," I comfort. "I'm sure he'll sort everything out."

  "It seems King Richard will never return." Elaine sighs. "He rots in that Austrian prison, for no one is interested in paying his ransom. They'd rather throw banquets and stuff themselves like pigs."

  "We are ladies-in-waiting. And so we wait," says Susan in a long-suffering voice. "We will likely die virgins, never knowing a man's love."

  I roll my eyes. "That's dumb. You shouldn't have to sacrifice your happiness just on the prince's whim."

  I realize all three of them are staring at me.

  "Well, it's true!" I protested. "You choose to be here. To live like this. No one's holding a, uh, sword to your head."

  Susan stares at me. "Choose?" she repeats. "What choice do we have? To leave the castle and live in the village like commoners? Brown our skin and sleep in thatched-roof huts?"

  "Hey, all choices have consequences," I tell her. "You have to decide what you want in life. And what you're willing to sacrifice to get it."

  The chimes of a faraway bell effectively end the discussion, and the girls squeal and scamper off to their respective chambers. Evidently that's the call to dinner, and none of them are ready. They chatter excitedly as the
y don dresses and add accessories at a frantic pace. I feel like I'm in some kind of medieval sorority or something. I wouldn't admit this to anyone back home in the 21st century, but the whole thing is kind of cool. After all, I've never been the giggling, girly girl type before. I always insisted they were too mainstream. Still, after a month of eunuch-dom in a filthy forest, hanging with the girls is kind of fun.

  I look around the room. No mirrors. But I do still have my camera. I set the timer and hold my hand out. World's first ever selfie!

  Click! The flash blinds me for a moment. Then I turn the camera around to check out the finished product. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Wow! I look so different. So… ladylike! These girls are good!

  If only Robin could see me now. I wonder what he'd think. Not that I care. Really. I'm so through with that scene. In fact, maybe I'll go down to dinner tonight and meet a really sexy knight in shining armor. One of those chivalrous ones who will recite poetry to me as he feeds me peeled grapes. One who can stay friends with his exes but who has no desire to hook back up with any of them.

  Oh wait, these knights aren't allowed to have girlfriends. Just my luck.

  I feel eyes on me and look up from my camera's screen. Susan stands in the doorway, looking bashful.

  "What's up?" I ask.

  She closes the door behind her and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. "Can I speak freely?" she asks.

  "Of course," I say, wondering what's up.

  "What you said before, about choices. Do you truly believe it?"

  "Yes. Definitely. Why?"

  She blushes and stares down at her hands. "There is this boy," she says, and suddenly I realize how young she probably is. Couldn't be more than eighteen. "His name is Paul. He works at the stable, making horseshoes. He's an apprentice to a great swordsmith." She smiles as she speaks, and I can practically feel her intense crush radiating from her.

  "And you like him," I conclude unnecessarily.

  "Aye," she says, her face's pink glow deepening. "And he has given me reason to think he likes me as well."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "He is poor. Life with him would be hard. I would be banned from court and forced to live as a peasant woman."

  "But you'd be with him," I rationalize.

  "Aye." Tears slip from her blue eyes as she looks up at me in utter honesty for what I imagine to be the first time. "Princess Christine, forsooth, I know not what to do."

  "I think you do." I place a hand on her shoulder and give her a squeeze. "I think you want to follow your heart."

  "But the other ladies will not understand," she protests, glancing at the closed door. "They will think I've gone mad. To give up a life of leisure to live as a peasant…"

  "One, who cares what they think?" I ask. "And two, I think they might surprise you if you're honest with them."

  Susan smiles through her tears and reaches over to give me a huge hug. "Oh, Princess Christine," she says, burying her head in my shoulder. "You are so wise and good. I am very glad you came here."

  I stroke her head, feeling wise beyond my years. "I'm glad as well."

  * * *

  Fashionably late, we head down to dinner. The great hall has been transformed (and cleaned up, thank God!) for the feast. Torches and candles cast a fiery glow on long, row tables covered with plates and bowls overflowing with meats and fruits and cheese. On one side of the room sits a trio of musicians gently strumming their harps. Servants in grey linen tunics rush to and fro, delivering more and more food. Colorful, richly dressed courtiers lounge at each table, picking at their dinners. Judging from their waistlines, these guys aren't exactly downtrodden.

  It's kind of sick, actually, to see so much food in one place. I mean, there's no way it's all going to be eaten by the small number of guests present, not unless they stuff themselves to the point of illness, which I guess is possible. But still! All this food, all this excess, and the common people are sitting in their villages starving. Babies are dying of malnutrition.

  How can I be here? How can I enjoy this? It goes against everything I stand for, everything I've worked to eliminate since I've been here. If the Merry Men could see me now, I'd be so ashamed.

  "Princess Christine," a voice calls out. I look over to the head table and see Prince John himself is beckoning me. Oh great, just what I need to make my night complete. But hey, this is my job now. I'm an official lady-in-waiting, and I'd better get used to the waiting part. I drop a curtsy and approach the table. The prince pats the empty seat next to him.

  "Lady Marian is away this evening," he informs me. "So I humbly ask you do me the honor of taking her place by my side."

  "Thank you, milord," I say, curtsying once again, trying to keep a poker face at the name of Marian. I can't believe she's not back yet. Did she decide to shack up with Robin for good? What do the men think of that? I mean, here I thought the "no women in camp" rule was pretty set in stone. After all, Robin made me hang out dressed as a boy for weeks. Does Marian get some special dispensation? God, I'd like to wring that stupid outlaw's neck.

  "Princess Christine?" queries the prince.

  I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. "Sorry, Your Majesty," I apologize. "You honor me. I'd love to sit next to you."

  Okay, fine, "love" may be a tad too strong a word for my real feelings on the matter, especially as I see spittle on his mouth as he grins at my acceptance. Bleh! But really, what other option do I have? He's the prince. I came to his court willingly. I have to follow protocol.

  Besides, maybe I can do some recon while I'm here. Find out the scoop on King Richard and his expected return date, for one. I've been playing around in the forest way too long. I can now focus on the real reason I'm back in time.

  A servant beckons me into my seat, holding my chair for me as I sit down. Another dumps a plate of some kind of bony roasted bird in front of me. I wave it away. He bows, then returns a few moments later with a haunch of some other sickly sweet-smelling meat. I can't help but hold my nose, bad manners be damned. After all, getting sick all over the head table would be much worse.

  "No, no. I don't eat meat," I try to explain. He looks at me like I just said monkeys fly out of my butt but shrugs and retreats, leaving me foodless.

  "You do not eat meat?" Prince John questions. "How truly odd. I must say, you are a fascinating woman, Princess Christine."

  "You're not so uninteresting yourself, milord," I say, trying to compliment him back. It's hard when the guy in question has a smidgen of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. Um, ew. Gross.

  "And you're very beautiful," he adds, in case I didn't realize that the first thing he said was a total come-on. He fancies me. Oh golly gee, great. Maybe those ladies-in-waiting made me look too nice. Now I've not only lost the hero of the story, but I'm going to have to fend off the advances of the villain as well.

  "Thank you, milord," I acknowledge, then quickly change the subject. "So, how goes the whole ruling the kingdom thing these days? Any word from your brother on his return?" I bat my eyes and smile sweetly.

  John's face darkens, and his eyes narrow. "My dear brother Richard is being held prisoner in Austria," he says at last. "We are attempting to raise the money to free him as we speak."

  Mm-hm. Sure you are. That's why you're wearing piles of gold jewelry and hosting crazy feasts like this. Penny-pinching to raise the ransom money—real charitable of you.

  "That's great!" I say, forcing my voice to sound completely naive: "So, when do you think you'll have enough to bail the guy out? I mean, it must be soon, right? Poor Richard. All alone in that dark, dank prison cell."

  At least the guy has the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm…not sure," he says at last. "My advisors…"

  "Your Majesty, we do not talk of state affairs to strangers at the dinner table," interrupts the Sheriff of Nottingham, picking that moment to take the seat to the prince's left.

  Prince John blushes furiously. "Right, righ
t," he says. "I apologize, Sheriff. My tongue got away from me, I fear."

  The sheriff nods stiffly and goes at his dinner. Guess now I know for sure who's ruling this roost. It ain't the guy with a crown on his head.

  Prince John turns back to me and lowers his voice. "As you can see, 'tis not a subject I can speak freely on," he whispers. "But forsooth, I will do everything in my power to free my brother. I miss him dreadfully."

  I cock my head in surprise. What? Now this part wasn't in the storybooks. (Though I guess I should be used to that by now.) Prince John's supposed to be the baddie, the one who wants to take over King Richard's kingdom forever.

  "You…miss him?" I ask.

  Prince John nods enthusiastically. "Aye, of course. He's my brother, and I love him dearly. He's a fine ruler as well. I never had the taste for power he has. If I had my way, I'd sit and embroider all day."

  Uh, what? Did I hear him right? "Embroider?" I repeat, pretty sure I must have misunderstood.

  His face reddens, and he grins sheepishly. "The ale has loosened my tongue," he mutters. "But yes. 'Tis something I fair enjoy. However, I do not want to be teased for it." He glances furtively up at me.

  "No-no," I assure him, trying to smother a giggle. "I think it's admirable that you don't let your gender or position keep you from doing something you love."

  "Truly?" he asks with puppy-dog eagerness. His IQ cannot be higher than his shoe size.

  "Truly," I say. "In fact, I think it's very cool. I'd love to see your work sometime."

  "Oh, thank you, Princess Christine," Prince John says, grinning from ear to ear like a little kid who just got praise for the A on his report card. Never mind that it was for attendance. "Not everyone in the court shares your mind in this matter, and it delights me to no end that you approve. If you'd like, after dinner I can show you some of my work."

  "I'd love that," I say, smiling back. I'm warming to the prince. He doesn't seem that bad of a guy. He's not the super-villain the stories make him out to be.

  I hear a commotion at the far end of the hall and squint my eyes to see. The guards are opening the far doors with great ceremony, and a lone figure steps through. A curvy, voluptuous, annoying figure that I'd recognize any day of the week.