by Joanne Dahme
From our lush grove, which seemed oblivious to the devastation before us, we could spy beyond the city’s walls and stare at piles of rubble and scorched timber—all that was left of the peasants’ housing. Only a stone church appeared to have survived unscathed with the exception of patches of burned thatch in its roof. A grove of trees by the moat was nothing but blackened stumps. I clung more fiercely to the living branches surrounding us.
On the other side of the moat, the castle’s walls were intact, as were the walls of the corner towers. The metal grille of the gatehouse leading to the castle was closed, protecting it from its own people.The castle’s keep, where I guessed the mayor must be, was also charred.
“I don’t see any people besides those two soldiers,” George pointed out.
He was right.There were no soldiers pacing along the wall walks, nor did there appear to be anyone entering or leaving the city.
“What does this mean?” I asked the gravedigger. I felt my heart in my throat.
He shrugged. “That my work in Bordeaux is finished, but yours, princess, is just beginning.”
We had no choice but to approach the soldiers if we wanted to reach the mayor. The gravedigger waited with his cart at the forest’s fringe. I held George’s small, sweaty hand as the three of us walked across the empty expanse of land between the wildflower field and the gatehouse, covered now with nothing but sun-baked dust.
“I don’t like the look of this,” Henry confided as we neared the gatehouse. The two soldiers, one tall and thin, the other older and hunched, shielded their eyes with their hands as they kept their watch on us.
“Please, Henry, that doesn’t help,” I said as I felt George’s grip tighten. I checked an urge to pull my cloak more tightly around me.
“Princess,” the older soldier greeted as they both dropped to their knees. “We are happy to see that you are safe.” He looked up at me, his squinting eyes almost lost in his pockmarked face. His brown tunic was dirty and he had rents in his stocking’s at both knees. His armored vest was rusted and his helmet was dented. The young, thin soldier looked no better.
I nodded, not wanting to say anything. George had released my hand and cocked his head, sharing my thoughts. The king’s soldiers in Windsor would never appear so shabby. I prayed that he knew better than to say anything.
But it was Henry who spoke. “Where is the remainder of the army?” he asked, looking at the castle’s empty walls. “We did not all go with the prince.” His hands were on his hips, as if he were their commander and deserved an answer.
The young soldier scowled, making his face look hawk-like. “Many died. Others fled while the town burned. The flames did not respect the castle.” There was more than a little sarcasm in his voice
“We will take you to the mayor now,” the old soldier interrupted gruffly. He swatted the other on the shoulder as he motioned for the younger to begin turning the crank. The iron gate began to rise slowly, emitting a horrible squeal.The tortuous work of the metal reminded me of the frustrated cries of the rats. The Black Prince.Where is he now? Hopefully, days away in the forest behind us.
When the portcullis was halfway up, the old soldier indicated for us to duck under and follow him into the city. The young soldier was to wait behind to lower the gate again.
The three of us were quiet as we followed the soldier past the burned shells of houses. The air smelled like moldy ashes and a loose shutter banged in the wind. Did everyone die from the pestilence? Or were they chased away by the fires? If they were still alive, would they ever come back? It saddened me to think that a city could be orphaned, too.
I kept my sights on Bordeaux’s cobbled street, as the roadway to the castle wall was all that looked normal.The city walls seemed to be closing in on us, as if pulling us into their lonely, desperate embrace.
As we crossed the drawbridge and its fetid moat, I fought a rising panic. What will the mayor have us do? What plans does he have for us? I felt my own palms begin to sweat. I was giving us up to this man who I sensed I could trust. I could still see the anguish in his dark eyes when we first met, but really, I knew nothing about him. But what choice do I have?
Henry glanced at me as if he sensed my thoughts. He gave me a smile, as if trying to assure me that all would be well.
The spiked portcullis to the castle was raised as we approached and I could see more soldiers inside the castle’s walls. Some bowed, others glanced away nervously, as we passed them. They stood with sword or bow in hand, as if guarding the well or the stables, but it did not appear as if there was anyone to guard against. Only us, I thought, closing my fists tightly to cease the tremors.
One soldier made the sign of the cross as he passed in front of the chapel that hugged the embankment of the keep. I did not want to interpret their behavior, fearing that it would only raise my anxiety. Instead I thought about the last time we had entered this courtyard.We had come from the port side, and my largest worry then was what it would be like for us to live in Castile. How far we had come in such a short time.
From this approach, from the city wall, the castle’s keep seemed all the more foreboding. The yellowed stone of its rounded walls was charred, yet the flag of the Plantagenets still fluttered from its pointed black roof. The shadowed arrow loops of the keep stared at us, reminding me of the eye slits in a warrior knight’s helmet. From which hole does he peer at the enemy whose death was imminent? One never could tell. Yet it was the flag that made my heart pause, although I reasoned that the mayor would certainly not attempt to reclaim the castle from England on his own.
The soldier banged hard on the thick wooden door before we entered. He grunted as he pushed it open. I thought I heard George take a gulp of air.
My chest tightened as we ascended the spiral stone staircase.We passed the level of the keep’s living quarters, where the princess had rested so briefly before this plague claimed her.We climbed the stairs to the next level, to the room that was reserved for the king or the Black Prince. The prince. My heart seized. I tried to ignore thoughts of the dungeon below, with its trapdoor leading to the pits. Were those rats that the Black Prince had so gleefully showed me the same rats that had pursued us to Albert’s cave? I hoped so. We should never have to worry about those rats again.
We reached the floor of the king’s quarters. Torches blazed on the walls surrounding us. A soldier stood on either side of the door that led to its inner chambers.
The room appeared empty.
Our soldier rapped against the door with his fist and then opened it slowly.
“The mayor regrets that he is a bit behind time, princess. But he asked that I make sure that you are all comfortable,” the old soldier said, addressing his boots.
The torches cast dancing shadows on the walls of the dimly lit room. A thick wooden table with four cushioned chairs stood on its far side. Pewter cups and bowls were set at each place. Steaming plates rested at its center. My stomach seemed to leap at the mixed aroma of rabbit and goose. I heard George’s stomach grumble with my own.
“The mayor insists that you do not wait for him,” the soldier said, as no one took a step. “We will have fresh clothes for you all once you have eaten.”
Nothing appeared to be amiss as I quickly surveyed the darker corners of the room. “Thank you, sir,” I said. “We will dine as we await the mayor.”
He nodded brusquely and turned quickly to the door. I jumped as it slammed behind us with such force that the torch fires shivered.
“I don’t like this place,” George whispered in a tiny voice. “It’s much too quiet.”
Henry walked cautiously to the table. “I’m with George. Something doesn’t feel right.” But he was eyeing the food with the look of a starving man.
“Come, let us eat.We are all faint from a lack of nourishment. Perhaps once we eat, our spirits will calm,” I tried to reassure us.
We each took a place at the table. In addition to the rabbit and goose, there were plates of cabbage a
nd turnips and a loaf of white bread. Our cups were filled with wine.
We ate in silence with the appetites of the hunters in the tapestries on the wall overlooking our table. The hunters stood by their horses, triumphantly holding up their prey. Arrows had pierced the breasts of both animal and fowl in their possession. I tried to ignore their vacant, lifeless stares.
Henry was the first to push away from the table. “Princess, I don’t believe I have ever eaten so well.” He patted his stomach to show that it was full.
George nodded in agreement and gave me a grease-coated smile.
It was then that we were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
I stood up. My heart began to beat ferociously. Are my nerves to be so useless for the rest of my life? I could barely hear my own voice as I said, “Sir de Bisquale, we must thank you for your kindness.”
But Henry grabbed my arm to stop me as the cloaked figure entered the room.
It was the Black Prince.
“I missed you, sister,” he said with a mocking smile.
I must have looked like I was gazing upon a specter because the prince only laughed as he looked into my face.
“Where is the mayor?” I asked, insanely, knowing it didn’t make a difference.
“Put your sword down, soldier,” the Black Prince said past me, “before I have my men cut the boy in half.”
I turned to see Henry lowering his sword, as two new soldiers rushed into the room to grab George.They lifted him from the ground as he kicked and swung at them. “Let me go!” he shouted.
The prince replied with a serene smile, “To answer your question, princess, the mayor has been called away, as mayors sometimes are. I offered to welcome you in his place.”
“It won’t work,” I said, searching his face for a shred of humanity. “I can’t be the princess. Everyone could tell just by looking at me. It could have caused war . . . ” I reasoned desperately.
“Shh. I know, I know,” he said softly, as if wanting to give me comfort. “Nothing we can do about that now. My mistake.” He bowed. “Your mistake was living long enough to meet up with me again.” The corners of his mouth rose slowly as he straightened.
Suddenly the door crashed wide open, as four more soldiers entered the room.
“Take the soldier and the brat to the dungeon,” the prince ordered, satisfaction laced in his voice.
“No!” I screamed as the soldiers struggled with George and Henry. The two who already held George grabbed him by his waist and legs to cart him away. The others contented themselves with pummeling Henry as he attempted to raise his sword and fight them off. He was no match for the six.
“Yes, I still have legions of them,” the Black Prince purred, as if reading my fear.
My mind raced as I listened to George calling my name as the soldiers dragged them out the door. I could hear Henry’s curses as the soldiers began to descend the stairs.
“Come here, sister,” the prince hissed. “I missed you.”
He stepped towards the table. I saw the flash of a dagger in his hand before he slipped it into a pocket of his black cloak. He is going to kill me.
I looked around the room as he drew closer. He scurried like an animal, ready to spring. I needed a weapon. I tried to concentrate despite my pounding heart. The torches? The fire poker?
And then I remembered the potion that Albert had given me—in a flask in the pocket of my cloak. My hand felt its smooth coolness. My thumb searched for its stopper.
I threw the flask’s contents at him as he lunged at me. The yellow liquid splattered in the prince’s face. Beads of the liquid clung to his eyelashes and beard. I had never seen these emotions—a mixture of shock and fear—grace his face before.
He screamed in pain as his hair and cloak began smoking. He covered his face with his hands as he hurtled his body against the table and fell to the floor.
I was frozen to the spot, appalled by the sight, until I heard George scream my name again. He already sounded far away.
I bolted from the room and charged down the spiral stairs. The prince’s screams echoed off the walls around me.
The soldiers had paused on the last flight of stairs and were staring up with their mouths open. Even George and Henry had quieted.
“Run!” I yelled at them. “The prince has the pestilence!” The soldiers looked at me, dazed, their expressions slack.
“Can’t you hear his screams?” I insisted.
The soldiers knew what to do. The ravage of this plague was still fresh on their minds. They dropped George and released Henry, who slumped to the floor. His face was badly beaten.
“Help me, George. We must get to the docks.”
George’s blue eyes widened. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Anywhere! To any boat that will take us.We must get out of Bordeaux!” I did not care where we went. I just wanted us away from the prince.
“The docks are too far for Henry to go,” George cried. He scrambled behind Henry to lift him by his armpits.
“Pull me up, George. That’s it. Once I’m up, I’ll be able to manage,” he insisted. His voice sounded almost normal. I worried that he might be stunned, but he reached for his discarded sword as George and I both heaved him to his feet.
The fleeing soldiers had left the door of the keep open and I caught a strong scent of the sea, which heartened me. I could see the dock in my mind—through the courtyard, past the well and the servants’ quarters—a run that would take us at least two hundred yards before we reached the gatehouse that opened to the cliff that overlooked the ocean. I could see the path perfectly, as each detail had been seared in my memory when we arrived in Bordeaux.The stone stairs carved into the cliff numbered fifty. If needed, we would tumble down them, as long as we reached the dock. They were a straight drop, without the bends and curves reserved for the faint of heart.
Henry’s first steps were more of a swagger, but as we made our way through the courtyard, his gait acquired the stoicism reserved for battle. George straightened, too, and looked fierce. When some puzzled soldiers approached us and hesitated, they raised their swords halfheartedly. Those that were bolder backed away quickly when I yelled with all the hysteria I could muster, “The prince has the pestilence!”
We were passing the kitchen when the two young soldiers who were guarding the gatehouse reached for their swords. The keep’s blacksmith slammed the shutter of his workroom as we approached. I heard George whisper conspiratorially, “I can help you get better, Henry, once we stop running.” Henry scowled, or looked to be scowling, as both his eyes were turning purple and puffy.
I suddenly felt a fierce love for both of them that must have made my eyes seem to blaze, for the gatehouse soldiers stepped back.
Henry planted both feet firmly on the ground, as if to support the weight of the sword he slowly raised. The skeptical young soldiers, who were blocking our path through the already-raised portcullis, eyed Henry and then me, as George suddenly ordered, “Let the princess pass!”
They looked at each other, and then back at Henry and me—a princess running away from a betrothal and a soldier who appeared beaten and crazed from battle.
“Do as he says,” I commanded imperiously. “I wish to get to my ship.”
They almost had stepped aside, their mouths pinched in confusion, until one suddenly tugged on the other’s sleeve.
“Is that the Black Prince?” the one with the deeper voice croaked.
I turned to look back toward the castle and silenced a scream in my throat. Indeed, it was the prince. He was running and falling, but picking himself up, pushing away any assistance offered by an unwitting soldier. He staggered against the well in the courtyard and pointed his own shaking hand my way. Amazingly, he smiled serenely as our gazes met.
Was the man truly inhuman? I wondered. His appearance only fueled my conviction to reach the dock.
“The prince has the pestilence!” I insisted, turning to them. “Can’t you see ho
w delirious he is? You must let us pass!” I could spy a slice of the ocean through the gatehouse arch.We were so close.
But the soldiers’ stares were wedded to the image of the ambling prince.
“I would do as the princesa commands,” a voice advised from the other side of the gate.
The minstrel stepped from the gatehouse shadows to grab each soldier by the neck. He banged their heads together and allowed them to collapse into a congenial heap.
“Gracias!” George squealed. I knew I smiled as the minstrel slapped Henry on the back, as if congratulating his wounds.
Henry’s smile was pained but he sounded sincere when he said, “Good to see you, too, Gracias.”
“This way,” he barked, looking at me with amused approval. He then grabbed George’s hand. “Sir Andrew is waiting at the dock. But he can’t wait long. The prince must not see him.”
Didn’t the prince already know that Sir Andrew was on our side—the side of the king? But with the castle gate at our backs, and the prince not far behind, we paused on the cliff only long enough for Gracias to release George’s hand.
“Go ahead,” he ordered us. “I will meet you at the bottom. I wish a few words with the prince.” His dark eyes burned beneath his heavy brows to stall any arguments. Henry nodded at Gracias as if some unspoken words passed between them.
“We best descend,” Henry said, clutching his side, where I noticed a bloody mark staining his tunic just below his armored vest. He must not bleed to death, I prayed, as we began to descend the stone steps that were wedged into the mountainside of the castle. Before us, the ocean spread out and sparkled like the king’s jewels. Small fishing boats dotted the water like driftwood. One of the king’s ships lay anchored at the dock at the bottom of the stairs. The Plantagenet flag whipped petulantly in the wind. But the salt of the sea never smelled so good to me.
“Fifty-two steps to the bottom,” George mumbled. “I counted them last time.”
Henry, who was in front of us, began taking the steps in twos, despite his tender gait. “We will halve that number, George. For then Gracias can join us all the more quickly,” he exclaimed, encouraging us to do the same.