Cinders: The Untold Story of Cinderella

by Finley Aaron

  “Getting it done?” Ella repeated, and turned away from scowling at her reflection, to see what her mother had pulled from the trunk.

  Nora handed her great sheets of hard-tanned leather, followed by a metal chest plate. “These will help disguise—” Nora cleared her throat, “your figure.”

  Then she reached into the trunk again and pulled out something that rattled gently.

  Ella’s eyes went round. “Chain mail!”

  “Your father got it in Persia.”

  “I’ve seen it for sale there. It’s ridiculously expensive.”

  “He’d spoken to the merchant on a previous journey and knew the man wanted a fine horse. Our herd had been growing too numerous for the pasture we have to support them, and heaven forbid a drought would strike. We’d never be able to pay for hay.”

  “Which horse did he trade?” Ella looked at the leather and mail, felt its weight, and weighed the cost against their beloved horses.

  “One you’d trained. Banter.”

  “Banter was an excellent horse. Spirited, but obedient.”

  “The merchant was impressed with Banter’s training. He gave your father an extra foot of mail, he was so pleased.”

  Ella turned back to the mirror, assessing the greater length she’d need to cover her growing frame. “Good. We’re going to need it.”

  Ella and her mother got to work immediately. They used Ella’s old armor as a pattern, noting where it needed to be expanded, and adding extra room for padding and to allow for her continued growth.

  “We’ve got to keep your curves from showing,” Nora insisted, as she and Ella debated exactly how wide the dimensions needed to be. “We’ll put framed padding in the shoulders. A man can have big shoulders. Then we’ll taper down from there.”

  “I’m going to look like a stuffed doll with a tiny head,” Ella predicted, laughing.

  “We’ll put extra padding atop your helmet, too. That will even things out.”

  The two of them sewed by the window until the sunlight was gone, and I helped them by turning up my glow. When the sun sank below the horizon and my glow was no longer enough to see by, they lit a fire in the fireplace, as well as several tallow candles, and sewed by the flickering firelight until they fell asleep over their work, exhausted.

  I blew out the candles.

  Ella awoke before dawn the next day, too excited to sleep. She hurried to help her mother with the usual chores of the estate, and then they shared a quick breakfast while they got back to work.

  By mid-afternoon, the hard leather was pieced together over layers of padding. The arms were not yet attached, but Ella tried on the metal-plated bodice and stood in front of the mirror. “People are going to be jealous.”

  “Let’s hope the men don’t take out their jealousy through their swords,” Nora said sharply, but she was smiling, pleased with how the project was coming along.

  “Even if they do, this armor will protect me,” Ella predicted. “We’ll have to have this finished and everything else ready before we sleep tonight. I’ll leave before the sun is up tomorrow.”

  “More than this,” Nora reminded her. “We’ve got to put together an entire wardrobe for you. No man wears his armor every day of the week—and it’s going to take some creativity to disguise you in your common clothes, with no chest plate to flatten your curves.”

  “My fingers are sore from sewing hard leather,” Ella added by way of agreement. “Let’s take a break from the armor and put together a wardrobe.”

  So they did. To speed the process, they repurposed some of Robert’s old clothes, as well as specialized sword-training garments Gustav had left at the house.

  “You don’t think he’ll mind me altering his things?” Ella asked, feeling guilty.

  “He never wears them anymore. They were going to get eaten by moths otherwise. He’ll be glad to know they’ve gone to good use. Now, what do you think of this corset?” Nora asked, raiding her own closet.

  “Whatever do I need a corset for?” Ella asked.

  “To shrink your chest. If we attach a bit of padding underneath, we can flatten nearly every curve.”

  “You don’t think any of these extra layers will make me look…lumpy?”

  “We’ll have to add more layers over the top. This vest. A wide belt, worn loosely, to disguise the seams and hold everything in place. Let’s try it on and see what we think.”

  Ella stood before the mirror and tugged everything into place, craning her neck around to see how she looked from the back.

  It was a strange silhouette. Not strictly masculine, but not noticeably feminine, either. As long as no one studied her too closely, she figured she ought to pass.

  Once they’d finally put together a wardrobe that would help her pass as a man, they went back to sewing the leather armor.

  By sunset, both Ella and Nora were exhausted, and the armor still was not finished. Their fingers hurt from pushing needles through the thick leather, and their necks throbbed from bending over the work.

  “We’re still not done, and I’ve got to pack everything else I need,” Ella moaned.

  “Let’s take a break and do the bulk of your packing while we have sunlight. I can sew all night and catch up on my sleep tomorrow. You’ve got to be rested so you can travel and fight.”

  Ella looked at the fireplace mantle where I perched, already glowing in an effort to add to the fading sunlight. “Or, I could use one of my wishes.”

  “No!” Nora and I exclaimed in unison, our voices urgent, as though to shout her down were she to try such a thing.

  “Don’t waste a wish,” Nora added. “The situation’s not that desperate.”

  “My magic only lasts until midnight,” I reminded them both, in case they’d forgotten the rules. “So what good would it do for me to finish the work? It would be undone again in the morning.”

  “True enough,” Ella relented, and hurried to pack.

  Her exhaustion was greater than her excitement, and after trying on the almost-finished armor one last time, Ella fell straightaway to sleep.

  Nora stayed up the whole night through, and placed her last stitch as she and Ella ate breakfast together.

  “There now.” She held up the leather-armored pants. “It’s not perfect, but it will hold through the day, and you’ll have your needle and thread to finish it up better afterward.”

  “It’s amazing!” Ella slipped into the armor and stood in front of the mirror, securing the braid of her long blonde hair into a flat cap atop her head. Then she slipped the helmet on over that. A panel of chain mail hung to one side of her face, and she pulled it across her nose, clasping the top of the three hooks into the loops on the other side. “I look like a knight!”

  Nora stood behind her daughter, beaming. “Maybe someday you can be one,” she whispered.

  “I know it’s not possible,” Ella admitted, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her dream.

  “You look like a knight. And if you look like one, and fight like one, who says you can’t be one? What do we know, really, about what’s possible?” Nora insisted. It may have been because she hadn’t slept, and wasn’t thinking straight. Or perhaps the vision of her daughter in armor and chain-mail opened her eyes to possibilities she had never before truly seen.

  “Thank you, Mother! Thank you!” Ella hugged her mother, loaded her things onto the back of her strongest mare, and hurried off on her way, knowing that she’d have to make good time to arrive at the tournament grounds before Hugo began to worry.

  The ride was not a difficult one, and soon Ella was joined by others headed to the same destination. The closer she drew, the more crowded the way became, which forced her to slow her pace somewhat. She’d been riding with her face uncovered, but now hooked the chain mail panel back into place under her eyes, covering most of her face.

  Though she was only just fifteen, and therefore not to the age where a young man would necessarily be able to start growing a beard, nonetheless, she
was aware that her face was not a manly one, and she guessed, quite rightly, that the less she showed of it, the lower the chances that anyone might become suspicious of her true identity.

  The sun was up, though not yet high in the sky, when Ella reached the outskirts of the tournament. The line for registration was long, so Ella went first in search of Hugo, in case he might have a strategy for her registration.

  She wandered the tournament for some long minutes, well aware that she didn’t even know what Hugo’s tent looked like, or if he even bothered to pitch one on tournament grounds.

  Nor was she even sure what color to look for. He’d been wearing blue armor at the previous tournament, but that had been a bit small on him then, so she fully expected he’d have replaced it in the intervening months, and might not have chosen the same color for his new set.

  In those days, coats of arms and family crests had not yet become the elaborate designs they would evolve into in the high middle ages. The colors individuals chose often had as much to do with the materials available and what they could afford, as it did with family history and tradition.

  Finally, Ella spotted a familiar face. “Dominic,” she called in the deepest voice she could muster.

  Dominic turned to look, but clearly did not recognize her.

  She hopped off her horse, then immediately wished she hadn’t, because she was shorter than Dominic and most of the rest of the crowd. “Allard of Caprese. We fought together in the melee here last spring.”

  “Aye, Allard! Good to see you again, Boy. You’ve got some new fancy armor. Chain mail and all, eh?”

  Ella realized with a pang that Dominic was still wearing his same old simple leather armor, which had only grown more worn in the months since she’d last seen him.

  “Yes,” she admitted, not feeling nearly as proud of it as she had that morning. “I hope I haven’t wasted my family’s last penny, but my mother insisted on my safety.”

  “Ah, mothers,” Dominic commiserated. “If mine wasn’t with God in heaven, she’d probably insist the same.”

  Ella felt even worse, knowing she had chain mail and a living mother, while Dominic had neither. She quickly got to the point of stopping him. “Have you seen Hugo of Adalaard?”

  “Indeed I have, last evening, and he asked me the same question of you. Told him I’d keep my eyes out for you, but I would never have recognized you if you hadn’t called my name.”

  “Do you know where I might find him?”

  “He told me where he’d pitched his tent. This way.”

  Since Dominic was on foot, Ella led her horse. It was slow going through the crowd, but Ella soon spotted a blue and yellow tent big enough to house six men.

  “Hugo! You home?” Dominic called out as they approached.

  The fabric at the doorway fluttered, and Henry stepped out into the morning sunshine.

  He wasn’t in his full armor yet, only leather pants and an undershirt. The hair on his chin had grown thicker, and though he kept the beard close-cropped, it covered the lower half of his face thickly.

  Henry looked first to Dominic and then, as his eyes adjusted to the morning light, to Ella. “Allard?” He asked, his usually-confident voice tinged with hesitancy.

  Ella unhooked the chain mail panel so that it hung to one side, showing off her whole face. Though she supposed she ought to look serious, she couldn’t help grinning. Remembering her vow to keep Henry from discovering her true identity, she tried to keep her voice low, though it threatened to break. “It’s me. I’m here.”

  Henry surprised her by bounding forward, wrapping both arms around her, and spinning her once around. “You made it!” When he set her down again, he looked as though he might weep with happiness and relief.

  Ella felt suddenly awkward looking up at him and grinning. She had let go of her horse’s lead rope in the spinning, and bent round to pick it up.

  “I’ve got to get registered,” Dominic said as he waved and turned to leave them.

  “Dominic!” Henry called.

  Dominic looked back, and Henry tossed him a coin.

  “With my thanks,” Henry told him.

  “Not necessary,” Dominic said, and tried to hand the coin back, but Henry waved him on his way, and Dominic went, looking reluctantly pleased, if slightly embarrassed.

  Henry showed Ella where to tie her horse next to his, with a pile of hay and a bucket of water near their noses.

  “This is a beautiful horse. Arabian?” Henry asked.

  “Yes. Her name is Mirage.”

  “Mirage, this is Bastian.” Henry introduced the mare to his stallion, then looked at Mirage more intently. “You don’t see many horses with that much Arabian blood in them, not this far north.”

  “She’s pure Arabian. My father purchased both her dam and sire in Arabia.”

  “I’d always heard the sheiks wouldn’t part with their horses.”

  “There was a drought. The horses were nearly dead from starvation, and the sheiks needed what little grass they had to keep the rest of their animals alive. Horses were dying. To hear my father tell the tale, I don’t honestly think the sheik thought the animals would live, but my father nursed them back to health, and we’ve had a fine herd ever since.”

  “Are you planning to ride her in the melee?”

  Ella nodded. “She’s my finest horse for that event. I’ve ridden her in junior tournaments. She’s quick and brave. Never falters.”

  “Most men prefer stallions for that event. They tend to be stronger.” Henry studied her face as he spoke.

  “The girls can be just as strong as the boys, if given a chance to prove themselves,” Ella said evenly.

  Henry grinned. “I’m sure she will. Come on inside my tent.” He led her into the enclosed pavilion.

  Ella blinked a bit as her eyes adjusted to the lower light inside. She had fully expected to see other men inside—the tent was of the size usually shared by at least three or four men—but there wasn’t anyone in sight. The draped fabric ceiling was held high by wooden poles—high enough they could both stand upright.

  “Have you registered yet?” Henry asked.

  Ella shook her head. “I thought I’d check in with you first and find out which events you’d like me to do.”

  “I want you in the mounted and foot melee. The other events are your choice, but I’d advise you not to wear yourself out with too many.”

  “The sword has always been my best event, and I thought I might try the axe as well,” Ella told him. At the Bouchard estate she’d been the one to chop all the firewood, and had often made a game of it, pretending she was competing with the axe.

  “The axe can be dangerous,” Henry cautioned her. “Your advantage in sword is that you’re quick—your smaller size gives you less body to maneuver, which means the blade of your sword can reach its mark faster. That’s not any help in axe. The axe favors the large and the strong.”

  Ella lifted one eyebrow in challenge. “That’s precisely why I’d like to compete in the axe—I need the practice.”

  “Practice is fine, as long as it doesn’t kill you. Men don’t get injured as often with the axe as with the sword, but when they do, it’s usually worse. The blades may be blunted, but the axe-head is still heavy. I’ve seen a man’s skull crushed right through his helmet. He dropped dead instantly.”

  Ella felt her eyes go wide. Realizing she probably looked like a child, or worse yet, a little girl, she forced her voice low and joked, “Raedwald getting revenge?”

  Henry didn’t laugh, but nodded solemnly. “Through Uliad.”

  At that, Ella’s jaw dropped. “Are either of the Ulster brothers competing in axe today?”

  “The registrations haven’t been finalized. They weren’t on the list last night, so you might be safe, but you’re not going to be any help to me in the melees tomorrow if you get crushed in the axe today.”

  “I’ve heard talk they’re thinking of making clubs a secondary weapon in the melee,”
Ella noted the rumor that had been circulating for years. “If that’s the case, experience with the axe would be to my benefit in the melee.”

  Henry grinned. “You’re thinking of staying on the circuit long enough to see clubs allowed?”

  “I’ll stay on as long as you’ll have me.” Ella tried to keep her voice low, but the words came out in a strange, almost husky whisper.

  Hugo’s grin grew larger, but then he sobered. “Where are your things, then? Do you have a tent?”

  “I thought I’d get a room in town.”

  “Nonsense. You can stay with me.”

  Ella hesitated, trying to think how she’d keep her identity a secret sleeping in a tent full of men. She looked around and saw what she thought might be two bedrolls, but, as was common practice during the day in such a small space, there were no beds currently unrolled. “How many are staying here?”

  “Just two besides myself. I’ve got Sigismund, my page, a boy of eight who’s gone to fetch water (he can’t carry much, but it keeps him out of mischief).” Henry whispered the last bit lest the boy return and hear himself disparaged, then spoke again in a regular voice. “And a herald, Jerome. You may have seen him at the tournament last spring. Lad of sixteen, bright red hair, skinny as a whip, and quick as one as well.”

  Ella nodded, recalling the thin red-head who rushed about with ledgers among the other heralds.

  “He’s at the registration table now. He’ll be able to tell us if Raedwald or the Ulsters are registered for the axe.”

  As Henry explained all this, Ella weighed whether she would be able to stay in the tent with those others and not be found out. An eight-year-old wouldn’t be difficult to fool, perhaps, but a sharp herald who’d worked many tournaments would be another matter entirely.

  “Sigismund is always tired by evening, and turns in before the sun goes down,” Henry continued. “Jerome is quite the opposite. He works hard all day long, and can’t settle down to sleep until he’s had his drink. I won’t let him drink in the tent because he sings when he gets drunk, and his singing makes every dog in a half mile radius howl, so he’s off with his drinking friends most nights. I never know when he’ll return, but he knows not to wake me, so it’s not a bother, though I have to prod him ten times to get him going in the mornings. They’re neither of them much trouble, really, and Sigismund can mind your horse as well as mine.”