I have always had too much imagination for my own good. We did not tip over. I did not drown. We reached the other side with no mishap or calamity whatsoever. And once I had paid the boatman, I continued my journey north on a perfectly ordinary road. In truth I was almost disappointed, for the countryside of Brutanna looked exactly the same as that of Moranmoor. And the people I met there did not have horns or tails; they were not demons or damned souls—just ordinary folk, like those at home. Some were helpful and pleasant; others were not.
They spoke a dialect much like ours, though I began to notice, as I rode deeper into the country, that they had different words for many common things—eggys instead of eggs, and suchlike. Also, their accent was not so smooth and beautiful as ours, but hard and guttural. As part of my plan required me to pass for a local, I began to practice their way of speaking as I rode along. And I must have been successful at it, for the folk I met upon the road believed me when I said I came from the southern regions of their country. This eased my mind considerably.
I was stopped only once, shortly after I entered the territory of Brutanna, when I was asked to show my papers and was questioned closely. One of the soldiers looked at me hard, and I feared he had seen through my disguise and would arrest me as a spy. But my papers satisfied him, and as the upcoming wedding was common knowledge, and as the royal family of my country had been invited, they let me pass.
Everything seemed to be going well, yet I still worried about the time. I knew not how many more days I would have to travel before I reached the castle—and I must arrive in time for the wedding, if possible a few days before. And so I took to setting out earlier each morning and staying upon the road later before stopping for the night. Once or twice I was obliged to sleep out in the open, for I had already passed the last inn for many miles but had decided not to stop, as the sun was yet in the sky. I slept not well on those nights, for fear of robbers or wild beasts, but I came to no harm.
I have never ridden much in my life, excepting the trip with Auntie from my village to the King’s City. After so many days in the saddle, I suffered terrible pains in my legs and in the place where you sit, so that at times I could bear it no longer and had to get down and walk. But as this slowed my progress, I did not do it often.
Finally, at about mid-morning on a warm September day, I saw ahead in the misty distance the high walls and towers of King Harry’s castle. I had been upon the road for a little more than a fortnight and, as I would soon discover, my haste had served me well. Three days still remained before the wedding.
Bella
King Harry’s fields sprawled out across a goodly plain, a bright patchwork of green and gold. Brutanna had prospered much in the time of peace! The villagers, now free from fear of raiding parties, had built terraces up the slopes of the hills to the west and planted new orchards and vineyards there. And King Harry, no longer in need of defensive walls in peacetime, had begun transforming his sturdy castle into a grand and elegant palace.
They trusted us to keep our word and honor the treaty. They did not dream that in just three days, as the matins bell pealed the midnight hour, King Gilbert would ride out of the forest and lay waste to all that prosperity! Crops so patiently tended throughout the spring and summer would be burned to the ground in a night; tender vines and saplings, planted with such hope for future harvests, would be torched before ever they could grow a cluster of grapes or a fine, ripe peach. And Harry’s handsome new palace would lie in ruins.
All this would come to pass if I failed at my mission. It was a great undertaking for a simple soul like me, and the weight of it hung heavy upon my heart. But I believed that God was beside me in all that I did, and that gave me courage. I determined to keep my wits about me and make haste, for there was little time.
I turned my horse away from the road, in the direction of the woods. We wound our way through the trees and tall brush until, at last, I came upon a small clearing not far from the forest’s edge. Stopping there, I got down from my horse and began removing my boy’s garments, folding them carefully and tucking them away in the satchel that was fastened to my saddle. Then I put on the old olive-green gown and round-toed shoes I had worn every day for the past three years. I would be posing now as an ordinary peasant girl—a part I could play easily, for I had been raised up to it.
I found stable room for my horse in the village; by noon I had been admitted to the castle grounds and had found my way to one of the temporary outdoor kitchens that had been set up in the courtyard. This was common practice whenever noble folk gathered for a royal wedding. The castle cooks could not handle the multitude of lavish dishes expected on such an occasion—and for so many guests—so extra kitchens had to be built and help brought in to staff them.
I was hired on at the princely sum of one penny per day, plus meals. I would work under the direction of that kitchen’s supervising cook, a broad-beamed, red-faced woman with a fine set of lungs. You could hear her bellowing orders over the din of the place like a pig in a slaughterhouse. She had a sharp tongue, too, and at first I thought she did not like me. I realized soon after that it was in no way personal. She didn’t like anybody.
I had told her, when first I arrived, that I was an experienced cook—imagining she might allow me to make pastry or carve dragons out of marzipan. “Good,” she said. “Let us see how experienced you are at plucking chickens.”
But I could not please her, even at that common task. Pulling the bird out of my hands, she demonstrated by ripping out great handfuls of feathers at a frenzied pace, causing a blizzard to fly about our heads. “Like that!” she shouted, and thrust the carcass back into my lap. “We don’t have all day. There’s no place for lazy girls here.”
“Yes, Cook,” I said, and began attacking the bird with a vengeance.
“You must not mind her too much,” whispered the girl beside me, a dark and robust lass with pink cheeks and a gentle voice. (She smiled often, and broadly, too—all uncaring that she showed the world a mouthful of yellow, crooked teeth. I thought this very sweet, and liked her better for it.) “There really is a lot to do,” she assured me, “preparing food for so many—and such a grand feast, too, with all the royalty here!”
“Not all,” said another girl, this one small and delicate with fine, yellow hair and a vexing cough. She did not trouble to turn her head away, I noticed, but coughed right into the food. I wondered that the cook did not rebuke her over it. “The king and queen of Moranmoor are still not here, and they are shockingly late! The other great folk arrived days ago.” She counted on her fingers: “The king and queen of Galant (and the prince, of course), and the earl of Swithin, and the duke of Gran, and—”
“Oh,” said I, “have you not heard? The king and queen cannot come! But Prince Julian is to stand in for his brother, and Queen Alana is sending one of her ladies-in-waiting in her stead.”
“For what cause do they stay away?” asked the dark girl.
“The king was injured while riding,” I said. “That’s what they say. And the queen is confined to her bed with a complaint of the chest.”
“A complaint of the liver, more like, from an excess of eating!” said the cook, who had magically appeared at my side. For such a big woman, she had a right delicate tread—you never heard her coming.
“From excess of eating?” I cried.
“Do you not know about Moranmoor, child?” said the cook importantly. “Why, even the peasants there are such gluttons that they break their fasts with duck in fig sauce, and wash it all down with a full jug of wine. Only imagine how much the queen eats!”
I opened my mouth to say that I had never in all my life so much as tasted duck in fig sauce—but then thought better of it. “Disgusting!” I said. “I prefer fish guts, myself.”
The cook stared at me. Fearing I had said the wrong thing, I started plucking again, as fast as I could, telling myself very sternly to keep still and speak no more. Alas, I could not manage it, for such a slander aga
inst Queen Alana could not go unchallenged.
“I have heard it said that the queen is a very pious lady, and something of a scholar,” I said. “But I have never heard it said that she was fat, or any kind of glutton.”
“And how is it you know so much about the queen of Moranmoor, girl? That she is too ill to travel and the rest?”
“Oh,” I said, my thoughts racing. “I was nearby the gate at the time the messenger came from Moranmoor. I overheard what he said—that the royal family could not come.”
“Did the messenger say the queen was scholarly and pious?”
“No. That I heard before. From a tinker who travels much about the country and gathers gossip from villages along the border.”
“Humph,” she said. “A tinker, indeed! I will have the queen fat and I will have her ugly besides. And you, girl, would do well to stop eavesdropping on messengers and repeating gossip. We have work to do.”
I took this rebuke to heart and was more careful thereafter in what I said. All the same, I was well pleased that it had been so easy to plant my story about the expected arrival of the queen’s lady-in-waiting. I made a point of mentioning her several more times, to a number of different people. There was already much talk about King Gilbert’s absence, and each new piece of gossip was pounced upon eagerly and repeated at the soonest opportunity. No one would remember that the story had come first from me. By nightfall my tale would have made the rounds of all in the castle. This I hoped with all my heart, for upon the day of the wedding, in accordance with my plan, I would present myself once more at the castle gate—this time in the guise of the queen’s lady. It was needful that they should be expecting me.
On my second day in the kitchen, I was put to turning one of the spits. Though this was not nearly so hard on the hands as plucking chickens and scouring pots, it was hot work, and tedious. I had to stand in the same spot for hours, slowly turning the handle of the spit so that the juices coursed down the sides of the roasting pig, basting the meat, instead of dripping into the fire and causing it to flare up. This was so monotonous that my attention began to wander out to the castle yard where the grand folk came and went, all decked out in their splendid clothes.
I watched them with special care, hoping to spot Julian among them. That would be an unexpected boon, for if I did not have to wait until the wedding feast to speak to him, then we would gain an extra day to plan our next move. But fortune was not with me; Julian was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, look!” said the yellow-haired girl. She had been chopping onions but stopped to point with her knife. “Over there—those tall fellows. Are they not the knights from Moranmoor?”
I felt my heart drop. “What knights?” I asked. “I did not think anyone had yet come from Moranmoor!”
“Oh, yes. They arrived last night. A very small embassy, though—only knights, and not one man of real consequence among them!”
“You’d think they would have sent an earl, at the very least,” said the dark girl with the bad teeth, “if the king could not come himself. Do you think Gilbert intends to snub King Harry?”
But I did not respond to her question, for my mind was elsewhere. I was much alarmed by the unexpected appearance of these men from Moranmoor. Marianne had said nothing about an embassy of knights. What could it possibly mean? Dared I hope that King Gilbert had relented? But no—if that were the case, then he would have come himself, or sent the duke of Claren or some other important noble in his place.
“You will burn the meat, you careless girl!” said the cook, startling me so that I gasped and dropped my hot cloth. “Mind your work and keep your eyes to yourself!” she said. “Those fine gentlemen are not the least bit interested in the likes of you!”
“Oh, Cook,” I gasped, my cheeks flushing hot, “I never in the world thought they were!” But by then she had already turned away to scold somebody else. The dark girl made a comical little face at Cook, and the yellow-haired girl grinned and coughed into her onions.
I picked up the cloth, wrapped it around the handle once more, and went back to turning the spit. I gazed dully at the roasting meat, feeling sick at heart—for the arrival of those knights complicated matters greatly for me. They were sure to know I was not one of the queen’s ladies; they had never once seen me at court!
“Are you ill?” asked the dark girl. “Shall I take your place at the spit? I would not have you fainting and falling into the fire!”
“No, no,” I said, feigning a smile, “I am not light-headed. It is only a fit of indigestion.”
“Ah,” she said with a smile. “I understand. Cook gives me indigestion, too.”
Bella
At about mid-morning on the third day, I excused myself to use the privy. I went, instead, to the well where I drew some water to wash my face and hands. Then I departed from the castle through the main gate. Collecting my horse in the village, I rode out once more to the little clearing in the woods. There, in the same forest where already the army of Moranmoor was gathering for the assault, I changed my identity for the last time. I took off my comfortable old peasant gown, folded it away, and brought out the finery that would transform me into a lady.
The gown was Auntie’s, from an earlier time, before she began to grow stout. It was of ivory silk brocade, with flowers of a cream color worked into the pattern—a sweet and subtle effect. It was trimmed at the hem and neck with elaborate embroidery—quite wonderful it was, with birds and butterflies and flowers all intertwined with leafy vines. We altered the gown so that it would fit me better and be more in the style of the day—giving it a lower neckline that revealed the marigold cotte I wore underneath. The narrow sleeves buttoned from above the elbow down to the wrist—a task any real lady would have had a maid on hand to perform. I had to do it by myself, there in the forest.
I parted my hair down the center and braided each side into plaits high upon the head, which I then wound into coils and secured with hairpins. Then I carefully put on my headdress, which covered all of my hair. It was a padded construction of ivory satin, adorned with gold braid and seed pearls. It had little horns on either side of the head, over which I draped a sheer linen veil.
“When you wear such a fine thing upon your head,” Auntie had told me, “it reminds you to stand straight and hold your chin up like a lady.”
And indeed, I did feel like a lady when I first put on that headdress and that gown. But Auntie had not been satisfied. She said I must look grander still. I must wear jewels. I showed her Alice’s ring, and she agreed it was extremely fine, but said I must have something more. And so she went to her coffer and took out a heavy gold necklace, set with emeralds. “There!” she crowed. “Wonderful! It looks well with the ring, and it sets off the gown to perfection—only, Isabel, I fear you must take off that ribbon. It looks most odd with the dress and the jewels, and it is soiled and threadbare besides.”
“No, no!” I cried. “It is my talisman!” And indeed, I had not been without it since I was a child. It was a silver thimble that I had gotten from the fairies—well, in truth, I had gotten it from Julian in the guise of the fairies. I kept it in a little linen bag that hung around my neck on that selfsame soiled and threadbare ribbon.
“All right,” said Auntie, “I understand. But if you must wear it, then we shall have to hide it.” Once again she went to her jewel coffer and this time brought out a delicate gold chain to replace the ribbon. It was so long that the little bag tucked neatly into the bodice of the cotte, well out of sight. The heavy necklace and the little chain looked charming together, both of us agreed.
Then Auntie stood with her arms crossed and studied me for a while, squinting her eyes and tilting her head, so as to see me better—and declared me the very picture of a lady-in-waiting to the queen of Moranmoor.
“But, Auntie,” I said, “I am barefoot!”
“I know that,” she said. “I am still considering of the shoes.” And indeed, she bit her thumb and twisted up her face in a parody o
f thoughtfulness. Finally, having reached a conclusion in the matter, she went over and unlocked a finely wrought chest that stood in one corner of the solar.
“I do not know if they will fit you,” she said as she carefully removed some fine old embroideries and other fancy stuff from the chest, “but I believe they will. Ah, here they are!” She got up off her knees and turned to show me a pair of exquisite slippers—made entirely of glass!
“Auntie!” I gasped. “You are joking!” “No, child, I am very much in earnest.” I took them from her. They were like nothing I had ever seen, for embedded in the amber-colored glass were tiny threads of gold, evenly spaced so as to make a pattern. In the front, two long strands met and formed a delicate bow.
“Did Grandfather make these?” I asked—for I knew he had earned his fortune in the glass trade.
“No, not Grandfather—a lad who worked in our shop. He was especially skilled—and most devoted to me, if you can imagine such a thing! He would follow me about like a puppy whenever I went to the workshop. Indeed, he was the only boy who ever looked twice at me, Isabel, and so it pleased me more than it might otherwise have done. But do not think he was courting me, hoping to wed my father’s money. No, he knew there was no chance of that. He just admired me, for whatever reason, with no hope of gain or advancement.
“One day Father sent me to have one of our goblets copied, for some of them had broken over the years and we would need more for Catherine’s marriage feast. And there the lad was, blushing and proud, offering me these slippers! Oh, my stars! I think he fancied I would wear them to the wedding!”
Bella at Midnight Page 12