Bella at Midnight

by Diane Stanley

  “Did you, Auntie?”

  “Goodness, child—have you not noticed my enormous feet? No, I could never fit into such dainty shoes. But I was flattered all the same—that he had seen me in that way, as a delicate girl with tiny feet. Methinks his eyesight was affected by the heat from the furnace!”

  “Auntie, do not say that. I think you are beautiful!”

  “Isabel, I was not fishing for compliments. I have long ago come to terms with my homeliness—and my large feet. I only wished you to understand that these slippers are more than just beautiful things; they were a gift of love from him to me—and now from me to you.”

  “What became of him, Auntie?”

  “Oh, he died of the pox not long after. I took it much to heart, too, though I dared not speak of it, as people would think it foolish. I did keep the slippers, though—and there was a time when I took them out right often and thought of that boy and shed a tear or two over him. But that was long ago, Isabel. Let us see if they fit.”

  “Oh, Auntie,” I said, “they will break!”

  “He promised me they would not. He said he put the gold threads in to make them strong as well as beautiful, and added a bit of magic, too—he liked a little joke, you see. Come now, Isabel—put them on.”

  And so I did, though cautiously—gold threads and magic notwithstanding. Yet I knew, as soon as I slid my feet into those amazing slippers, that the lad had spoken the truth. They were strong enough to dance in (had I known how to dance, which I did not), and they fit so perfectly, they might have been made for me!

  Now I stood alone amongst the trees, in my stocking feet, unwinding the linen wrapping from those incredible slippers of glass. I laid them carefully side by side upon the mat of leaves and pine needles that carpeted the forest floor.

  All the while I had been dressing, I was preoccupied with thoughts of the task that lay ahead. It had made me increasingly troubled and anxious in my spirit, so that now I began to feel strangely unsteady and light-headed. It was warm in that sunny clearing, but I felt a chill and my skin was damp. I could feel my heart pounding within my chest and feared I would be sick to my stomach. And so I stumbled over to a rock and sat upon it, burying my face in my trembling hands. I had never felt like that before, never once in all my life. Still, I could guess the cause of it right enough: I was not ill, just paralyzed with fear.

  It was almost comical. I had come so far and risked so much: I had crossed a dark, wide river when I knew not how to swim. I had ridden into Brutanna carrying false papers and might have been arrested for a spy. I had even slept out in the open, where wolves and thieves roamed the countryside. Yet now, at the crucial moment, when all I had to do was dress up and go to a wedding—I simply could not do it!

  It had been easy to pose as a kitchen maid. I had not even minded playing a boy, once I was sure of my disguise. But to pass as a court lady—oh, that was hard. For all my stepmother’s scolding, I still knew little of the customs and manners of great folk. No one was going to take me for a queen’s lady-in-waiting! I could not dance, I ate like a peasant, and I doubted I could make even the most commonplace sort of conversation with King Harry’s noble friends. Whatever did they talk about, anyway—their new jewels? Their troublesome servants? Oh, it was impossible! The minute I opened my mouth, I would fall into some terrible blunder and betray myself!

  And even should I manage, by some miracle, to actually convince the other guests that I was a highborn lady who lived at court and was intimate with the queen, then I would be caught out by the knights from Moranmoor. For they were bound to hear that a lady-in-waiting had recently arrived from their country, and they would think it odd. They knew full well there had never been any plans to send one of the queen’s women to the wedding. Naturally they would be suspicious. They would seek me out and know at first glance that I was an imposter.

  But the most terrifying prospect of all was facing Julian, after the way he had treated me at the fair. And all I had done then was to wave at him and call his name! What would he think of me now, dressed so far above my station and in a place where I did not belong? Would he believe I had come chasing after him, all the way to Brutanna, too stupid to see that I was far below his notice? My face flushed at the thought of it. I could not bear to suffer his contempt a second time.

  I spread my fingers and peered through them at the slippers, so dazzling in the sunlight—slippers made by a lad who had quietly loved where he had no business loving. Good for him, I thought. He had asked nothing of Auntie. He only wanted to watch her when she was nearby, and dream of her at night, and give her a miraculous gift. I don’t know why that touched me so, and comforted me, and gave me courage—but it did.

  I stood up and brushed the pine needles from the back of my gown. I had no choice but to ride up to King Harry’s castle and face those haughty nobles, and those dangerous knights—and Julian, too, no matter how hurtful and humiliating the encounter might be. For if I did not, men would die that night in the thousands, and Julian with them. If I failed to save him, it must not be because I was afraid to try!

  And so I carefully stepped into those remarkable slippers, and (oh, most miraculous!) felt a sudden surge of confidence. I grew bold, and sure, and strong! I felt as though I could walk upon water in those shoes! They would carry me safely through fire, protect me from arrows, or tempests, or fierce, wild beasts! Gold threads and magic, indeed! I was invincible!

  And so, with a prayer of thanks to Auntie in my heart (and another for the poor lad who made my slippers and died so young), I mounted my horse—no longer astride now, for I had become a lady—and entered through the main gate of King Harry’s castle one last time.

  Bella

  I had seen the great hall of a castle before; we had slept at Castle Down many a time when raiders from Brutanna came. But a king’s castle—with its soaring ceilings and blazing torches, all decked out for a royal wedding with rich tapestries and many-colored banners and swags of greenery and flowers—that was something altogether different! It was such a beautiful sight, I gasped with amazement to look upon it. And, oh, the gold dishes and goblets upon the tables and the musicians up in the gallery making their music—I could scarce believe it! I thought it must be what heaven is like.

  Nor was that all, for the king’s guests were every bit as splendid in their embroidered silks and fine brocades, set off with all manner of precious jewels. The ladies were visions of grace in their towering steeple caps and long silk veils. And the men were regular peacocks—such fringes and long sleeves, such scarlet and rose-colored linings and embroidered doublets and parti-colored hose and long, pointed slippers—oh, I never saw the like in all my days!

  It dazzled me so that for a moment I forgot why I was there, and gaped and sighed—until I realized that I would do well not to appear so very awed by the spectacle, as I was meant to be a court lady and should thus seem accustomed to such displays.

  I settled myself at the table farthest from the dais where the king and his honored guests were seated. It was considered the least desirable place in the room. People only went there if they could not find a better seat elsewhere. Not only was it drafty at that end of the hall—being near the door and away from the fire—but also it reflected poorly on one’s social standing to sit so far from the king. It declared to all the world that you were a person of little consequence.

  The nobility took such matters seriously; Julian had told me of it in the old days. I remember thinking how comical it was that anyone should care whether he was placed above the saltcellar or below, to the host’s right hand or his left. But clearly it did matter; I could see it on the faces of my table companions—they were sullen and embarrassed. But I was right glad to be there; I wanted to be inconspicuous.

  Of course, being so distant from the grand folk at the head table made it hard for me to see their faces clearly. I could not find any one of them who looked like Julian, though I knew he had to be there. Hostage or not, he was a prince, and p
rotocol demanded that he be seated with the other royalty. I would just have to study the faces more carefully—slowly, and one at a time.

  I began with King Harry, who sat at the center of the table (and his ears truly were big—I could see them even from the far side of the room). To his right was the bridegroom, Prince Adolph, and the bride, Princess Marguerite. And next to them were the prince’s parents, the king and queen of Galant. The remaining two men on that side of the table were clearly not Julian, one being grossly fat and the other white of hair and beard. And so I began again with the king and studied the other side of the table.

  The queen was to the king’s left, and next to her, a broad-faced, fair-haired man arrayed in emerald green—the duke of Gran, perhaps? I moved on to the next face, and recognized, with a start, one of the knights from Moranmoor who had been pointed out to me in the castle yard. He must be the head of the embassy. Though not a man of high rank—or so the kitchen maid had claimed—King Harry had still placed him at the head table, out of courtesy.

  And beside him was a slender young man, dark of hair and quite tall, with a crown upon his head and a trim little beard. He turned just then, so that I saw him in profile—and, oh, I was sure of it! Julian, without a doubt!

  I watched him as he talked eagerly with the knight from Moranmoor. Julian seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. At one point he leaned away from the table and tilted his head back. He would have his hands on his knees and his eyes would be closed. I couldn’t see this from where I sat, but I knew the gesture; I had seen it a hundred times. Indeed, I had provoked it often enough myself: he was having a hearty laugh.

  It surprised me to see him so at ease; I had never imagined that Julian might be happy there, living as a hostage in Brutanna. I had pictured him going about the palace with armed guards at his side and sleeping in a room with bars upon the window. But seeing him there in his place of honor, dressed in such fine clothes and so clearly content, I understood that the life of a royal hostage was nothing of the sort. He was not a prisoner, not really. He was more like a guest, or a brother. Though Julian’s new life had been none of his own choosing, he had clearly decided to make the best of it. Brutanna was his home now.

  Well, I thought, now you have found him and are even in the same room with him—how will you gain his attention? In truth, I was at a complete loss. I certainly could not rise from my seat and walk over to the king’s table and speak to him. It would be a shocking breach of etiquette—even I knew that. And it would call attention to Julian, and to me, when secrecy was most essential.

  A fanfare of trumpets sounded from the gallery just then, and in came the pages holding high the dishes—all on silver platters, all fantastical in their presentation. The arrival of each dish was announced in a booming voice by a stout man with pink cheeks, dressed in royal livery (the head cook, perhaps, or maybe the steward): whole suckling pig! Lark pie! Wild boar in saffron sauce! Roasted peacock! (This one was quite evident to all of us, for it was garnished with a great fan of brilliant feathers.) There was a flaming plum pudding, a map of Brutanna made of fish jelly, and the wedding couple sculpted out of marzipan. Oh, it was beyond belief!

  I thought of the fish guts and pigs’ ears and other such rubbish that Brutannans were said to eat, and fell to musing about misunderstandings and prejudice and the nature of humankind. And then I became too busy eating to think of anything at all.

  Once the banquet was well under way, the entertainment began, and it was every bit as remarkable as the food. No melancholy playing upon the lute here! No, there was an endless succession of fools and acrobats and dancers and fire-eaters and sword swallowers—indeed, every kind of clever and amusing performer you could possibly dream of.

  But the one I liked the best was a dwarf who came lumbering, bearlike, into the hall, wearing a long gown, a comical mask, and false hair, his arms flopping like dead things. He danced about to the music for a while—then every so often he would turn quickly and lunge at one of the tables and make a little twitching motion—and his mask would change! Truly, I knew not how he managed such a miraculous transformation, but he did it many times, going from a white face to a red one and then blue and yellow and then back to white—and each one was painted to represent a different emotion, from a comical grin to a scowl and suchlike.

  Then he came closer, and as I could see him better I realized that he was moving so strangely because he was dancing and walking upon his hands, and that the mask and hair were upon his feet and the flopping arms were false. And just as I was all in amazement at this spectacular deception, he slipped one foot out from behind the mask and began turning cartwheels! All in the hall gasped and broke into applause.

  Finally he finished with a comical bow to the wedding couple and the king, who rewarded him with a purse of coins. The dwarf shook the little bag close by his ear to make the coins tinkle, cocked his head, made a wide grin—and got one more laugh.

  Then a juggler came in (no doubt very bitter over having to follow such a masterful performance), and the dwarf, red-faced and panting, retired to the far end of the room, where he removed his mask and leaned against the wall to watch the rest of the show.

  He was not far from where I sat, and so I motioned for him to come over, complimenting him and offering him a few coins of my own. Then, in a low voice, I asked if he would do me a service, for which I would pay him well. He said he would.

  “Can you go over to the prince of Moranmoor, do you think? You know which one he is?”

  “I do, lady,” he said, “but I think the guards will not like me to approach too near the dais.”

  “There is something I would have you give to him, a token. I will pay you well if you will do this.” He grinned at me in a knowing way. He clearly thought my intentions were less than respectable. “We are old friends from Moranmoor,” I said. “I only wish him to know I am here.”

  “It matters not to me, lady,” he said, still smirking, “but you must first tell me the price.”

  “Two silver ducats,” I said, and his face showed that this was far more than he had expected—possibly more than the king had given him.

  “You will pay? You will not say it now and forget it later?”

  “I will pay,” I said. Then I pulled the little bag from where it lay inside my cotte, and took out the thimble. “If you will deliver this to the prince.” I put the thimble into his horny palm—in such a way that the others at my table could not see what it was, and would assume that it was money. Then he left to lean against the wall again, and I turned back and smiled at my tablemates.

  “He was most extraordinary,” I explained.

  They acknowledged my remark with polite nods, then turned back to the fire-eater, who was just beginning his act. I glanced sideways to see if the dwarf had moved, but still he stood and watched. Then, with great subtlety, as though he only wanted a better view, he moved along the wall in the direction of the high table. This he did three or four times. At last he eased away from the wall and took a few steps toward Julian.

  He did not get very far before a couple of guards stepped forward, grabbed him by the arms, and led him away from the head table. They cannot have believed that he intended any harm to the people sitting there; like as not, they thought he wanted to solicit money from them. Red-faced with chagrin, the dwarf returned to his spot, leaned once more against the wall, and waited.

  After a while King Harry stood and toasted the happy couple. Then he announced that, although his gout prevented him from dancing, he would be most pleased if Marguerite and her new consort would lead the way. At this cue, the musicians in the gallery began to play, and the dancing began.

  Now I watched with even greater care, so that I might follow Julian as he made his way gracefully around the room. He was a most accomplished dancer, I noticed (so far as I could tell), and received many smiles and nods from the ladies he partnered.

  Once he passed close by me and I saw that he had not changed so very much—t
hough he was much taller, now, and his chin was longer and his face more angular. And of course the beard greatly altered his appearance. Still, it was the same face, the same aquiline nose and dark curls and piercing eyes—except that there was nothing in it of the boy I had once played with! He was a man, now, poised and self-assured, a royal prince at ease with power and sure of his place in the world. And suddenly I was terrified again, for I did not know how I could approach this man, this new Julian. His village days would be nothing to him now, our past forgotten. He had moved on to greater things.

  Just then, the dwarf saw his chance. He plunged in among the dancers and began imitating their movements and expressions in a most comical way, first as a mincing lady, then a somber gentleman, to the delight of all. Soon he had joined into the figures, causing great amusement when he ducked his head down low like the others, while going under the bridges, throwing kisses to the bride, and pretending to sport a shapely leg as some of the vainer gentlemen were wont to do. And then, in the midst of all this silliness, Julian swung by and the dwarf reached out and grasped his hand—and, God be praised, the thing was done!

  Prince Julian of Moranmoor

  We had just begun the dancing when a clever little dwarf, who had performed remarkably earlier in the evening, came out upon the floor and joined us. He was very comical and entertaining, mocking us most unashamedly and making fun of himself as well. This added considerably to the merriment.

  Then, as he was in the inner circle and I on the outer, we clasped hands in passing—and he astonished me by slipping something into my hand. I could tell it was a thimble, from the feel of it. And so, to free my hand for the dancing, I slipped it upon my small finger and took care not to lose it.

  When at last the dance was over and all were lining up for the next, I took the thimble off my finger and studied it. And how unexpected—how it set my heart racing! I knew that thimble well!