Bella at Midnight

by Diane Stanley

  My mother had given it to me when I was just a little lad. I had been brought to the palace for my fourth or fifth birthday—I cannot remember which—and they had given me many fine and costly gifts in honor of the occasion. But the happiest moment of that day was when my mother had allowed me to sit upon her lap for a little while. I remember it still, how she held me close and kissed my hair, and said what a fine, big fellow I was. For that brief time at least, I truly believed that she loved me.

  When it came time for me to leave her and return to Castle Down, I wept most piteously. So she sent me to fetch her sewing basket and took out her thimble and gave it to me. It was very beautiful, made of silver and engraved with the king’s crest; I thought it the finest gift in all the world. Emotions are fleeting in little children. My tears were already forgotten before they had dried, and I left for my uncle’s castle with a smile upon my face. For years I kept the thimble in my chest at Castle Down, and whenever I felt heartsick or lonely, I would take it out and relive the sweetness of that long-ago day.

  And then—and then I filled it with ale and pretended it was a fairy flagon and gave it to Bella. Bella! She was somewhere in that room!

  The next dance began and I stumbled about so badly and stepped upon peoples’ toes so often—for I was scanning the crowd for her face and not attending to what I did—that Marguerite hissed, “Mind your feet, Julian; you will tread upon my gown!” And so I withdrew and stood aside—but still I could not see her.

  Then I thought of the dwarf who had given me the thimble and looked to see where he might be. I spotted him at the far end of the room, talking to a lady in a cream-colored gown, who had turned away to speak with him. I saw her give him something—money, I supposed, for he smiled most beatifically and slipped the thing into his pocket.

  Her business completed, the lady then turned around and looked directly at me—and I saw that it was Bella! Her fiery hair was covered with a fine headdress and she was arrayed as grandly as a court lady, but it was Bella, all right. I was so elated that I came near to running across the room and embracing her. But she made a small gesture with her head and eyes—“Outside,” the gesture said. And so I nodded in return and walked as calmly as I could out into the hallway, most grateful that there was not a crowd there, waiting to use the privy.

  I found I could not breathe properly. I began to feel giddy with fear and excitement and impatience. Why did she not come?

  And then at last I saw her. She seemed to float toward me like some heavenly being, her white gown almost shimmering in the gloom, her little slippers reflecting the torchlight as she walked—so stately and graceful she was! This was not the girl I remembered—the wild and impetuous child who was wont to run and tumble about and play games like a boy!

  But then, as she passed by a torch on the wall and the light shone full upon her, I could see that she was only playing at the role of great lady, that her composure was false, and that deep emotion lay beneath the surface of that placid face. She faded into shadow again—and then she was there, standing before me.

  “Princess Bella!” I cried. “Just look at you! All grown up and dressed like a lady, with jewels and a veil and such remarkable little slippers! And come all the way to Brutanna to send me secret tokens—what an incredible creature you are!”

  She did not smile as I expected, but looked very solemn and almost fearful. “Is there somewhere we can go, so that we may speak in private?”

  “We could go into the privy,” I suggested with a grin.

  “Julian, truly, I am in earnest,” she said. “At any moment this dance will be over and people will come out here.”

  “All right,” I said. “There is a storeroom at the far end of the hall.” She turned and walked quickly in that direction; I followed after her.

  The room was dark, so I left the door ajar, allowing some of the torchlight from the hall to penetrate the gloom. Then I took her hands and squeezed them in my excitement. “Bella, Bella,” I said, “I am so amazed! Such a lady you look—truly, I would have taken you for a princess!”

  “Not a princess, no,” she said. “But I am a lady, as it turns out. The daughter of a knight from the King’s City.”

  “More amazing still!” I said. “And you were enchanted by fairies and left in a cottage in the village of Castle Down!” I had not meant to mock her in saying this. I was giddy with joy and had merely fallen back into our old games. But Bella stiffened and drew her hands away.

  “No, Julian,” she said coldly, “I was not enchanted by fairies. I was taken to the village near my father’s estate—Burning Wood, I am sure you know of it—and left there in the care of a wet nurse. Beatrice. The same as you.”

  “Indeed, I am right glad to hear it,” I said lamely.

  “Well, I was not,” she answered. “For my father left me there all those years and thought not a whit about me until he married again. And I would far rather be as I was, and not a lady—for my father loves me not and treats me ill, and my stepmother likewise. But I am wellborn, Julian, I assure you of that. You need not be ashamed to know me now.”

  It was a blow, and I deserved it. I ought to have apologized the first moment I saw her—instead of inviting her into the privy and mocking her with talk of fairies! What a thoughtless, clumsy, stupid, bumbling oaf I was! I would not have blamed her if she had wished me to the devil and returned to Moranmoor that very night! And so, while I yet had the chance, I fell to my knees and looked up into her astonished face.

  “Bella,” I said, “I left the fair that day and was upon the road to your house when the king’s messengers intercepted me, bringing news of the truce and the part I was to play in it. I had meant to be waiting when you came home, so that I might kneel before you, as I do now, and beg your forgiveness. But, Bella, they would not grant me any delay and said I must leave that very hour.”

  She tried to interrupt me then, but I would say it all. “Dearest Bella, it had naught to do with your birth. Truly, you could have been begot by trolls, for all I cared! Only, I was so private in my knowing of you, and I was confused and awkward in the presence of those boys. And I was cowardly also, and vile—I know that. I did not deserve your trust or your friendship. But I beg you to look upon me now and see if I am not better, and try to like me again as you did once.”

  She leaned over then, as I knelt there—and kissed me! Now it was my turn to be astonished!

  “You never lost my love,” she said. “Nor could you. It was rooted too deep in my heart to tear out in a single day. Still, that was a very pretty speech, and I think it is well that you made it. Only now, dear Julian, you must get up off your knees and let me tell you why I have come, for it will not wait and is a very grave matter—indeed, your life hangs upon it.”

  “My life?”

  “Yes, and much else besides. For your brother Gilbert is waiting even now with an army in yonder woods. It is for that reason he did not come to the wedding—for he will attack at midnight, when the men of Brutanna are tired from the revelry and the worse for drink. And if you are still here, Julian, your life will be forfeit.”

  I was so stunned I could not speak at first.

  “How came you to learn of this?” I said at last, when I had found my tongue.

  “My stepsister is one of the queen’s handmaids. There was a great row over at the palace, for the queen was opposed to the plan and stopped speaking to the king on account of it. Naturally my stepsister heard it all and carried the tale home. But I should tell you, Julian, that she said nothing at all of an embassy of knights—and I know not what to make of them.”

  Oh, but I did.

  “They are here to kill the guards and open the gate for Gilbert when he arrives. For Harry’s defenses might be weaker now than once they were, but it would be no easy thing to scale these walls, and all advantage of surprise would be lost. No, my brother wants a slaughter, and an easy one. And do not look so stricken, Bella. Did you not know that war is cruel?”

  �
�I know nearly as much about war as you do, Julian. Only, to come as a guest to a wedding, and sit at Harry’s table, and eat his food—and then go out and murder his guards . . .”

  “Is despicable,” I said. “Yes. It makes me ill.” I sat down upon a barrel and buried my face in my hands, for I was utterly wretched.

  She touched my shoulder gently. “Julian,” she said, “we have not the time to talk of this anymore—you must leave the castle, and quickly.”

  “Oh, Bella,” I said, “I know not what to do. I cannot leave here in good conscience, for then I shall be conspiring in my brother’s treachery. Father signed the truce upon his sworn oath, and King Harry has kept his side of the bargain and has treated me well. I would not betray his kindness thus. But nor can I warn him of the attack, for that would be treason against my own kingdom. Indeed, Bella, I believe I would rather hang for my brother’s crime and save my soul than leave this place and live forever, dishonored and disgraced.”

  “That is very noble,” she said, “but would it not be better to ride out to where your brother is and persuade him to turn back?”

  “How could I sway him when the queen cannot?”

  “The queen is a woman, and men such as Gilbert do not esteem us as they do men. They think us softhearted and foolish. But he might listen to you. It is worth a chance, do you not think? Can you not bend your pride only a little, in hopes of preventing a slaughter? For if this war begins anew—mark my words—we will never see peace again so long as we live. Oh, Julian, think how many will perish! It is too horrible! What good would it do to just stay here and die?”

  “Well spoken, Bella,” I said. “Pride was ever my weakness. It masters me and makes me addlebrained. I shall go to Gilbert, as you said—though I have not such high hopes as you that I can change his mind—for I know my brother, as you do not. Still, I will do all I can.”

  “Good! Only, Julian, I confess my plan only carried me this far. I do not know how we are to get out of the castle so late at night. I had hoped, as you know the place, that you might think of a way.”

  “I heard talk of a passage somewhere within the castle walls, built long ago for secret egress during sieges. But I know not where it is. We could spend weeks looking for it.”

  “Then it is of no use to us,” she said, “for you must reach the king before midnight. We will have to leave through the gate, then. Perhaps I could hide you in a basket of dirty linen and carry you out that way.”

  “That is very amusing, Bella, but no one would carry laundry out so late at night.”

  She sighed. “I know. I was only being a little comical about the laundry basket, Julian. I was trying to think how to hide you. For even if we could think of a reason for departing at such an hour, they would never allow you to leave the castle.”

  “That’s not true, Bella,” I said. “These three years and more of peace have made Harry easy in his mind—far too easy, it seems. He would not expect me to escape any more than he would expect my brother to attack him this night. No, the guards wouldn’t stop me. They have seen me come and go many a time—I ride out to hunt nearly once in every week.”

  “Well, that is good.” We sat in silence then, searching our minds for some workable idea.

  “Wait—I have thought of something!” Bella said.

  “Tell me!”

  “We shall say the king and queen of Moranmoor sent a message some days ago, saying they were now in better health and they would attend the wedding after all. But they set out late, and their journey was further delayed by a series of mishaps—a broken carriage wheel, or something of that nature—and so they missed the wedding and are only just arriving now. And therefore you and I—as prince of Moranmoor and lady-in-waiting to the queen—are riding out to welcome them and escort them to the castle!”

  “That is very good, Bella—though the guards might think it strange for us to ride out alone, only the two of us, with no other dignitaries.”

  “Or they might believe King Harry means to snub your brother for his rudeness, by sending only you and me to greet him.”

  “How clever you are!” I said. “You always could tell a good story. That should do excellently well!”

  “Then let us make haste,” she said. “For it grows late.”

  As we stepped out into the hallway, I thought I saw someone moving in the shadows. I gasped and squeezed Bella’s hand. We had been overheard.

  “Halt!” I said. The figure stopped where it was.

  “It is the dwarf,” Bella whispered, then rushed over to where he stood, cowering in the darkness. She took firm hold of his arm and leaned down to speak to him.

  “You!” she hissed. “Did I not reward you well enough for your service? Is this how you repay me—by spying upon me?”

  “Indeed, no, my lady,” he said. “I was only waiting for my turn in the garderobe.”

  “The privy is at the other end of the hall,” I said. “Do not take us for fools. You were eavesdropping.”

  “If I heard a thing or two, my lord prince, I assure you I will repeat none of it . . . though I am a poor man, who was not blessed by nature and must live by his wits—and there are those who would pay me well to hear it.”

  “You are a proper villain,” I said angrily. I hated giving in to his blackmail. Yet I knew—as he did—that we had no other choice, and very little time. And so I gave him a gold coin. “See that this buys your silence,” I said.

  He backed away from us slowly and bowed. “Indeed, my lord. It will be as you say. Silent as the grave.” And then he was gone.

  Bella

  It was Julian who spun our tale to the guards, and he did it right well, for he can tell a good story, too. He put in enough details to be believable, but did not say too much. And his natural authority made him all the more persuasive. The guards, asking no further questions, simply opened the gates and let us out. I could scarce believe our good fortune—it had been far too easy!

  “Be awake and looking for our return,” I called back, “so that you do not keep the king and his party waiting when we arrive at the gate!”

  “We will be watching, my lady.”

  Julian gave me a sharp look. “Why did you say that?” he asked.

  “Oh, Julian—it was only a small warning,” I said. “It gave nothing away. If Gilbert is not to be persuaded, then perhaps the guards will be a bit more alert to movement out there in the darkness—or assassins sneaking up behind them. Would that I could warn the villagers, too.”

  “Never fear,” Julian said bitterly. “Methinks the dwarf will do it for you.”

  “You do not trust him, then?”

  “Of course not. Do you? He took my money—as he took yours—and now he will claim King Harry’s reward as well. I only pray that it takes him a while to accomplish it. Can you not ride any faster?”

  “No. It is not easy riding sidesaddle—I am not accustomed to it. And I cannot sit astride in this gown. You must go ahead and find your brother. I will wait for you over there, in the forest. See that clump of birches? There is a clearing, just beyond them. That is where I will be. When it is over, whatever happens, come and find me if you can. If not, I will make my way back to the King’s City on my own.”

  “I don’t like it,” he said, “to leave you alone in the dark of night, at peril of your life from brigands or wild beasts.”

  “Oh, Julian! How do you think I got here? I have traveled these roads alone for many days and even slept out in the open once or twice. I am not helpless. Nor am I afraid. You have more important things to think of. Go now, Julian, and stop this butchery before it begins!”

  “Bella,” he said solemnly, “if I live through this night, I will come and find you—I promise. And when I do, I will give you a kiss to match the one you gave me—and never after will I have you from my side.” Then he spurred his horse into a gallop and rode away, growing smaller and smaller until he faded into the darkness of the overcast night.

  I knew I might never see
him again. It is a perilous thing to approach a hidden army in the dark of night; the sentries might well kill him for a spy before ever he got to plead his case to the king. And even should Julian manage to reach his brother, Gilbert was not likely to be persuaded. What were Julian’s chances then? Would he survive the attack—wearing only his party clothes, with no weapon but his sword and no shield or armor to protect him?

  The more I thought of the dangers he faced and the hopelessness of his task, the more fearful and agitated I became. And so I got down from my horse, and fell to my knees, and begged the blessings of heaven upon Prince Julian and his holy enterprise—for nothing is impossible if God wills it to be so.

  I do not know how long I knelt there in the road, but by the time I got up, my knees were aching so that I could hardly stand.

  All was yet quiet in the night. I knew not the time, but the matins bell had not yet tolled the midnight hour, the signal for the advance. Somewhere in the forest, great matters were being decided, but it was all up to Julian now. There was nothing more that I could do. And so I mounted my horse once more and rode to the clearing near the cluster of birches where I had told him I would wait.

  I would use the time to make ready. For, whatever happened, it was likely I would depart that night for Moranmoor, and quite possibly in haste. It would be best, then, to assume once more my old disguise as a boy. I could ride more easily astride, and would be less conspicuous traveling across the country.

  And so I removed my headdress and Auntie’s beautiful necklace and gold chain and packed them carefully away in the saddlebag. Then I sat down upon a rock and began the laborious business of unfastening each little button on the sleeves of my lady gown. When at last I was free of my finery, I stepped—most reluctantly—out of those magical glass slippers. They had given me much hope and courage, and I might yet be in need of their comfort. Still, it would look right odd to wear them with a tunic and hose!

  Dressed as a boy once more, I felt remarkably light and free. I could breathe again, and move with ease, after all those hours in the stiff bodice and tight sleeves of Auntie’s elegant gown. And what a relief to take off my fine headdress and be rid of all those hairpins! I unplaited my hair and shook it out so that it lay loose upon my shoulders, the way I used to wear it as a child. Stepmother would not approve, but the gentle play of the wind in my curls was so pleasant that I was loath to cover them once again with my cap. Not just yet. Not till it was time to go.