Cinder-Ugly

by Laura Strickland

  “Madame, you must tell Rupert. It will have to be his decision whether to open that.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “But then I may be condemning him to death. If he goes through and I lose him also…” She began to weep like a woman brokenhearted. I took her in my arms, but soon enough she pulled herself together and said, “You are wise, Cindra. I will be guided by your opinion.”

  “Do you want me to tell him?” Take the burden from her shoulders.

  And place it squarely on mine.

  “I am so afraid. I am afraid we will die if we stay here. Afraid we will die or be captured if we venture out.”

  “My Queen, this route could be used by our soldiers to take Ortis by surprise. Or to send for help.”

  “If it has not collapsed. It is very, very ancient. Or if it does not collapse while our men are in it.”

  “Yes.” A terrible risk.

  She continued making her own argument. “Already, food grows scarce, and we still have weeks and weeks of winter ahead.”

  “I think we need to let Rupert decide. He is King. We cannot keep this information from him.”

  “As you say,” she whispered, and turned and walked back the way we had come.

  ****

  “I had no idea this was here,” Rupert said later when I showed him the door to the tunnel. “Father never told me. I wonder why?”

  I shrugged. Wrapped in a blanket against the pervasive chill, I thought about how much I detested this place where damp trickled across the floor and the walls bore patches of frost.

  “Perhaps it has collapsed by now. But—”

  “It may represent a chance for us. I have been thinking. If there were a way to reach our allies—or potential allies—in the West…I know of a few who might be willing to take on Ortis. King Edmund might, if only to keep us as a buffer.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Standing there in the low light of a single torch, Rupert contemplated it, his damaged face full of doubt. “I don’t know.”

  “What will you do, Husband?”

  “Open up that door. See in what condition the escape tunnel lies. See, too, if we can determine in what direction it leads.”

  I laid my hand on his arm. “One bit of advice, if I may.”

  “I always welcome your advice, my love.”

  “Tell only a few. If it becomes widely known this is here, we may have a stampede of people demanding to be let through.”

  “Ah—very wise.”

  It would be a hard secret, though, to keep.

  ****

  The door, when they attempted to open it, crumbled beneath their hands. The victim of damp, it revealed a dark, rough-worked hole that seemed to lead only into deeper darkness.

  I did not attend the opening, of course. Rupert, who was there in the company of three carefully chosen men, told me about it later in the solitude of our chamber, one of the rare times we found ourselves alone.

  I’d insisted he rest. We’d yet to spend a whole night together since his return, but now he lay on the bed, staring up at the canopy. The wind howled around the stones of the castle, and for the moment at least, the dreadful bombardment had ceased.

  I came and climbed into the bed beside him. “What did you see?” I urged.

  “Only that—darkness.”

  “But it’s not collapsed?”

  “Not so far as we could tell.”

  “You did not venture in?”

  He turned his head and looked at me. He studied me soberly before he said, “If it is to benefit us at all, it must travel a long distance beneath the ground. It is very old, no doubt as old as the castle, and barely shoulder high. Disturbing it after so long could cause a cave-in at any time, and that would prove certain death to anyone caught within.”

  “Oh.”

  “Cindra, I cannot in good conscience ask any man to take that risk.”

  For an instant I did not realize what he meant. I thought he refused out of hand to countenance use of the tunnel. Then I remembered the things I’d heard of him since his return, what his fellow soldiers said. In battle, he assigned no risk, no venture he would not first undertake himself.

  “No,” I breathed. “You cannot. You are King.”

  “Wife, I cannot…”

  For once I interrupted him. “True, you cannot! You are needed here. Your people need you. I need you. Robin and your child—”

  “I know, I know.” He reached for me. “Please do not weep.”

  I hadn’t realized that I did weep. “I am sorry I told you about it now! It is why your mother would not. She knows you better than I.”

  “No one knows me better than you.” He kissed me, and the strength of it went through me, the claiming and belonging—but not enough to soothe my pain, not this time. “Cindra, love, no matter where I am or—or will be—I’m with you. So it was during the battles. So it will always be.”

  I began to sob in earnest. “Do not leave me. Do not leave me again. I could not bear it.”

  “Cindra, Wife, my strong one—look at me.” He engaged my eyes. “Do you know what will happen if Ortis takes this castle? Death, destruction, and for many, slavery.”

  “I know, I know. But we are not yet beaten.”

  “Not yet, no. Ortis, deserted by his mercenaries, may yet give up the siege and go home to wait for better weather. But if not…” He gazed directly into my eyes. “If not, we will then be separated anyway. I will be executed. I shouldn’t like to think what will happen to you, my wife and Queen, or to our child.”

  I folded my arms over that child protectively. I loved it fiercely, already, unseen.

  Rupert rubbed a tear from my cheek. “Let us not get too far ahead of ourselves. Tomorrow I and my helpers will venture a short distance into the tunnel. It may be collapsed beyond where we can see.” He smiled ruefully. “But I don’t think so.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We felt a draft coming down along it as soon as the door fell away. Cold it was, and the breath of it very bad. But a current of air.”

  “I want to be there when you go in.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “No, Rupert, I will be with you. To see you venture in—and come out again. Do not ask me to go about my business as if nothing is happening, not knowing…”

  “As I say, tomorrow we will venture in only a few steps.”

  “Then there should be no risk to me, no reason I cannot be there.”

  He gazed at me long. “Very well. But under no circumstances are you to set foot inside, hear me? It is far too dangerous.”

  Not what I needed to hear.

  But I said, “Understood. And now, come lie in my arms for a few minutes.” Those few minutes were all we had.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The small team of three men chosen by Rupert had boarded up the opening after the door broke into rotting pieces. Early the next morning, I stood with my arms folded tight while they pulled the slats back off and I got my first glimpse of what lay beyond.

  Two of the helpers were elderly, one quite young. The youngster fell back when the first breath issued from the tunnel, revealing his uneasiness.

  I could not blame him. The air that came out felt deadly with chill and smelled like the grave—dark, stale, and poisonous.

  It did not look like a tunnel so much as a hole dug into the dirt, its sides, floor, and roof—what little I could see—all curved.

  We stood staring unhappily for a long moment before Rupert told Karl, one of the oldest helpers, “Hand me the light.”

  “No.” The word came from my throat without my permission. I’d promised myself I would not interfere.

  All three helpers looked at me sympathetically. Rupert did not spare me so much as a glance.

  He took the torch from Karl’s hand, squared his shoulders, and ducked into the hole.

  I started forward, unable to prevent that either. The other elder, Murgo
, caught me back with a respectful, “Majesty, please—he said no.”

  They had their instructions.

  I stood there with that foul air hitting me in the face while my reason for living disappeared from sight.

  He’d promised me he’d venture only a few steps. It seemed much farther. I saw the light fade and listened to the scrabbling sound of Rupert’s progress.

  Then—nothing!

  I tore from Murgo’s grasp. “Rupert!” I called.

  “Hush, Majesty,” Karl begged me. “You’ll bring the roof down.”

  I bit my tongue. I held my breath.

  The glow of Rupert’s torch died to a faint thread before it began to increase again. Then we heard him moving closer, and I breathed once more.

  He emerged wearing a grim expression and with dirt on his shoulders and shaved head. This he shook off before he turned to us.

  “It extends some distance,” he said.

  Karl asked, “Could you tell, sire, in what direction?”

  “Straight out, so far as I could see. South. We will need to calculate a trajectory.”

  “But it’s not collapsed?” asked Murgo.

  “Not that I could tell. The light did not travel far.” His eyes moved to me and away again. “But the tunnel is very old and ready to come down—I feared the mere scuffing of my feet would bring it onto my head. I say we explore a bit farther, try to calculate the direction of the escape route, and resolve to use it only in the case of most extreme emergency. Meanwhile…” He eyed the three helpers severely before continuing, “not a word to anyone. I mean to clue Rellison in, but no one beyond the five of us is to know. Understand?”

  They nodded gravely. I tried to be content. Only in the event of most extreme emergency, he said.

  But did we not exist in the midst of that?

  ****

  Crisis followed crisis, all calculated, so I felt, to drive me mad. During breaks in the weather—whenever the harsh wind stopped blowing—our attackers resumed their bombardment of our walls. Damage became critical, and supplies with which to repair any breech became scarce. Several interior walls were taken down for their stone. Even the boulders fired at us we utilized. I feared it would not be enough.

  Truth be told, everything became scarce. Food most of all, followed by fuel for the fires. Quite apart from keeping our people warm, we needed fire for boiling the vats of water we dumped on the heads of any attackers bold enough to use a siege ladder.

  Amidst all this, misery became endemic, as did things like lice. I am certain that helped to spread the new fever when it came.

  Yet it started so slowly, with the children—a sick tot here, another there. Most of them had runny noses; their mothers didn’t notice much else at first. Packed together so tightly in the ballroom, they shared food, bedding, and everything else. When the fever took them, they went one after the other, swiftly.

  Rupert was with Rellison and others of his advisors, on a clear, frigidly cold day, when I realized the truth. I brought it to him in his council chamber, where he stood engaged in what appeared to be a grim conversation.

  The others all rose to their feet when I came in, the old men like scarecrows wrapped in layers of clothing. A few whispered, “Majesty.”

  I looked at my husband and for the first time in days, perhaps in weeks, truly saw him.

  He appeared ill and aged from what he had been, his head freshly shaved. New lines scored his cheeks, and the wound near his eye had healed but badly, leaving a deep scar. I knew he bore other stubborn wounds beneath the clothing he wore, far too shabby for a king. Yet my heart nearly burst with love for him and ached for the news I brought.

  His green eyes studied me before he asked in concern, “What is it? What’s happened?”

  I touched his arm and drew him away a step or two.

  “I bring ill news.”

  His gaze dropped to the bulk of our child, now well grown and, at the moment, kicking. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wee Robin?”

  “Fine.” So far.

  “Then, what?”

  “I’ve just come from the ballroom.” Where most of the women and children lived. “Rupert, the children are falling ill.”

  “Little ones always fall ill in winter. And crammed so close together…”

  “This is not a simple ague. Fever, Rupert. At least ten of them, and still more with symptoms.” Far more.

  “No.” He breathed the word, and in his eyes I saw his desire to deny it, the same I’d felt for days.

  With regret I said, “I fear so. I did not want to bring word to you until I felt certain.”

  “Majesty?” asked Rellison, frowning and taking a step toward us.

  Rupert held up a hand to him, staring at me. “And you went there?”

  “Of course I went there. I go every day to speak with the women, most of them widows, and to help with lessons. What I fear is they will all fall ill, the mothers of the sick first and then the rest of them. They share blankets, beds, food, and the privies.”

  “I do not want you to go there again.”

  The comment, so out of character, made me stare at him. “What?”

  “I will not have you risk yourself and our child. Do you hear?”

  Rupert had never before raised his voice to me. He did so now, turning every head in the room. I’d been bellowed at before, of course—by Cook in the kitchen and by Mother all my life. But this order came backed by the love I saw in Rupert’s eyes, so strong it might blind me, and the fear behind it.

  “My darling,” I said softly, “I must. They are our people—my people. And they need me.”

  “No.” Rupert, never stubborn, refused to back down now. Instead, with all his advisors watching, he pulled me into his arms. “I want you to go to the tower room. Stay there. Do not come out until we determine the nature of this sickness.”

  “Sickness, sire?” Rellison picked up the word.

  We had no choice but to tell them all, then. Many of them had family, widowed daughters or daughters by marriage, and grandchildren among those in the ballroom. The news was not taken well.

  Rellison immediately told me, “Majesty, I can but agree with the King. You should separate yourself from the epicenter as completely as possible. Do you still feel well?”

  I considered the question. I felt exhausted, constantly hungry, and quite heavily pregnant. I never felt truly well.

  But I replied, “I have no symptoms.”

  “Not yet, perhaps.” Rupert’s hands tightened on my shoulders. I met his gaze and saw the truth: someone cared for me—me, Cinder-Ugly—and I was worth much to this man. He, with his humble bearing, great heart, and boundless courage, loved me.

  And yes, I might matter to our people—at that moment I knew I mattered most to him.

  “Perhaps, Majesty,” Rellison suggested gently, “you might consent to retire to the tower just until we determine the extent of the contagion.”

  Answering not him but the love in Rupert’s eyes, I replied, “I could do that, yes.”

  Relief flooded Rupert. “Rellison, please have all available physicians sent to the children’s room. And, all of you, please pray for those innocents.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What have you done with your shoes?”

  Rupert, lying atop our bed like a man half-slain, squinted at my feet where I lay beside him. I knew we had only moments before he was called away again. I also knew he needed the reassurance of my company and my voice in his ears.

  I answered simply, “Oh, I gave them to Markka. She had none.”

  He shot me an incredulous look. “She had no shoes?”

  “Well, she did. But they were all broken and falling off her feet. It is cold where she is, and as I am confined here, I thought she should have my stout ones.”

  I could see Rupert did not like that. He propped himself up on one elbow. “And where did you get those? They look like the cat dragged them in
after a hard night in the wet.”

  I laughed softly and wiggled my feet atop the coverlet. “These? They were mine when I slaved in Mother’s kitchen among the hearth ashes. Cinder-Ugly, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” He did not like that, either. “We must be able to find you something better.”

  “Like your boots, which have been halfway through the wars and back again? We all go without, my love.”

  “I know we all go without; I do not mind depriving myself. But seeing you go without—it pierces my heart. My love, you were deprived long enough.”

  I gazed into his eyes. “That merely taught me not to mind. I have you and our child—I have more than I ever dreamed.”

  He caressed my cheek. “Only you could say such a thing.” He kissed me, and for a moment I forgot everything else, the worry, the fear and exhaustion. Our hearts beat together until our child kicked hard.

  We both laughed.

  Rupert said then, “I will find you something better than those poor slippers—so I do vow.”

  “Just be sure and look after yourself,” I told him, “when you are parted from me.”

  ****

  The weather raged, as did the fever in the castle below me. When the clouds broke—seldom enough—I used the perspective from my windows as a lookout, disheartened to learn Ortis’s troops had shrunk no farther. I sent messages via Gerta to Rellison and the other advisors, Rupert being usually on the walls with the defenders. Oh, how I feared for him!

  I feared for us all.

  The first deaths from fever came quickly. Three little ones it was, then a slew of them, followed by several of their mothers.

  I asked to go to them, longed to assure myself Markka, her daughter Dinnie, and wee Robin were still well. I might just have defied Rupert and gone to them, had someone not visited me first.

  She came in mid-afternoon when the bombardment had once more commenced. I’d just begun wondering where Ortis continued to come by his ammunition. My intermittent views told me he’d cut down many of our fine trees and hurled them at us in pieces, which we then used for fuel after repairing the damage they caused. Some of the stones they catapulted, as I say, we also used to make repairs; others we tumbled back down on Ortis’s troops. Several, I suspected, must have been fired back and forth many times.