‘Well, I was happy too,’ said my mother grimly. ‘That evening the slut slipped down a stairwell.’ She chuckled.
Looking startled, Ruth turned towards her. ‘Why do you laugh, my lady?’
‘Who do you think pushed the wench?’
Ruth said nothing more, brushing Mother’s hair hard. Mother seemed lost in her memories, for she too sat silent.
‘There you are,’ said Ruth. ‘Shall I pin it up for you?’
Mother shook her head. ‘His Majesty prefers it loose.’ She touched the skin at her eyes. ‘There must be a cream somewhere that might help. Ruth?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty?’
‘I want you to put the word out. Among the merchants. I’m looking for a skin cream.’
Ruth clucked. ‘And what’s wrong with the cream I make for you? ’Tis special, that is, made with the petals from your own rose garden.’ She smiled at Mother, her wrinkles deep tracks in her face. ‘A rose cream for our very own rose.’
That title should be Rosa’s, I thought. Abruptly, a tidal wave of misery washed over me, leaving me breathless and terrified. I burst into tears.
‘Dana!’ Mother said, surprised.
‘Mama. Oh, Mama.’ I stepped from the doorway and knelt, burying my face in her lap.
‘What’s gotten into you, child?’
‘The tower. The tower.’
She looked out into the night blackness. ‘What about the tower?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety. ‘Stop sniffling, child. Tell me what’s wrong.’
Tears trickled down my face when I looked up at her. ‘Mama, I can’t.’
‘Can’t do what?’
‘Papa told me. The tower. I can’t do it, Mama, I can’t. Don’t make me, please. Don’t make me. Tell them I can’t do it.’
Ruth started and dropped the silver brush. With a sideways tip of her head, Mother signalled her to leave.
Mother stared down at me. ‘Your father finally told you, did he?’
I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Mother shuddered and handed me a linen handkerchief. She touched my head gently as I blew my nose. ‘Keep the ’kerchief, dear.’
‘Mama, I can’t be the Guardian. I can’t. Poor Aunt Rosa, she’s up in that tower all the time, she never gets out.’
‘She does, you know, dear. You saw her when N’tombe arrived.’
‘That was the first time I’d ever seen her. I can’t do it, Mama. Don’t make me do it.’ I was panting, hardly able to breathe.
Mother patted my head. ‘Dana. You know what the world is like, outside the Kingdom?’
‘People say. There’s plague, war.’
‘With war and plague comes famine. No-one to till the crops, not enough seed planted, the birds eat what little gets into the soil. You’ve never lived through a famine, Dana. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘I don’t care! I can’t be in that tower. The necklace, Mama! It eats the wearer. I’ve seen the wound in Aunt Rosa’s chest. It never heals, Mama. Mama, don’t make me go.’
‘Dana, look at me.’ Mother put her finger under my chin, tipping my face so I gazed into her blue eyes. They were stern, her mouth hard. ‘Listen to me. Sometimes, in life, we don’t get to do what we want. The Guardian is the only thing that keeps this land healthy. Do you want us all to starve, to become like the lands around us?’
‘You don’t care about me. You’ll lock me up forever, all because you want your food.’
‘That’s enough!’ Mother let go of me, leaving me to crouch at her feet like a broken puppet. ‘You think it’s all about me, Dana? Think about your friends. When I was just a little younger than you, I saw people starve. People would do anything for food.’ She shut her eyes, shuddered. ‘It’s a funny thing; when there is famine the babies don’t cry very much. They don’t have the energy. Oh, at first, when you’re hungry, you want to cry with the emptiness that burns inside you. You look at everything as though it’s food: acorns, shoes, even the dead. After a time, though, it’s not hunger that bothers you. It’s fatigue. And the cold.’ Her hands shook in the candlelight.
‘I can’t do it, Mama. I can’t.’ I hated the whine in my voice.
Mother blinked and looked down at me, sizing me up as though I was a doll needing to be dressed. ‘You’re getting so big. You should start acting like a lady.’ She tugged the bell pull. ‘I’ll ask Ruth to begin putting your hair up. And you’ll need more dresses.’
‘Mama!’
She pushed back her stool and stood, tall and beautiful and remote. ‘The world isn’t a fair place, child. Really, this is a most necessary lesson to learn.’ She bent over me, her breath sweet, and fingered my sleeve. ‘This is hardly adequate for a princess. You’re nearly fifteen, Dana. You need to start attending state occasions.’
‘Mama!’
She crouched beside me and put a finger across my lips. ‘Sometimes one must sacrifice oneself. For the greater good.’
Mother had become something foreign, incomprehensible. I couldn’t scream or whine. There was no support, nothing. Tears pooled and fell silently on her skirt. She had seated herself back on her stool and was, again, staring at her face in the mirror as though her reflection held all the answers. I staggered to my feet, my body limp and sagging.
I was a puppet indeed.
Part Three
20
Drama Queen
Like small boys, Sergeant Ryngell and Will became obsessed with bows and arrows. Archery was often used in warfare. Usually to soften the heavier cavalry; a volley of arrows, although imprecise, was effective. A long bow could send the arrow near on a quarter mile and pierce strong armour. Taller than Will, such bows required considerable strength to draw.
‘A smaller bow would be easier to handle,’ said the sergeant thoughtfully. ‘Not as strong as a long bow, of course, not enough to punch through armour, but it might do a powerful lot of damage. Particularly if the man who used it was on horseback.’
He pulled out a couple of apples, handed one to Will. They sat in the shade of the targets to eat them.
‘When I was young and foolish,’ said the sergeant, ‘I ventured far afield.’ He threw the core at the wall. It bounced off, spinning bits of apple flesh and pips before it fell. A squirrel darted towards it, pausing on its hind legs to watch for enemies. As neither Sergeant Ryngell nor Will moved, it rushed to the apple core and, holding it firmly in its teeth, ran towards the base of the wall. The sergeant watched it with a smile.
‘Where did you go?’ asked Will.
‘France, then further north. I was part of a free company. We took up with whatever lord would pay us.’ He looked up at the clouds, sighed. ‘It was a good life, I suppose. A short life, for some of us. But exciting.’
‘What happened?’
‘Lots of little battles, over forests and who had the right to harvest a crop from which field, and which son should gain a castle. Petty things, mostly.’
‘What made you come back?’
‘Well, the old king died, for one. I owed the Crown Prince somewhat and I thought he might need a friendly face, at least in the beginning. And I was getting older, and likewise my parents weren’t getting any younger.’ He paused. ‘And there were rumours.’
‘Rumours?’
‘Aye. I was in Bavaria at the time, serving a tin-pot little lord, helping him fight his little battles over pig food or fish or some sort, and then some messenger arrives from the south, all desperate and wild-eyed.’
‘Then what?’
‘Well, then I came home.’
‘What did the messenger say?’
‘Let me see,’ said Sergeant Ryngell, scratching his chin. ‘Something about an ancient enemy arising. No-one listened to him, though. They all thought he was mad. Save me.’
‘Why?’
The sergeant smiled suddenly. ‘Well, lad, I’ve not told anyone this before, but something tells me you’ll understand.’ He whispered. ‘I had a dream.’
Will wa
sn’t sure if he was serious or laughing at him.
‘It’s true,’ said Sergeant Ryngell, picking an apple seed from his teeth. ‘I was resting up, see, not sleeping so good on account of this little cut here.’ He ran a thick finger down the scar across his face. ‘And I had a real bad dream. Men on horseback running across the world like ants. I woke, told myself it weren’t real, then this mad-eyed messenger arrives, says about the land being overrun by an army, and I knew it was time to leave. I was going home anyways. Da had sent me some coin, enough to get me heading back, and a token, to see me across the strait.’
The sergeant looked into the distance. ‘I can’t remember the name of the lord I was serving. He had an ugly face, all threaded with the pox. And he was the sort who can’t see a midden even if he’s deep in muck. If there really was trouble a-brewing he’d do naught until it were too late. I looked at him and thought, why would I want to lay my life on the line for you? Not when I’ve a half way decent lord at home. So I went to my captain and told him I was heading back.’ He smiled at Will, his face twisting. ‘And here I am.’
‘What happened to that lord?’ Will asked.
The sergeant shrugged. ‘Blessed if I know. Not as though we’d keep in touch, write letters and such. But there were rumours, just before I left, that an army was coming from the east. And there was talk of men on horseback, armed with bows and swords. And magic. Didn’t believe it at the time, but now …’ He stopped, looked up at the tower. ‘You say your princess had a dream, also.’
‘She’s not my princess.’
‘Anyways,’ said the sergeant, his lips quirking into a smile. ‘I’m getting the same feeling in my spine that I had when I woke from that dream. And this time, I don’t have no fever.’
Suddenly feeling cold, Will looked at the sergeant. Was the man saying his dream was real?
‘Do you want that apple?’ said the sergeant, and Will blinked. He shook his head. He didn’t feel like eating any longer. He passed it to the guardsman.
‘Thanks,’ said Sergeant Ryngell and set it on top of the target. ‘Come on. Let’s try again.’
Will drew and loosed, drew and loosed. He tried to think only of the target, not of the day, bright and clear, or his dream, or the sergeant’s tale. But no matter how he tried, all he could think of was the princess.
She’s not my princess. He’d never be invited to her sort of party. Who would want a common-born bakery ’prentice at a royal revel — especially someone like him, a nameless foreigner? Her birth day was drawing nigh, but he’d not be invited to that party, either.
Will’s fingers were clumsy on the string and he was slow to the draw. He wanted to punch that stupid courtier, the one who’d gotten the princess drunk. It was a mean trick.
‘You know what’s wrong with this?’ said the sergeant after a time.
Will said nothing. He knew what was wrong. I must not think of her. Yet the more he tried to fix his mind on something else, the more he thought of Dana, with her red-gold hair bound up, fighting out of a hold, her breath soft on his face, her skin warm, her body lithe in his arms, even as she slipped under his guard.
‘The shape of the bow is wrong,’ said the sergeant. ‘These long-bows, they’re good from a standing position. But the army was on horseback. So we need to be moving. With a different type of bow, smaller, more springy.’
‘What?’ said Will.
‘This army, the one you and I saw,’ said the sergeant thoughtfully, ‘was moving fast.’
‘It was a dream, sir,’ said Will.
Sergeant Ryngell shrugged. ‘Dream, real, what does it matter? Either way, there’s something to consider here. The men you saw were on horseback, weren’t they?’
Will shrugged. It was hazy in his memory. ‘Maybe.’
‘We need to be on horseback too,’ said the sergeant. He turned to walk away.
‘Wait,’ called Will, setting down his bow. ‘Sir, where are you going?’
‘To the stables,’ called Sergeant Ryngell. ‘You coming?’
‘I can’t ride,’ called Will.
‘What?’
‘I can’t … Oh, what’s the point?’ muttered Will, putting down his bow and running after the retreating sergeant. ‘Sir, I can’t ride.’
‘Nonsense,’ said the sergeant crisply, ‘you were on horseback when I met you. At the bridge.’
‘I was on a donkey, sir,’ said Will.
The sergeant sniffed. ‘Boy like you, not being able to ride a horse? It’s a disgrace. How old are you?’
‘Sixteen, sir.’
The man stopped, stared at him. ‘You’re telling me you’re sixteen years of age and can’t ride a horse?’
Will shrugged, said nothing.
‘Well,’ said Sergeant Ryngell. ‘It’s time you learnt.’
The following week, Will was in a sour mood. He stood on the soft sand, watching the birds chirp merrily in the trees, and wished he was back in his bed with a hot iron at his feet and back. There would be bruises there on the morrow. Sitting on a donkey didn’t require much work — who would have thought riding a horse was so hard? The Riding Master said his progress was ‘acceptable’, which was something for a commoner. Will knew, though, that he’d never be as good as one of the blood — they’d been born to this life of riding prime animals; they sat in the saddle as if they belonged there. Not like him. He sat in the saddle like a bag of flour.
He hoped the princess wouldn’t keep him waiting long. He hoped the princess would be in a better frame of mind today. What was with her, anyway? One moment she was a carefree, singing May Queen, all joyous with spring, looking every inch a princess. Now, she’s traipsing around the Castle with a white face like a woebegone waif.
Should he care? When she arrived at the practice ground, all pale and trembling and complaining of a sore head, he’d just wanted to dump her into the sand until she felt as sore as he. Yet, it wasn’t her fault that her life was different from his, just as it wasn’t his fault that the plague had taken his parents. Life, Will thought, is an accident of birth and fortune. There’s no point in being bitter.
The gate creaked. N’tombe walked towards him.
‘Where’s the princess?’ called Will.
‘She won’t be here this morning, She’s not feeling well.’
‘Is she ill?’
N’tombe shrugged. ‘She doesn’t feel up to fighting.’
What was with her? She had everything — money, family, a nice home — she needed to stop feeling so sorry for herself. If she had some real difficulties in her life, it might be good for her. Give her a sense of how fortunate she really was. Wonder what would happen to me if I said to Cook: I don’t feel like getting up early?
N’tombe looked at him. ‘You’re not from here, are you? Like me, you’re a foreigner.’
‘So?’
‘So, you don’t know about the Guardian.’
‘Everyone knows about the Guardian.’ He wasn’t that foreign. There had been a book at the school about the Guardian. She wore a big necklace and protected the Kingdom from plague and wars and famine and stuff. The book had had pictures of the necklace. Most of them were just black and white but one had been coloured — the big stone at the base of the necklace was deep red.
‘What began as custom has become tradition,’ said N’tombe, rather cryptically.
‘What?’
‘The Guardian is an inherited position. Dana will be the next Guardian.’
Will couldn’t see that this changed anything. She would still get to live in the Castle and be a princess. He wished, sometimes, that this wasn’t the case. Dana had a nice smile and a face that lit up like a summer’s day, but she was still a princess. No matter how pretty she was, she could never be more than his pupil. And whether she lived in a tower or on a throne, he would never be more than just her friend.
‘I don’t think you understand,’ said N’tombe. ‘The necklace is more than just pretty stones. The necklace is worn by the Guardia
n, true, although, from another perspective the necklace is the wearer.’
What was she talking about?
‘The Guardian ages early, dies young,’ said N’tombe. ‘The necklace takes her soul.’
What? Will blinked, swallowed. No. She must be joking. That will happen to Dana?
Sometimes, Will had wished something bad to happen to the princess. Something minor, but inconvenient. Maybe a broken ankle, so she’d know pain. The death of a pet, to teach her grief. But not this. Never this. To be stuck in a tower, until her heart stopped working? How could her parents allow it? What sort of a country would murder a young girl?
‘Every land has sacrifices; always, someone suffers so someone else may gain.’
‘It’s barbaric,’ said Will.
‘So, perhaps, you might feel a little sympathy.’
‘And there’s no escape?’
N’tombe spread her hands wide. ‘Who can say what the future will bring? But it is a heavy load, and Dana is only just learning to carry it.’
‘Well,’ said Will, ‘I daresay it won’t matter if she has a little rest from training.’ What was the point in her learning to fight at all? If she was going to spend her whole life up in a tower, why should she need to know the things he was teaching her?
N’tombe looked sad, but maybe that was a front. Maybe she was training the princess so she could escape. If the princess escaped, then possibly, just possibly, she might escape with him. And if she escaped, she wouldn’t be a princess any more. She’d just be a girl, with a boy.
Will smiled. ‘What can I do?’
21
A Copper Bead
I lay in bed for a week, staring at the roof and walls of my chamber. Nurse brought me food that I couldn’t eat, and sympathy, which made me angry. N’tombe checked in on me twice a day, brief visits, as though I was a patient in the infirmary or a prisoner in a cell. Probably the latter.
I grew to know all the cracks in the plasterwork of my room.
A Necklace of Souls Page 16