Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Richard forgot about her sister, she forgot about the mandate set upon her not to leave her chamber, and she forgot how furious her father would be after hearing what happened. In that moment, running and sprinting at full speed down the stairs and through outside hallways, all she could think about was saving that horse's fate.

  Hadúr was the first horse that had ever been presented to her as a gift from her father; but in the interests of appealing to the regent, she let him ultimately take the animal and train it to become a warhorse for battle. Hadúr soon became one of the best and always held a special place in Richard's heart. The fact that he was injured was irrelevant, and so was her future trust with her father. Waste was not acceptable. Her footfalls seemed to clatter like a horse's hooves, though she tried her best to not make too much noise. The spiraling steps eventually began to make her dizzy, but that was when she finally hit the bottom floor of the castle.

  She poked her head out again from around a bend, and watched for more guards. None came within visual range, and Richard raced out of the stairwell and towards the soldiers.

  "Halt, Lady Richard, what are you doing?" Pip appeared from around a different corner and chased after her.

  Richard glanced back, completely baffled at the man's spontaneous appearance, and made it down the corridor's last stretch when Pip grabbed her from behind.

  "Richard, by order of the regent-governor and ruler of these lands, I demand that you return to your chamber and remain there!" he shouted and crushed her with his grip.

  He turned Richard around to find out that she was gulping back tears. Her eyes darkened in betrayal and anguish.

  "So you're just like Sir Vincent then. A Lord's play-toy. A disposable tool without a name," Richard jerked away from him.

  "Do not tell me I am useless," Pip growled, tightening his grip.

  "If you were truly a soldier, like you said you one day hoped to be, out there with them," Richard nodded to the visible tents stretched outside whipping in the wind, "Then you would know when to make the right judgment call."

  Pip scoffed, "What are you talking about?"

  "That horse is mine. He was my first horse I ever had," she pointed to the limping black animal being tugged away, now rider-less, "And I swear to you if I don't get to him and save his life, I will personally make sure that you won't get in a word edgewise to my father that you've always wished to be a soldier."

  Pip's eyes widened as they stared back at her icy orbs, "Richard…"

  "Consider it a threat and a promise. Pip, guard of the castle, I order you to release me under penalty of stripping you of your title and your honor," Richard felt her arms fall to her sides and watched Pip stand back.

  "What's gotten into you, Inte–"

  "You shall call me by my rightful title: my Lady," Richard brushed her tangled hair out of the way, "Furthermore, to answer your question, being imprisoned in your own home creates a sort of horrible sickness inside, like betrayal and deception against you. That people have turned their backs on you and will let you rot in your room until you are driven into madness. I. Had. To. Get. Out," Richard raised her voice and slipped away into the sunlight outside.

  "Sir!" one soldier shouted, "Where are you wounded?"

  Vincent spat out blood and revealed the bloodied cloth used previously on the battlefield in clogging up his abdomen. Fresh blood leaked out with every sharp and agonizingly painful breath he took.

  "Just patch it up, I have important things to do," he grumbled and watched the soldier reach for a long bandage of cloth.

  "Yeah, like what, destroy the rest of the Ottoman Empire with shredded insides?" the man joked.

  Vincent smiled, "Gladly, if it comes to that."

  The bandage was wrapped around his torso completely until no blood seeped through and was visible. The man then tore the middle of the cloth into two thick strands and looped one back to tie around and create a tight knot that would withstand bending and motion.

  Within minutes, Vincent was standing and moving around, reaching for his armor and placing it over his chest. The soldier shook his head and blocked the exit of the tent with his arms held out in protest.

  "You cannot leave yet, Sir. Your wounds need to heal. Mandatory bed rest for three days until this heals. We don't even know if it will get infected, and I need to be around for that if it does," the soldier pleaded.

  Vincent turned his head and lowered his face into a frown, "What was that?"

  "I…I said–"

  "I know what you said. I'm just curious if you know which one of us is your superior," Vincent approached the man, looking down at him because of his tall stature.

  The soldier seemed to shrink under Vincent's stare and began to move out of the way as his superior opened up the flap and stepped into the cold outside weather. He shivered for a moment and then put on his mahogany cape around his armor. His eyes scanned for his steed. Vincent had been yanked off of Hadúr before he could shout the order to not dispose of his horse. If Vincent had to personally mend Hadúr's wounds, then so be it.

  In Edirne, Vincent and Radu were taught to always take care of their mount. A horse was well trained and cared for, because they claimed status, power, and strength for a man. An important man was placed on a horse in battle, a strong man, a ruler worth having a steed. Lowly soldiers didn't understand how important and how fast horses were. In battle, if one was strong with a sword, he would last long; but the man on a horse would overpower the man with only a sword easily.

  Vincent couldn't take any chances in believing that the governor would supply him with another mount, so he began to look for Hadúr in the only place he knew where the animal would be.

  "Shh," Richard stroked Hadúr's mane. The horse nickered as she washed the rest of his wound away with a bucket of water, "I'm going to take care of you."

  Richard gulped as she took the red hot iron off of the fire pit and blew on it, the tip bubbling. She looked Hadúr over one last time, the fact that he was tied to every wooden post in the crossties, and hoped that they would hold, and especially that his legs would not kick free of the ropes she used to tie them to the posts. She moved in and knelt to his front left cannon bone. She gripped the wound with one hand and pressed the iron to Hadúr's flesh. The horse threw its head and whinnied in pain. It was not her choice to hot-iron the horse, but it would cauterize the wound so it could start healing. Richard tried to sooth him with her voice, and he eventually stood still, numb to its pain, she guessed, because it overwhelmed him into dull agony.

  Richard withdrew the iron quickly and wrapped his leg in as many bandages as she could find and hold in her arms. She looked up at the horse and realized that Hadúr was almost sleeping, exhausted from the day. She hastily untied him and led him from the crossties and into his stall for the night. Hadúr fell to the floor after he took three strides and lay there. Richard knelt and stroked his shiny black fur from his neck to his shoulder.

  "You were such a good boy. I am going to find you mountains of carrots, apples, and sneak in sugar for you every day until your health returns," she cooed and smiled as she saw his eyes close. "You've got a long recovery ahead, Hadúr."

  She heard a laugh from around the corner of his stall and stood up defiantly, preparing herself for an explanation. But someone familiar revealed himself in his wounded state, black hair and mocking smile in all. She smiled in return, though her heart was beginning to beat faster.

  Vincent inhaled, looking her angelic face and blonde hair over, "So you are my savior, my liberator, my angel."

  Richard laughed, "If I were an angel, I wouldn't bother staying in this castle."

  "Mmm," Vincent nodded, "You are fearless of the outside world. It's a huge place full of…unimaginable dangers. If you don't fear that, then what do you fear?"

  Richard lowered her gaze, knowing instantly the answer. "A cage." *

  The warrior's eyes brightened, "Well now. I know something of cages, having lived in one until I was 18 years of
age."

  Richard locked eyes with him once more and moved out of the stall, "I saw that in you."

  One corner of his mouth turned upward into a half-grin, "I hear you've been ordered to stay in your chambers by the regent-governor himself. Why, only few know."

  "I wouldn't believe in idle gossip, if I were you," Richard answered, guarding what dignity she still had after his knowledge of the matter.

  "Indeed," Vincent smiled and stepped closer, "But allow me to thank you, first and foremost. I owe you my life, my Lady."

  "You owe me nothing, Sir," she shook her head, realizing that there was hardly any space behind her to step back as he did forward again.

  "…If I may ask, what caused you to spare my life?" Vincent's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  Richard felt herself catch her breath. She had never truly considered her motives, but now that they were in question all she could think about was the raw pity she felt for him the night that they met. His hazel eyes softened as they searched hers, and a smile crept up his lips even further. Richard couldn't deny his handsome features, but there was something deadly about him. His charisma and outwardly flirtation masked a darker side of himself she wished not to see. But like a moth to a flame, her mind kept coming back to this enigma. She had to solve it and control it.

  "The circumstances of the time deemed it logical to spare your life," Richard stated perfunctorily, brushing imaginary hay off of her dress.

  The man's eyes lit up in a mockery to her word's lies. She suddenly felt exposed, as if her lie was being dissected by his ever-probing manner.

  "What circumstances are we talking about?" he asked, placing a hand on the stall door and shifting his wait towards her.

  Richard hesitated; putting too much power into his hands would make him win the argument, and she needed to gain back her dignity he had so brazenly stripped from her. She blinked. Why was he leaning into her? Why was he so inappropriately close? Wait, concentrate. What did he ask?

  "Circumstances like the Ottoman Empire, the fact that you claim to hate the Sultan, that you are part of the Order of the Dragon, and that you are willing to help the Hungarian Empire in crushing the Turks. Upon these words, I knew your life was worth more than a death sentence," she replied.

  "Something," he murmured, "Yes. Now we just need to know what it is worth."

  "I believe you will prove to us how valuable you are…or are not," she watched his eyes snap to hers. He grinned, clearly accepting the challenge.

  "Time will tell," he nodded and paused, "…I will take care of Hadúr, I can promise you that."

  Richard looked the man over with a strict eye, "How can I be sure?"

  Vincent put his hand over his heart, "You have my word, and thus my body and soul. He is the best horse I know to have as a mount. We were only allowed to have horses once we were officers in Edirne. For 17 years I saw important men have the privilege of stabling a horse. I know the value of them, my Lady."

  Richard slowly smiled, "Perhaps you do understand. But that doesn't change the fact that you are injured," she nodded to open bandages she could see in between the joints of his armor.

  Vincent scoffed, dismissing her comment, "Such are the occurrences of battle. Without the rush, without the risk, and without the possibility of defeat or reward, there is nothing in this world."

  "Nothing?" Richard chained the stall closed and proceeded to walk down the wing. The smell of hay and leaves of trees refreshed her mind. The cobwebs of the castle melted away as Vincent walked with her.

  "Nothing worth living for, as I was taught, and I was taught well. I only see war and conflict in this world that God gave us," he answered, trying his best not to favor his right side.

  "Not even love?" she said ever so softly.

  "Love," Vincent scoffed and paused, as if the word was not to be taken seriously at all; he then proceeded to walk forward, forgetting the gimp in his walk, "Love was stripped from me at the dear age of 10. Love is weak. Love got me nowhere. Love didn't save my brother, Mircea, or my mother. Love was useless against huge men with whips to punish, chains to hold down young boys, swords to slit the throats of Christian men and women, and incorrigible appetites for gory conflict. What does love have to offer me? When has love ever saved me or shown mercy?"

  Richard took a deep breath in. This was her chance to confuse him, to baffle him, to entice him. She thought quickly and came up with an answer that she only knew to be half-true.

  "The night you were spared by my father," she replied.

  Vincent stopped walking and turned sharply to her, "Your father didn't spare me out of love." Vincent's eyes flashed with anger.

  "No, my Lord, he spared you because he knew that that was what I wanted, and he loves me," Richard corrected.

  The warrior's eyes softened into their charismatic glow once more, "You would be the first to want me alive and well in this world, and the first to recognize my full title. Your kindness…it reminds me of my mother. But she was ripped from me…when the Turks came for me, and for Radu."

  Richard smiled, "Well, Sir Vincent, I can assure you that I won't be going anywhere. My life has been already decided. I will be saddled with the menial tasks of tending to the castle while my brothers rule it."

  Vincent chuckled down a deep laugh, "I can tell that you're thinking your life is already in a cage, my Lady."

  She put both hands on her hips, "Is it not?"

  "You are nobility. I do not think that will be your fate," * he answered and stepped toward her, memorizing her features and took her hand. Lowering his stature to meet hers and wincing only once, he delicately held it in a gentle manner and kissed her soft white skin.

  Richard bowed her head slightly and received his politeness but retracted her hand moments later.

  "I thank you for this…intriguing conversation, and I leave you now to go about your duties, soldier," she curtsied and began to walk away, not looking back. All she heard was the uneven footfalls of Vincent's limp as he slowly walked away as well.

  "My Lady," he stated over his shoulder, not daring to look.

  Richard stopped in her tracks, but didn't dare turn around to see his face either. "Yes?"

  Vincent swallowed. He knew it was beneath him to want to set her eyes upon him once more. He knew it was rude to think of it and completely out of line to ask it, but something about this girl piqued his mind and interest. She was much smarter and more glib than credit given to her. He even accepted the idea that she was better at reading him more than the regent himself. Was it possible that he finally found someone who was competent in this kingdom? Was it possible that she understood him, that she even cared? He had to find out.

  "It would please me to know if I could see you again," he lightly stated, still not facing her.

  Richard closed her eyes and smiled. Finally. Her work had paid off. He fell for the bait. She had reached him. Now all she had to do was get close enough to control him, and then she could prove to everyone that she was capable of ruling.

  "Only time will tell," she used his earlier phrase against him and continued to walk, grinning from ear to ear.

  He continued forward his own way at the same time, grinning also, and accepting her cryptic remark with open arms.

  Background:

  After two weeks of constant healing, Hadúr ceased to show signs of lameness and was able to trot and canter short distances. He was able to stretch down and lie down without exacerbating his injury and he was able to be saddled with armor without anything hurting. What he couldn't do was jump. But Vincent stayed hopeful of his horse's progress, and knew that Hadúr would be ready for the next battle. It was scheduled in two weeks where Ladislaus would bring up the rear and Vincent would flank the Ottomans to the right, weakening their ground soldiers while Ladislaus would creep along the left side and penetrate from within their own lines. The king had organized it, and Vincent had agreed to it.

  ~But what was surprising was the fact that the Ottomans struc
k Hungary's boarders a week too early~

  Vincent woke up with a start in Bagamér, a village in the northeastern outskirts of Hungary, and instantly reached for his sword with a gasp. He looked down to find himself still within his tent, not trapped in an Ottoman's room, still hearing the grumbling of his men outside, and still with a wound on his torso that tore and bled when he made swift movements. He breathed in a huge sigh and felt his shoulders relax once more in his bed sheets.

  "A dream. Me? Dreaming…? How ridiculous!" Vincent readjusted his sword and sighed again.

  Dreaming of the night he was taken to Edirne…no, dragged to Edirne, brought chills up his spine. The sounds of his mother's muffled screams, his other brothers fighting the guards, and hearing himself shout in protest. Strong arms carrying him outside and planting him on a horse along with Radu next to him on a different horse. And more screams as he galloped off with a rider guiding the horse. He purposely fell off of the horse and tried to run back to his family more than a few times, all the while not understanding what was going on.

  Vincent shut his eyes tight. It wasn't until he and Radu had arrived at Edirne that the Sultan told him of the arrangement his father had made with the Ottomans. Vincent had blocked out those beginning years of his training in Edirne; the trauma, the physical beating and the emotional beating was enough to repress what had happened, but he never forgot his initial feelings of burning hatred for his father and later for Hungary. He would never forget what his father had done to him to 'save Vincent and his family', but he would never forget what Hungary had not done: helped.

  Vincent groaned as he jerked away from the sudden jolt of pain his torso had made as he tried to roll over. His wound was beginning to bother him. But the young soldier had learned to ignore jabbing pains years before. Just before Vincent fell back asleep, he reached for the cross around his neck and felt its familiar cold metal shape.