Invidia

by E. H. Schutz

  “God help me,” she murmured.

  Christopher returned with her horse, a grey mare which she had brought with her when she married, and asked, “You said something, milady?”

  “I was asking for divine intervention.”

  Christopher nodded solemnly. “Aye, milady. You are brave.” He tied the halter to a ring and began to saddle the mare. “Ye're doing the right thing, though, if I might be so bold as to say so.”

  “You think so?”

  “Aye.”

  They remained silent as Christopher finished his work and checked all of the straps. Finally, he buckled on the saddlebags and patted the horse on the head.

  “I've not been to Weymouth, milady, but I've been to Dorchester once, and I remember it being a good thirty miles. Ye'll take the road to Shaftesbury, thence to Blandford, thence to Dorchester. Weymouth is on the coast, south of Dorchester. Be sure to turn hard west when you get to Blandford or you'll miss Dorchester altogether.”

  Helena nodded and placed her left foot into the stirrup. She heaved herself upward and found, to her great surprise, that she competently mounted the horse despite the array of weaponry with which she had burdened herself. She covered her surprise by replying, “I have been as far south as Blandford. Do you suppose there is a sign in Blandford pointing for Dorchester?”

  Christopher scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I reckon there might be, milady. I don't read, so I mightn't have noticed. Are ye stirrups set proper?”

  Helena settled herself into the saddle and found that the stirrups were in fact the perfect height. “Yes, they are. Thank you for all of your help, Christopher.”

  “You're welcome to it, milady, whenever you need it. Go with God.”

  “And you. I hope I shall see you again.” She turned the mare and they walked out of the stable into the night.

  Six

  Somehow, Helena made it out of the front gates she and Katharine had hung just weeks prior and onto the road. Instead of turning for Tisbury, the only direction she had ever turned out of these gates since she had come to live here, she turned to the right, presumably for Shaftesbury.

  She had not ridden in months because at some point after their marriage Robert had determined that hunts and horse-riding were frivolous pursuits, and that she ought not participate in them. In retrospect, she realised that she had not always been miserable at Tisbury Abbey, but really only after Robert had informed her, a fortnight after her arrival, that she could no longer pursue any of the activities which had always kept her happy. One of them was riding. Now, her muscles remembered how to squeeze the horse's sides just so, and how to stop herself bouncing in the saddle, and how to hold the reins so that the horse would be comfortable but not run wild, and under the stars, she rode forth for Shaftesbury to save her love.

  For the first time, Helena considered the very real implications of losing Katharine—not those she invented in her own mind, but those which existed in reality—and she found that while she was struck with nigh tangible fear, she was not paralysed it, but rather emboldened. Here, now, was something she could change on her own. Katharine's fate was in Helena's hands, and thus their fates together were in Helena's hands.

  This realisation, while empowering for Helena, also brought her quite a shock as she galloped toward Shaftesbury. She had not the faintest idea of how to rescue someone; she had only read of such things in literature. She was not sure where she could even find Katharine. She had all of this weaponry strapped about her, and she had not an idea what to do, in practicality, with any of it. Though she had seen swords used in both mock battles and one real duel, she had never wielded one herself nor even laid a hand on one before this very night, and now she faced the very real possibility of needing to do injury to a man with one. Could she bring herself to draw a man's blood?

  Helena thought of Katharine chained in some dank dungeon and realised that for her, yes, she could. She could slice into a man's body and watch the blood and life drain from him if only to extend Katharine's life by minutes. To free her from captivity, Helena would take on an army of thousands with nothing more than the knife with which she had eaten her dinner. To ensure Katharine's safety, Helena would lay down her own life with no hesitation, which is what she might well be doing at that very moment.

  Perhaps half an hour after she left the stable, Helena came to Shaftesbury and realised that she must let up on the horse if she meant to make it to Weymouth without incident. The saddle allowed her to ride much more quickly than a side-saddle ever had, and as a result, she had pushed the mare harder than she might have otherwise done.

  She slowed to a trot as she entered Shaftesbury, scanning for anyone who might ask her what her business might be, and realising that she had no story to tell if someone did ask. Fortunately, the time of the evening insured that the streets were well deserted, and she met no one. Onward she rode, the night air filling her head with the honeyed scent of the orchids and the bare soil of the road. It took all of her willpower to hold the horse to a trot as she made the eleven miles to Blandford along the high road, all the while thinking of what horrors might be visited upon Katharine before she could rescue her. Rescue her? Was that what this was? Helena chastised herself—how absurdly dramatic could she be? She would be lucky if she even managed to find the castle where Katharine languished; if she managed that, then she would be beyond fortunate should she somehow locate Katharine herself.

  An age passed, and she at last entered Blandford. To her relief, at the very front of the town stood a weathered sign pointing the way to Dorchester. By now, the air smelt of night and vaguely of soil and warmth—it must have briefly rained. She looked behind her to see that indeed, the horse kicked up no dust; the road retained a dampness, but no water stood in puddles so her progress would not be slowed by the precipitation. Looking up and ahead, the stars gleamed in the heavens with only a few thin clouds to block them. Jupiter shone large overhead as the waning gibbous moon rose above the horizon, throwing shadows into the landscape and perceptibly lightening Helena's way.

  At last, she came upon Weymouth village, and the edifice of Sandsfoot Castle loomed in front of Helena as she neared the water. On the beach, she found a large piece of wood to which she tied her horse and walked quietly toward the castle, holding the sword pommels so that they would not bang together. She felt her stomach drop as she approached, taking note of the artillery arrayed round the perimeter and the guards standing near the entrance, bored and waiting for the Spanish, or perhaps the French. Helena very much doubted that either would threaten England's coast in the near future, but since her news was limited to subjects of Robert's interest, she supposed she could be wrong.

  She crouched amongst some shrubbery as she considered what to do next. For a brief moment, she considered simply walking up to the guard and asking to be let in, perhaps citing a husband within, but she discarded that thought almost as quickly as it came. Her increasing talent for lying by omission would not do her any good when confronted with the need to make up a believable tale. No, there must be some other way to get inside the castle, and thence to the dungeon. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement, and a potential option. A guard's head appeared at ground level, and rose above the ground so that she could see his shoulders, then chest and arm holding a lantern, and finally he walked past her, not ten feet away. The sandy path on which he walked disappeared over the bluff. Helena waited until the guard turned a corner and quickly stole over to the edge. The moonlight reflected off of the sand, showing her the way toward the water until the path, cut into the cliff, vanished round a corner.

  Ignoring the dizzying height and the sound of the sea crashing into the cliff below, Helena made her stealthy way down the path, listening for any approaching footsteps and watching for the warm light of a flame in a lantern or of a torch. The moon reflected off of the calm sea. The only clouds were mere wisps gathered near the horizon, and a fresh breeze blew inland. Helena could feel the salt beginning t
o collect in her hair and on her skin.

  She continued along the path, sticking closely to the cliff face and still not looking down as she descended toward the water. Finally she came to a small wooden dock and closed water gate. Small waves sloshed against both. Helena frowned and looked about for a possible way to open the portcullis. The moon did not throw light into the arch which housed the gate and she could see very little. The dark water kept her seeing how far down the portcullis extended. She sighed and made to turn back, but paused and eyed the water carefully. Helena sighed. It was the only way.

  She sat on the dock and put her feet into the water, which was surprisingly cold, and then she remembered herself. Removing the guns and charges from her belt, she laid both carefully on the dock, then before she could reconsider, slid quickly into the water.

  Helena could not remember being so terrified. Clinging to the dock as the waves washed round her, she carefully made her way hand over hand to the portcullis, which was slimy with algae and sharp with barnacles. She reached down as far as she could with her head still above water to feel for the bottom of the gate, but only found that it extended beyond her reach. Inhaling deeply and throwing a prayer to Saint Adjutor, she pulled herself under the water, walking her hands down the portcullis and trying to remain upright. Down she went, into the very depths of the sea, she felt. The pressure of the water closed around her ears and head and her breath grew short, but at last she reached the bottom of the gate. She pushed herself under and to the other side, then quickly pulled herself up, feeling the barnacles slice into her palms and bruising her fingers on steel as she grew more desperate for breath. Just as she was certain that she had breathed her last and that the guards would puzzle over her floating body, her head broke the surface of the water. Helena gasped for air and looked at her new surroundings as well as she could in the darkness. Through the portcullis, the moon still reflected on the surface of the sea, but in the tunnel, there was only a dim light flickering far down the corridor. To her left, a narrow stone ledge only wide enough for one person ran next to the wall, several feet above the water. She could barely make out a winch of sorts which might serve to pull up the portcullis. It was set into the wall at the end of the ledge.

  Helena set her boots onto the slippery horizontal beams of the portcullis and began to climb it as though it were a ladder; pulling herself up and out of the water, she stepped onto the ledge. She considered the winch and determined that it would be best to have Katharine with her to open it, especially if it might be loud. She eyed the guns through the gate and hoped she was right to leave them, then set off to find Katharine.

  Seven

  Helena nearly slipped back into the water more than once as she made her way along the uneven surface of the stone ledge. The light grew larger in the corridor as she crept along, carefully feeling her way along the wall and hoping her soaked boots would keep purchase. She shivered in the chill, damp air of the corridor and avoided looking directly at the light so as to ruin her vision as little as possible. Finally she came to it. The light was a torch in a sconce lighting the end of the water. An arched doorway led to a stone stair, which Helena mounted, still listening for any sign of guards—and for Katharine.

  The stair widened into a small room. No one was within, but Helena could hear voices beyond her, and she gripped the hilt of one of the daggers on her belt. Upon reaching the other end of the room, the voices resolved from a low hum into an actual conversation. Helena could hear three men.

  “She ain't sayin' nothing. I dun think she will, either.” Helena wondered if they were talking about Katharine.

  “Aye, she ain't. She's tough. Shame she innit for us, yeah? I'd wager she could forge us some fine steel.” Helena's eyes widened.

  “Aye.”

  “Eh, this is the sort of thing what comes of lettin' women 'ave property, and it's the sort that comes of 'avin' a woman on the throne. The squire says that if she don't break, to take her to Shaftesbury and make an example of her. In her own county, ye see.”

  Helena sucked in her breath. Here she was, then. She would have to get Katharine out, right now, or die in this dungeon in the attempt. She waited for the voices to recede, and set off after them as quickly and quietly as she could. Presently, she and the men came to a larger room. The stone ceiling was vaulted with arches, and various iron implements hung from the arches and walls. The room was more brightly lit than any of the previous ones, and Helena ducked behind a column to remain in shadow as best she could. The men continued to the other end of the room where they stopped and spread out. The man in the middle dropped to a crouch, addressing a shadow.

  “You have one more chance to recant and confess, Smith, or we will see you hanged and burnt in Shaftesbury.”

  The shadow croaked, and then cleared its throat. “Palmer, damn you.”

  Helena gasped. Without thinking, she pulled a dagger from each side of her belt and ran at the men. She caught one of them in his back with the knife in her left hand, which she let go as she slashed viciously at the next nearest man with the other. The crouching man turned around, surprise on his face for a split second before Helena's boot hit him squarely in the right ear, and he sank to the floor with a thunk.

  Panting, she looked down at Katharine, who was curled upon herself and covered in blood and bruises. Katharine looked up at her as though she could not quite believe Helena was there. They stared at each other for a long moment before Helena heard noise behind her. The man she had slashed scrabbled around on the floor, attempting to stand up. In one swift movement, Helena stepped toward him and stabbed him in the throat. Blood gushed from his wound, turning her sleeve a dark crimson.

  At that moment, Helena realised what she had done and felt sick, but pushed the feeling down and knelt to attend to Katharine.

  “My darling, can you stand?”

  Katharine nodded weakly. “The key—” she coughed once. “The key is on his belt.” She pointed with her toe to the man who had been crouching, and now lay slumped on the floor with blood trickling from his ear. Helena leaned over and rummaged for a bit, finding the key in question as well as a small sack of coin and a knife, both of which she appropriated and stuck into her belt. She unlocked Katharine and, with greatest care, brought her to her feet.

  “How injured are you?” Helena looked Katharine up and down. She appeared unsteady on her feet, but she did not look to be bleeding at just that instant. Helena frowned.

  Katharine slowly straightened herself. “It could be far worse. I can move. Let us make our exit, quickly.”

  Helena nodded. “There is a water gate with a portcullis. We can get out that way and then the horse is not far. You are able to walk, yes? When did you last eat?”

  “I cannot be certain because I do not know how long I've been here, but I heard them eating just over there—” Katharine pointed to an arched doorway, to which Helena jogged, realising that this morning with Katharine seemed very long ago now.

  Through the doorway was a wooden table with benches on either side and the leftovers of a repast. Cheese, coarse bread, and the end of a ham sat on a plate in the centre of the table. Helena gathered all, shoving the ham into her shirt while taking care to keep the bread dry, and hastened back to Katharine, who was walking, slowly, and rubbing her wrists where the cuffs had held her.

  “Darling, do stop and rest a moment. Here, eat. When did they take you?”

  Katharine held up her hand as she finished chewing the bread and pale Cheddar. “This cheese is excellent. Was anything nearby to identify it? I should like to find more of it, I think—” She looked up at Helena, who was rolling her eyes.

  “You are clearly fine, then, if you are so easily distracted by a curd.”

  Katharine grinned at her, wincing as she tried to straighten her back. “In answer to your question, they took me as I was returning from seeing you. How long has it been, then? What is the time now?”

  “You only came to me today. It is likely very close
to midnight, but I am not entirely certain.”

  Katharine chewed on a bite of ham as she gazed at the ceiling, then blinked and peered at Helena. “Just how did you come to get here?”

  “On a horse. And then I swam.”

  Katharine nodded. “Of course. How shall we remove?” She took another bite. “This ham is excellent as well.”

  “There are a pair of pistoles on the dock outside of the water gate. I left them so as to not soak the charges. If you are strong enough, I will need your help to get the portcullis open. But you can hardly walk, dearest.”

  “I do promise I am well, my dear. I have, however, been chained up for most of my time here and was feeling a bit weak and inflexible. I have not been abused, particularly, and am quite capable of assisting you with the latter part of my rescue, which reminds me—” Katharine pocketed the last of the cheese and bread and advanced upon Helena, “I do not believe I have properly thanked you for rescuing me, my darling. It was terribly gallant of you to do so.” She embraced Helena and kissed her with great energy, pressing her hips against Helena's.

  The kiss left Helena feeling dizzy and elated, and she had to take a moment to regain her concentration. “Thank you, dearest. Unfortunately, I am afraid that you will have to wait to very properly thank me once we are no longer in a dungeon.”

  Katharine, who was nibbling her way down Helena's neck, muttered vaguely in agreement as she moved the collar of Helena's shirt from obstructing her progress.

  Helena sighed as the familiar tingles ran through her body. Summoning all of her will, she took hold of Katharine's shoulders and gasped, “Katharine, my love. I have just murdered three men to get you out of this dungeon. We really must leave before they are missed.”