by Joanne Dahme
The soldier wrinkled his nose and sneered at us in disgust.
“If they are still alive in a fortnight, I expect you to deliver them to me, clean and unmolested,” he added ominously.
It was then that I remembered my parents in the death cart and my stomach soured with shame at my speedy abandonment of them.
Since that fateful day, from which two years have passed, I have been told how much the princess and I resemble each other. Despite her royal birth and my poor one, we could easily pass as sisters, if not twins. When I stared into the princess’s clear green eyes, her beauty often startled me. How could I possibly be compared to the princess? I felt my cheekbones as I allowed my mouth to mirror the princess’s generous smile.
Her lips were full and colored cherry with ochre. Her nose was thin and sculpted flawlessly between high cheekbones. Her eyes were luminous and heavily lashed. And she wore her long, thick, light brown hair woven in braids that she bore like a crown. She was tiny of waist and ankle and carried herself with the grace of a swan.To gaze upon the princess was at risk of losing one’s breath. And yet her heart was generous and did not overly acknowledge the beauty that housed it.
The king had lingered in front of the death cart, as he had seen a reflection of his daughter in me. And yet when I traced my own face and body, I remembered the sun marks that lightly sprinkled my own cheeks and the nose that still bore a perceptible jag from a break. My own body was lithe and strong but was denied a natural grace. I could throw an apple one hundred yards, but I could not balance it on my head.
The last time I had dismissed the idea of our similarities, the princess had picked up a looking glass, held it under her chin, and pointed it at me. I blinked back at the young woman with the brown hair falling across her shoulders, her cheeks burnished by sun or embarrassment. I gazed again at the princess and returned her satisfied smile. Perhaps we were twinned, and the differences only apparent to my own critical eyes.
“Nell!”
I swung around to watch George push his way through the crowd, using his shoulders or arms to nudge wider hips and waists aside. His black tunic made his bare arms look white and thin, almost skeletal, I thought with a pang, and the boots he wore were oversized and ill fitting. He clomped against the cobblestones, constantly changing course, as an old woman at one of the stalls lurched across her table to catch a jostled apple and a man carrying a heavy bag of his wares turned a full circle to avoid knocking George on his head.
“George, what is that in your hand?” I asked suspiciously as he collided into my leg, giving it a hug. I tugged on a handful of sweaty blond hair. Someone had given him a ragged trim around the ears. “What have you been doing?” I asked more sternly.
George raised his face to mine, gave me a big smile, and exposed his two missing teeth. The light in his blue eyes was doing a jig.
“Well,” he started. “I had my hair cut for our journey and said good-bye to John Moore. I want to look presentable for the princess’s wedding.” He nodded, proud of his words. He knew I couldn’t disagree on that point.
“John Moore?” I pressed. He was a blacksmith who befriended George after we moved to live with the princess. John was burly and gruff in manner but, lacking his own son, had found a soft spot for George, always giving him his cast-off pieces. As a result, George swore he was going to apprentice with the blacksmith someday. “What did he give you?”
George opened his hand slowly as if releasing a firefly. “He gave us an amulet,” he whispered proudly. “To protect us from the pestilence. John had it blessed by the parish priest.”
I peered more closely at the round metal piece in George’s hand. The outline of some sort of animal had been scratched into its surface. I felt a chill.
“What is that, George?” I shifted my bundle of clothes and ran my fingertip across it.
“Why, it’s a rat, of course. A black rat!” he added. “John says that if I wear this around my neck, it will protect me and those I love. I love you, Nell.”
“Hmmm,” was my only reply. What could a blacksmith know about charms, even if they were blessed? I doubted he would still be a blacksmith if he had such knowledge. But George cared for him. I resisted the impulse to take the thing away from him.
“Nell! George! You had better come aboard!” I turned toward the river. Sir Robert was waving us toward the ship. He had escorted the princess aboard, and they were now standing on the deck, surrounded by a knot of soldiers in leather and armor plates, longbows in their hands. One of the soldiers was aiming an arrow at the sky, as if he might shoot for the missing sun. When he released it, it soared toward the heavens, then paused, as if surprised by the loss of its power. It fell into the river like an injured bird.
I grabbed George’s sweaty hand as I kept my eye on the princess. I had made it a habit to study her every detail, as I took the king’s charge seriously.The princess was wearing her dark purple silk gown, covered with little golden stars. It was like gazing at the midnight sky. Her hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a crown.
George and I headed for the gangplank. “Slip that amulet around your neck and under your tunic,” I mumbled to him. I didn’t think the princess would be pleased with the blacksmith’s efforts.
George and I shared a straw mattress in a corner of the princess’s bedroom. The princess had seen to it that the mattress was covered with a rainbow of richly colored quilts, some of them gifts from royal families across the channel, saving us from an itchy night’s sleep. I could hear the princess breathing softly. She had been nervous and excited as we left the dock. I was glad now that she could sleep.
The air smelled like fresh-cut hay and I listened lazily to the wooden ship creak like an old man’s rocking chair as it headed first to Portsmouth and then on to Bordeaux. As I lay in the dark, allowing my body to feel each rise and fall of the ship, I wondered where our journey would lead us. The king’s ships were bound to eventually return home filled with bolts of silken cloth and caskets of red wine. George and I would stay with the princess once she married Prince Pedro, and the three of us would become members of a very different kingdom.
Suddenly I felt George’s fingernails digging into my forearm.
“George!” I hissed quietly, not wanting to wake up the princess. “Stop it! That hurts.”
“Listen, Nell,” he begged, his voice tinged more with curiosity than fear. “Do you hear the scratching?”
I sat up and tried to look around the room, but I couldn’t see anything in the blackness, not even George’s face. I tilted my head, straining to listen. “Stop breathing,” I whispered to him. I heard George take a gulp of air and then nothing.
I did hear it. The sound of something hard scraping against the wooden floor. It wasn’t a big noise, so I figured whatever was making the noise wasn’t very big. The sound was coming from outside our door.
“Nell, I think it’s a rat,” George said, running out of breath. He practically spit out the last word.
“A rat!” Now it was my turn to dig my nails into George. I hated rats—the way they scurried into dark corners like evil spirits. Rats had been everywhere when my parents died—in our house, our alley. They hadn’t feared the death.
Suddenly George was leaning over me, grinding his elbow into my thigh.
“What are you doing?” I asked nervously. I didn’t want George bounding up to catch the creature.
“I’m pointing my amulet at the rat,” he answered, as if that was the most practical thing to do. “This will keep it away from us.”
The scratching did stop, and we both held our breath as we waited to see if it would start again.
A glow of light appeared in the hallway, slipping into our room through the small space beneath the door. The light seemed to jiggle as if someone was swinging a lantern.
George and I pulled back against the sound of approaching footsteps. I clasped my hand over his mouth as we both cringed when we heard the creature squeal and then fall s
ilent.
amulet
WE ARRIVED IN PORTSMOUTH on Thursday, sailing into its harbor, which was alive with light. Brigades of the king’s best soldiers were there, having recently scoured this section of England, upon the king’s orders, to assess the wrath of his kingdom’s plague. It was around noontime, for I could feel the heat of the sun resting on my head like my father’s hand. The surface of the water glittered as it was dappled with sunbeams, and the gulls that had been following our small fleet were swooping hungrily at the small fish dancing in our wake. The docks were crowded with other great ships, and well-muscled men wrestled with crates of wine, or cloth, or other treasures from faraway places. Women and children lined the docks in welcome, waving to the men, perhaps anxious for the return of a loved one or the chance to scavenge spilled contents. Their whoops and cries mingled with those of the gulls. The scene made George smile, and I knew he must have been feeling as merry as I.
As we approached the seawall, a cluster of soldiers stood on the dock, surrounding the king’s ambassador, Sir Andrew Ullford, who had spent the last month in Portsmouth, preparing for the journey. He looked tiny, like a newly apprenticed page, nestled among the long swords and pieces of armor that the soldiers carried. Sir Andrew, white-haired and red-nosed, was clothed in an unassuming brown tunic and stockings and appeared oblivious to the jostling of the soldiers around him. He wore a serious expression on his face, and I knew him well enough to assume that he was mentally reviewing his list of duties. Sir Andrew was extremely forgetful, but was trusted by the king. George was fascinated by Sir Andrew and liked to watch him walk in his “memory circles,” as Sir Andrew called the pacing he did when he struggled to remember a forgotten task.
Our ship bumped against the pilings as the aroma of roasting pig engulfed us.
“Yum,” George said, grabbing my hand. “Should we follow the scent and get us some food?”
I could see the gray smoke rising from one of the stalls in the port’s market, and a woman with an apron tied around her waist shooing some children away. “It looks as if Portsmouth beat us to it.” I laughed.
As soon as we dropped anchor, the deck was swarming with soldiers greeting their fellow knights.Their eyes looked alive with the thoughts of foreign battle, and they slapped one another on the back or shoulder as if their affection could only be shared in a hearty touch. George was staring at them adoringly.
“Princess?” Sir Andrew hesitated in front of me and began to do a slow bow until I shook my head.
“No, Sir Andrew. It is I, Nell.The princess is with the tailor, trying on her wedding dress one more time.” I curtsied at him. I was only doing my duty but I often felt duplicitous wearing one of the princess’s old dresses.This one was a beautiful green silk with gold and red roses embroidered on the sleeves and around the neckline.
“So it is.” Sir Andrew smiled, his watery blue eyes looking soft against his weathered face. “I should have known, of course, with the little one bobbing like a goose around you.”
I tried to suppress my own smile as I instinctively reached for George. He didn’t like to be teased and there was no telling how he would react. His latest trick had been the placement of a live toad in a pot of the castle’s cook, who had a habit of calling him “Little Galahad” because of George’s obsession with magical amulets, ancient relics, and religious artifacts. George didn’t hear Sir Andrew’s comment, as he was still staring at the soldiers. I turned when I heard one of them address Sir Andrew.
“Sir Robert wished me to ask if you have heard any rumors about the pestilence.”
Sir Andrew’s red face suddenly drained of its color. I felt my own stomach tighten.
“The pestilence?” he croaked. “In France?”
The soldier impatiently brushed his long black hair over his shoulder. “Yes. Sir Robert heard of burnings in some of the smaller ports from a group of wine merchants making their way to London. Nothing they had seen with their own eyes, though.”
Sir Andrew shook his head slowly. “We received no news in Windsor of such a plague in France. It can’t be true,” he insisted in disbelief. “Nonetheless, when we reach Bordeaux, I wish to send out a party before we anchor.” He then blessed himself.
The soldier nodded and led Sir Andrew to the cabins below. I jumped when George tugged on my sleeve.
“Nell, my amulet is strong enough to protect you, me, and the princess. But what about the others? What about the soldiers? I don’t think it is powerful enough for us all.”
I touched him lightly on the chin to make him look at me. He found it easier to tell me stories when he didn’t have to look into my eyes. “That’s not our worry, George. We must leave that up to God and the king. Besides”—I smiled, despite my own gnawing little doubt—“the soldier was only sharing a rumor.”
“Maybe,” George replied, his mouth pursed, unconvinced. “But I think I will ask Father Paul. Maybe he can do a special blessing.”
“Really?” I tried not to sound too surprised. George didn’t like Father Paul, who was traveling with us so that the princess could still receive her sacraments. Father Paul was always telling George what a sinful little boy he was. I didn’t like Father Paul either. He never appeared happy.
“Fine, George.You go see Father Paul, while I check on the princess. I won’t be long,” I promised.
I should have suspected something in that gaptoothed smile, for when I returned to the deck, one of the soldiers, a young one who reminded me of the gravedigging boy who came for my parents, stepped in front of me. This boy really a young man with a child’s mischievous gleam in his eyes smiled in amusement, though.
“Your brother has left the ship, little princess,” he said with mock respect.The soldiers called me many variations of “princess.” They thought my job was a poor one, but I didn’t have time to challenge this particular soldier now.
“Did you see where he went?” I asked. “I was told we will leave port by morning.” I hated that my voice quivered, but George could disappear for hours.What if he got lost?
His own voice softened as he pointed in the direction of a church spire that rose above the roofs of the town. Its bell began to toll as we spoke. “He ran down that road, bumping into people for as far as I could follow him with my eyes. He’s an unsteady one.”
“Thank you,” I said, heading toward the gangway. I knew I shouldn’t leave the ship dressed as the princess, but I was not about to leave George behind.
“Wait!” the soldier called from behind. “You can’t go into town alone. Not like that,” he added.
“Then come with me,” I called. “I must go after George.”
I followed the church spire like a beacon in the darkness, as I feared losing my way, the paths and houses and shops leaning in toward me foreign and nothing but obstacles in my quest to find George. I avoided the stares of the people who parted to provide me with passage as I tripped over cobblestones and gutters.Their alarmed curtsies or awkward bows only impeded my progress.
“Make way for the princess,” a voice bellowed behind me. I turned to see the young soldier by my side, his sword drawn to encourage the people to give us space. He winked at me.
“You wouldn’t dare do that to the princess,” I said, trying to sound nettled.
“Make way, make way,” he continued, undeterred. I stole a glimpse of his face, and indeed it had the rounded cheeks and chin of that sorry boy, the boy who had reminded me of a cast-out angel, but this soldier was cocky and handsome in a rough way. For a moment, I wished that he had tied his long brown hair at the nape of his neck so that I could better inspect his face.
We stopped when we reached a stone wall. The cobblestone alley spilled west into the small courtyard of the church. There I spied George, gazing, trembling, as his fingers clutched the black iron bars of the church’s graveyard. Other men and women had their faces pressed up against the gate, which kept them out of the grassy area reserved for the dead.They were yelling at the priest and his
assistants, who toiled on the cemetery side of the gate. The iron bars were no defense against the harsh taunts and desperate pleas. Caged hens at the peddlers’ stalls were the object of more reverence.
“Fool!” a man in a dirty tunic and rent stockings screamed from the courtyard. His hair was knotted and his bearded face was red from the sun. “You will curse us all.”
A woman with two young children clutching her skirts pleaded, “Please, Father, you will scare us all to death.”
I slipped behind George. The priest and his men had shovels in their hands. A number of pits had been dug where there was room between the tombstones. The pit nearest the priest was dark, as the soil beneath the grass was still moist. A few of the other pits that pockmarked the ground were deep, as I could not see the bottom from where we stood. Their dirt walls were dusty, already bleached by the sun.
“George,” I whispered, shaking him by the shoulder and not wanting to startle him. “What are you doing here?”
He turned to look into my face. His blue eyes were wide with fear. “I wanted the priest to bless the amulet, to make it stronger.”
“Little princess, we should go back to the ship,” the young soldier interrupted. He was standing behind us, his sword still drawn. His voice sounded suddenly urgent.The scene before us had caused me to forget him.
I nodded and tugged at George to make him move. “George, let go of the bars,” I ordered, but it was too late. The priest had spied us.
“Wait!” he called as he walked, dragging his shovel in his wake. His assistants stood by their pit, leaning on theirs, as if these breaks occurred all the time. His gait was odd, probably due to the slight hump on his back. He was bald with a fuzz of hair around both ears. His robe was covered in dust.
“He walks like a crab,” George cried, a bit too loudly. The people who stood on the outskirts of the graveyard suddenly crowded around us, curious as to what the priest would say. Our soldier motioned them away with his sword.
