by Joanne Dahme
I shook my head.There was more to my objection.
“People will know I am not the princess,” I insisted. “I don’t know how to behave.What do I know about—”
“Living in splendor? In the arms of luxury?” The prince’s face was only inches from my own. “You will never have to worry about your next supper or where you are going to sleep or whether your little brat will live to see his manhood.” His dark eyes were wide now.
“I cannot pretend to be the princess forever,” I persisted, despite the weakness in my muscles.
He grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my skin. “Let me help you change your mind!” he shouted as he dragged me to the entranceway. I stumbled as I clawed at whatever I could to slow us down—a table that fell over or a chair that screeched as I dragged it across the floor. This only made him all the more impatient.
“Please!” I cried.“Where are we going?” I knew it was futile to beseech him, for now he had his back to me.The prince was hauling me across the floor and down the keep’s winding stairway as if I were a troublesome dog. I thought about crying out as we passed the windows, but I saw no one in the courtyard. Besides, what soldier would come to my rescue? I only prayed that George would not see us.
He was mumbling to himself as we scrambled to the bottom floor.This room contained the castle’s arsenal, and we were surrounded by armor, crossbows, swords, and lances that hung along the walls. I wondered if he might behead me as he threw me to the ground.
“How much do you care for your little brat, Nell?” he asked as he stood over me, shaking.
I could not answer him, as he had asked me the question that I feared more than any in the world. I hated myself for it, but I began to cry.
“Let me show you something, Nell,” he murmured, stooping to kneel beside me to grab the handle of the trapdoor that was only inches from where I lay. The dungeon was below us.
The first thing I noticed as he slowly pulled at the wooden door was the terrible smell—the scent of creatures hungry and scared. In the blackness below, I could not see them, but I could hear their squeals. There must have been thousands of them piled on top of one another, clawing to get to the light.
“You are looking at me with that appalling expression again, my dear Nell. That will not do.” The chilling, playful tone had returned to his voice.
“George likes rats, unlike you, Nell. Am I correct?” he asked, suddenly sitting cross-legged beside me, just as George had been doing when the prince had entered the princess’s quarters. “I would be glad to show the brat my collection.”
It would have been better for me if he had thrust a dagger through my heart. When the pestilence had taken my parents, I had vowed to protect George with my own life. By fate, I had been able to provide for him beyond all prayer. I had also exposed him to danger by vowing to protect the princess. The Black Prince had not played a part in my nightmares. What he was threatening to do now paled any horror I could imagine.
“All right,” I said, cold to my bones. “I will be the princess.”
That night, as we sat on our straw pallets beside the princess’s empty bed, George and I made a pact. A single candle threw our conspiring shadows against the wall. They appeared as monstrous as the prince’s afternoon visit.
I told him about the prince’s plans—his desire to pass me off to the prince of Castile as the princess. I neglected to share the part in which he had threatened to feed George to the rats.
“But why is he doing this, Nell?” George cocked his head.The amulet rested in his lap.
“Because he believes that this is best for England.” I said nothing about my own belief that the prince had his own selfish plans at heart.
“I don’t agree with this, George,” I said as I leaned over and took George’s hand. “I cannot pretend to be the princess. It would say that her life . . . and her death . . . were meaningless.”
“Yours, too, Nell,” he pointed out.
I turned my face away from him. Our lives had value, but only as long as we served the needs of the prince. The king was appointed by God to rule England. He, his family, and lords like Sir Andrew and Sir Robert were important, as what they did could change the lives of everyone. The poor—like George and me—were everywhere. Our absence would not cause a ripple. I didn’t want George to see my tears, so I rubbed my eyes as if I were tired.
“As soon as we get the chance, George, we must run away.” I tried to sound calm, as if the act I was suggesting was a childish lark instead of treason.
George’s eyes were wide with fear. He considered what I said and then nodded solemnly. A soft breeze from the window seemed to tickle George’s dirty blond hair. Our shadows shimmered on the wall, knocking against the wooden posts of the princess’s bed.
“What will be our signal?” he whispered.
I smiled, slightly reassured at George’s knowledge of scheming.
“Hmmm.” I paused.“I don’t think we can plan a signal. It will have to be when we’re alone.” Either way, I thought, the prince would surely hunt us down. Better that we get a head start and scurry away from him.
When Sir Andrew entered the princess’s quarters the next morning, his mouth worked as if to say something to me but nothing came out. He was dressed in a short black tunic with black stockings and slippers. His purse hung from his belt. As the king’s emissary, Sir Andrew kept the king’s seal there, in addition to the key to the chest that contained the king’s gold. The morning sun was at his back as it streamed through the keep’s windows. His white hair appeared like the texture of clouds.
He coughed, waiting for an explanation.
I was wearing one of the princess’s favorite summer dresses, as the morning was already damp from the heat. It was a red-and-blue silk gown with golden Plantagenet lions sewn on both the skirt and blouse. I had found it laid out on the princess’s bed when I awoke, along with her brush and looking glass. Apparently, the prince could move like a thief.
“Good morning, Sir Andrew.” I curtsied. “Did you sleep well?” I was unsure of how to explain my garment. My face was red and I looked away to gain my composure.
“Nell.” Sir Andrew’s tone was sharp. “You are done with this playacting.” He took a few hesitant steps into the room. He looked as if he were seeing a ghost.
I nodded in agreement. I knew this was wrong. Every nerve in my body ached at this betrayal of the princess. “You must help me,” I began, but froze as I saw the form of the Black Prince fill the entranceway.
“How may I offer assistance, princess?” the prince purred as he did a quick bow. “May I braid your hair? The princess claims that I have a special gentleness,” he explained to Sir Andrew.
He picked up the princess’s brush and looking glass. He paused to smile at his reflection before he raised the brush to my head. My scalp prickled as if he held a weapon.
Sir Andrew’s mouth was wide open now. His hand went to his heart. “My lord, what is the meaning of this? We are due to return to the ships today.The king will not look kindly on Nell’s behavior.” I could see a fine sheen of sweat appearing on Sir Andrew’s forehead, upper lip, and nose. He looked as if he was sick.
The prince dropped the looking glass onto the bed and stroked his pointy black beard as he stared at Sir Andrew with contempt. “We are leaving for Spain this afternoon, dear Andrew. I have already spoken with the mayor about arranging for our horses. Thanks to this plague, he tells me he will have no problem with acquiring at least fifty of them.”
“I don’t understand,” Sir Andrew replied—although his lifeless tone indicated he did.
The prince turned his attention back to my hair. His fingers were nimble as he began a braid. I stood like a statue.
“The princess has a betrothal to honor, my dear Sir Andrew. She intends to honor it and I intend to ensure that she arrives safely into Prince Pedro’s arms.” He was speaking to Sir Andrew as if to a child.
Sir Andrew was trembling.“But, my lord, thi
s is impossible.” His speech poured from him with agony, like blood from a wound. “I do not think the king would agree to this.What if Prince Pedro finds out? It could mean war!”
The prince’s hand tightened around my braid. It took all my self-control to stop myself from crying out and reaching for his hands. “Pedro will know nothing. He doesn’t speak English or French. He’s a barbarian.”
“But our soldiers know! And the mayor. . .” Sir Andrew stopped. I could imagine the prince’s strangling gaze by the ferocity by which he held my hair.
“Those soldiers you worry over are my soldiers, dear Andrew. Each breath they dare take depends on my allowing them to breathe.”The prince’s hand was shaking. I prayed that Sir Andrew would not test his humor further.
“You, Sir Andrew, will ensure the mayor’s allegiance. Otherwise you may lose one more dear friend.”
Sir Andrew turned away. His hands were fists.
But Sir Andrew had said something that stopped my heart. War. I hadn’t thought about my failure as the princess’s imposter reaching such a disastrous scale.
“I can finish my hair, my lord.” I pulled away from him. I wanted him to listen to Sir Andrew.
The prince arched his dark eyebrows mockingly. “See that, Andrew? She is already acting just like a princess.”
“Nell!” George’s yell preceded him as he raced up the keep’s stairway. He ran into the room, out of breath, as he stood with a pewter bowl full of meat and white bread.
“She eats like a princess, too,” the prince finished triumphantly.
“But she’s not the princess,” George protested. “Anyone can see that she is Nell.”
“Precisely,” Sir Andrew dared to whisper as he placed his hand on George’s shoulder.
The prince tossed the brush onto the bed. “You bore me, Andrew.” He smiled, but his voice was thick with threat.
“Come here, George,” the prince said darkly as he stooped until his eyes were level with George’s. George held the bowl of food against his chest. “We not only share amulets that will protect us against the pestilence but we also share a sister.”
George bit his lip as the prince breathed into his face. “We shall call her Princess Joan now.”
George took a few steps back, never taking his gaze from the prince’s angular face.
The prince straightened and turned to me. “Be ready to leave when the sun hits its height, princess. And you, Andrew,” he mocked as he swaggered toward him, indicating with a flip of his hand for Sir Andrew to step aside. “You can do what you wish.”
We listened to his footsteps as he descended the stairs, until the silence of the castle swallowed all sound and we were left with only the deafening beats of our hearts.
black heart
THE NOISE OF BUSY SOLDIERS and the smell of sad dled horses filled the courtyard. As the Black Prince promised, the beasts were lined along the castle’s crenellated walls, facing the keep. They whinnied and stamped their hooves nervously as the soldiers, some already in their riding armor, prepared for our journey. The sun was high and hot. I squinted, but otherwise did my best to appear regal as I scanned the soldiers for the prince and Sir Andrew.
I found the prince standing with the gatekeeper, the reins of his enormous black stallion in his royal owner’s hands. His horse, like the others, was draped in the yellow-and-red heraldic coat of arms of the Plantagenets. I looked down at my skirt and the lions that marked me, as much as the horses, as a possession of the king.
The prince was already in his full battle armor—black as the color of his horse. I wondered if perhaps the prince did not feel the heat, if he truly was beyond human frailties. A sword hung from his leather belt, and the chain mail from his helmet hid his beard and neck so that his thin face appeared incredibly small. He was in an animated conversation with the gatekeeper and pointing with his gauntlet toward me as he grabbed the gatekeeper’s tunic and shook him. The poor man’s dented head wobbled violently on his shoulders. He pushed away from the prince, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head in compliance.
“What is the prince doing to the gatekeeper?” George asked, his voice rising with concern for his new friend. He stood a few paces behind me since he was no longer allowed to stand beside me in public.
The soldiers standing nearest to us glanced nervously at me.Their weary stares told me to quiet George.
“The prince is merely giving the gatekeeper his instructions, George,” I announced, doing my best to mimic the princess’s confident tone. I didn’t dare turn to address him. I had warned him not to approach me, but I did tell him never to let me out of his sight, for I could not predict the best moment for our escape. I knew we would have to decide in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, Sir Andrew suddenly appeared by my side.
“We are almost ready to depart, princess,” he said. His voice was tired and flat. We stood silently together for a moment, as we both surveyed the scene before us.
“Sir Andrew, is this everyone? We had a hundred soldiers when we left our ships,” I noted.
“This is what remains of their number, princess,” he replied. “The pestilence has taken twenty of them already, and another fifteen are too ill to travel.”
“Is Henry all right?” I asked. I hadn’t seen him since the day we learned about the pestilence. My heart seemed to pause when I asked the question.
Sir Andrew turned to look at me. His bushy white eyebrows arched as he gave me a sad smile. “The young soldier is fine, princess. The prince sent him into the village a few days ago to assist with the collection of provisions for our journey. He and the other soldiers will meet up with us in town.”
Despite the heat, I was trembling. We were ready to leave for Spain and begin this two-week journey that would deliver me to Prince Pedro, if we all did not die from the pestilence first. Which fate would be worse for George and me? And which fate would be worse for England should Prince Pedro recognize me for the imposter that I am?
The prince had woven a plausible tale to blot out my identity. Last night he had summoned us all into the courtyard—Sir Andrew, the mayor, the gatekeeper, and our soldiers. The near full moon was at his back as it reflected a ghostly glow upon the faces of his subjects while shadowing the prince’s face. He wore a black hooded cloak against the late summer evening chill. It billowed in the breeze as he made his announcement.
“The princess has asked me to share the somber news of Nell’s death from the cursed plague.” He pursed his lips in a convincing display of sorrow. “As you can imagine, the princess has been silenced momentarily by her devastating grief, as Nell was a loyal servant whom the princess treated like a sister.” The prince glanced at me and hung his head, as if overcome on my behalf.
“My task is to protect the princess from the pestilence and so we are leaving tomorrow for Castile—to ensure that the princess makes it safely to her betrothed.” I felt my face flush with shame as I noticed that no one dared glance at me, for they knew that it was the real princess who was dead. “Before we depart to our own quarters, I ask that you all beseech our lord as Nell’s vanquished body burns upon the beach pyre to keep the rest of us safe, just as Nell would have wanted it,” he said almost wistfully, turning to cast a smile at me with an intensity that knotted my gut.
I heard George behind me, making those odd sounds that he did when he wished to speak but knew better. The prince heard his muffled protests, too.
“Forgive me, George,” the prince suddenly bellowed, losing all trace of the false sincerity he practiced so well. “You must be wondering about your own fate, now that your loving sister has departed us.” I held my breath, praying for George to remain silent.When he said nothing, the prince bestowed a condescending smile as he continued.
“The young brat will remain with the princess,” he added, “as she was extremely fond of Nell. Is the princess not a most generous woman?” he demanded of us, lifting the sides of his cloak as if he had wings. The soldiers snapped to attent
ion as if signaled.
“Aye,” the soldiers yelled back, banging their swords against the ground until the courtyard was filled with the deafening clamor.
The prince flashed me a knowing smile. He didn’t need the words to say what was in his heart. Precious George is my dagger at your delicate throat, Nell. I will protect our George like a royal ransom. I flinched and turned away from him. Even the air between us was tainted by him.
“Ah, my dear sister,” the Black Prince hissed, trotting to us on his horse. He was holding the reins of a white horse, which trailed behind his own. “You are beautiful,” he said, leering. I straightened, struggling to meet his stare as if I were truly the princess. I knew by now that he relished the advantages of royalty. Perhaps in public at least I could thwart his bad treatment of George and me.
“You do know how to ride, do you not?” he asked, amused.
“I do, my lord,” I replied.
“Then help her onto the horse, Sir Andrew,” the prince commanded.
Sir Andrew bowed as he guided me gently by the elbow.
“Your Highness!” a voice called breathlessly from behind us. We all turned to see the mayor hurrying from the keep. He walked with the stride of the proud, yet his face seemed carved with new lines and the white at his temples combed more of his dark hair.
“Forgive me for delaying you,” he apologized, bowing to the prince. “I would be a negligent host if I did not wish you a safe journey and a safe return.”
The prince bestowed a tiny smile. “Thank you, Sir. I have given the gatekeeper his instructions. I will leave it to you to see that they are carried out.”
“You can be sure of that, my grace.” The mayor bowed. He then turned to Andrew and placed a heavy hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Until we meet again, Andrew.” The mayor’s brown eyes were full as he stared into the face of his friend. He then turned to me and dropped to one knee.
“Princess, may God protect you and bless your marriage,” he said loudly, as if he wished the entire army to hear. I drew in my breath as if slapped by the force of his delivery. It felt unnatural and I realized that the mayor and I and all surrounding us were playacting in some ghastly drama. Our band of soldiers was frozen atop their horses. George stood a few yards behind the mayor, holding his breath. The amulet hung from his neck and George was holding it in his right hand. Sir Andrew was statuelike beside the mayor, with closed eyes and lips pulled taut. The prince was looking down at us all, only the muscles in his face twitched.
