by Joanne Dahme
“Hold your reins!” Gracias commanded as he leaned from his saddle to swat at the rats with his shield. His bells tinkled shrilly in the frenzy. The two Spanish soldiers did the same, directing their horses in circles to mow down the rats at their thicker clusters. Thousands of beady eyes flashed in the moonlight and sharp teeth gleamed in the carpet of darkness around the horses’ hooves.
I lifted my legs up and grabbed at George to do the same. Our horse bucked and I screamed as I felt myself slipping from the saddle. I threw my arms around its neck and yelled for George to hold me around the waist as our horse reared again. A rat was clinging to one of the horse’s front legs with its teeth.
“We need to get on higher ground!” Henry yelled as he swung his sword erratically. “They are piling on top of one another!”
Henry was right, and the amulet seemed to be the object of their fury.
“Give me your amulet, George!” I screamed, as I grabbed at him again, searching for the chain to yank from his neck.
“Stop it, Nell! We need it! The rats don’t like it because of its power to protect us,” George insisted, pushing my hands away.
“!Sígame! Follow me!” Gracias shouted, batting away at the fresh onslaught. His horse whinnied and pawed at the air before lurching blindly forward. Our horses did the same. I tried not to notice the agonizing squeals of the rats trampled beneath our horses’ hooves.
We rode through the darkness even faster than before, this time taking no care of the tree branches that whipped across our faces or arms. Gracias’s bells pounded out our pace. I felt George’s face pressed into my back as his arms encircled my waist like a tight sash.
Soon we were riding uphill and our horses slowed against the strain of the incline. Gracias had taken us to the top of a bluff, a few hundred feet higher than the woods surrounding us. From its top I could see the moonlight shimmer off the ocean’s surface as it spread far off in the distance. All around us was the utter blackness of the woods.We listened to the night, but all I heard was our labored breathing.
“I believe we lost them, Nell,” Gracias said quietly, turning to appraise me. His eyes looked black in the shadows.
“I am the . . . princess,” I began without earnestness. I did not know if I was supposed to play the part still.
Henry was next to me, his horse brushing against mine. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword.
“It’s all right, soldier,” Gracias said. His bells tinged softly as he shifted his weight in his saddle. “I know the princess is dead. I was asked to save you from your fate.”
“But how?” I asked. “You were coming from the south, from Castile . . . ”
Gracias smiled mischievously. “The mayor’s birds are faster than any man or beast. He sent me a message, as he knew Prince Pedro was anxious for me to greet you.Your Black Prince does not have many amigos here.”
Fear stirred in my gut again. “What will the mayor have you do with us?” I asked, glad that at least Henry had a sword.
Gracias shook his head. “The mayor is a good man. If it were up to me, I would ensure that the prince could not use you for his purposes again.” Gracias’ eyes were suddenly hard and his voice thick with meaning. George gave a little cry.
“But it is not up to you, sir,” Henry replied boldly. He was slowly drawing his sword. The two Spanish soldiers suddenly flanked Henry.
“Guarde en su sitio su espada. Put your sword away, soldier,” Gracias commanded. “You are right. It is not up to me. The mayor asked that I direct you back to Bordeaux. He will tell you what your futures hold.”
I touched Henry on the arm, encouraging him to set aside the sword. For the moment, it seemed, we were safe.
the monk
WE SPENT THE NIGHT on the hillside, straining to hear the squeals of the rats, but all we heard was the soft whispering of leaves in the pre-dawn October breeze. George had fallen asleep and I cradled him with my arm to keep him from slipping from the saddle. I could feel Gracias peering over at me, and when I met his stare he tried to reassure me, but he wore an empty smile. His soldiers moved around the edge of our bluff, peering down into its wooded slopes to detect any movement in the darkness. Henry stayed by my side but said nothing. He reminded me of an animal, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.
Fear extinguished all temptation to drowse in my saddle and soon I began to dread even the silence. Waiting for the return of the rats wound my nerves. At least, when we were under attack, there was no time for thought.
“The rats belong to the prince,” I announced.The secret was too horrible to keep. I needed to share this horror.
“Are you saying that your prince is a sorcerer?” Gracias asked, looking at me sharply. His eyes were black stones in the moonlight. He cocked his head and pulled at his black beard as if intrigued by the notion.
A sorcerer? I had never thought about the prince in that light. A new fear stabbed at my gut. Perhaps that would explain his nocturnal outings and his sacks filled with live creatures, but I ignored his question, as it was too terrible to imagine.
“I saw them,” I continued. “He kept them in the dungeon at the castle in Bordeaux. I dreamed about them, too.” I did not look at Gracias, but instead stared into the darkness. “He would send them out to hunt people.” I thought of George’s friends—the little French girls—and prayed that they were safe.
“Only a princess can dream about the future. Are you saying that you have the power of a princess?” Gracias asked mockingly. “Your prince must be a true follower of the dark arts to command such criaturas. How could this be? He is the son of your king.”
“I’m only telling you what I know!” I answered defiantly.
“Let her be,” Henry interrupted. “She served the princess honorably. Nell never took any liberties,” he added firmly.
I looked at him gratefully, although I knew the darkness masked my expression.
“Besides, how else would you explain the attack of the rats?” Henry asked. “Rats are afraid of their own shadows.”
“Not if they are hungry or believe that they are being threatened,” Gracias shot back. His bells chimed his skepticism. “Anyway, the prince will follow us, of course, as soon as the soldiers are sober enough to ride. We best be ready and stop all conversación,” he ordered, all teasing gone from his voice.
I shivered sympathetically for the soldiers. They had come to France to protect the princess on her journey to Castile. They had never bargained to be the weapons of the prince’s demented scheme. I began to worry that the prince was truly mad.
We left at dawn and guided our horses down the hillside path that had been long abandoned. Our horses tread carefully through the growth, stepping over a loose vine or the thorny shrubs that clutched at their ankles, already sore and raw from the bites of the rats. The jostling movement was painful, for we had been on our horses for many hours without relief. Gracias had insisted that we take the path through the woods instead of the one along the coast, as that route was open and unprotected. I trembled in the cold chill of the October air that had dampened our clothes and brows. The sunlight that pierced the still thick canopy of the trees was weak and the tang of the dew on the leaf-covered ground was sharp against my nose.
George’s voice was still weary with sleep. His head brushed against my back with each step we took. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“I don’t know, George. We need to ask Gracias,” I replied. My heart began to beat wildly as I anticipated an answer.
For the moment, Gracias said nothing. His soldiers, who followed behind me began to shout questions at Gracias, too, although I did not understand what they were saying.
“Do you have a plan?” Henry asked over their noise. He sounded impatient as his horse nudged the flank of Gracias’s horse.
I suddenly realized that Henry had cast himself as a traitor when he joined us. Why did he do this? The prince would be looking for us and would not be kind to anyone who advanced our escap
e.
“ Por supuesto I have a plan!” Gracias shot back, giving a stern look at his men. “Do you think the mayor and I would kidnap a princesa without a strategy? The mayor has identified a number of agents to work on our behalf to get you all back to Bordeaux.The first is a monk. I am taking you to him now.” Gracias turned in his saddle to throw me a meaningful look. “Perhaps this is a good thing. The monk can use the power of good against the sorcerer powers of the prince.”
“A sorcerer!” George exclaimed, suddenly awake. “It’s a good thing I have my amulet.” I looked over my shoulder to see George grasping at it beneath his tunic.
I didn’t trust the amulet, and I wondered how I could separate George from it, as the prince had one that made a matching pair. There could be no good in that. I concentrated on finding a way to convince George that the amulet was bad. And I did not want a second visit by the rats.
“Come along.” Gracias waved. “The monk is at least an hour’s ride from here. Let us hope he can provide us with breakfast.”
We arrived at an hour when the farmers should have been in the fields, picking grapes or guiding the sheep and goats to pasture, but the village was quiet and seemed starkly alone.
“Something is wrong here,” Gracias warned, signaling our horses to slow to a stop at the end of the dirt path that spilled into the village square. I glanced nervously around for rats but none were visible. Was this village deserted like so many we passed on our way to Castile?
A small stone church commanded the center of the cobbled square. Its spire had toppled and a bird’s nest was nestled in its place. I cringed at the mournful sound of an abandoned door, squeaking, as if bitter, at the teasing push of the breeze. We stared silently at the huddle of wood-and-thatch houses that lined the square, on both sides of the church, like embracing arms. Many of the houses had small barns at their backs or dirt yards full of chickens. I shivered, despite the warmth I felt on my shoulders and back from the sun that had finally called forth its heat. Only the birds of the woods dared break the silence with their loud chattering. Perhaps only the birds were left to share this part of the world with us.
We all jumped in our saddles when a young monk slammed open the doors of the church with a force that could splinter wood. He stood in the church’s threshold and brushed his hands against his brown robe as if they were wet. His head was shaved in a tonsure. His cheeks looked sunken and his eyes shone unnaturally above dark hollows. He appeared hungry and tired, yet emitted a singular intensity.
“Bonjour, Sir Gracias,” he said, blinking up at us as if he just remembered why we were here. “Pardonner us that we cannot give you an appropriate greeting. I am Friar Phillipe.We expected your arrival.”
Gracias’ soldiers were looking around suspiciously and spurred their horses to trot around the square. They slowed to peer into windows and doorways and down still, shadowed alleyways between the silent houses. The village seemed to be holding its breath.
Henry was beside me again. His eyes were clouded, as if he sensed what was wrong.We both did.
Gracias was leaning to the side to stare at the monk and then suddenly bowed. His bells mimicked the trills of the birds.
“Thank you, Friar, but where are the villagers?”
The monk’s tranquil expression did not change, although he closed his eyes, as if summoning the strength to answer.
He released a loud sigh. “The town is a victim of the pestilence. The villagers are either sick or nursing their stricken families. I myself have been here but two weeks, sent to replace the parish priest, who was one of the first to fall ill.” He lifted his arm, his robe hanging from it like a wing, as the monk directed our gaze to sweep the village square.
“You will see no marks or watchmen at these homes. My order requires the charitable care of the poor, under all circumstances,” he explained.
The plague. My heart was pounding and my temples were throbbing. Will we ever be safe? We spent the night on our horses to escape the prince’s rats, only to be delivered to another dying village.
“George,” I whispered. I needed to know that he was listening.
“It’s okay, Nell,” he whispered back. “I have the amulet.”
That hardly gave me comfort.
“Bien,” Gracias said cheerfully. “We have done our part, Friar, which is to deliver the princess to you. My soldiers and I will be on our way back to Castile.”
“You are going to leave us here?” I asked, incredulous despite myself. In my mind, I suddenly saw an image of the prince, dressed in his full black armor, galloping toward us, the black plume of his wake made up of an army of rats. Once Gracias left, we would have only Henry to help us get back to Bordeaux. And that was if we did not catch the pestilence first. I struggled against the hysteria I felt rising in my throat.
“My duty has been completed, princess. No need to give me thanks.”
“We’ll be better off without him,” Henry declared before I could protest. “I don’t trust him.”
“Nor I you, sir,” Gracias shot back. “But that is all water under the drawbridge now. It’s best that you maintain that attitude if you wish to escort the princesa back safely.” Gracias was smiling again, that infuriating smile that implied that he knew everything.
“C’est bien” the monk interjected. “You will only be here for a day, as your next guide will be along tomorrow morning to collect you.Today I could use the soldier and the boy in the fields, as much of our grape harvesting has been neglected. The princess shall rest in the church and perhaps say some prayers for the recovery of this village. It appears that my own prayers are not enough to atone for its sins.”
I nodded, almost paralyzed by a sense of doom. What choice do we have? I could not command Gracias to stay nor make him take us with him.There was nothing to be done except to send George to the fields and pray that we lasted the night.
“You, sir, are heartless,” I accused, clutching the reins of my horse in my fury.“So it may seem, princesa,” Gracias replied, his tone grave. He turned away from me to address the monk.
“If you don’t mind, Friar, we will refresh our horses and take some nourishment for our journey.”
The monk nodded. “Of course. My kitchen is full.”
“Well, this is adios then,” Gracias said, swiveling his horse back in my direction. He called like an owl to get the attention of his soldiers. They quickly reappeared at his side. Now his eyes and smile seemed more amused than hostile.
“We will pray for your safe arrival, princesa, and for the preservation of your king’s crown. Beware the world in which your sorcerer prince should command.”
We were in the vineyards by midmorning. We each had a bucket in our hands and I wore an apron over the princess’s soiled dress. Its once-brilliant yellow lions were now brown and scraggly like cats caught in a rainstorm. It was Henry who saw the apron on a peg in the church’s kitchen as we were eating the brown bread and porridge that the monk placed before us on the table. He smiled as we hesitated, as the large portions embarrassed us.
“S’il vous plaît, the food will soon spoil. Someone must eat it,” he said softly. He closed his eyes as he paused to listen to the morning call of the roosters. He covered his face with his hand and sighed, as if gathering strength.
“You’ll find buckets in the churchyard,” he said to Henry and George. “The vineyards, although small, are hardy,” he added, a touch of pride in his voice. “Pass through the grove of trees behind the church and you will find them. Princess, you may make yourself comfortable in our church, which you should find cool and quiet. I regret that I cannot offer you better shelter.”
“Do not worry, Friar,” I reassured him quickly. “We are extremely grateful.”
Although I did not tell him that I did not plan on staying in the church. I knew I would have gone mad sitting in this kitchen alone all day, wondering what was happening to George and Henry. My vow was all I had now—nothing would ever separate George and me.
The monk was right. The vines were ripe yet still clung strongly to tree branches that had been used to create a trellislike wall for the grapes to grow along.There were three long rows of them that stretched down to the valley. I could see a stream, perhaps a quarter mile away, sparkling like a diamond in the sunlight.The green valley rose again from the stream’s opposite bank. The world looked so peaceful here.
We each chose a separate row. I was in the middle, yet we picked side by side, glancing at one another through the plump or slightly shriveled grapes that seemed to ache to be plucked from their vines. The work felt good, for it required no thought, and for a few moments I could pretend that we were safe. I did not want to think about what the monk would do with these grapes, as were leaving in the morning. Will he and the few healthy villagers that remained do the work to preserve them or make wine?
“Look at my fingers, Nell!” George called from the other side of the row of vines. He held up his splayed hand.The tips of his fingers were purple.
“Lick it off, George!” I said, a bit alarmed, as it looked as if his fingers might stay that color forever.
“Don’t be silly, Nell. If I lick them now, they’ll just get purple again. It will wear away.” He cocked his head as he stared at me through the vine-entwined lattice of sticks. His amused smile exposed his missing front teeth. “Look at your own fingers,” he suggested.
I turned my hand over and was surprised to see the evidence of my own grape picking. For a moment, I felt a stitch of guilt because I did not change into one of the other dresses that I had stuffed into my sack. I knew it was silly of me but worried that I had broken my vow to honor the princess’s memory by harvesting in her dress. Never mind that the dress was worn and bedraggled from our escape from the prince. But the other dresses were still clean, I reasoned. No reason to soil more than one. What would the monk think if he caught me? He did not seem to have the strength for one more prayer for one more sinner.
“Well, at least one could tell that we are related by our fingers,” I relented. I was warmed by the sun and the beauty of the vineyards and the momentary joy of sharing this simple task of picking grapes. And besides, it was so good to see George smile.
