Princess Cristabel embraced her sister but said nothing.
A year passed in continual unrest and battles with the beasts of the Black Mountain.
Grief over the death of Princess Alexandra had driven King Theobald to consult a sage passing through the kingdom of Trasimene reputed to be an oracle. The oracle had spoken to the king of a jewel in the Black Mountain which had the power to protect a kingdom. Before the king could ask about how to obtain this jewel, the oracle vanished. The king sent his subjects far and wide but they searched vainly for the oracle and further knowledge about the magical jewel.
Noting the burgeoning questions and dissent among his own subjects regarding the solidity of the alliance between Ossaia and Trasimene, Prince Xavier returned to the capital of Trasimene and renewed his suit to the eldest daughter of King Theobald.
‘Oh, Cristabel!’ said Princess Beatrice.
The grieving king was in no mood to listen to the prince’s proposal.
‘I, too, grieve deeply, your Majesty, but I must do my duty by my subjects,’ said Prince Xavier. ‘The beasts of the Black Mountain thunder at our gates.’
‘I will accept Prince Xavier’s offer,’ said Princess Cristabel.
The king pressed his daughter to reconsider her decision.
‘I will do my duty,’ said Princess Cristabel.
On the evening that the royal betrothal between Princess Cristabel of Trasimene and Prince Xavier of Ossaia was announced, Princess Cristabel left her ladies-in-waiting and went alone to the royal treasury where Princess Beatrice, dressed in plain travelling attire and armed with her sword, bow and quiver of arrows, and the Keeper of the Crown Jewels were conversing in low conspiratorial voices.
‘Good evening, Clotaire,’ said Princess Cristabel. ‘May I please have a word with my sister before she leaves?’
The Keeper of the Crown Jewels bowed and withdrew.
‘How did you know?’ asked Princess Beatrice.
‘You have been quiet all day. It is a sign of your mind meditating mischief,’ said Princess Cristabel. ‘And you are my sister, Beatrice, the Recalcitrant One.’
‘It is the only thing I can think of to help,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘The confounded oracle and her riddles,’ said Princess Cristabel.
‘The oracle never said you had to wed the crown prince of Ossaia,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘We all have our duties to discharge,’ said Princess Cristabel.
Princess Cristabel pressed a purse, a wrapped parcel of bread and cheese, and a sheathed dagger into her sister’s hands.
‘I can no more prevent you from going on this quest than others have ever persuaded you from any of your schemes,’ said Princess Cristabel. ‘But please, Beatrice, promise that you will return safely to us, with or without the jewel.’
‘I will try,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘I will tell Prince Xavier that I shall wed him the day you return,’ said Princess Cristabel.
‘Well,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘Go—hurry now—and hurry back,’ said Princess Cristabel. ‘The betrothal festivities tonight will provide a diversion and give you more time before your absence is noticed. I will explain to father.’
Princess Beatrice kissed her sister, then drew back the corner of a large wall tapestry, pressed a hidden panel and entered the secret passage within. She came out of another secret door into the royal library, crossed the floor to a door leading to a corridor which took her via the night stairwell into the castle’s walled vegetable garden. Leaving the walled garden, she continued along a connecting cloister until she arrived before the postern gate of the abbey of Ermengard. She rang the bell.
The peephole hatch in the wooden door slid open.
‘The night is dark. I have lost my way. I seek sanctuary,’ said Princess Beatrice.
The hatch closed. Bolts were drawn, then the wooden gate door opened.
‘Sister Beatrice,’ said the gatekeeper. ‘I am Sister Gwendolyn. Please follow me.’
The nun led the princess through the lane, along a cloister, through the abbey grounds, passing a series of indoor chapels, rose and herb gardens, through several interconnecting cloisters, past the hospice lawn, over a little stone bridge, past a gate and through the walled churchyard.
‘The Reverend Mother sends her prayers,’ said Sister Gwendolyn. ‘Thunderbolt is waiting outside the gate.’
Princess Beatrice thanked the nun and slipped out of the churchyard. She found Thunderbolt, saddled and readied with supplies, obediently waiting next to the churchyard wall. Princess Beatrice untied the reins, mounted the horse and quietly led him away from the abbey and into the dark forest.
Journey of the Recalcitrant Princess to the Black Mountain
Princess Beatrice rode for a night through the dark forest of Ermengard and came out into the countryside as the sun rose. She travelled for days northward bound in the direction of the Black Mountain, following the routes she had learnt from her sisters’ expeditions and the many charts and maps she had found in the royal library, always taking the lesser trodden paths distant from human dwellings and villages or townships to avoid being seen or running into other troubles.
It was not in her character or her destiny, however, to avoid becoming involved in the fates of others.
She had been resting in a woodland, feeding slices of apple to Thunderbolt, when a red fox ran up to them and leapt into one of the saddlebags. Moments later, Princess Beatrice heard the sound of men’s voices and the call of a hunting horn. The saddlebag in which the fox had hidden quivered with fear. Princess Beatrice quickly gathered her things, mounted her horse, and rode away. When she had ridden far enough that she had lost the sound of the hunting horn, she stopped and set the saddlebag down on the grass and set the fox free.
‘Go on,’ said Princess Beatrice to the fox. ‘It is safe now.’
The red fox ran into the nearby bushes and disappeared.
Princess Beatrice continued riding until she came to a camp near the edge of a woodland. She tethered Thunderbolt to a tree in the woods and quietly crept up to spy on the camp. From the flags and style of the tents, it looked like an encampment of Ossaian soldiers. Her surmise was confirmed when she saw a soldier in Ossaian uniform stride into the camp with a net of captured ortolans. Careful to remain hidden from view, Princess Beatrice followed the soldier to a tent where she watched as he set about placing the ortolans in a covered wicker cage and bringing out a cask of brandy, in which the birds would be drowned before roasting, in the preparation of a dish that had been outlawed in the kingdom of Trasimene since the time of King Theobald’s great-great-great grandfather for its cruelty. Princess Beatrice waited until the soldier left the tent and crawled up to the covered cage. She cut the latch of the wicker cage with her dagger and took the cage to the tent flap, peeked outside to make sure no one was about, then drew aside the tent flap, uncovered the cage and opened the cage door. The ortolans fluttered out and soared into the sky.
The princess was about to leave the tent when the soldier reappeared before her and caught her arm.
‘An intruder! A thief!’ cried the soldier.
Princess Beatrice struggled but the soldier’s grip held fast. She reached out with her other arm and grabbed a pepper pot, drew a handful of ground pepper into her hand and blew it into the soldier’s face. The soldier doubled over in exploding sneezes and dropped her arm. Princess Beatrice bolted out of the tent—stealing an apple in passing—and ran into the woods, gathered Thunderbolt’s reins and rode away, the shouts from the camp fading ever further behind her.
Princess Beatrice tried to avoid civilisation for the next fortnight. The smaller, remote paths were deserted and a little safer from running into unexpected company but they covered rougher terrain and made for a longer journey to the Black Mountain than if she had taken the main roads. It became harder to continue as her food and water rations dwindled. She was compelled by necessity to head closer toward
s the routes which passed near human dwellings.
One day, Princess Beatrice was travelling through a shrubland towards a wood beyond which she hoped would be a village she had seen on an old scroll map in the royal library. As she rode towards the woods, Thunderbolt trotting placidly along the grass, they were startled by the shrill, disturbed flapping and twittering of a flock of ortolans flying out of a nearby tree. The birds circled thrice over a dense clump of shrubbery ahead and then flew away. Princess Beatrice drew the reins back, heeding the warning, just as a group of men who looked like a gang of disreputable thieves emerged from the shrubbery and began to stalk towards her, weapons in hand. Thunderbolt leapt over bushes and undergrowth and, bearing the princess, galloped furiously away from the ambush. The thieves followed in hot pursuit. Suddenly, as the princess and her horse were entering the woods, a red fox leapt across their path. Thunderbolt reared and veered away from the fox, swerving to canter around the small clearing in the trees. The thieves ran directly into the clearing to follow them, but instead of closing in on the princess and her horse, the thieves started to shout and bellow. Their cries quickly died out as they sank and were submerged completely in a matter of moments in quicksand. Shortly afterwards, the surface of the quicksand in the centre of the clearing returned to a tranquillity which revealed no signs of the thieves’ last moments of struggle for breath.
The princess and her horse came to a slow trot as they travelled through the woods. The escape from the pursuit by the thieves had added to the tiredness and privations of the long journey where there was the promise of little relief and much danger ahead. Thirsty and hungry, they continued on until they came across a hedgehog, curled up in a ball, caught in a net at the base of a tree trunk. The princess dismounted and went to the tree to cut the netting with her dagger, setting the hedgehog free from the huntsman’s trap. The little brown hedgehog uncurled, then waddled off deeper into the woods. Curious, the princess picked up Thunderbolt’s reins and drew the horse along with her as she followed the hedgehog through the trees and around shrubbery and tangled vines and fallen logs and undergrowth until they came to a thicket of wild sloe and blackberry bushes growing next to a small trickling stream. The princess and her horse settled down by the stream and drank of its clear, sweet waters. Then, while her horse grazed on the soft grass growing by the stream, the princess picked and ate her fill of the wild berries.
Refreshed, with the waterskins refilled from the stream and a supply of berries wrapped up in the saddlebags, the princess mounted her horse and they resumed their journey, soon leaving the woods.
The Black Mountain loomed close on the horizon, casting its dark forbidding shadow over the surrounding landscape. It did at least look nearer than it had when she had started out on the journey, the princess thought optimistically.
The princess and her horse rode on towards the foot of the Black Mountain.
On their way, they came across fields of ruined crops and a deserted village, its huts and public thoroughfares broken and empty and abandoned.
Princess Beatrice dismounted from her horse and led him by the reins as she wandered around the huts, trying to see if there was anybody about. She entered one hut, whose contents had been thrown about in a dreadful ramshackle fashion. There was broken crockery and glass and torn curtains and smashed furniture everywhere. Princess Beatrice heard a scurrying noise and found a little field mouse trapped inside an upturned pot. She helped the mouse free and gave it a piece of dry cheese from her pouch. The mouse took the cheese and hurried away.
When the mouse was gone, the princess also turned to leave but she heard another sound, louder this time. A scuffling noise, then what seemed like a muffled whimper reached the princess’ ears. She moved around the hut, looking for the source of the sound. The princess came before a bed frame whose bedsheets and pillows and straw mattress were tossed askew. Cowering underneath the bed was a woman and a young child.
‘Please do not hurt my son!’ cried the woman. ‘I will do anything you wish, if you will only leave my son alone.’
The young boy trembled with fear in his mother’s arms and began to cry again.
‘Do not be afraid,’ said Princess Beatrice. ‘I am only travelling through this way. I will not harm you or your son. What has happened in this village?’
The village woman told Princess Beatrice about the band of Ossaian soldiers who had come into the kingdom and regularly harassed the surrounding counties and robbed their belongings.
‘Why has this not been reported to King Theobald?’ asked Princess Beatrice.
‘Our mayor sent a messenger to the capital but he was intercepted and killed,’ said the village woman. ‘The soldiers brought back the heads of the mayor and the messenger to show us the price of our disobedience. Then the captain of the soldiers, a man called Renaud, came and led a raid through our village, taking all the able-bodied men and women as slaves, and slaying the children and elderly folk. My husband made me take our son into hiding while he joined the menfolk in defending our families. I do not know if he or any of our friends and neighbours are alive. It seems unlikely that those monsters would spare a life.’
The village woman began to weep softly.
‘You and your son cannot stay here,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘What can we do? Where are we to go? The soldiers destroyed everything,’ said the village woman.
‘Do you know how to ride?’ asked Princess Beatrice. ‘To wield a sword?’
‘I have ridden a little,’ said the village woman.
‘Then come with me,’ said Princess Beatrice.
She led the village woman and her son outside to where Thunderbolt was waiting and helped them mount.
‘You will ride Thunderbolt to Ermengard Abbey,’ said the princess. ‘Thunderbolt knows the way home. Take the direct route to the capital but along the smaller, quieter ways to be safe. There is enough water and food in the saddlebags to last you for several days. When you get to the abbey, ask to see the Mother Superior. She will help you. ‘
Princess Beatrice pressed the purse with its remaining coins, given to her by Princess Cristabel, into the village woman’s hand. Then the princess unbuckled her sword belt and placed it on the village woman.
‘Use this to defend yourself and your son,’ said the princess. ‘The blade is sure and will protect you against human or beast.’
‘But what will you do?’ asked the village woman.
‘I must finish my journey,’ said the princess. ‘I have my bow and dagger. And I am certain I will manage to find enough supplies among the wreckage of this village to sustain me.
‘Thank you,’ said the village woman. ‘You—’
She was interrupted by the approaching clattering of hooves and loud, raucous shouting.
‘It is the soldiers!’ cried the village woman. ‘They have come back!’
‘Hold on tight—ride hard and do not look back!’ said the princess to the village woman and her son and Thunderbolt. ‘My arrows will give you cover while you escape.’
As Thunderbolt tore through the village streets, bearing his two riders, Princess Beatrice climbed up the side of the hut and scrambled onto the thatched roof.
From the vantage point on the roof, she saw a party of Ossaian soldiers come riding into the village. Thunderbolt had borne his riders clear of the village already and was headed towards the woods but to give them more time and distance so that the soldiers would not discover them and follow in pursuit, Princess Beatrice, hidden atop the thatched roof of the hut, shot an arrow into the dirt path before the soldiers to draw their attention towards her way.
The soldiers were unsettled and baffled as to who could be shooting arrows at them in a deserted village. Some superstitious ones among them thought it might have been a ghost or goblin or demon. The soldiers finally decided that it would be easier just to set fire to the entire village.
‘That will smoke him out if our archer is of humankind,’ sneered the soldier.
‘Or burn him to a crisp.’
Oh dear, thought the princess up on the thatched roof, holding her bow and a quiver exhausted of arrows.
Soon, the surrounding huts were smothered in flames and thick black smoke. The thatched straw roof sagged beneath her feet and collapsed.
The heavy straw pillowed her fall so that the princess was unhurt. However, she had fallen on her bow and it had snapped in half. Princess Beatrice picked out the broken pieces of her bow from the straw and stowed them in her empty quiver, then took a handkerchief out of her pocket to cover her nose from the smoke, and crawled on her hands and knees out of the burning hut.
‘Hey!’ came a shout. ‘You there, halt! Here! Here! She is here!’
A sword lunged at her. Princess Beatrice dodged the sword and drew out her dagger. Her attacker saw the size of the little dagger and laughed and took another step forward. Another swipe of the sword came at the princess. She ducked and thrust her dagger upward. The soldier fell back into the dirt with the hilt of the dagger sticking out of his gullet.
More shouts came. More soldiers came to surround the princess who was now weaponless.
Princess Beatrice took a step backward. The soldiers advanced towards her. Suddenly, one soldier leapt into the air with a yelp of pain. His neighbour followed him. Then another soldier. Then another. Before the princess’ eyes, the band of murderous soldiers was dancing about wildly, hitting themselves and running into things and each other and shouting like lunatics about being bitten.
This behaviour greatly surprised and puzzled the princess until she saw a mischief of field mice emerge from beneath the armour of the dancing soldiers, leap from the soldiers’ legs or arms onto the ground, scamper through the dangerous melee of swinging weapons and stamping boots, and dart away through the fire and smoke.
Princess Beatrice did not waste any time in following the example of the scattering field mice. She picked up a sword that one of the soldiers had dropped and ran away from the village as fast as she could, disappearing behind the thick, billowing clouds of smoke.
The Princess & the Gargoyle Page 4
