The Princess & the Gargoyle

by Mireille Pavane

  ‘Why did Caspar imprison you?’ asked the princess.

  ‘I have been charged with high treason and murder, among other things,’ said the beast. ‘Does that make you reconsider your choice not to leave?’

  ‘No,’ said the princess. ‘Were you given a fair trial?’

  The beast’s glowing black gaze passed intently over Princess Beatrice.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the beast.

  ‘A friend who would offer help, if you will accept it,’ said the princess.

  Booming voices and footfalls echoed down through the walls of the dungeon.

  ‘You must leave at once,’ said the beast. ‘No arguments. Go now!’

  The beast gave Princess Beatrice a push forward with one clawed hand. The princess hastily scrambled back down into the niche of the tunnel beneath the dungeon floor and pulled the stone slab trapdoor back into place above her head, but left open a tiny slit inconspicuous in the darkness of the dungeon. She did not leave but huddled in the dark and listened.

  The heavy footfalls and voices grew louder and nearer. She heard the rattling of weapons and armour and the bars of the dungeon cell being unlocked.

  ‘His Highness Prince Caspar requests your presence in the arena,’ said a voice.

  ‘Take me to face Caspar’s wrath,’ came the voice of the beast.

  There followed more rattling of chains, then more footfalls, then the voices and sounds and vibrations of movement against the stone floor and walls died away.

  When the still silence settled once more over the darkness, Princess Beatrice pushed aside the stone slab trapdoor and came out of the tunnel into the empty dungeon.

  The beast was gone.

  Death in the Arena

  The beast had been taken to the arena.

  Princess Beatrice thought hard. How could she find her way to the arena and get inside without being seen?

  The princess considered following the guards who had taken the beast but ruled this out as too easily risking discovery. The princess thought of attempting to find her own way through the city to the arena, but ruled this out as too readily risking getting lost. The princess thought of the six tunnels she had not yet taken. She turned and hurried back down the tunnel opening from the dungeon cell (carefully replacing the stone slab trapdoor behind her) back to the parting of the way. When she stood at the fork in the tunnel, facing the entrances to the nine tunnels, she thought of the view of the city of stone laid out like a map before her from the high ledge, and of the stone amphitheatre that stood a short distance away from the palace at the centre of the city. If each tunnel corresponded to a different level and location in the city of stone, from the highest summit of the ledge to the royal hall in the centre to the lowest level of the dungeons, then one of the tunnels must lead to the arena.

  Princess Beatrice took a deep breath and stepped into the third tunnel from the right.

  The tunnel wound downward, although not so steeply as the tunnel into the dungeons. It gradually narrowed and began to shudder with vibrations from somewhere ahead and a distant roaring that sounded like a waterfall or battleground was near.

  Princess Beatrice guessed that she was approaching the end of the tunnel as the roaring and shudders grew in intensity and volume.

  The tunnel brought her to a dark sculpted alcove pierced by shards of light coming from eye-shaped apertures in a granite wall.

  When she peeked out of two eye-shaped apertures, she saw that the light came from outside and that the roaring did not belong to a waterfall or battle but arose from the roars of the crowds of spectators filling the amphitheatre, watching a public spectacle in the arena.

  She had picked the right tunnel.

  The tunnel had led her into the heart of the amphitheatre, with its multi-storeyed, arcaded facades elaborately decorated with marble statues and reliefs, to a small hidden alcove beneath a podium box. The enclosure must have been reserved for royalty, Princess Beatrice supposed, since it was distinguished by regal statues and carvings and appeared to provide the best views of the arena. The princess wondered if Prince Caspar was seated above in the podium box enjoying the view. The podium was flanked by tiers of other galleries, filled with gargoyle spectators and armed guards. The roars from the crowds penetrated into the cavity beneath the podium where she was hidden. At such close proximity, they were deafening.

  Princess Beatrice wondered how this alcove in such an open and prominent place had not yet been discovered until she realised that she was standing inside the hollow body of one of the granite columns, sculpted in the shape of a gargoyle, holding up the podium, and the apertures out of which she was peering were the pupils of its eyes.

  Princess Beatrice looked about the alcove and discovered a trapdoor partition in the floor of the alcove which dropped to a large gutter—a channel at ground level which, the princess found, was connected to the nearest axial entrance into the arena.

  The arena was ringed by nine axial entrances, each with a closed portcullis, at ground level.

  The beast from the dungeon stood in a corner of the arena. Around him, lying in the dirt and sand of the arena floor, were the bodies of the defeated gargoyle champions who had been sent to meet him.

  The roar of the amphitheatre spectators filled the surrounding air. Guards marched into the arena and took the bodies away so that the captive beast was left alone in the vast arena.

  Trumpets sounded and the portcullis to one axial entrance was drawn up. A large sleek grey wolf came out.

  The beast was sent into the centre of the arena to fight against the ravenous wolf. The beast’s wings were bound and he had no recourse to any weapons besides his own strength and cunning.

  The wolf prowled about the beast and attacked without restraint or mercy. The beast wrestled savagely with the wolf and slit its throat with one precise swipe of his talons.

  Barely a moment after the beast had crawled out from underneath the corpse of the slaughtered wolf, the trumpets sounded again and the portcullis to a second entrance rose. A giant black panther stalked out. The panther leapt towards the beast with a ferocious snarl like a bolt of black lightning, only to impale itself on the beast’s deadly unsheathed talons. Despite his injuries from the round with the wolf, the beast’s reflexes had been as swift as the panther’s in attack.

  Arising bloodied from the struggles with the wild creatures, the beast turned to the sound of a third trumpet call. When the third portcullis rose, the beast faced another gargoyle who was even larger than himself, broader in chest and limbs, and at least a head taller.

  The gargoyle who entered the arena had removed his royal ermine cloak. He was Prince Caspar, the gargoyle that Princess Beatrice had seen on the throne.

  ‘Hello cousin,’ said the new combatant.

  The third round in the arena was the most vicious of all. It was hand-to-hand combat. No fire or weapons were allowed, but Princess Beatrice felt keenly the unfairness of the match: Prince Caspar was larger and more heavily built than his cousin; he was fresh and uninjured, and his wings were free.

  The beast fought on, tenaciously and ruthlessly, not yielding to his opponent’s advantages. The beast met his cousin’s airborne taunts and strikes and attacked in return with force and agility, drawing blood and his cousin’s wrath.

  Impossibly, when Prince Caspar stood at one end of the arena half an hour later, panting angrily for breath and bleeding from gashing wounds to his torso and wings, the beast, ravaged and bloody from head to toe, still remained alert and upright at the opposite end of the arena.

  Princess Beatrice recognised something in the beast besides the pure instinct for survival, something like pride or the principle which compelled the knights of Trasimene to charge into battle when they knew that there was no hope of victory or return. It was perhaps the one thing which kept him standing. But she also saw that his strength was fading. The beast had fought and survived the savage rounds with the gargoyle champions and the wild creatures, he was withstand
ing his cousin’s brutal affronts, but his body had suffered too much; it had been too mauled, too wounded, used too well to obey his dogged resolve to outlast Prince Caspar much longer. Dangerously, his cousin also seemed to have perceived the beast’s weakening and began, slowly, to circle his prey.

  Watching the fight hidden in the stone statue, Princess Beatrice saw a momentary flash—a glint of metal. It came from a tiny hidden dagger that had been stealthily drawn out by Prince Caspar from his belt and vanished as quickly into his large hand as he stood poised for an attack.

  Prince Caspar lunged at his cousin suddenly. The beast fought back with powerful motions. When they broke apart, the beast flinched. He felt a painful sting and something wet on his skin. When the beast looked down, he saw that a long, deep cut freshly scored his abdomen.

  ‘Ever true to your nature, cousin,’ hissed the beast, gasping for breath.

  Prince Caspar bared the poisoned assassin’s dagger in his hand, no longer bothering with the subterfuge. He approached the beast in heavy, arrogant strides.

  ‘I am bored of this play, cousin,’ said Prince Caspar, and attacked.

  The earth shook with the clash of the two gargoyles. Prince Caspar pounced and grappled the beast to the ground. The crowd roared with bloodlust. In her hiding place, Princess Beatrice trembled in terror and anger as she felt about her pockets, steadied her hand and took aim.

  A blood-curdling howling tore through the air.

  Prince Caspar staggered back on his feet, dropping his dagger and releasing his vice-like hold on his cousin to grasp his own temple. The beast, lying prone in the dirt and sand, froze in startled confusion.

  Another agonising howl rent the air as Prince Caspar fell to his knees, writhing, covering his right eye with both his hands. This time the beast had seen the missile, the small flying rock whistling through the air and falling, smeared with blood from his cousin’s eye, bouncing, and rolling away in the agitated dirt.

  The diversion was all that the beast required to stagger to his feet and finish off his cousin in three clean swipes of his talons. Then the beast collapsed to the ground next to him.

  A hush fell over the amphitheatre.

  Princess Beatrice had been scolded from a young age for having more heart than sense. She ran out from her hiding place, through the trapdoor partition and the gutter connecting to the axial entrance, squeezed under the portcullis, and hastened into the arena towards the beast, pulling out the small crystal vial which hung on her necklace. By the time Princess Beatrice reached and knelt beside the beast, the silver cap had been unscrewed and she was applying the potion to the wound across the beast’s abdomen which had begun weeping black from the poison. She then held the vial to the beast’s mouth and let three drops fall between his lips. After a few seconds, the beast began to shudder violently. After a few more moments, the princess let out a little startled gasp: the beast had opened his eyes.

  IT WAS USUALLY AT THIS point that the children listening to the story began either to cheer or cry.

  The baker’s curious son did neither.

  ‘What happened next?’ asked the little boy.

  ‘What do you think happened?’ replied the school mistress.

  ‘It was not a fair fight,’ observed the baker’s son, speaking from the wisdom of experience.

  ‘No,’ agreed the school mistress. ‘It was not.’

  THE GUARDS ARRIVED in the arena and surrounded them. The beast was recaptured, chained, and returned to the dungeons. The princess was captured; her weapons were confiscated, and she was thrown into a dungeon cell of her own to await her fate.

  The Beast’s Jewel

  The Lord High Chancellor would have dearly loved to exact vengeance for the death of his liege, Prince Caspar, but without that prince, he was too afraid to execute the beast, who was now the last remaining member of the royal family and heir to the throne. It was decreed that the beast would be mercifully spared his life but would remain imprisoned, for his previous treason against and subsequent murder of Prince Caspar, until the beast saw reason to seek atonement and be worthy of the throne. Furthermore, for so cruelly depriving his late royal cousin of his right eye, the beast would lose his own.

  The guards sent to carry out the sentence marched to the dungeons in single file, one carrying a bucket of water, another carrying a glowing red poker. Princess Beatrice heard the beast’s screams and wept quietly in her cell.

  In the silence of the darkness, the princess presently heard a tapping sound on the stone wall of the dungeon. Although surprised, she picked up the heavy chains binding her wrists and tapped back on the wall.

  ‘Who is there?’ she called softly.

  A deep rumbling bass that she recognised as the beast’s voice responded: ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Beatrice,’ said the princess.

  When no sound came in reply, she said: ‘Are you—all right?’

  ‘Why did you come to the Black Mountain?’ came the voice of the beast.

  ‘I have a nose for finding trouble,’ replied the princess, repeating one of her childhood catechisms.

  After another silence, the beast’s voice came again: ‘Godric means to torture and kill you. He would have done it sooner but he is occupied with Caspar’s funeral rites tonight.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the princess. ‘That is useful to know.’

  ‘You should escape while you have the opportunity,’ came the beast’s voice.

  ‘Indeed, that is my dearest wish,’ said the princess. ‘Only...’ The princess looked at her chained hands and feet and sighed.

  ‘I will help you to escape if you tell me why you came to this kingdom,’ said the beast.

  The princess considered this offer. Her practical nature prompted her to question: ‘How can you help me to escape when you have not the means to free yourself?’

  ‘I know how to obtain the means—with your help,’ responded the beast.

  The princess considered the beast’s answer and decided to accept his offer. She told him of the kingdom of Trasimene’s sorrows, the hunt for the beast blamed for causing those sorrows, the discovery that it had not been one beast but an entire race menacing the kingdom.

  ‘They had been living among us, watching us from the stone perches and rooftops and towers, studying us,’ said the princess. ‘As though we were not easy enough prey.’

  ‘Not all of our race wish harm upon you humans,’ said the beast.

  ‘Enough of you did,’ replied the princess.

  ‘That would have been Caspar’s doing,’ said the beast. ‘After he murdered my uncle, the king, and my cousin, Balthazar, the king’s heir, and Balthazar’s wife.’

  ‘Why were you spared?’ asked the princess.

  ‘I had my uses,’ said the beast. ‘One of them being proclaimed the murderer.’

  ‘I am sorry to admit that I know of some families like yours,’ said the princess.

  ‘Why did you come to the Black Mountain, the home to a race that the people of your kingdom fear and loathe?’ asked the beast.

  The princess told the beast of the oracle which had foretold to King Theobald of the existence of a magical jewel that would give its possessor the power to protect the kingdom of Trasimene from the beasts.

  ‘Why did the king send you alone on this dangerous quest to retrieve the jewel instead of his kingdom’s best warriors?’ asked the beast.

  ‘I was not sent here,’ responded the princess. ‘I saw a mouse disappear into the face of a rock which I had thought had no crevices or entrances and I followed my curiosity. I found behind the rock, hidden by the thicket of briar, a tunnel into a cave which led to a path which led me to these dungeons.’

  And the princess told the beast about her journey from the kingdom of Trasimene to the Black Mountain in search of the magical jewel, where she had met along the way the fox, the ortolans, the hedgehog, and finally the mouse and the ladybirds.

  ‘Who are your parents who would allow you to wander so f
ar and alone?’ asked the beast.

  ‘I am an orphan,’ lied the princess. ‘My master, the royal apothecary, is very liberal. He has many apprentices and rarely notices my absences.’

  ‘You risk a great deal in seeking your fortune, to better your lot by obtaining this jewel,’ said the beast.

  ‘I seek a peaceful life undisturbed by marauding beasts from the Black Mountain,’ said the princess.

  The beast questioned her further about her life in the kingdom of Trasimene. The princess responded mostly truthfully, but she was careful not to reveal her true identity to the beast.

  Finally, the beast said: ‘This is how you will escape.’

  During the midnight vigil, the dungeons suddenly rang out with terrified, anguished cries. The night guardsman ran to the princess’ cell and found her banging and clawing at the bars in abject terror.

  ‘The beast has escaped!’ she cried. ‘He promised he would come back to murder me once he found his jewel!’

  ‘That is impossible,’ said the night guardsman.

  Nevertheless, at the sight of the hysterical princess, his confidence wavered. It was too dark to see into all the shadowy corners of the beast’s cell from without. Not wanting to be later accused of being remiss in his duty. the night guardsman took out the keys to the beast’s cell and opened it to check inside. The moment he stepped into the beast’s cell, the night guardsman fell lifeless to the floor.

  In the next cell, the princess ceased her cries and listened. She heard shuffling, something heavy being dragged across the floor, the rattling of chains and keys, the closing of the cell door, then soft padding footsteps nearby which stopped before her cell. She shrank back into the darkness.

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ said the beast’s deep rumbling voice, very much nearer.

  The princess stepped forward and came face to face with the beast. He stood in the open doorway of the cell, towering above her. His body bore the wounds from his earlier fights and more. He had a dark cauterised seam of folds of angry, torn, scalded flesh, puckering and clotted with dried blood, where his right eye had been. Yet his frightening features seemed now more noble than harsh. When he moved, it was with a stiffness and care that made the princess wince in sympathy.