Princess Ben (15 page)

It was, however, in working for the cook that I discovered my one ability. Self-defense, evasion, navigation—all these I desperately required, and had not. Yet I could still, one-handed, light fires. No matter how wet the wood, how sparse the kindling, how drafty the hearth, in the space of minutes I produced a working flame.

My labors soon included warming the officers' quarters before they arose each morning. (The soldiers, as soldiers everywhere, were expected to suffer.) The first day of this assignment, the captain watched my labors from his bed,
though I hid my hand gestures as best I could. "That's quite a talent, Piglet, he said, using the designation by which I was universally known, to my enormous shame, in the camp. "We'll have to keep you with us when the time comes.

What "the time was I dared not ask, but I sensed it would not bode well for Montagne, and I endeavored to make myself as unobtrusive as possible in order to overhear all I could. Soon enough I learned that in the past year Drachensbett scouts had discovered a pass across Ancienne (or Drachensbett, as they called the mountain) that could be suitable for an army's passage, should that army be hardened enough to withstand the brutal elements for which the mountain was so infamous. This, clearly, was how Drachensbett's assassins had murdered my mother and uncle, and it was in trailing the assassins that my father had perished. My blood boiled as I remembered King Renaldo's vehement denials. Now Drachensbett, tiring of diplomacy and sensing an opportunity at last to claim the small country in the middle of their own, intended to invade in force, sweeping down the mountain to broach the weaker defenses on Chateau de Montagne's mountain façade.

Much of this I learned by eavesdropping on soldiers frustrated that the attack had not yet occurred. Apparently these
plans, drawn for months, had been postponed when news of the ball at Chateau de Montagne had reached their king. (Clever Lord Frederick! He had predicted the ball would delay them.) True to their profession, the soldiers dismissed such politics and now were eager to move. Until orders came, however, they could not, and instead passed their days in endless patrols and military exercises, subsisting on an ever more monotonous diet of beans.

I had never enjoyed beans, no matter how well my mother prepared them. Now my abhorrence of their mushy, pasty tastelessness reached new depths with every meal. Only fear of starvation kept me eating. Chained to my pot, a stinking ram's skin for my bed (I had never known how odiferous wool could be in its natural state, and bristling with twigs and burrs), I fantasized of banquet meals, yearning even for the dry cakes and rubbery aspics so frequent to the table of Chateau de Montagne.

Observing the soldiers dine, I also dreamt, for the first time in my life, of table manners. Packed shoulder to shoulder, the men spat food in their enthusiastic exchanges. They swilled down enormous mouthfuls with equally sizable portions of ale, belched with abandon, and picked their teeth with their knives. I could not tell, in fact, which was more
repellent, the food or its consumers, and in my loneliness and revulsion I ached even for Queen Sophia. Envisioning her response to this barbarous spectacle, my spirits rose ... until I remembered that the queen, whatever her occupation at the moment, was certainly not planning the castle's defense. If only I could warn her!

But no. I was trapped in the camp as surely as a pickle in a pig. Even if I escaped my chains, I could not navigate over the mountain, not before the skilled Drachensbett scouts tracked me down like an animal and dealt me a quick death. That night, huddled on my malodorous sheepskin, my body curled around the flame in my good hand, I begged forgiveness of my father. I had promised to honor him, and instead I was feeding our enemies and polishing their boots as they plotted the capture of Montagne.

I snuffed my flame and not for the first time cried myself to sleep.

***

Just as a sausage falls from a skillet to the hotter stone below, so too did I discover that however miserable my enslavement had been these many weeks, it was about to become truly unbearable.

As always, the day began with the cook kicking me awake to light his stove, then sending me on my rounds. I crept into each officer's hut more silent than a mouse, for a mouse is not mocked for his "girlish" pink cheeks and soft body, or put to work tugging on officers' boots and brushing their coats, all the time knowing the cook will be waiting with a sharp word and sharper fist for his tardiness.

Inevitably I was late, or late enough, and with a cuff and a curse the cook put me to work at the sink as yet another pot of beans bubbled on the fire. This dismal routine, which normally continued until I collapsed to sleep still damp from the night's last scrubbing, was now broken by a most improbable flourish of horns, followed by great shouts and hurrahs.

The cook at once scuttled to the doorway, his mouth agape. Curious as any other, I peeked around his bony shoulder at a most splendid procession parading through the camp. A dozen fresh soldiers with drummers and pages marched before a handsome young man with fine silver crown, one hand casually holding the reins of his gleaming black mount while the other rested on his thigh. He beamed about, his glee spreading to every man he viewed, so that it took me several moments to connect this face to my former life.

Before, Prince Florian had been all scowls and arrogance in the candlelight; here in the crisp white sun, his cheeks ruddy with cold and his men shouting happy greetings, his haughtiness appeared as glowing poise.

In horror I ducked behind the cook as he passed, for the prince's recognition would be my undoing.

All that day, as the camp swirled in a tempest of activity, I kept out of sight. The prince had little cause to seek out a prisoner of war, but still I evaded him as I scurried about preparing his room and moving the officers. (As a row of dominoes, the colonel was evicted from his quarters to make way for the prince, thus evicting the majors, who demanded the captains' beds, and so on until foot soldiers were left sleeping three abreast.) The camp buzzed with rumor: the prince had some news for all the men to hear at once. Second rounds of patrols were sent after the first, and every soldier spent his spare moments polishing his buttons and combing his hair for the great event.

Alas, my strategy came to naught. Racing from springhead to kitchen, I rounded a corner and collided with the man himself as he examined the pikes of several soldiers.

"Sorry, so sorry, I mumbled, scuttling backwards, water bucket slopping onto my boots.

"Halt!" ordered the prince. "Who might this be?"

I hung my head. It was not my place to address a prince, even if I had desired it.

"Piglet, milord, a soldier answered. "A Montagne boy captured on patrol.

"Truly? The prince cupped my chin, lifting my head to study my face. I strained not to jerk away as his thumb touched my cheek. "A boy indeed. He's a long way from manhood with that beard ... You have a face I recognize."

I gulped. "I don't think so. Sir.

"Mmm. He released my jaw. "You could have no relation to the royal family. Perhaps it is simply the resemblance that the people of a nation eventually form.

Bowing low, I crept backwards, resisting the urge to scour away his touch. "Well maintained, especially in this beastly snow, I heard him say of the pikes, his attention already elsewhere, as I turned the corner. Hastily I scrubbed my face with snow, welcoming the rough cold.

The prince had demanded a celebratory feast, the reason for which he would not say, and this news sent the cook into an unprecedented passion that he could vent only on me. I spent hours stoking cook fires, rolling wine barrels, and washing pots. The cook himself produced four great hams
from a secret larder, and the sight of them roasting almost set me weeping. So carefully did he watch that I could not steal even a scrap before the first roast was carried to the head table. With a last clout, he sent me after it with a pitcher of wine to guard the soldiers from thirst.

The odor in the mess hall as melting snow mingled with overcooked beans and many male bodies was truly indescribable. Lest we forget, I was not the only camp resident to have gone many weeks without soap. I crept about, pouring wine in the nearest glasses as I did my best not to gag.

At last, the hall packed to bursting, a heaping platter at each place, Prince Florian stood. The soldiers burst into cheers of anticipation.

"Long live the king! the prince cried, raising his glass.

"Long live the king!" roared back the Drachensbett soldiers, and the men drank deep.

The prince remained standing, a smile on his lips. "As you know, the queen regent of Montagne recently hosted a ball for her niece, the heir apparent, to find her a proper husband. I assure you that the festivities were magnificent, for the castle is a marvel to the eyes, and I know I shall enjoy it immensely.

The men eyed each other, baffled by his confidence. So
closely did I listen that I overfilled a soldier's glass, receiving a kick in response.

"The princess, on the other hand, was quite a different story. Florian's traveling party laughed, apparently familiar with this tale. "A pouting, sullen oaf. I have known barn cats with more grace, and wit, too.

Around the room, men snickered. Lucky I was that no one looked in my direction, else my glare might have smote him dead.

"Be that as it may, she was a small price to pay for the country, and I would have been as happy as any man there to take her hand, onerous as the marriage bed would prove. The men roared with bawdy laughter.

As if sensing my murderous thoughts, Florian caught my eye. "Piglet! Our glasses are empty, boy! Get to work now. Know you the princess?"

I shook my head, eyes down.

"Lucky you are, then. Though the two of you be two toes in a sock, so much are you alike in your voluminous chatter. Don't frown so—I mean no harm by it." He turned back to the crowd. "When I observed that no man could win the princess's favor by charm, I abandoned my intended efforts in that direction, and labored instead as a spy, establishing
which of her other suitors I would have to battle for the throne. I danced with several beautiful ladies, and enjoyed in particular a roast quail stuffed with figs. I believe I ate two." He beamed across the room.

The prince, I must concede, was a most talented storyteller, holding every listener in his spell.

"And then, in the midst of my favorite quadrille, a great tumult sounded outside the doors and a guard burst in to announce we were under attack!

"By who? a soldier cried out.

"Not by whom—by
what.
A hideous witch had captured Princess Benevolence—from under the very nose of her protectors!—and was attempting to take the girl's life! Queen Sophia herself succeeded in frightening the witch off. I saw the creature myself, sailing through the skies on her broom, cackling like a madwoman!

(
I was not cackling,
I thought to myself.
I was shrieking in fear!
)

"Where did she go? asked another soldier. "I know not. Nor does anyone. She could be ... anywhere!

Several men jumped, then chuckled at their fright.

"Well, Florian continued, "this witch had cast a wicked
spell on the princess. The girl could not be awakened, and slept as if dead. Needless to say, dancing halted at once. The queen was quite overcome, and, denying most graciously my father's offer of assistance, sent all guests home that she might grapple undistracted with this tragedy. From far and wide, scholars were queried on how to reverse this dastardly spell. Their universal response? All treatment would be futile, save one. Florian looked around the room, drawing out the moment. "Two days ago, my father received a proclamation from Chateau de Montagne requesting the immediate aid of all young men of royal blood to save the princess, who could be revived only by ... the kiss of a prince." He beamed again at his men, his narrative concluded.

The soldiers shifted uneasily.

"But sire, the captain queried, "you be one prince among many. Is not your satisfaction premature?

The prince grinned to split his face. "It is not, my dear man, it is not! For you see, on the day of my birth, a wise woman brought to assist my mother told my fortune. She spoke these exact words, words I would later learn on my father's knee: 'One day your prince shall awaken a princess and win her hand.' Men, such prophesies have power beyond our ability to question or even fully to comprehend. All my life
have I awaited this moment. At last it has come. Sheath your swords and unstring your bows, for without a drop of your blood spilling, the kingdom of Montagne shall be ours!

The low building erupted in cheers. Over and over the prince was toasted and hurrahed. The celebration lasted far into the night, for though the quality of the food by no means suited any banquet as I would define it, the volume of refreshments was unmatched. Wine that had been horded for care of the wounded now flowed freely as the soldiers, absorbing the prince's confidence, rejoiced in their sudden good fortune and the promise that they would soon leave this inhospitable camp for their wives and sweethearts in Drachensbett below.

Much as I wanted to dismiss the prince's words as I scrambled about the hall refilling glasses, I knew I could not. My understanding of the Doppelschläferin spell was in its earliest stages. I had been separated from my double for many weeks already. Could we still reunite, or had the connection between us faded? I did not know, nor did I know whether the prince in fact could revive her. But if he could—and the prophesy, and every tale I had ever read, gave me no reason to believe otherwise—then the bond 'twixt my double and myself would doubtless be severed forever. She, formerly lifeless, would now be princess, while I remained a shepherd boy imprisoned in Drachensbett.

As I valued my life, I must return to my double! Horror at the alternative near set me to hysterics as I toiled late that night, scrubbing dishes and scouring tables. Montagne more than ever required its princess. I had to escape.

I spent sleepless hours struggling through every possible scenario, each more improbable than the previous. At last I fell into fitful slumber, culminating in a most terrifying nightmare. I dreamt I was in my bed chamber in Chateau de Montagne—not my tower cell, but the lovely Peach Rooms—sleeping beneath a down coverlet embroidered with flowers. It being a dream, though sleeping I could yet see, and thus witnessed the arrival of Prince Florian. He entered on tiptoe, a smile on his lips, and as he neared the bed, his face melted into an expression of utmost tenderness. He bent down, shaping his lips into a kiss. I could discern the light glinting on his lashes and his shining eyes, and a curl of hair wrapped around his circlet crown. Closer he came, and closer still. Panic rose in my throat—I thrashed and struggled, but his lips drew ever nearer until they filled all of my vision and blocked all my air.