Princess Ben (20 page)

"Ah, yes, said the stranger, struggling to maintain his composure in the wake of this drama. "I was just speaking of plans I'd heard, from a soldier come from a secret camp, to take the chateau from the mountain.

Relief flooded my bones! How extraordinarily fortuitous—now the castle could prepare for attack.

But to my horror, Sophia only waved him away. "Forever you hear this rumor, and forever we respond that such a feat is impossible. They would perish atop Ancienne! We are far more curious to learn of King Renaldo, and the counsel he seeks.

I knew I should hold my tongue—I had only been at the table a minute—but truly, every element of my position and my past demanded I speak. "If I may be so bold, Your Majesty—

From around the room, I was examined with varying levels of outrage and disbelief.

Bravely I continued. "Perhaps this gentleman speaks true.
Do not forget that the murderers of King Ferdinand and my mother had to have crossed Ancienne."

Sophia regarded me icily. "Drachensbett denies any role in that tragedy.

"Nonetheless, I humbly suggest assembling a party of men skilled in the arts of mountaineering to ascertain once and for all the veracity of this gentleman's rumor."

Lord Frederick broke the ensuing silence. "It is a reasonable suggestion, Your Majesty. At worst, they would only deny his report.

I did my best to look demure, much as I wanted to bellow that I had seen this camp with my own eyes, that Drachensbett had of course killed King Ferdinand, and that anyone believing otherwise must be utterly deranged.

The queen, perhaps in her omniscience hearing my unspoken sentiments, in the end acceded. Talk shifted to management of the spring flooding, and then with a courteous tone I had never before heard—certainly not addressed to me—she asked that I depart so they might speak privately. Proud to my core of my new maturity, I withdrew.

I could not but wonder at the queen's unprecedented civility, until I realized with a flush of shame that it was my
own improved behavior that motivated hers. So it is that we in life determine our own treatment.

***

Trees along an ocean shore sway gently in the sun, heedless of the tidal wave that will soon sweep them away. So did these days pass as I busied myself, unaware of the deluge about to engulf Chateau de Montagne.

Monsieur Grosbouche near collapsed at my newfound dedication to my lessons. To my shock I now found dancing far from onerous. Indeed, I must confess that I learned the steps quite swiftly; perhaps my experience harrying his laces ultimately proved beneficial. Languages, penmanship, comportment ... all I bore with enthusiasm. The only task I yet abhorred was needlework. Lady Beatrix, reluctant to remind me of Prince Florian's painful (so she thought) abandonment, no longer mentioned my need of tokens for admirers. Nonetheless, I was yet required to produce handkerchief after handkerchief in the manner of a mill grinding out flour. Sighing over my handiwork, she would urge me to take more care next time. I set to work anew, imagining each stabbing needle passing into Florian's scalp. (This may explain the
poor quality of the resulting product.) I found energy even for table manners, reminding myself of the spitting, belching Drachensbett soldiers whenever the mincing fussiness of the royal table threatened my resolve. Several days following my revival, the castle celebrated my sixteenth birthday, the court marveling publicly, and me privately, at all that had transpired in the past year.

Then, after an absence of two weeks, the mountaineers returned. Guards along the ramparts cheered the appearance of the exhausted party—until the lieutenant, screaming from the drawbridge, demanded an immediate audience with the queen. His shout sent a spasm of fear through all who heard it, and trumpets raised to herald the soldiers' return sounded alarums instead.

The Privy Council convened hastily as the lieutenant, still in his mountain garb, paced the throne room. As the expedition had been initiated at my suggestion, Sophia graciously included me as well, and lost not a moment in encouraging the man to speak.

His shaggy face burnt with cold, the soldier described days clambering through boulders and snow, convinced of the foolishness of their assignment until a peculiar scar on a
tree trunk, fresh enough yet to ooze sap, caught the eye of an attentive private. They then detected a second scar on a tree many paces up the hillside, and another. Following these blazes, the men found themselves climbing into the uncharted wilderness of Ancienne. Contrary to logic and expectation, their trek eased the farther they ascended, for whoever devised this route had located it along the most navigable terrain. They did not crest Ancienne until dusk, and the clear evidence of human footprints beneath the freshly fallen snow inspired them to pitch their tents in a hidden gully, and post guards throughout the night.

The next morning (the lieutenant continued), the Montagne scouts, weapons drawn, followed a trail now wide enough for four men to walk abreast. In only a day's trek they discovered a military camp, recently abandoned and with space enough for four hundred soldiers. The road from this camp, gouged with fresh hoof prints and sledge marks, led straight down the mountain to Drachensbett.

"We raced at once back to Montagne, delaying only to sleep and disguise our tracks. The trail, Your Highness, took us directly to the foundations of Chateau de Montagne. With this the lieutenant finished his recitation.

A murmur of horror rose as listeners realized how close
the nation had come to annihilation. Panicked whispers passed between brave and experienced men, and an elderly countess fainted.

Sophia lifted one hand into the air; the buzzing turmoil quieted. "We have underestimated the sagacity of our Benevolence.

" 'Twas nothing, Your Highness," I blurted out, blushing in shame; brutal experience, not keenness of judgment, had led me to encourage the mountaineers' exploration.

"We must consider the situation. Though Renaldo now attempts a ... a different scheme of conquest"—she avoided mention of the Claim of Benevolent Succession, as I was not supposed to know of it—"he will doubtless return to this mountain route should his stratagem fail. We must have maps at once, and engineers as well. Did you not hear us clearly?"

Footmen dashed off to scour the castle. Sophia sat as a statue, ignoring the attention upon her. Her poise alone, the flash of her eyes indicating great thought, allayed the panic that threatened to squeeze the air from the room.

At last engineers arrived, accompanied by a breathless geographer clutching a dozen maps, which he spread, with many apologies and calls for weights, before her.

Donning pince-nez, the queen scrutinized the documents, insisting that the lieutenant pencil his discoveries into the areas marked
uncharted wastes.
When at last she spoke, I jumped at the noise, for I had been quite mesmerized by the spectacle of the queen in spectacles.

"Come forward," she ordered the geographer. "Are we not correct in assuming that infiltrators must traverse this narrow canyon to reach our citadel? Pray answer honestly."

The man squirmed and perspired, but at last conceded the queen spoke true.

"Then we shall erect a barricade," proclaimed Sophia, her fingernail denting the paper, "precisely here. Just as that great work of the Chinese emperors preserved their nation from the Mongol hordes, so will this wall protect us. It shall be a marvel of construction, and it shall make our nation proud.

***

Sophia plunged into the construction of "Ferdinand's Wall" (as she christened it) with unprecedented and prodigious enthusiasm. Stating that she wished her husband's tomb completed for the country's biennial autumn festival, she assembled surveyors, miners, masons, bricklayers, blacksmiths, carpenters, charcoal burners, and myriad other laborers high
up the mountain, sequestered from their families to put all their energy into the task. The ruse thus isolated the entire workforce from loose lips and spies. Claiming headache and the need for absolute solitude, she spent weeks at a time locked in her chambers—though in reality she, too, lived at the work site, sleeping each night in a small striped pavilion.

I had my own secret aspirations for Ferdinand's Wall. I longed to show my country my father's body and last words, his unequivocal indictment of Drachensbett, and to deliver him to my mother's side. Yet I could not reveal how I knew Prince Walter—King Walter—to be dead near the summit of Ancienne. Therefore, I prayed that the builders would somehow discover him, as his cave could not be more than half a day's climb from the Drachensbett trail. Alas, no Montagne explorer trekked that high, so cautious was every man about detection by Drachensbett. My father remained in his eternal sleep in that frigid cavern, frozen and alone. Disappointment, however, I kept to myself, and even heartbreak could not keep me from cheering the progress of this most essential fortification.

The construction had an even more profound effect on me than this, for Sophia, in setting herself the task of defending Montagne, promptly and remorselessly abandoned all
her domestic duties. The countless decisions of Chateau de Montagne—the menus, the interminable cycle of cleaning, the food stores to be laid up for winter, the disciplining and acquisition of staff—now mattered to her not in the least, and to my astonishment I found myself time and again facing a petitioner in need of an immediate verdict, with no other authority to whom to turn.

My mistakes as de facto castle mistress were legion, and I shall not recount them here beyond offering the advice, well earned, that mint sauce should never be served with beef. But, having served as slave to the Drachensbett army, I reminded myself that other positions would surely be available should I fail as princess, and so set myself grimly to the task.

So quickly and profoundly did I transform from dour chrysalis to eager butterfly that the household whispered I must surely yet be enchanted. In response, the queen on one of her sporadic appearances declared that if this be enchantment, it was enchantment worth preserving, and any person breaking it would be punished most severely. This understandably cast a pall on my interactions with the staff. How I might have recovered from this unassisted, I know not. As it was, I stumbled quite by accident upon another undertaking
that I am certain stunned not only the castle's occupants but the entire country.

It began one morning when Hildebert entered my chambers with a sneeze so loud that I feared her head would sail off her shoulders.

"Forgib be, Your Highness, it is nudding,"she sniffled.

I begged to differ, and at once led her to the kitchens in my dressing gown—which set certain tongues wagging I am sure—and installed her in a staff parlor. I then assembled a tea of garlic, pepper, and gingerroot, the same concoction my mother had so often made me, and, carrying the redolent cup to her side, insisted she not leave her couch for the remainder of the day.

Strange as it may sound, the tea released fond and powerful memories of my mother—perhaps it was the smell, for we all of us have experienced that profound connection between scent and memory. I found myself again and again brewing another restorative draught for my handmaid. The power of rest being what it is, the woman healed quickly, with much praise for my care, and soon other staff members sought my advice for minor ailments—sore throats, stiff backs, an unfortunate boil. A baker with much hesitation and
stumbling asked what I might recommend for his child suffering from stomachache. Scratching my head, I suggested a diet of peppermint tea and applesauce (another of my mother's remedies), and the baker returned the next week to inform me, awed, that it had worked to perfection.

I soon found on my rides through the valley—for I now insisted my equestrian lessons extend beyond the castle walls—that a farm wife would wave me down, or a small child in need of some attention for a family member would shyly catch my eye. I took to carrying a small pack on my pony's saddle for just such emergencies, though I included half the equipment only in my mother's memory, having no more notion how to use it than I would a blacksmith's anvil. But my modest efforts produced great results, for through my work I came to know and respect the people of Montagne, and they to know me as well. I do not presume to make assumptions of their
respect,
but they appeared to enjoy my company, and appreciate greatly my little therapies. When I presented a kitten to a suffering crone—for I suspected her aches stemmed primarily from loneliness—she threw her bony arms around me and with tears in her eyes announced that I could have no more suitable name in all the
world than Benevolence. So it was that in aiding the residents of Montagne, I became acquainted most of all with my own dear mother.

***

In those turbulent summer months I found serenity with two others as well. Curiously enough, it was Hildebert of all people who brought me peace with the first of these individuals. Strolling through Market Town with her one morning, I overheard a man and woman berating each other.

"How unhappy they sound!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps I could help.

"Nay, Your Highness, you'd best stay clear of those two. Some folks have pasts what prevent a future.

Her words, I reflected later, explained the relationship between my mother and the queen. That the two women had disliked each other was without question, and I admit my own hostility to Sophia stemmed in part from loyalty to Pence. As my opinion of the queen evolved, I often worried that in tolerating her I would somehow violate allegiance to my mother and her memory. Hildebert's wisdom thus reassured me mightily. Perhaps if my mother could see the queen now,
attacking each construction challenge with the gusto of a sot uncorking a flagon, masonry dust caked to her skirts ... But Pence was gone outside my memory, and I was left to chart my own future with the queen.

The second person with whom I made peace, my mother always in my consciousness, was none other than myself. When first I emerged from enchanted sleep, the castle population agreed that my newly reduced form would not last a month. As memories of Pence fed my heart, however, the hunger in my belly abated and I found that instead of comfort, I now ate for sustenance and, increasingly, taste (though my inroads on this front took far more time and diplomacy than I had anticipated). "Fill the stomach, not the soul, my mother used to say with a tweak of my nose as she watched me devour a fruit tart. Wise that she was, she recognized that for all the passion she put into her sauces and stews, food was only an emblem of devotion, not love itself. Now at last I saw the truth in her words.