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 fac
t 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.
With a great jerk I awoke, only to find myself face-down on the fleece, my mouth pressed to filthy wool. I struggled to a seated position, the image of Florian seared with appalling clarity onto my mind's eye. Did I not suffer him enough in waking hours? Had not my parents suffered? Indeed, I considered the dream no small violation of their trust and the vow I had made to avenge their deaths. For many minutes I scrubbed my mouth fiercely, as though scrubbing alone could erase the memory of that kiss.
THIRTEEN
The nightmare unnerved me to my core; even the sight of Prince Florian the next morning at breakfast left me vertiginous. But the prince and his entourage paid me no attention whatsoever. As I delivered them yet another platter of hot bacon (a piece of which I managed to hide in my filthy bandages, much to my joy), the captain smacked Florian's shoulder, chuckling. "Seven weeks ago that ball was! To think you've left us shivering up here while you drank and danced about the kingdom—
"And feasted as well, added Florian with a grin, helping himself to a fistful of bacon. "It's a tough lot, being prince."
Trudging back to the kitchen, I frowned over the captain's words. Seven weeks! Bones could heal in seven weeks' time; that I had learned from my mother. Ducking my head that I might consume my secret treat, I determined to unwrap my dressing as soon as I had a moment to spare.
That time did not come until long past dinner, when at last I was permitted to collapse on my fleece. Doubly exhausted from the day's long efforts and my poor sleep the night before, I nonetheless set to work cutting away the dressing with a knife I had pocketed. The outer wrappings were so caked with grease and dirt that I feared I might skewer myself, but at last I sliced the crucial knots and peeled the rest away.
Twice before I had exposed the wound to ensure it was closing free of corruption. Still, I gagged at the sight. The puncture had healed into an angry red scar made far worse by lack of suturing, though I saw no indication that the bones had not healed. My forearm had shriveled from lack of use, and the skin bore a greasy white film scarcely better than the rags themselves.
With a bit of cloth I wiped at my arm, wishing I had movement enough to manufacture water. Simply flexing my fingers triggered a sharp and lingering ache. I cleaned as best I could, rewrapping my wrist with the scraps of bandage to provide some minimal support. Being careful not to jar it, I settled myself under my cloak.
Yet no sooner had I drifted to sleep, it seemed, than the cook was kicking me awake.
"It's not morning yet! I protested.
"The prince demands me, he spat out, "and you're to assist.
His skepticism about this arrangement matched my own, and he unlocked my ankle chain with unusual brusqueness. Now I could make out two soldiers stomping their feet at the door. Whatever required the cook's services—or rather the surgeon's, for I suspected the emergency was not of a culinary nature—it must be serious indeed.
The soldiers led us so briskly across the compound that I was forced to trot, and hustled us into the captains' quarters. Inside, a roaring fire (for once not lit by me!) illuminated the prince and two of his aides, the three pacing half-dressed, wringing their hands. Their relief at the cook's entrance was profound, and already I feared the man's skill would not match their expectations.
At once a raking cough filled the hut. So deeply did his bed lay in shadow that I had not seen the captain, his face flushed with fever and exertion. As his coughing continued uncontrollably, the prince turned toward the cook. "Help him! he implored.
"We'll strip him down, the cook announced. "Open the door now, damn you.
The chill of winter for a man so ill? I could think of countless more appropriate actions. "A mustard plaster would serve better, I blurted out.
The cook spun on me, enraged by my impudence and also, I now recognize, fearful of his own abilities and thus doubly quick to challenge a dull-witted shepherd boy.
As he turned to cuff me, however, the prince stopped him. "Why speak you so?
I dropped my head, already regretting my words. "My mother always said it. She is—she was—a healer. It pained me to speak so honestly, but I had not time to concoct a fib.
"Why did you not mention this before?
I shuffled. It was clear, to me at least, that no one had asked, and no one, saving desperation, would have believed it.
But desperate they now were. "Can you assemble such a plaster? Florian continued.
I nodded.
He turned to the soldiers: "See that he does so! And make haste.
Here I was passing from skillet to stone and hotter stone still. What did I know of mustard plasters? Besides, these were my sworn enemies.
Soon as this last thought crossed my mind, however, I scolded myself. I had spoken out of concern for a fellow human, and shame should I feel for such vindictive thoughts with my mother's name fresh on my lips. Whatever the future held, I vowed, I would marshal my few talents to offer the captain the same care I would give any man.
***
In the days that followed, I scarcely left Johannes's side—for that was the captain's name, and the prince ordered me to use it in the hopes it would provide some solace. The man's condition deteriorated before my eyes, and I struggled to recall my mother's every word, for she had never instructed me as a mistress does her apprentice. In the mess hall, I improvised as best I could, saturating several clean rags with powdered mustard seed and cooking grease. Returning to the sickroom, I placed the potion on Johannes's bare chest that the warmth might soothe his pain and loosen the congestion. The man strained so to breathe that I propped him up with all the bolsters I could find, and I kept the room so hot, a kettle perpetually steaming over the fire, that it was more jungle than mountain hut. To my relief, the cook had a store of dried poppies, and soon as I could I brewed my mother's syrup of boiled poppy heads and honey, for she declared it the single best therapy for cough.
The soldiers sent to guard me quickly changed to lackeys, loading the fire, heating rocks for Johannes's feet, and running for broth and towels at my sharp command. Indeed, had they paused but a moment, they would have wondered at how quickly the servile shepherd boy blossomed into dictator. Further, they should have wondered how his knowledge extended so deep, for healing in both our countries has always been woman's work. But so grateful were all the men that they paid these incriminating facts no heed.
However powerful my disdain for Prince Florian, I must confess that he served his friend most loyally. Given his rank, I could not evict him from the room, much as I longed to do so. My warnings that close proximity might cause his death he brushed aside. Routinely he took a bowl from my hands to feed Johann
es himself, and sought my approval prior to every adjustment of the man's bedding.
My discomfort with this situation deepened one evening as the two of us aided Johannes through yet another fit of coughing. When at last the patient quieted, I settled the pillows that he might more comfortably sleep upright, and bathed his forehead with herbal concoctions and aqua vitae as the prince retrieved a fresh compress for his chest. Finishing these tasks at last, I commenced straightening the room so as to avoid my fellow nurse.
"You are blessed, you realize, to have known your mother.
Florian's statement caught me by complete surprise, all the more so as we had worked in silence.
"My mother passed so long ago that I barely remember her, he continued. "What I would give to have known her as you so clearly knew yours.
For a moment I could not speak, even if I had had any notion what to say.
"She called me Florrie. My father used to complain of its girlishness, but she would cover me in kisses ... ah, I should stop before I set myself weeping.
"I did not know, I whispered.
"That my nickname was Florrie? He smiled at me.
"That your mother also passed away.
"Yes. We have a bond, the two of us, in our mourning ... Well, require you my services at the moment? If not, I am afraid I shall have to attend my other responsibilities.
Gently he shut the door behind him, leaving me in such a whirl of emotion that I almost poured a kettle of boiling water on my feet.
Dozing that night on a cot, I dreamt again of the prince and awoke from his kiss with a great jerk as Johannes commenced another spasm of coughing. I rushed to his aid, grateful for the distraction.
***
My mother, returning once from a particularly difficult case, was asked by my father what the outcome would be. With a weary shrug she replied, "Oh, he'll die or get better. It's always one or the other. To my great relief Johannes did not die and indeed began to show small signs of recovery. Florian, too, noted the improvements, and queried me daily on when the captain might be healthy enough to move. He himself would have departed the camp long before were it not for the "mewling kitten" (as he dubbed Johannes in his earshot) who kept him from his princely duties.