The Princess Who Rode on a Mule (2 page)

One day
it did not rain, and Hadley went riding with Ingrid and some courtiers. Her
mule soon lagged behind the others’ mounts, but she did not mind. It gladdened
her to feel the wind upon her cheek, and see it ripple through the fields of
wheat. She heard a lark stretch its throat in song, and tipped her head back to
gaze at the sky, which was flecked with small clouds, but still bright blue in
patches.

When
she came to a clearing, near a small wood, she stopped for a moment. The Tower
of Glerny was visible in the distance. It held no prisoners now, and there had
been no executions for many a day. And yet…someday there would be another. King
Valentine was oft moved to anger, and his successor might be crueler still.

“When
father dies,” she thought, “There shall be strife and bloodshed amongst the
nobles, until one prevails. The Baron of Comberlane or Lord Vardis, mayhap,
shall be crowned King. The Baron cares overmuch for riches, but Lord Vardis is
e’en more wicked.”

In the
clearing, she watched three men and a woman collecting firewood. Two lads were
pushing a boar into its pen while an old man exhorted them to “Heave him in,”
and a cottage stood a little way off, with smoke coming from its roof.

Presently
a trader came out of the wood, carrying a heavy pack over one shoulder. When he
saw Hadley, he set his bundle down, and called out, “Good Lady, dost thou
attend at Court?”

The man
was neither old nor young, neither tall nor short. He was clean-shaven and his
brown hair was close-cropped, in peasant style. He wore a wool tunic of simple
make. Naught about him was singular, and yet she could not look away. Mayhap
‘twas the keen expression of his gray eyes, mayhap the determined set of his
chin, mayhap the force of his stride, as he came nigh.

“She be
deef and dumb,” quavered the old man, who was hobbling towards them.

The
trader slipped one hand inside his woolen mantle and pulled it out again, with
the fingers clenched tight. He shook his fist, and there was a sound as clear
and pure as birdsong. Hadley’s brown eyes opened wide.

“She
hears well enough,” said the trader, opening his fingers to reveal a small
silver ornament.

“Be ye
daft!” exclaimed the old man, shrinking back.

“’Tis a
bell,” thought the Princess. She had seen its like in books.

“Niver
touch it!” shrieked the old man.

The
trader held up the bell, and Hadley grasped it by its pretty, gleaming loop,
and shook it twice or thrice.

“’Tis
very little,” she said at last.

“’Twas
once bound to the leg of a hawk. In Dunclyden, there are bells as large as a
man that make a prodigious sound, but none can be heard more clearly than this
wee thing….Nay, keep it, daughter.”

Hadley
smiled. “Where is the hawk?” she asked, as she wrapped the bell in a
handkerchief and tucked it into the purse at her girdle.

“She
outdistanced her master long ago….But now I would have you serve me,” said the
trader, slipping his hand again into his cloak, and withdrawing a parchment scroll.
“Prithee convey this to the King. Tell his Majesty ‘tis from Tom Browne.”

“I have
no means to carry ought. ‘Twill be crushed and soiled.”

“’Tis
no matter,” he said, thrusting it into her hand. “Thou art a good lass. God
speed.”

He walked away
then, retrieving his pack and disappearing into the forest, while the old man
stared after him with rheumy eyes. Hadley thrust the parchment under the horn
of her saddle, and picked up the reins of her mule.

~~~~

The
Princess had not travelled more than a furlong ere Robin Cope drove up in a
royal coach, and bade her climb inside. “These are parlous times, your
Highness,” he said. “‘Tis not meet that you ride alone.”

He tied
her mule to the rear of the carriage, and Hadley climbed up to sit beside Robin
on the coach box, clinging with one hand to the paper the trader had given her.

Master
Cope eyed the parchment with disfavor. “I have heard of such papers,” he said.
“Cast it aside, I pray thee.”

Hadley
shook her head, and Robin said nothing more, but hit the horses a light clip
with the reins that they might go forward. The mule trotted placidly behind.

When
they approached the palace, the Princess gasped, for it seemed to her that
hundreds of peasants were standing near the gatehouse, women and children as
well as men. “I know not why they are idle,” thought Hadley, “for ‘tis not a
Feast Day.”

Robin
tried to turn the coach, but the mule balked, threw back her head, and made the
uncanny noise which so appalled those who heard it.

“Saints
preserve us,” said Master Cope. He would not let Hadley leave the coach box,
and by the time he had jumped down himself, they were surrounded by a cluster
of peasants, not solemn now, but alternately laughing and jesting, and
shielding their ears with their hands.

They
made mock of Robin, but offered no violence to him; indeed, he was a head
taller than the tallest of the men. Hadley, they did not seem to notice, until
she made to climb down from the coach box, whereupon a brawny youth grasped her
by the waist and lifted her down.

By then
the mule was so maddened that not even its mistress could quiet it. She would
not leave it behind; nor would it step one foot forward. At length, a farmer
insisted that it should ride within the coach. This was feasible, as the coach
was large and the mule stood not more than twelve hands high. Though Robin
protested, several men came forward and swiftly took hold of the beast.

The
mule was soon overpowered and thrust through the coach doors. Once inside, it
seemed to grow calmer. It did not kick or cry. But when Robin began to drive
the horses forward, it pressed its muzzle against the window and rolled its
dark eyes as if distracted. The peasants paid mock homage to their new “Liege,”
following the coach with jeers and laughter almost until it reached the
gatehouse. Yet when the coach passed through the portcullis, the throng stood
back, and none tried to come within the courtyard.

Robin
and Hadley drove to the stables, alighted from the coach, and stayed to watch
as the beasts were fed and watered. It pleased them to stand side by side, and
if their two hands did touch from time to time, none but they had knowledge of
it.

The mule, now
covered with the wool blanket it favored, was quiet and easy and bent a fond
eye upon its mistress. It did not bridle even when four black stallions of
proud mien and surpassing handsomeness were led past its stall. But Hadley was
disquieted, for she knew that the stallions belonged to Lord Vardis. She
thought, suddenly, of the parchment the trader had given her, but it was
nowhere to be seen.

~~~~

A few
days passed. More at Court fell ill, including Princess Joan, who developed a
fever and could not leave her chamber for days. Peasants no longer came to the
palace gate, and ‘twas believed that they too had sickened. Indeed, ‘twas
whispered that mayhap the plague had taken hold and was spreading throughout
the populace.

Lord
Vardis and the Baron of Comberlane were oft closeted with the King and his
counselors in a private chamber. As he served the men, Robin Cope heeded what
they said most carefully, although his large visage betrayed no comprehension.

“’Tis
not rebellion,” said the Baron one day, “For they do no violence and make no
threats.”

“They
stop their work and speak of liberty,” said Lord Vardis, smiling gently.

“He
hath the semblance of an angel,” thought Robin. “With his face so young and
fine, and his hair so golden. And yet he would have none happy except himself.”

“Tom
Browne shall soon be quelled by sword or other means,” continued his Lordship.

“He is
not to be found,” said the King.

“I
shall summon my knights, and they shall bring him to earth.”

“Nay!”
shouted the King. “Your knights shall find no shelter here!”

“His
Majesty’s soldiers shall defend us well enough,” pronounced the Baron, and the
King’s counselors pulled at their beards and nodded.

“I
speak not of defense, but of honor,” said Lord Vardis, fixing his clear blue
eyes in turn on the Baron, the King, and every member of the assembly. “In my
domain,” he said, “the farmer keeps to his plow, the miller to his grindstone,
and the tailor to his needle. And if they do not, they are slain, and their
wives and babes too. And so is sloth ended and order restored. I am a faithful
servant of his Majesty.”

“Their
wives and babes,” murmured the King, as Robin replenished the wine in his
glass.

“They
are as far beneath us as the beasts of the field,” said Lord Vardis. “Is it not
so, good Master Cope? Art thou not an ox?”

“His
father was a knight belike,” said his Majesty.

“Methinks
his father was not a knight,” said Lord Vardis. “Methinks good Robin is an ox.”

Robin’s face
reddened, but he said naught. “How weak and old my Liege has grown,” he
thought, as he filled Lord Vardis’s glass. “Else he would not brook such
contradiction.”

~~~~

Late
that night, Hadley was roused from a sound sleep by a rapping at her chamber
door. ‘Twas her maid, with a summons from the King.

She
dressed in haste, and not a quarter of an hour later, stood before the King and
his advisors in the Great Hall. Her tresses fell down her back, unplaited, and
her eyelids drooped with weariness.

“As all
here do know,” said the King, addressing those assembled. “The Queen, our most
excellent Consort, hath denied us that for which we yearn most—a son. This
crown is of rare splendor, and yet ‘tis a heavy thing. How this gold band doth
press against the brow, causing great pain and sowing confusion amongst our
thoughts so that they skirmish one against the other. Had we an heir, we should
have relinquished our scepter ere now….And yet we shall be patient.”

He
stopped speaking suddenly, and stared straight ahead, as if no more was to be
said. The large chamber was silent.

At
length, the Baron of Comberlane coughed and said, “My Liege, you were speaking
of an heir.”

“Ah,
yes,” said the King, turning his head toward Hadley. “Daughter, methinks you
shall wed and bear a son.”

Hadley
started, and nearly stumbled.

“Nay,
look up, girl! Lord Vardis and the Baron of Comberlane would each have thee for
wife. What say you? Whom do you love best?”

“Lord
Vardis is wicked,” thought Hadley. “But if I say ‘the Baron,’ mayhap Father
shall choose his Lordship because I dared to speak.”

She
cast her eyes about fearfully. The Queen was not present, nor were any ladies.
Twenty men stood or sat in the vast Hall, but only Robin Cope, who rose like an
elm amidst a thicket of boxwood, returned her glance. He smiled at Hadley, then
moved forward to stand beside the King’s great chair.

“Sire,”
he said, bending down so that his lips were close to the King’s ear. “Methinks
her Highness is not of an age to wed.”

 The
King stared at the Princess doubtfully.

“She is
but thirteen, my Liege,” murmured Robin.

“Thy
words are false, Master Cope,” said Lord Vardis, smiling. “The fair Princess
hath seen seventeen summers. If thou wert not an ox, I would counsel his
Majesty to have thee hanged as a lying dog.”

Robin
stepped back, but not before the King had raised his iron scepter and dealt a
blow. The Steward flinched and grasped one arm, but did not cry out.

His
Majesty turned to Hadley. “By my troth, thou hast years enow! Say whom thou
wouldst have!”

Hadley
dropped her eyes and said naught.

“Foh!
Then I shall speak for thee,” said the King. He gazed in turn at the two
contenders, slowly taking the measure of each. Lord Vardis’s handsome face
showed no emotion, but the Baron leaned forward with a look that was both avid
and filled with dread.

“Thou shalt have
Comberlane, my girl,” said his Majesty at last. “Thou shalt have
Comberlane…that his great age may stand in balance to thy youth. And when thou
hast borne thy first son, thy husband shall be appointed Regent of this land,
and he shall reign until such time as my grandson comes of age.…And I…I shall
go with my Queen to Basingham Manor and live in a style most plain and yet
befitting a King.”

~~~~

Though
he had placed his seal on the marriage contract, and though the wedding was to
be held in less than one month’s time, the Baron neither spoke to his
prospective bride nor sought out her company. Princess Joan hoped that he would
treat Hadley kindly after they were wed; Ingrid thought his passion for gold
would keep him from troubling her at all; and Queen Maud prayed that once the
Baron had attained the throne, Hadley might be permitted to come to her family
at Basingham.

“For
she is too young, too young,” mourned the poor Queen.

Hadley
herself thought little about the Baron. It seemed to her that she had naught to
gain or lose by such a marriage and, in any case, it could not be helped. ‘Twas
mid-February and still cold, yet many a day dawned golden, and as she walked or
rode her mule, the Princess was beguiled by snowdrops, crocuses, and the
promise of new-grown grass. She fell into a kind of dreaming, and to all
appearances was as calm and untroubled as she had ever been.