Bella at Midnight (6 page)

I moved closer, in my mind, so that I might study her face. But what I saw there made me gasp. For this child's eyes were not bright, but gazed dully down at her embroidery. Her shoulders were slumped and her expression wary. This girl, growing up in Edward's dark shadow, was a cowed and timid creature—fearful, lonely, and sad.

“You
simpleton
!” I shouted, and smote myself upon the leg. “You perfect and utter
fool
!” And I laughed, then, and clapped my hands. And then I got down upon my knees and thanked God with all my heart that I had failed in my mission to bring her home.

F
or my tenth birthday, my father sent me a marvelous horse. I wonder if he even remembered how old I was, that he should send me such a beast. It was a huge black warhorse, eighteen hands high, and worth an absolute fortune!

My father had not seen me more than five or six times in all my life. Perhaps he had confused me in his mind with one of my older brothers, thinking I was tall and strong like John, a skilled rider and a champion upon the field. Of course I would have liked to be those things, but I was not. I was slight of build and small of stature, awkward and ungainly—and I was especially timid and inept when it came to horses. My usual mount was a small and patient mare, well past her youth and exceedingly docile. Thus, when my gift arrived and was led out onto the field, pawing and snorting, the master of the horse rolled his eyes in despair.

But I did not understand how inappropriate it was for me to own such a creature, or how impossible that I should try to ride him. I was too busy enjoying the envy of my fellow pages as they beheld my prize. I even went so far as to name him Bucephalus, after the famous horse of Alexander the Great. Oh, how it shames me to remember it now! I demanded to have him saddled immediately, so that I might ride him then and there.

The master of the horse answered my request by saying—in the hearing of all the other pages—that he thought I was not
near
ready to handle such an animal, if indeed I ever would be. I flushed scarlet at this reproach and was so overcome with righteous anger that I did a thing I had never done before: I pulled rank on my master.

“My father,”
I said with a piercing gaze,
“King Raymond
, desires that I should have this horse, and has sent him here so that I might ride him.”

“Your father,”
the master responded with the icy calm of a man who has had his fill of arrogant little boys, “has entrusted me with the
chore
of teaching you to ride. And he
desires
that you should
survive
that education. And had he seen you jousting yesterday, my lord prince, he would have sent you a
mule
instead.”

Oh, the silence that followed that remark! Had I been any other boy, they would all have howled with laughter. Instead, they gazed intently at their boots and endeavored to control their expressions. I spun upon my heels and strode away, boiling with rage and humiliation.

At dinner my uncle brought up the subject of the horse, for he knew nothing of my quarrel with the master, but only meant to make pleasant conversation. I knew not how to answer him except to say that it was a very fine animal indeed. The other boys bit their lips or turned away—all but Geoffrey of Brennimore, who smiled.

Was he
mocking
me?

I could not bear to think that he found me ridiculous, for Geoffrey was my ideal, the boy I longed to be. He was the best liked and most accomplished of all the pages, and upon the practice field he was unbeatable. He was a natural athlete, steady with a lance, quick and deadly with a sword—and how he could ride! I could not help but think that had
his
father sent
him
a warhorse, the master would have had the beast saddled right away.

Thus it was that Geoffrey's mysterious smile set something stirring in me that went beyond caution and reason. After dinner that afternoon, I announced to the other pages that I would ride Bucephalus if it killed me!

Such insubordination, such defiance—especially considering my princely rank and my timid behavior on most occasions—caused a great stir among the pages.
This
was going to be an
event
!

Having assured ourselves that the master of the horse was occupied elsewhere, we made our way out to the stables. I thought Bucephalus seemed much calmer than he had in the morning, though he was every bit as large as before. I began to think I would have no difficulty in controlling him. Indeed, I was already imagining how I would tell the master afterward of my easy success, how I would make him eat his words.

We saddled Bucephalus in the stall; then I mounted him and rode out onto the practice field. How unlike my placid little mare he was! Every muscle in his mighty frame was trembling with restrained force! Oh, he would
go
all right, if I would but let him!

I rode Bucephalus in a circle, at an easy trot, and the boys cheered me on. I felt right wonderful, then, and proud, and confident, and so I urged the horse into a gallop. And, oh, the speed and the power and the sense of myself transformed into a champion, a hero—it filled me with a joy such as I had never known in all my life! I was Alexander of old, riding off to fight the Parthians! I was the Worthy Knight, galloping into the fray to bring great armies to their knees!

My head in the clouds, my soul on fire, I was lost to all reason—and so I gave Bucephalus another good prick with my spurs.

Had I been struck by lightning or swept down a mighty river in flood, I could not have been more astonished or unprepared. The horse shot forth like a bolt from a crossbow. That I kept my seat at all was a miracle, though I lost the reins and one of my stirrups and only held on by clutching his neck with all the strength in my arms. I think I was probably screaming, but the only sound I remember is the thunder of his hooves. I could not stop him, nor did I think I could stay upon his back much longer. I was too terrified even to consider how miserably I had disgraced myself.

Then, off to the side, I spotted a blur of color, and I began to hear the hooves of
another
horse pounding the earth. I dared not turn my head—it was plastered to the sweaty neck of my mount—but I could look back somewhat by moving my eyes. And what I saw was Geoffrey, come to my rescue! We rode side by side for a moment, for his horse was hard-pressed to pass Bucephalus, who thought it was a race. But after a bit, Geoffrey gained enough ground to grab hold of my reins. Gradually we slowed to a trot and finally halted. I realized only then that, out of the necessity for speed, Geoffrey had managed my rescue without even a saddle upon his horse!

I was not sure at that moment if I could ever forgive him for saving my life—and with such grace, and ease, and good humor! I had made myself look a fool; Geoffrey, by comparison, made me look far worse.

We returned to shouts of “well done!” and “hurrah!”—all of them much deserved, though not by me. I dismounted with trembling legs and managed not to weep, but only just. I left the others to unsaddle my great horse, rub him down, and put him away. I was so full of shame I could not bear to be in their company. And so I walked out the castle gates and into the village, tears running down my face. I wiped them away with dirty hands, making mud streaks upon my cheeks.

I went to the one place where comfort was to be had—the cottage of my old nurse. I found Bella there, in the yard, pounding away at the butter churn. All the cats in the neighborhood seemed to be there, hoping for an accident.

“Prince Julian!” Bella cried, abandoning her work and running to greet me.

“Princess Bella!” I answered, as I always did—though my voice was so strained with feeling, I knew not if she even heard me.

“Oh, Julian,” she said, when she drew nearer and saw the evidence of tears upon my face. “What is the matter?”

“Oh, I have done something foolish, Bella,” I said, “that is all.”

“We
all
do foolish things; that's what Mama says.”

“Aye, Bella, that is true—but some of us are more foolish than others.” At this a fresh stream of hot tears coursed down my cheeks.

“Well, you must confess it then, and I will play the priest and give you absolution.”

I laughed at that, for there never was anyone less solemn and priestlike than bright little Bella.

“Come and sit with me in the yard,” she said, taking my hand. “And you must tell me everything, or else I will not sleep for a week from wondering.”

“I think
I
shall not sleep for a week from remembering,” I said. “But you shall hear it and must only promise not to laugh too heartily at my foolishness.”

“Oh, I never would,” she said most earnestly. “You know that!”

We sat, as so often we had before, upon the low wall at the side of the cottage. By habit we both began picking daisies and weaving them into flower crowns as we talked. The cats came over to see what we were about, then, finding nothing of interest, drifted back to investigate the churn, and finally went away.

“Father Bella,” I said, “I have committed the sin of pride.”

“Indeed?” she said with a grin.

“Indeed. My father sent me a gift today—a great beast of a warhorse. But the master said I was not yet skilled enough to ride him. And I was so mortified by what he said—and so full of pride—that I rode him anyway.”

“But he is yours. Surely you can ride him whenever you want!”

“Yes, that is true.”

“So?”

“I had to be rescued.”

“Oh,” she said, fighting a smile. “By the master? Was he terribly angry?”

“No, the master was not there. I was rescued by Geoffrey of Brennimore, a lad of my own age. He did it without even saddling his horse. Whereas I only just managed to stay on my great warhorse by clinging to his neck for dear life. I looked a perfect fool, Bella!”

“Oh, Julian,” she said, touching my hand gently. “What if you had fallen? You might have been killed!”

“There was a moment this afternoon when that seemed like a happier outcome.”

“Now that
is
a foolish sentiment, indeed,” she said. “And I suppose it
is
prideful as well. But I still do not think you are in need of absolution. You have been punished enough already.”

“I'm afraid there's more. Bella, do you know what
hubris
means?”

She shook her head. “No. I do not know any Latin.”

“It's Greek, actually. It means great pride, out of all reason. Foolish pride.”

“But . . .”

“Bella, I named my horse Bucephalus.”

She shrugged.

“Bucephalus was the horse of Alexander the Great. That was bad enough, but at least you might imagine I was only praising the horse. And he is a fine creature, deserving of a fine name. But, Bella, when I got upon his back and seemed to be riding him so well, I began to imagine
myself
as Alexander. Truly, Bella, I did!”

“And was he a great man? Alexander?”

“Oh, indeed, Bella, just as his name implies. He conquered the world!”

“Ah!”

“And then, Bella, I was not satisfied with merely playing a great hero. I imagined myself the
Worthy Knight
! Is
that
not prideful enough for you? Can you picture
me
riding into the midst of a battle and bringing armies to their knees?”

“If God willed it, you could! You have a pure heart, Julian, as the Worthy Knight is said to have. God could make you a champion if it was needful. Who
knows
what He has planned for you?”

“Oh, Bella. Will you
always
see only the
best
in people?”

“I see you as you are.” Then, making the sign of the cross over me, she said, “Prince Julian of Moranmoor, I hereby absolve you of the great sin of having
too much imagination
!”

I laughed.
“And
being prideful,” I added.

“That, too,” she said. “If you insist.”