The Very Large Princess (2 page)

“Little more than two
years,” he said. “In my 18
^th
summer, weary of the
sameness of fields and forests, I longed to see a bit o’ the world.
So I joined the King’s army. And it was a fine life until the
Battle of Glenmoore, when one of the other dragoons, a friendly lad
with a handsome face and easy ways, loosed an arrow that went
astray. The sight of goose feathers poking out of my doublet so
affrighted me that I gave up soldiering then and there.”

“Aubrey fought at the Battle of
Glenmoore!” Drusilla interrupted. “He hath often said
so.”

“Aye, and my shoulder yet bears the
mark of his valor.”

Drusilla laughed.

“To give the lad his due, he speedily
fetched the surgeon, and stood by until my strength returned. And
then he brought me to court, where his good father saw fit to grant
me the office I now hold. But I shall not hold it many more days.
Of that I am resolved.”

Drusilla began to ask what John meant
to do next, but he suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, and
dismounted. “What folly hath the beast committed now?” she asked,
halting her own mount.

“I spied a bit of vellum,” he said,
collecting a scrap of parchment from the ground, and turning it
this way and that. “It appears to be in the Prince’s
hand.”

“What doth it say?” demanded
Drusilla.

“Indeed, I cannot make it out. It
speaks of a lady ‘pale and fair,’ and then there is a blot, and
then ‘Tara tara.’ And then ‘old hair,’ it seems to say, though what
that means, I know not.”

“John, it must mean ‘golden hair,’”
said Drusilla, laughing. “For you know my sister is very
fair.”

“Mayhap,” said John,
shaking his head. “
‘
Old hair’” he murmured, remounting his horse.

Now as they rode, they oft observed
fragments of parchment, lying on the road or in the shrubs nearby,
but did not stop to pick them up, for the way ahead was
long.

And indeed it was late in the day when
at last they pulled up at the low wall surrounding the Duc’s
garden. After they had dismounted and tethered their horses, and
Sober John had begun to unlatch the gate, Drusilla caught sight of
yet another bit of parchment hanging from the branch of a nearby
cherry tree. Retrieving it, she read aloud:

Like to one versed in
sorcery,

True Love doth
disappear.

Oh, Truant Love, why dost
thou flee

From one who holds thee
dear?

“Oh, we must make haste!” she
exclaimed. “If Margery hath run off, I know not how we shall find
her!”

Sober John saw the matter in another
light, but said nothing, lengthening his stride to keep pace with
hers. Soon they reached the front entrance of the chalet, but the
enormous oak door was so fantastically carved with lutes,
tambourines, psalteries, and other delicate instruments that
Drusilla hesitated an instant before grasping the wrought iron
knocker and rapping loudly.

A porter appeared, and Drusilla
presented the letter from King Piers, expecting its swift delivery
into the Duc’s hands. To her surprise, the servant unsealed it
himself, explaining in hushed tones, “His Grace is resting, and
must not be disturbed.” This servant was a prancing little fellow,
with darting eyes and silver curls, and as he perused the King’s
letter, John eyed his yellow tunic with distaste.

“You may enter,” said the porter at
last. “His Highness, the Prince, was admitted not an hour past. His
Grace, perhaps, may deign to sup with you.” John’s brow took on a
look of thunder, but Drusilla hastily inquired, “Where is my
sister, the Princess Margery?”

“I know not,” answered the porter.
“But Prince Aubrey may be found in the solar chamber.” He clapped
his hands to summon a young page.

“Kindly see to our horses,” Sober John
instructed the porter, before turning to offer his arm to Drusilla.
“And keep watch for the coach that bears our goods.”

“
And prithee attend good
William, the coachman, with all courtesy,” added Drusilla, taking
John’s arm.

They followed the page down a long
hallway to a chamber so dark and opulent that Drusilla blinked when
they stepped inside. Velvet curtains blocked the sun, and the walls
were richly hung with tapestries depicting scenes of love and
chivalry.

Prince Aubrey sat near the window,
gazing gloomily at an injury to his left hand. The table in front
of him was strewn with quills; he had evidently cut himself while
sharpening them. Above him was a large and beautiful tapestry
showing Cupid in pursuit of Psyche, but his Highness seemed blind
to its charms.

Drusilla silently proffered her
handkerchief, having earlier replaced the cloth she had given John.
Aubrey’s dark eyes met hers briefly as he gave thanks, and she
cursed her wayward heart, which beat like a hare’s at sight of the
hunter.

“So, your Highness, you have led us a
merry dance,” said John severely, as the Prince began to bind his
wound.

“I know not how you have come so
quickly,” said Aubrey, abstractedly. “But it matters not. Fair
Margery must return to court.”

“Where is my sister?” demanded
Drusilla. “The servants could not tell us.”

“Fret not. She sleeps nearby.
“

“Where may her bedchamber be? I would
go to her.”

“I shall take you to her
presently….How my head doth ache,” he sighed.

Drusilla and John exchanged glances,
then sat down at the table and waited for Aubrey to tell them
more.

“Speak straightly, man,” said John at
last.

“‘
Tis a round tale, and I
must tell it so,” came the reply, and in it, Drusilla saw a flash
of Aubrey’s former jesting spirit.

“When we set out,” he began at last,
“all was bliss. Her Highness sat still and smiling, now with her
damask cheek poised on one slim hand, now with her golden head
thrown back against the cushion, now with her soft blue eyes
meeting mine in wonder. Truly, I was entranced, and my quill,
dipped in enchantment, flew across the page to scribe her charms
and my adoration. Thus one, and then two, hours passed, the most
delightful I have ever known. Even the concern I felt at seeing
you, dear John, pursuing us astride a pustulent, sway-backed
donkey, was soon overcome, for we so soon outdistanced
you.”

“Fernanda, I trust, is well,” John
remarked.

“Yea, fear not for your mare….At the
noon hour, we stopped to take refreshment. Robin pulled up at
Crosskeys Inn and procured for us some bread and cheese and a large
tankard of the best cider. The Princess ate heartily, and the cider
was to her liking, but when she had quaffed the last of it, a
shadow fell across her face, though the sun was high
above.

“‘
My Love, what sadness
hath possessed thee?’ I asked, leaning forward, the better to
observe her beauteous face.

“‘
At court,’ she said,
‘they are having strawberry tart. For Cook did say so. I would that
I might have some too.’ And a silvery tear spilled from one
luminous eye.”

“Yes,” Drusilla murmured. “Margery
hath always favored strawberry tart.”

“Back into Crosskeys went good Robin,”
the Prince continued, “And soon returned with a large apple tart,
for alas, strawberry was not to be had. The Princess tasted of it,
and gave sweet thanks. But still she softly sighed, ‘I would that I
had strawberry.’

“Robin took up the reins, and I,
marvelling at the childlike simplicity of my Lady, began to pen a
hymn to innocence. But the Princess was not so still as she had
been. Glancing at what I wrote, she was caught by a phrase ‘Tara
tara’ that I had used at stanza’s end. ‘Tara tara,’ she murmured.
‘Tara tara tara tara tara.’ A thousand times, perhaps, she softly
said ‘Tara,’ and then fell silent.

“I lifted my quill to write, but my
mind held only ‘Tara.’ ‘Tara tara tara.’ Then like my Lady, I was
still, and the horses’ footfalls sounded in my ear…tara
tara.

“Thus passed the third
hour.

“During the fourth hour, the Princess
wept. Mayhap she had been weeping longer than I knew, for my mind
was all in turmoil. Truly it seemed that Love had flown, leaving
naught but tara--”

“--Why did my sister weep?”
interrupted Drusilla.

“I beseeched her to tell me, but she
would not speak. She drenched her kerchief and my own, and still I
waited to hear what caused her woe.

“At length, the weeping ceased.
Heaving a deep sigh, she raised her eyes to mine and said, ‘Father
shall be angry that I have gone. We must return to court. For all
the world, I would not make dear Father angry.’ We were, by then,
but a stone’s throw from Chalet de Coeur.

“‘
Sweet Lady,’ I said,
‘Tomorrow we shall return to Court, and you shall be enfolded in
your father’s arms.

“‘
I would that I could see
my father now,’ she said. ‘I would that I could see Drusilla.’ And
her lip began to tremble and her eyes again to fill.

“‘
My Love,’ I said
hastily. ‘The horses are tired. They shall rest in the Duc’s
stable, for we are near arrived. And once they have rested, we
shall return to your father.’

“‘
The horses shall rest,’
she said, swallowing her tears. And thus she was persuaded that we
must stop here.

“But I found her very steadfast in her
purpose. Though the horses were unhitched, and taken to stable, she
would not leave the carriage.

“‘
We too must rest,’ I
said, but she said naught.

“‘
The Duc, I have been
told, sets an excellent table,’ I said, but she stayed
silent.

“‘
Even now, I believe, a
fine strawberry tart rests in the larder,’ I said. Whereupon she
replied, ‘I shall have strawberry tart at Court. Cook doth make it
best.’

“At length, she agreed to take some
water, and soon after fell into a deep slumber. For a few coins, I
was able to employ a maidservant to stay with her, that she shall
not be affrighted when she awakens.”

“But is she in the carriage still?”
asked Drusilla, startled.

“Yea, how peacefully she lies on the
soft green velvet, like a nymph at water’s edge!”

“My sister is but a light sleeper,
waking at the merest sound. She must be ill that she sleeps so
well!”

“Nay,” said John, fixing Aubrey with a
stern eye. “Not ill, methinks, but entranced by ought in the water
she did drink.”

“Only the direst necessity compelled
me to serve her so,” said Aubrey, with a reddened face. “I used but
a drop.”

“Give me the foul potion,” John
demanded, and Aubrey drew a flask from his doublet and placed it in
his friend’s hand. John walked to the hearth, uncorked the flask,
and tipped its contents over a log, saying as he did so, “Let us
hope the lass hath ta’en no harm.”

“We must go to her at once,” Drusilla
insisted, frightened for her sister.

But when they had reached Princess
Margery, they found no cause for alarm. Her pulse was steady and
her breathing easy. When John lifted her out of the carriage, she
opened her eyes a little and smiled. “Drusilla,” she said, then
slept again.

She was awake at supper, which was
served late, and made a hearty meal. “Drusilla hath come. We shall
soon see Father,” thought Margery, and her face was so filled with
contentment that later, in his bedchamber, the Duc struck out
“Lady, thy sad eyes do smite my heart,” and began again with “O
Lady, full of joy thou art.”

There was little talk at table. The
Duc could scarce turn his eyes from Margery’s radiant countenance,
and Aubrey’s dark, expressive eyes were oft fixed on the Duc.
Drusilla wondered at Aubrey’s admiration for a man who sat at his
own table in such uncivil silence.

John, whose chair was next Drusilla’s
own, looked up at her and smiled, as if he knew her
thoughts.

“What shall you do when you leave the
King, John?” she asked quietly. “Shall you go back to your father’s
land?”

“Mayhap, but I’ve a mind to wander
first. My purse is heavy, and my needs are light. I’d like to see a
bit more o’ the world before I turn my hand to farming.”

“Yes, so should I. I have heard tales
of three-horned oxen, hares as large as horses, and folk with
mouths so small, they needs must sup through reeds.”

“That is folly, lass,” said Sober
John, laughing. “Yet there is much that would excite your wonder. I
would that I could show you….Yet that canna be….But I ken that you
would travel boldly.”

“The journey this day was
pleasant.”

“Aye, it was indeed.”

No more was said, but later, as she
and Margery traversed the winding stairs to their bedchamber,
Drusilla’s thoughts were all of ships and caravans. “Oh, Aubrey,”
she sighed to herself. “The world is vast, and there is much we
might have seen together. Now must I a lonely pilgrim
be.”

“Drusilla, come,” said Margery, as she
readied herself for bed.