Authors: ID Johnson
Katey did not answer of course. Instead, she took the clean strips of cloth she had brought with her and slid them through the slot. She thought he might want to use them
as bandages.
Matthew took the cloth as well. “Thank you,” he said cautiously. “Who, who’s there?”
Again, there was no answer, just another gift. This time it was food! Thin cuts of meat, some cheese, even a thinly sliced apple, each slid through the door as efficiently as possible. Matthew was tempted to shove each piece directly into his mouth but, since he was not sure who was giving him the food, he hesitated to do so and instead carefully sat it down on the strips of cloth. “Unbelievable,” he mumbled to himself. “Thank you! Thank you so much. Please, tell me your name!”
Katey knew it was getting late and as much as she would have liked to stay and make sure Matthew was okay and would recover from his wounds, she could not. She quickly turned and retreated back down the stairs. She heard him beckoning for her to speak but she ignored his pleas and hurried on her way to prepare for the evening meal.
Matthew was dumbfounded. It was as if an angel delivered him manna from heaven. He attempted to peer through the hole in the door to see who had brought these items but he or she was gone. Though he had not seen the person delivering the gifts, he felt fairly confident it was not someone who wanted to murder him so he woofed the food down as quickly as possible. He had not eaten anything but mush in so long, he had practically forgotten what real food tasted like. He knew he would pay for it later. The book was poetry and though he had never truly enjoyed reading verse, he was so thankful to have something to do, it wouldn’t have mattered what the material was. He made quick use of the cloths, wiping up the dry blood from his face and wrapping the other around his head, which was still dripping a bit. He saved the rest of them for next time; certain that there would be a next time, and stuffed them in one of the holes of the mattress. He hated to get them dirty but it was much better than having them discovered.
He could not figure out who this visitor could have been. Perhaps it was one of his previous attackers
feeling regret about almost killing him. Or perhaps it was one of the wretches assigned to bring his slop, hoping to improve his conditions a bit. Whomever it was, he deserved a metal and if Matthew ever escaped this dire situation he vowed to find this person and justly reward his kindness.
For the first time in six months, Matthew felt like a person again.
***
Philip spent much of dinner sulking, angry about the turn of events at Tower
of Glendor and pissed off that none of his subordinates seemed to have any clue how to stop an attacking army. Apparently, all they could do was invade other kingdoms.
Honestly, that wasn’t exactly true either. Many of the tactics they had used to gain access to Zurconia were underhanded and shifty. They had also used up a lot of their
resources in the last couple of years waging war against a fairly defenseless people. Arteria, on the other hand, was a land full of warriors. It was fairly common knowledge amongst the gentry that Caleb took battle preparation extremely seriously. Though Arteria was rarely tested in battle, there was a reason for that; other armies knew it was practically suicidal to attack an army consisting of soldiers who volunteered to dedicate their lives to defend their homeland. Arteria was much like Sparta in that men were honored to be warriors. Families felt a great deal of pride in seeing their sons selected to fight with the king. Unlike many neighboring kingdoms, which used mercenaries or makeshift infantry, Arteria paid its own citizens very well to defend the land and, when called upon to do so by the king, invade whatever nations may stand against them.
Princess Katey sat next to him, picking at her food like a damn bird. Every time
Philip so much as looked at her, she glanced away as if his eyes were physically burning hers. At first, he had attempted polite conversation, “How are you? How was your day? Did you do anything interesting?” Blah, blah, blah. Of course, she had said nothing, as was always the case, so he had eventually given up. Joan had answered in her stead. She was fine. She had had a great day. She had spent most of the day reading and working on an embroidery piece, etc. He didn’t really care anyway. The more time he spent in her presence, the more he began to loathe her. And the more he wanted to drag her screaming into his bedchamber and teach her to say his name.
Katey was not exactly enjoying the meal either. She wasn’t used to the
food as it was prepared at Blackthorn. Everything was drier and more well-done, practically burned, than she would have liked. Philip spent much of the meal ranting to his most trusted military advisor, Charles, about what was going on in the area known as Glendor. Though Philip began the conversation attempting to be secretive, it did not last. Once again, no one seemed to consider that, just because Katey did not speak, that did not mean that she couldn’t understand what was being said. Joan was just the help so it didn’t really didn’t seem to matter to them that she was present. In Philip’s opinion, she was probably too ignorant to understand what the nobility was speaking about anyway.
There were a few pieces of
critical information gained by Philips loose-lipped approach to talking about war at the table. If his Uncle Edward had been present, he would have put a stop to it immediately. But he was not joining them. He had hurt his wrist earlier in the day. Katey had a sneaking suspicion his injury may have been related to the beating of King Matthew but she couldn’t know for sure. Nevertheless, his absence allowed Philip to spew comments about the impending doom about to befall Clovington, with Caleb’s army advancing daily. This was critical information for Katey to know, as it could possibly affect her own life, and she was glad to learn precisely what was happening.
Philip’s inability to keep his information to himself may also have had something to do with the copious amounts of wine he had ingested with his meal. Katey had noticed he was fond of the drink but tonight’s display was even more profound than usual. As the diners began to finish, Philip began to grow quieter and his gaze became more amorous. Katey grew more and more nervous. Though she could not say a man had never laid a hand on her, she had some how managed to stay a virgin, despite the frequent advances and attacks she had endured over the years. Upon meeting Philip for the first time, she began to settle on the idea that he would, eventually, be her husband in every sense of the word. Because of her prior experiences, the idea of having any man touch her was unsettling to say the least and though she was attracted to Philip, she was also terrified of him for so many reasons. There had been a few times recently when he had placed his hand on hers and she felt herself physically shutter. He always seemed extremely agitated
at her response and, rather than removing his hand and making her feel more comfortable as most gentleman would do, he would simply grasp her fingers harder, sometimes squeezing to the point of pain. If this was any indicator of what he would be like in the bedroom, Katey was right to be fearful.
Philip reached over and gently stroked the side of Katey’s face with his finger. His knuckle was tough and callused and she flinched a bit at first. Taking a deep breath she resolved herself to stay still. She was, after all, about to marry this man so she had better try her best not to make him angry.
“I think it’s time to proceed with the nuptials, Love,” he said his fingers now curling around her hair and gently tugging at the ringlets that had escaped her crowning braid. “Perhaps we should hold the ceremony later this week, say, Sunday?” He paused, as if she would answer. Of course she did not, but her eyes grew larger. He leaned closer and she could smell the strong scent of wine on his breath. “I’m looking forward to teaching you how to scream my name,” he whispered so sharply Katey felt little flicks of saliva peppering her ear. He rubbed his nose up and down the side of her face, his hand slipping down her arm, to her side. She braced herself as she felt sorted emotions well up insider of her. She understood the response of fear and repulse but she was not quite sure why she also felt a bit of excitement. She glanced at Joan, a pleading expression on her face, hoping that she would be able to read her thoughts, as she usually could, and say the words that Katey would say herself if only she were capable.
“Sunday! That’s just four days away!” Joan exclaimed, leaning across Katey, closer to the king. He responded as both ladies had hoped he would and pulled himself off of his betrothed. Across the table, Charles, sat back in his chair, his
chalice half-full, a smirk on his face, which indicated he took pleasure in watching Philip claim what was rightfully his. Joan continued, “We have so much to do!” She began to push her chair back, pulling Katey by the arm. “Let us go begin the preparations. Come, Your Highness,” Katey’s chair scooted back and she almost tumbled out, still reeling from Philip’s comment. Her knees felt weak and she wasn’t sure she could make it out of the room without stumbling.
Irritated, Philip, pulled
himself up from the table. “Now?” he asked. “You need to go start your preparations now at this late hour?”
Katey seemed a bit frozen, wanting to retreat but fearful of unleashing Philip’s wrath. She waited for Joan to say something—anything—to calm him down. “Yes, yes, Your Majesty,
“ the lady-in-waiting began, “So much goes into making sure the day goes exactly as planned.” Then she added, “May we have your permission to leave the table, Your Majesty?”
Philip slumped down in his chair. The alcohol and the frustration from news of the loss that day was mounting and he was seriously considering whisking the princess back to his abode to take her as his wife this very instant. It was generally not done that way amongst royals, but at this point he did not care. He should have wed her years ago, should be bedding her nightly if he so chose, why not complete the transaction now
and finish with the technicalities later? She was practically his wife already, in all but practice.
Katey could see Philip contemplating whether or not to give them leave. She saw his forehead furrow, saw his eyebrows come together either in deep thought or anger or both. He began to stroke his jawline and she took advantage of this pause as one last attempt to save herself. The only thing she could think to do was to courtesy, low and deliberately, intending to display for him and everyone else that she understood she was his property
, that she appreciated his station and his power, and that she really wished to be dismissed.
Philip abruptly came to his feet. He swayed a bit, the liquor catching up with him. “Fine,” he spat. “That’s fine. Go ahead and run off to your chamber.” He swatted at her with his left hand, the one closes to the table and promptly knocked his goblet of wine over. A pool of bright
burgundy began to spread across the white tablecloth. Momentarily, Katey stared at it, reminded of a pool of blood—the one at the top of the stairs, the one on a stark white dress. Philip brought her crashing back to reality, however, when he picked up the container and threw it across the room. It smashed into the mirror above the fireplace mantel, sending slivers of glass flying across the room.
Charles pushed his chair back from the table, not sure what to do. He had found a bit of humor in the situation until this point. Philip desperately wanted to take this woman to bed who clearly found him either repulsive or terrifying, or both. Now, however, all comedy was lost. “Your Highness,” he began, reaching out to Philip to steady or calm him.
Philip pushed his counselor away. “No, no, it’s fine. Go!
Go
!”
Katey began to back towards the door, Joan’s hand on her arm when Philip came flying across the room at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and demanding she look him in the face. “Just remember,” he said, his lips grazing the flesh on her cheek, “I am the king—Your king. And I will have you when and where I want to, however I want to. Make no mistake about
that, Love, you belong to me!”
Charles was there now, pulling Philip back, “Your Majesty, Philip, come on, Sir.”
As
Charles pleaded with his leader to release the frightened girl, he finally did so. Joan’s arms were now gently pulling Katey towards the exit. “He’s drunk,” Charles said over Philip’s shoulder as the king rubbed his hands on his face, still visibly angry but coming back to his senses a bit. “He’s, he’s not himself right now,” Charles attempted to explain.
Katey nodded at Charles as the women backed out of the room. She had always thought of Charles as a bit of a prick
but now she saw him in a different light. He had no obligation to try to save her and yet he had come to her aid. Joan had her by the arm as they quickly made their way back to their bedchamber. Katey had not gone far when she began to sob. She found some solace in Joan’s arms but she knew that the night would bring more nightmares; Philip’s actions had dredged up more memories she had been trying to stifle for years. Along with that bone-white face and beckoning hand, she would also feel the fingers of her other assailants, the ones who had took advantage of her inability to scream and preyed on her flesh much the way that Philip would someday very, very soon.
Perhaps it was because he had
eaten more that day than in the last month, but Matthew slept extremely well that night. Most mornings, he found himself reflecting on the visions that had haunted his intermittent sleep, trying to assure himself that he was safe, though that was difficult under the circumstances. He dreamt of Maggie nightly and, generally, those dreams started off as wonderful reenactments of memories he still held most fondly. Moments together watching the sunrise, sharing a laugh over the dinner table, making love to his beautiful bride. They often became twisted horror stories, ending with his mangled wife lying on the floor as he screamed, holding her precious head in his hands, begging her to come back to him. But she never did.
Last night, however, the ending was different. As Matthew sobbed, his head buried in Maggie’s still chest, there was a gasp. He looked up, and her green eyes
violently flew open. Unfortunately, that is where it had ended. With the sudden shudder of those emerald eyes, he had jarred himself awake. At first, he had been confused of his whereabouts. He looked around, hoping to find Maggie somewhere in the small confines of his room. Of course, she was not there. He rubbed his swollen face, the pain from the gash in his head reminding him not only where he was but of yesterday’s events. He tenderly felt the wound, still wrapped in one of the cloths his angelic visitor had brought. It was still extremely painful but it was no longer bleeding. He decided to replace the cloth and dug one out of the mattress, shaking it off, hoping to remove as much debris as possible. He carefully removed the old bandage, causing a bit of fresh bleeding from where the scab had connected to the cloth. He then replaced it with the fresh wrap and sat very still for a moment, trying to prevent a dizzy-spell.
He noticed that the little book of poetry was on the floor. He found that odd since he had placed it on the giant bookshelf the night before. He carefully stepped across the room, slowly bending down to pick it up. As he brought it back to rest on the shelf again, he noticed that the shelves were extremely shallow. This was
strange for such a large piece of furniture. Though he had been in this room for six months, he had never really paid attention to the structure of the colossal piece. He began to wiggle it a bit. It was certainly heavy but it was not attached to the wall at all. There was not much room in his quarters to scoot it around but he was able to pry it forward a bit. He noticed that the side was about a foot deeper than the width of the shelf. The piece was heavy but not as heavy as he expected. As he studied the unit, an idea popped into his head. He began to pray—something he had not bothered to do for a long time—that his angel would return and that this time he would be able to request an item.
And, as long as he was praying, he also began to pray for the soul of his sweet Maggie, that she was safe in the arms of the Lord she had loved so much.
***
Across
the swampy Lowetian Forest, past the rolling hills of the area known as Glendor, on the other side of the Arterian Lake, also known as Lake Lucie, inside the impenetrable walls of Castle Caine, there was a rap on Caleb’s door. He had finally dozed off just a few hours before but the noise brought him fully to his senses immediately. He cracked the door to find his beloved caretaker, Cook, standing there, her pasty face smiling, “It’s happened!” she whispered. He nodded, grabbed his robe and followed her up the stairs, pulling it on as he went.
They ascended a narrow, winding staircase, to a small room
at the top of a tower in the back of the castle. This room had been chosen for its privacy, not because its occupant was not welcome. Cook pushed open the door and they both quietly stepped in. The physician, Russel was standing on one side of the bed, a servant girl, on the other. A breeze stirred the white canopy atop the bed and the snowy fabric bellowed, as if announcing life had returned to the room.
Caleb slowly walked forward, stopping at the foot of the bed. He felt Cook’s hand resting assuredly on his arm. She was right, it h
ad happened. A wave of relief washed over him and he began to smile for the first time in as long as he could remember. He had waited so long for this moment and it was finally here. He could hardly believe he was finally looking into those blinking emerald green eyes.
***
That morning, Katey was up before the sun. She had tried
to sleep but it had failed her. She knew there were better ways to use her time than lying in bed, tossing and turning, dozing off, and being jarred violently awake by dreams of nasty remembrances. She tried to do a little reading in her room by candlelight but her mind kept drifting off. The interaction with Philip the night before had left her shaken so she tried not to think of him at all. Instead, she concentrated on thoughts of King Matthew. She knew she would pay him another visit just as soon as she felt the coast was clear. She had heard Philip say something about riding out to inspect the lines today and she was hopeful that he would take both Edward and Cuthburt with him. She also contemplated sneaking into the rooms of those two nasty scoundrels and meting out some punishment of her own but she knew she would not be capable of causing the type of injuries they deserved. Once she saw Joan begin to stir, she decided it must be close to daylight and she headed out into the hall.
The castle was still, indicating that everyone was still slumbering or had left for the day. Looking out the window, she could see that the sun had just
begun to climb above the horizon. She decided to take a walk out to the stable and see if Philip’s horse was still there. She was fairly certain she could hide in the stable without him even knowing she was there, should that be necessary.
It was not, however. Philip must have gotten over his inebriation rather quickly that morning because, by the time Katey reached the stables, his giant black
destrier was gone. The stalls that usually held the horses ridden by Edward and Charles were also vacant. This was a good indication that she was safe to return to the tower without being seen. Only a few stable boys were bustling about and none of them seemed to notice the princess as she did her investigation.
***
Upon reaching the door at the top of the secret stairwell, Katey hesitated once again. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt compelled to see King Matthew, just to confirm that he was there. She wasn’t sure what he even looked like. She had heard he was quite handsome with a rugged appearance. Dark brown hair, kind
brown eyes. She had also heard of the brutal murder of his beloved wife. In moments when she found herself pitying her own situation, she reflected upon Matthew’s plight and she felt slightly better about her own.
She reached out slowly and gave a light tap on the door. She knew he had heard her because of a stirring on the other side, a flutter of pages perhaps. This time she waited for him to open the slot, which he did promptly. “Who is there?” he whispered. She could tell by the projection of his voice that he was peering through the narrow slit. She had brought some water and a towel, intending to clean up the bloody spot on the floor before she left. For now, she folded the towel and draped it over the dry blood and gently sat down on the floor next to the door. It was difficult to see much at all, but she could see his filthy hand holding up the flap of a door and his kind eyes peering through at her.
Matthew was also having difficulty seeing through the narrow slot. At first, all he could see was a flurry of light blue fabric. Then, after a moment, a pair of eyes matching the dress
was gazing back at him. So his angel was a girl! And from what he could tell by the bit of her face that he could actually see, a very pretty girl at that.
“Good morrow
!” he repeated. “How are you? I was hoping you would return.”
The pretty eyes blinked, but there was no accompanying voice. Matthew found this odd, so he continued. “What is your name?” he asked.
Katey very much wanted to answer his questions but simply could not. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, fidgeting with the ruby ring she always wore, the one with her family crest. Perhaps, if she showed him the ring, he would be able to figure out whom she was. But, then again, it might be best if he did not know. If it were ever found out that someone was paying him visits, she would rather no one knew it was she.
So, she just sat there for a moment, twirling her ring, before she finally looked up and met his gaze again.
“You’re shy then?” he asked, attempting to figure out what might be going on with the girl on the other side of the door. “That’s okay. You don’t have to speak. My name is Matthew.”
The kindness in his voice made Katey smile. She nodded, not sure if he could see, attempting to let him know she was aware of who he was.
“Thank you so very much for the gifts that you brought me yesterday. Your gesture was very much appreciated, especially the food. I hope that you didn’t get in any sort of trouble on my account.”
Katey shook her head “
no,” hearing him sigh in relief.
“Good, good! I’m so glad that you’ve come back today!”
Again, Katey signaled back with a nod. She realized he was probably hungry so she opened up the little basket she had brought and began to slide thinly sliced pieces of fruit through the slot.
Matthew accepted them graciously “Thank you so much!”
he exclaimed. “Pears are my favorite!” He couldn’t help but place the first piece directly into his mouth. The sweet juice rolled down his chin and it was all he could do to keep from giggling like a young child.
The food kept coming. Katey was able to procure some salted ham from
the breakfast preparations, as well as quite a bit of bread and even a bit of jam. She slipped the bounty through the slot as carefully as possible and Matthew made a little pile next to the door. Next, she handed through some blank paper, thinking he might want to get his thoughts down or that, perhaps, she could attempt to send a letter to his brother, if she found someone she could trust as courier, though that would be extremely risky. She knew she would not be able to pass an ink well through the tiny slot so she had brought some charcoal from the fire, thinking he could use that to write. Lastly, she had brought some fresh water. This was going to be the trickiest. She was not exactly sure how to get it to him or if he even had a container to put it in, but she wanted to try. She held the canteen up to the slot, hoping he could see what it was.
“Water?” he asked, shocked and elated. “Oh, my!” The boys who brought his gruel would also bring him a small plate of water to refill his tiny cup once every few days. It was often putrid, as if it had been used to wash dishes, but he drank it because he was constantly thirsty. He would often stick the cup out the window or even his tongue, for that matter, on a rainy day, hoping to catch a drop or two. At this point, he was so used to being thirsty he almost didn’t notice it, until he saw water and then it was as if his throat was on fire.
“Let me see,” he said, grabbing the cup from it’s place on the floor next to his bed and yesterday’s grimy food dish. “If we had some way of making a channel for it to flow through . . ..” He looked around the room but there was next to nothing in sight, let alone an object that could be manipulated into a tube.
It wasn’t necessary, however, as Katey had brought
something that should work; a thick stem from a ginger plant. She used a small knife to cut it open, forming it into a little slide.
Matthew laughed, “You’re a genius!” he said. He eagerly held the small silver cup up to the end of the stem as Katey carefully poured fresh water down the makeshift canal and into the container. When it was filled, Matthew gulped it down. Katey refilled it several times until the canteen was empty. Matthew was still thirsty but at least his tongue was no longer stuck to the roof of his mouth. Katey made a mental note to bring more water next time. Though she would no longer be able to clean the blood from the floor, at least Matthew had been slightly refreshed. She had thought cleaning up a bit risky anyway. If Edward noticed, it could be viewed suspiciously. So she decided to leave the bloody mess and continue to bring something to cover it each time she came
so she would not have to see it or sit upon it.
And she felt more comfortable with her decision to continue to pay King Matthew daily visits when she noticed a small hovel in the hallway across from the stairs. There was a little
cutout in the wall next to where the top of the stairwell rounded the corner. She should be able to stow away there for a few moments undetected, should someone ascend the stairs while she was visiting.
There were no windows in the hallway but the arrow slits in Matthew’s chamber would allow him to see King Philip returning to the castle. She wasn’t sure how to let Matthew know that he needed to be mindful of the King’s return but she
thought she could stay for a while, if he wanted to her, if he was able to let her know when the king and his men arrived. Matthew clearly wanted a visitor, as he began to chat, and she wanted to stay for as long as possible, fascinated as she was with her new friend. There had to be someway to let him know.